Chapter Text
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the lush green fields surrounding his mountain hut, Charles toiled away, tending to his radish crop with the diligence of someone deeply connected to the land. The rhythmic swish of his hoe slicing through the dirt filled the tranquil air, accompanied by the occasional chirping of birds and the distant rustle of leaves.
Lost in his work, Charles didn't notice when a figure approached until an unfamiliar voice called out. “Perceval!”
Startled, he turned around to see a man emerging from the foliage, a serious expression on his face. Charles felt the man’s energy immediately. He’d never felt a power like this before, and it had an awful aura.
"So, I’ve found you again at last. You’ve grown up. I recognize you though Perceval," the man said, a friendly smile on his lips. He walked forward to the perimeter of Charles field but didn't cross over. "What’ve you been doing all these years? Your mission was to terminate all life on this planet. Why haven't you carried it out brother?"
Charles was so confused and regarded the newcomer warily, his grip tightening on the handle of his tool. "What are you talking about? My name is Charles and this is my home." he replied curtly, eyeing the man with suspicion. "I don’t have a brother." There was something about the foreigners' energy that turned his stomach sour.
Seemingly undeterred, the stranger breached the perimeter, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and wearing the strangest outfit. He came to stop only a few yards from Charles. "You mean to tell me, you have no idea who I am? What happened to you Perceval?," he asked, voice tight. "I’ve come to take you back into the fold."
Charles narrowed his eyes, moving into a defensive stance, pulling up the hoe to use as a weapon. "I already told you, I'm not Perceval! And I'm not going anywhere with you. If you think otherwise, you better be prepared for a fight." he challenged, tone sharp.
A device the man wore on his face beeped and he took on a worried, contemplative expression. Looking around quickly, he continued, "Such harsh words, you’re more like me than you realize," he conceded. "I see the fire in your eyes brother, you should come with us."
Despite himself, Charles' curiosity was piqued. "What do you want?" he asked, guard still up.
Us? He thought to himself. How many more of them were there? He was exhausted from his day in the field and didn’t think he could handle a fight with the strangers' high power level, let alone more of them.
The man hesitated, words now impatient. "I don’t have time to explain," he said vaguely. "Just come with me now."
Charles scoffed at that, shaking his head and readying for a fight. "I don't know you,” he replied bluntly. "And I have no interest in whatever your plans are."
More beeping sounds came from the device and with that, the stranger turned on his heel and disappeared into the dense foliage, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts. As the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky, and he returned to his work, the encounter with the mysterious stranger lingering in his mind.
He wondered about the true intentions of the man claiming to be his brother. Where had he come from, and why did he seem so insistent on recruiting Charles? Despite his initial wariness, a small part of Charles couldn't help but be intrigued by the stranger's words, stirring a curiosity he hadn't felt in a long time.
Gazing out at the vast expanse of land before him, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, Charles couldn't ignore the restless stirring within his soul from the bizarre encounter and he headed inside his home for the night.
_____
Max sighed heavily, keeping his arms crossed over his chest looking down at the bound and sleeping new arrival.
Dressed in strange clothes, he couldn't say he'd ever seen this kind of garment. Vibrant red and warm looking, it had a hood that came up the back, shielding most of the man's face from view while he was laying on his stomach.
Max unfolded his tucked arms, squatting down to pull the hood back, revealing a mop of brown curls stained with sweat and dirt. Brushing the curls away with his gloved fingers, he was able to get a better look at the man's face.
He seemed a little worse for wear.
There was a bruise across the man’s right cheekbone, small cuts and scrapes around his lower lip and jaw with a dried drop of blood resting on his cupid's bow.
Max’s thoughts were clouded regarding what state of mind their new team member would be in when they came to if the last thing they remembered was a fight. “You have any trouble locating him again?” Max asked.
Carlos shifted his gaze away from the scouting tablet he was focused on and looked down. “No, I was able to find him easily like last time. Figured he’d try and hide better after our last meeting, but he was still living in that old hut in the mountains. Getting him back here was the real pain in the ass. Had to stuff him in a cold food storage barrel to avoid the cameras.”
Max huffed some form of acknowledgement, and not so gently nudged the man with his boot. “How long will he be under? I want to be here when he wakes, but I’ve business to attend to.”
Max idly bent down and brushed off a piece of lettuce stuck to the man’s cheek.
Carlos took a few steps and crouched down behind the sleeping heap, peering over at the unconscious face now exposed with the hood pulled back. He pried open one eyelid, then the other, checked his pulse before shrugging. “Had to use the stronger tranqs on him. For being untrained, he put up a pretty good fight.”
Still crouched beside Carlos, Max lifted the man’s brown curls more off his face, confusion painting his angular features. “Why’d you wait so long to shoot him? Surely you didn’t have to beat him up this badly. Or are you losing your edge in battle?” He couldn't hide his amusement in winding the other up a bit.
Carlos huffed a mirthless laugh. “No, my prince, he just really didn’t seem happy to see me again. I tried to reason with him more forcefully this time, to no avail.”
Leaning over the unconscious man, Max pulled up the back of the red garment exposing the man's lower back. An old, dark circular scar rested at the base of his spine and Max quickly pulled the garment back down, wincing. Carlos gave the prince a sympathetic nod.
Straightening to his full height, Max let out a sigh as he shook his head. “He will learn.” Leveling Carlos with a serious glare, he continued, “Do not breathe a word of this to anyone, understand? We can’t let Jos find him or know we found another one.”
Carlos nodded once in agreement.
Max crossed his arms tightly over his chest again and made his way to the thick metal door of the med bay. “I must get back on duty, keep him here till he wakes.”
“What should I do if he’s still uncooperative when he wakes up?” Carlos gestured to the sleeping form on the floor, annoyance in his voice.
Max’s face hardened around the edges, darkening his gaze as he turned his eyes toward the man. “We will make him cooperate.”
“Yes, my prince.”
_____
Charles blinked slowly, opening his eyes, only to quickly shut them again. His head was pounding with a burning ache. He couldn’t remember what happened or why his head felt like a house fell on it. Did he overdo it with Lando again? He swore they agreed to take a week off from sparring after their last session.
Grimacing at the puddle of drool he'd made against the floor, he tried to wipe at his chin with a groan but his wrist met resistance. Wait . . . a floor? The last thing he remembered was tending to his crops behind his secluded hut. Quickly realizing he was not familiar with his surroundings, if the cold metal floor was anything to go by, he tried to sit up but couldn’t make progress.
His hands were tightly bound behind his back as he lay mostly on his side. Charles opened his eyes again, ignoring the pain in his head it caused to have a look around. Bright fluorescent-like lights buzzed steadily overhead. Smooth metal walls held odd hung tools. Shabby metal desk in the corner of the room looked ready to fall apart. Odd looking tanks of a bubbling clear fluid stood against another wall. All kinds of wires and tubing ran from behind the tanks to the ceiling. A large black hose you could almost fit a body through was attached to the top of the tank somehow.
Only one of the tanks seemed to be in any working condition. The others clearly had been neglected with wires ripped out of the ceiling and hanging down haphazardly, glass shards scattered around on the floor.
Next to the tanks was some kind of fridge, maybe? A clear front door revealed its contents as jars, various other containers with questionable contents, and medical supplies. Charles, for a quick second, thought maybe he was in a hospital. Was he at Capsule Corp? He’d been in hospitals a few times over the years with his father, but none of them looked like this. And the medical suite at his friend's facility surely wouldn't have had broken equipment. Hannah was the smartest person he knew and could fix anything.
Charles’ heart picked up speed as he took it all in, hammering quickly in his chest as his breathing shallowed. He tried to force open the bindings holding his arms back, but they didn’t give even a little. Sheer panic caused him to force his way up into a seated position as he prepared to scream for help.
The scream caught in his throat when a loud thumping noise filled the air. A metal door slid open, and revealed a tan figure with striking black hair in the doorway. Some kind of see-through screen in hand, the man didn't notice him at first, clearly distracted.
Charles huffed at the effort of trying to free his hands and instead drew the man's gaze to him. A look of surprise at seeing him conscious danced across his face and without saying a word, he turned on his heels, quickly disappearing from view. The metal door slid shut with a hissing noise, leaving Charles alone once more.
“Hello?” Charles called out, temporarily stunned by the abrupt departure of his captor. His vision swam a little, while at the same time feeling nauseous and clammy. There was a twinge in his neck when he turned to look at the door, and he suddenly remembered . . . That man in his field telling him to go with him, a fight, the stabbing feeling in his neck followed by darkness.
He drugged him. That was the only explanation for feeling as shitty as he did right now.
Coming back to himself, he quickly doubled his efforts to break free of his bindings before he, whoever he was, came back and hurt him again.
The sound of boots clicking on the metal floor grew closer. Charles hurried to his feet, still unable to free his arms but ready to defend himself as best he could.
The door hissed open once again to reveal the same man as before, now accompanied by two others. One was a well-built taller man, at least a few inches taller than him, with dirty blond hair perfectly styled and stubble lining his angular jaw. He had a stern brow that framed the most striking blue eyes. The other new man was considerably older than the first two, but the largest of the three by far. He had shaggy brown hair, and the thickest arms and neck Charles had ever seen.
“-hasn’t said a word yet, my prince,” The tan man spoke quickly, addressing the blonde. The three men quickly filed into the room with the hiss of the metal door sealing behind them in silence. “You asked to be present when he awoke.”
The blonde's hard gaze fixed Charles in place, rooting him to the floor where he stood, his arms pinned back making him largely defenseless to a frontal assault. The ‘prince’, as he was called, shook his head dismissively at Charles, starting to walk towards him with arms crossed.
The sudden movement caused Charles’ hackles to rise, blood roaring in his ears. “Stay back!” he shouted. Backing away like a cornered animal, Charles snarled at the man.
The blonde quickly tried to relax his face, uncrossing his arms to make a placative gesture as though he was approaching some sort of wounded beast.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Perceval. Stay calm.”
Unconvinced, Charles remained tense and eyed him warily. The blonde’s intense, piercing blue eyes had a haunted look hidden behind them that spoke of nothing but suffering. The gaze of a hardened warrior that had been battered by a relentless storm of pain.
This so-called ‘prince’ was wearing a tight navy-blue bodysuit that was practically painted on, nestled beneath a fitted white armor chest plate adorned with gold panels. Matching white boots with gold tips and gloves completed the outfit.
Charles let his eyes rake over the blonde’s broad chest and shoulders, down to his strong arms and impossibly powerful thighs. His rapid heartbeat hadn’t slowed in the slightest from fear, and it was now accompanied by butterflies swirling in his stomach.
What a sight.
The name the prince spoke finally registered alarm bells. “Wait . . . what?” Charles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “My name is Charles, not Perceval.” Come to think of it, the tan man had also called him Perceval back on his farm. “This is a mistake!” It was just his luck that he would get messed up in some sketchy situation that wasn't even meant for him.
“No mistake has been made, brother. Perceval is your birth name,” the tan man quipped without moving from his place just inside the door.
Charles’ butterflies turned angry in the pit of his stomach. “Wait, I remember you–YOU are that lunatic who tried to tell me we’re related a few days ago, and that I needed to come with you! I told you already, I don’t have a brother, or any siblings for that matter. My name is Charles. Now, where the fuck am I? And who are you people!?” Charles pulled hard on his restraints once again, finding no give in the unrelenting hold. “Untie me,” he spat at the blonde who hadn't come any closer.
“You're in space,” the prince answered firmly, abrasive and final. “Cut off his bindings,” he instructed, voice rough and deep, bringing back those good butterflies from earlier.
The tan man approached until he was even with the blonde, before he offered his rebuttal. “Shouldn’t we wait ‘til we get him back to our quarters?”
“Are you refusing a direct order, Carlos?” the blonde sneered, barely veiled irritation straining that rugged voice. This ‘prince’ was most certainly the one in charge of the three, and a prickly one at that.
Carlos quickly did as instructed, removing the bindings holding Charles' arms behind him with a small blade hidden beneath his chest plate. Releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding, Charles visibly relaxed, if only slightly. Now having his arms free to defend himself, he rubbed at his sore wrists and forearms where the binding left thick red lines on his skin.
Charles tried his best to not look frightened, as his large, bright green eyes danced nervously between the three men.
“Who are you people and where am I?” He was trying to work out in his head how to get to the door without starting another scuffle. His head still pounded, and whatever drugs they gave him made his tongue feel like cotton. Maybe he could take out the first two, but the big guy seemed like a problem.
“I've already told you Perceval. Don’t make me repeat myself. I'll not tolerate such foolishness,” the blonde crossed his arms over his chest again, body language reeking of vexation. “We are in space ,” he repeated anyway.
“I–I meant why are we . . . why are we in space? And you never said who you people were. Where are my friends? Did you hurt them too?” Charles started wringing his hands together, questions rushing out faster than answers could be given.
Were his friends here? Are they hurt or worse? Charles bristled with anger, letting it bleed out in his questions. Before he could ask more, he was silenced by the prince.
“Enough!” The outburst made his knees wobble, anger instantly forgotten. The prince noticed his change in demeanor and tried his best to relax his posture again, checking the time. “We'll start over shall we, and you’d do best to watch your tone when conversing with me.”
The trio kept glancing at each other having an entire conversation with their stony eyes. Charles sensed the tension, but wasn't exactly sure of the cause. The prince started again, “My name is Max. Your planet . . . what was the name Carlos?”
“Earth, my prince,” he responded quickly, and appeared to be checking the time.
So that was the issue . . . they needed to hurry. He would try and buy as much time as possible in that case. Who knows where else they planned to take him next.
“Right, your Earth is being assessed for its market value–”
His train of thought screeched to a halt. “Value? What are you talking about? By who? Who are you people!?”
“If you’d stop interrupting me with your asinine questions, maybe everything would be clearer! Fuck’s sake,” Max snarled fiercely. Charles' mouth agape, quickly snapped shut, his knees wobbling again. Max, at least that's what he said his name was, took a steadying breath through his nose and began again, even toned.
“Your planet is being targeted by the Planetary Trade Organization, or we are better known as the PTO. If deemed profitable, it will be depopulated and sold to any interested group seeking expansion. Jos is the emperor of the PTO and warlord to this army. This . . . ” gesturing his arms to the space around them, “ . . . is his ship. Carlos was sent as a scout to Earth for resource assessment when he found you. You,” he pointed at him for dramatic effect, "are a Torossian, Perceval, like us.”
Charles blinked once, then twice, confusion and frown lines etched deep into his forehead. This isn't real . . . this can't be real? His thoughts were a storm. “You're lying. This has to be some kind of bad joke. Did Lando put you people up to this?” He would beat him to a pulp the next time he saw him, week long truce or not.
Max pinched the bridge of his nose between his gloved fingers, hard. Charles could envision the mark it would leave on his skin. Waving his hand dismissively at Carlos, the prince turned around and headed for the door as he said, “Finish explaining to him and answer this moron's questions. Then take him back to our quarters and keep him unseen. If he tries to run or doesn't comply, come find me.”
Charles watched him leave and couldn't help admiring that bodysuit from behind as he went back out the metal door. He started to speak again, but was quickly silenced by the hard look Carlos was giving him.
“We don’t have time to explain every little thing to you,” Carlos said as he leaned on the counter behind him. “The short of it, is that your planet is being scouted and we had to get you off. You’re a Torossian and my younger brother.”
When it looked like he’d finished speaking, Charles tried again, relaxing his deep frown into a more neutral expression as he slid down the wall behind him to sit on the floor cross-legged. “What's a Torossian?”
“As Prince Max previously stated, we are Torossians. He and I, as well as Alonso over there, are all members of a warrior race feared for our battle power and military prowess.”
Charles glanced at the large man Carlos used his thumb to point to over his shoulder. Alonso hadn’t been paying even the slightest bit of attention since the prince left the room, seeming more content to rub at some mystery stain on his bodysuit.
“Race, as in . . . an alien race? You said you had to bring me here, off planet Earth, so you're from somewhere else? Is that where we’re going?” Charles really was trying to keep up without angering the group any more than he already had.
Carlos shook his head solemnly, not making eye contact. “Our home world, Toro, was destroyed, as well as everyone on it long ago. We have no home and the Torossians on this ship are the only ones left.”
“How many are there on the ship?”
“Three. You make four.”
Charles was surprised how sad that news made him, to hear how few of his people were left. A people he didn't even know he was a part of until a minute ago. He'd always felt like an outsider with a sense of not quite fitting in among his friends on Earth. Could this be the explanation? He didn't fit in because he wasn't one of them all along?
He furrowed his brow again. There were so many questions. “What happened to the planet? Was it sold like the Earth ‘supposedly’ will be?” His doubts lingered that this whole thing was just an elaborate prank.
“Meteor,” Carlos said matter of fact, shifting his stance a little. “Nothing anyone could’ve done.”
“I'm sorry–,” Charles heard himself say before he could stop it. The deeply pained expression on the man's face told him it was a touchy subject and he should move on, clearly barred from getting more information on it. “What does this Jos need to sell planets for? People live down there, you know, my friends. Can't anyone stop this?”
“Money is power. Planets are a commodity just like anything else,” Carlos spoke flatly, checking the time again. “Jos conquers planets with his army and sells them to the highest bidder, while conquering the most resource rich planets for himself and the expansion of his empire. We, the Torossians, used to be enslaved for the army. There is no other race in the universe that could handle an army of Torossians in battle.”
“Used to . . . so you aren't slaves anymore?” Charles really was trying.
Carlos stiffened his posture, hardening his gaze. “We are captives. With so few in our numbers, we’re forced to swallow our pride.”
If all this was true . . . Charles shot up from his seated position on the floor, wheels in his head spinning rapidly. “You brought me here to be a slave!? Took me from my home, my friends!” The realization of his situation settled in. Charles' mind churned with a tempest of anger and confusion. “I will not be part of this. Take me home.”
Alonso looked up from his musings at Charles' loud voice and pushed off the wall he was leaning against, coming to stand beside Carlos, with his arms crossed and impossibly thick neck flexed in aggravation.
“You aren't a slave," Carlos went on, "Jos doesn't even know you're here. We couldn't let another of our dying race languish on a doomed planet.”
With the duo clearly losing patience, Charles decided not to back down this time. He needed answers to his questions. Were they telling him the truth? These people didn't seem like they would make something as serious as this up. “H–how do I know you're even telling the truth? How'd you know I'm a . . . Torossian?” The word felt strange on his tongue, heavy and foreign.
Carlos rolled his eyes while sighing, evidently almost out of patience. “Look, you used to have a tail, didn't you? One that looks something like this?” Carlos stood up straight, pulling his armored chest plate up slightly to reveal a furry black tail wrapped tightly around his waist like a belt. He let the tail unwind from its safe position and waved it in the air beside him. The knowing look on Carlos’ face morphed into a full smirk at the horrified expression Charles wore.
“HOW . . . c–could you know that? I lost it years ago?” His gaze locked in on that tail, memories flooding in of his soft reddish-brown tail he had had when he was younger. He never wrapped it around himself like Carlos did, loving the feeling of it blowing in the wind. Charles didn't want to remember how it was removed, just that the overseer of Earth said it was dangerous to have, and that it needed to be take care of.
Seeing Carlos’ tail so closely guarded also reminded him of how badly it would hurt when someone pulled on it or squeezed it tight. His whole body would go limp and immobile from the pain.
“I speak the truth, brother. You are one of us. A lifetime ago our parents sent you to Earth as a purge infant. Those were children who, when measured at birth, had such a low battle power they were seen as expendable and not worth the effort to raise and train to be a soldier. They were sent to other planets to grow and depopulate them on nights of the full moon.” Carlos’ had a look that almost resembled fondness in his eyes as he continued. “You never came back . . . and I didn't know what planet you'd been sent to or I would've come for you sooner.”
A sense of betrayal gnawed at him, as if the universe itself had conspired to keep him in the dark. Anger surged through him like a raging inferno, directed not just at the circumstances that led to this discovery, but also at his own ignorance and naivety. How could he trust anything anymore, knowing that his very identity was a lie? How could he come to terms with the fact that he was deemed expendable and sent away by his family?
Charles deflated at this realization, head spinning, reminding him of his headache that still simmered behind his eyes. After a moment of quick consideration, he stood and briskly crossed the room to where Carlos was standing next to Alonso, placing his hand on the well coiled steel of the man's forearm. “Please . . . I can't let Earth be destroyed. How can I stop this? What can I do?”
“There's nothing to be done. You can't challenge Jos, he's far too powerful. The man in here earlier, Prince Max, was one of the strongest warriors on Toro when it was destroyed. He was only ten years old then . . . already a prisoner after being taken by Jos and used as leverage over our king at the age of seven. The prince is one of the most powerful, highly skilled warriors alive. He fought Jos for our freedom many years ago . . . and lost. If you try anything of the sort, you’ll get us all killed. Jos doesn't know that you're here or even a Torossian, and it's best to keep it that way.”
Carlos took a deep steadying breath before slowly adding, “And we don't know for sure it'll be destroyed. The planet is just being scouted right now. It may be deemed not viable for sale . . . that is, if I change my scouting report.” Carlos leveled Charles with a heavy gaze, tone laced with implication.
Charles' thoughts flew behind his eyes as he quickly weighed his options. “If I–I agree to stay here with you, will you save them?” This was crazy, probably the worst idea he’s ever had, but he could see no alternative strategy.
“You'll not try to run away, and follow instructions?” Carlos’ voice had an edge to it that was new.
Charles remembered quickly that these men were trained mercenaries, planet purgers by their own admission. Was this a deal with the devil? There were really no other options, so he nodded his head once in confirmation, eyes locked in on the other man's.
“It's better this way, you’ll see, being amongst your own kind. I’ll report the Earth as nonviable.”
Charles couldn't feel happy even if he wanted to. He'd miss his friends dearly and visiting his father's grave, but this was the right decision . . . the only decision. “Thank you,” he removed his hand from Carlos’ arm, backing away a few steps. Charles grappled with a maelstrom of emotions, his fists clenched tight as he struggled to come to terms with this newfound reality, resentful of the fate that had bound him to a legacy he never asked for.
Alonso finally seemed to have had enough and cut in, “Can we get the fuck out of here already? My bunk is calling my name.” The brute twisted his neck with a loud pop enforcing his words.
The new group of three walked in line to the door, Charles dreading the decision he made already and mind heavy with thoughts of the faces of his friends; Lando, Lewis, Hannah, Pierre, Yuki, Esteban, and even Seb made his heart ache more than his pounding head.
When they got to the door of the living quarters, Alonso turned to Charles, clasping his large hand on his shoulder. “The cot will be yours.”
Definitely regretting this already.
Chapter 2: A Prince for an Emperor
Summary:
Turning his attention over to his second-in-command George, Jos flicked his wrist in the direction of the doors. “Leave us, this will be a private meeting . . .” He said, words laced with implication.
George bowed quickly to Jos before making his swift exit out the massive double doors, not sparing Max a second glance. The loud clang of them slamming shut caused panic to settle deep in Max's belly.
Notes:
Taking a look at the dynamic of the prince and the emperor. I will be posting another chapter this week on Thursday since this one is a little shorter than most.
This is NOT intended as an accurate portrayal of these people. The characters and relationships written are entirely fictional.
AGAIN, CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH, JOS IS NOT RELATED TO MAX IN THIS WORK!
Chapter warnings:
Graphic non-con, violence, blood and injury, sexual slavery.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Lord Jos has requested an audience with you immediately,” the woman's voice grated in the ear piece of his scouter. Max had taken it off when he went to see Per–Charles . . . whatever his name was, they all had since the devices recorded everything, but he'd hurriedly put it back on when it flashed indicating an incoming message.
The small wearable device hooked over the user's left ear with a large cuff and a translucent screen wrapped around the side of the wearer's face to hover over the eye, displaying various information. Its most important function was to scan biodata from any organic lifeform to search for energy levels and potential threats at a distance. Even with its helpful functions, the prince still hated wearing it and always took it off as soon as he returned to their living quarters.
Anxiety and dread poured down his spine like cold water after a gruesome battle and he clenched his fists tightly. Pressing the side of his scouter, he replied, “I'm on my way,” as evenly as he could muster.
He knew better than to keep his lord waiting long. Everything would be much worse if he didn't hurry when called. Yet, he still took a few moments to himself, running his fingers through his hair and sighing heavily.
Max stood up and strode confidently to the door of his bedroom knowing what was to come.
Jos was sitting on his throne when Max was announced at the large double doors. They swung open and with little ceremony, Max walked into the throne room. The large room had a high ceiling with pristine white tile covering every surface. Yellow oval lights were embedded along the walls between large porthole windows showing the immense blackness of space beyond.
Max always thought the room was too plain for his tastes. The palace throne room on Toro had a grand entrance with a long walk from the door to the foot of the stairs of the stone throne. An expanse of stone columns and stained glass painted the room in red, a constant reminder of the color of the ruling house sigil.
Jos’ sickening smile pulled him out of his thoughts as his eyes met that red stare. The same Torossian red he used to love, and now made him sick. Jos opened his arms in a mock fond greeting as he cooed, “Prince of Torossians.”
Turning his attention over to his second-in-command George, Jos flicked his wrist in the direction of the doors. “Leave us, this will be a private meeting . . . ” He said, words laced with implication.
George bowed quickly to Jos before making his swift exit out the massive double doors, not sparing Max a second glance. The loud clang of them slamming shut caused panic to settle deep in Max's belly.
Jos lounged on his floating throne, throwing a long leg over the edge of an arm. The ship-wide ban on flying didn't apply to Jos, and he liked to keep a visual reminder of his authority by floating above all others aboard.
He was not a particularly large man, but a full head taller than Max. Broad shouldered and toned, his thick lizard-like tail hung loosely down the front of the throne, dragging on the floor from its length. It was smooth to the touch, thicker than a fist at its base and tapered to a point at the tip.
Max stood stoically in front of Jos, right at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the throne. Jos looked down his pointed nose at Max, icy expression impossible to read.
“What is the status of Merc?” The lord asked, tapping his short talon like, black nails against the throne arm.
“Conquered, sire.”
“And what of Renault?”
“Conquered.”
Jos smiled widely at Max, who kept his expression neutral. “You are nothing if not efficient, my pet.”
“Thank you, sire.” Max kept his responses short and always right on the knife's edge of providing the required level of servile formality, but a mirth in his words to preserve even the smallest shred of dignity.
Jos brought his leg back in front of him, standing up from the throne. Pushing off the floor, effortlessly gliding through the air until he landed a few feet away from Max. Jos took hold of his chin tightly and forced Max's gaze to meet his horrid red eyes.
Max hated the feeling of his cold skin. As a frost demon, Jos’ skin always held a deathly cold to it that would chill any room the emperor walked into. Its tone, an unnatural grayish hue and slightly shiny appearance made for a frightening display for those not used to seeing it as much as the prince.
He wrenched his face from Jos’ grasp, earning an excited noise that escaped Jos. The creature always was excited by his defiance.
“Do what you called me here for . . . I have other battles to plan,” Max spat with disdain clear in his voice.
“Can't you spare a few moments for your master? Or are you eager to get back to conquering more planets for my empire.”
Max did not reply.
“My my . . . how far you’ve come Max. No more foolhardy ideas of Torossian supremacy. Now you follow my orders so well. Always so good for me, my pet.”
Max clenched his jaw so hard he heard his teeth squeak under the pressure. His knuckles were white, fists firmly at his sides. Jos clicked his tongue in displeasure, wrapping his lizard-like tail around Max's toned waist, right under where his tail was hiding beneath the chest plate and yanked him flush with his chest. Max bristled with discomfort, but made no effort to pull away, staying silent.
Reaching down, Jos ran his slender fingers over the fluffy tail Max always kept wrapped tightly around himself, guarded and safe. Max couldn't help the sudden jerk his body made when Jos tugged his tail away from his waist, pinching it lightly . . . testing the waters.
The small movement spread delight on Jos’ face and he tightened his grip on the fury appendage, rough and borderline painful.
“Stop,” Max ground out between his clenched teeth.
“Or what?” Jos quipped, using his free hand to grab Max's ass and pull their bodies even closer together.
Max's stoic demeanor broke, hands flying up from his sides to brace against Jos’ white armored chest, desperate to create some space between them. Undeterred, Jos moved the hand not holding the prince's tail from his ass to his cheek, grip tight, leaving marks on his skin.
Max tried to yank his head back away from the tight hold, but failed to gain distance from his tormentor. Reaching down to free himself from his almost seamless armor, Jos revealed his thin but long erection now on full display. Glancing down at the familiar sight, Max had to fight back the wave of nausea that engulfed him. The hand on his tail coiled, wrapping it around Jos’ palm like a dog leash, squeezing hard, straining the thin bones inside.
Max's shout rang out loudly echoing off the smooth walls in the throne room before he dropped to his knees with a thud, hands slipping off Jos’ chest and leaving his scrunched up face directly in line with the pitiful manhood.
In one practiced, fluid motion, Jos brought his hand to the back of Max's head and pulled him forward, erection slipping past the prince's lips and down his throat all in one go.
Max choked instantly and thrashed his arms wildly, attempting to gain purchase on anything to help break free from the firm grip on the back of his head. His booted feet pounded behind him in the struggle to get air back into his lungs.
Chuckling in delight, Jos only pressed him down further, burying Max's nose tightly against his cool, hairless skin. Momentarily releasing his hold long enough for Max to suck in a hurried gasp, Jos roughly bucked his hips forward, fucking his throat at a cruel pace. He tightened his harsh grip on Max’s hair, pulling hard and groaning. Only when tears started to gather in the corners of Max's eyes did Jos let go completely, sending Max tumbling backwards in a hurry to get away, sputtering and coughing violently.
Jos, not giving him a moment to catch his breath, quickly flew high above him, grabbing Max by the neck and lifting him into the air at arm’s length. Legs thrashing wildly beneath him while Jos floated higher off the ground, Max's hands wrapped tightly around Jos’ wrists to support his weight.
Max brought his leg up quickly between them and kicked harshly at the lord's jaw, connecting with its target in a grunt. Jos’ face barely registered the blow but that cruel smile slid off his face in a hurry, replaced by a hardened expression.
Jos dropped Max back to the floor where he scrambled to get on his feet quickly, breathing ragged. The emperor's tongue slid out, running over the small cut on his lip from the blow.
“Now why did you have to go and do a silly thing like that, pet?”
Max faced him head on, fists balled, prepared for a fight. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger and resentment bubbling up within him, a primal instinct deep in his hindbrain ready to lash out against the man who had taken so much from him and his people.
Beneath his anger, a deeper, more insidious emotion he would never acknowledge spread: fear. Fear of what Jos was capable of, fear of the power the lord wielded, and fear of never being able to escape this cruel fate.
Thick tail lashing out at blinding speed, Jos wrapped it around Max's ankle this time, and wrenched him up to collide with the ceiling before throwing him back to the ground. Tiles rained down from the ceiling in sharp broken pieces, cutting his arms and some of his face. Max cried out on impact with the floor and shielded his face from the falling shrapnel with his covered arms. That tail released his ankle, in favor of wrapping around his neck, holding him down. Clawing at the tail, Max kicked wildly in desperate attempts to break free.
He knew what came next, the inevitable suffering he would receive for his resistance. Yet he struggled on, pride never allowing him to give in.
No, he would always fight until the bitter end.
Jos floated lazily above him, bringing red eyes down inches away from Max's.
“You belong to me,” he spat so close to Max's face that the prince could smell the rancid breath tickling his cheeks before his legs were forced roughly apart.
“Stop! Get off me, you disgusting creature!”
Max’s hopeless demand echoed off the barren throne room walls, growling deep inside his chest with the efforts to resist. Falling on deaf ears, Max's struggles to keep his legs closed against the impossibly firm grip were futile.
The sound of seams tearing open filled his ears and his eyes slid closed, not wishing to see that lustful glint in Jos’ eye he knew so well.
“Since you chose to strike me,” words ground spitefully into his ear, “there will be no prep for you.”
Max turned his head to the side, biting into his tongue so harshly it bled. Anything to not utter a sound.
They’d now reached the mental part of this battle. Jos’ insatiable need to make him cry out on one side, and Max’s steadfast refusal to do so on the other. This war had been waged for many years, neither side willing to give in and admit defeat. Steeling his mind, Max took a deep breath in through the nose.
Today would not be the day the war was lost.
Max jerked as that putrid spindly erection, barely slick with his spit, roughly entered him. Jos grunted into his ear before taking the lobe between his teeth, biting down hard.
He would not make a sound. Today would not be the day.
“Cry out for me, mighty Prince of Torossians, a prince without a home, a prince of nothing.”
Bits of broken tile dug into his back as he rocked with a brutal pace against the floor. Max gulped back a mouth full of blood from his tongue as the angle changed, deeper . . . pace picking up. Sparks of despair and pain shot up his spine with every rocking motion of his body on the cold floor.
A laugh sounded above him, rough and full of lust, making his nausea return with vengeance. Jos fucked even harder, chasing his own pleasure with complete disregard for the agony he inflicted on his favorite toy.
Max knew there was blood, there always was when he didn’t receive even the most pitiful excuse of preparation from his tormentor, and small grunts of pain slipped past his lips, the only sounds he would let leave him. Unshed tears of fury pricked behind his closed eyes, but Max would not let them fall.
Not in front of him.
After some time, Max recognized the telltale signs that Jos was almost finished. Thrusts grew erratic, his breathing became shallow and grunts louder. The emperor bit down hard on Max’s ear, causing more damage as he bottomed out and came with a rumbling groan.
Max despised the feeling of the cold liquid that filled his core. The deep chill from within his belly took his breath away, shuddering at the thought of how full he felt. It was always so much . . . too much.
The offensive appendage withdrew from his limp form with a sickening gush that followed. Standing to his full height, Jos left Max breathless on the floor, glaring at the state of him. Max drew in a quick breath when the tail pinning him to the floor uncoiled from around his neck. It left his body only for a moment, before quickly returning in the form of a heavy smack to his abdomen, causing more of the chilly liquid to gush from his abused hole.
Max struggled under the weight of knowing he was unable to defend himself against his tormentor, leaving him feeling utterly humiliated and used like a cheap whore. How dare Jos treat him with such contempt. How dare he reduce Max to this. Staring up at him from the floor defiantly, Max swallowed hard. He was the prince of his people, and no amount of pain or suffering could change that fact.
Jos picked up a torn piece of Max’s bodysuit, which he then used to clean himself off and threw the shred of cloth at him.
“Clean yourself up, this is no way for a prince to present himself. Out of my sight.”
Notes:
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Chapter 3: Alone
Summary:
Long sessions of meditation with his father before he’d died had prepared him for this journey, it seemed, and he was grateful. If there were going to be many long stretches like now, he was glad for the practice, even if his heart ached at the memories. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him when the door to the quarters hissed open.
Notes:
Chapter 3 as promised!
Thank you for the comments! They are very helpful in keeping me motivated to write this and I have A LOT more planned. Would love to hear more of your thoughts so far about anything.
Chapter warnings:
SA recovery, referenced violence, referenced blood and injury.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Charles rested his chin on his folded hands, knees tucked up under him tight, deep in thought. The corridor that led to the Torossians’ quarters was plain and unassuming, the curved smooth metal walls and cool hard floors were devoid of all other life and color. Bright fluorescent-like strips of light lined both sides of the ceiling with dark plated metal running down the center. Doors to different suites or God knows what were hard to identify along the walls, seams all blending together along the patchwork of different metals and recessed panels.
Carlos and Alonso had shown him the cot they were able to steal from the supply wing without being noticed, and he hadn’t left it since. The shared space was simple: two conjoined beds made of a metal frame pushed up against the largest wall of the room with two porthole windows, a few cabinets with a sink countertop along the opposite wall, and Charles’ cot set up in the corner with a good view out into the void of deep space. Charles had avoided looking at it for too long, hoping if he closed his eyes, he could imagine still being at home in the mountains, smelling fresh rain in the morning.
The room also had a recessed door on the opposite wall from the metal beds. Charles’ curiosity got the better of him, and he asked the big guy, “Where does that door lead?” He pointed his finger at the closed door.
Alonso looked up from the locker he was digging through to see what Charles was referring to. “That’s Prince Max’s room. He’s still considered a member of the royal family between us. He values privacy, and we agree. Do not, ever, go in that room unless invited by the prince himself.”
Alonso finished rummaging in the locker and made his way over to where Charles was still curled up on the cot, leaning his back against the wall. The elder Torossian set down a small pile consisting of an extra blanket, a pillow, and a small hard yellowish bar that appeared to be soap. Charles thanked him quietly to which Alonso offered only a small nod and grunt. He left after that, and Charles was alone with his thoughts.
The young Torossian closed his eyes, and with each measured breath, he sought to calm the storm of emotions raging within him. The realization of his true identity had shattered his sense of belonging. He was now plagued by a constant inner struggle, torn between the familiarity of his past life on Earth and the daunting prospect of embracing his new found kin and alien surroundings.
Even though they were all bound by a shared heritage, thrust into an unfamiliar world beyond their control, Charles felt like a stranger in his own skin and amongst them. He contemplated the absurdity of not finding a sense of belonging among strangers, even if they were all held captive together and shared a common goal. Beneath the surface of his unease was a more profound sense of identity crisis—a questioning of who he was and where he belonged in the cold, unfamiliar universe. Was he still the same person he had been on earth? Or had these new revelations irrevocably changed him in ways he couldn’t yet fully grasp.
Long sessions of meditation with his father before he’d died had prepared him for this journey, it seemed, and he was grateful. If there were going to be many long stretches like now, he was glad for the practice, even if his heart ached at the memories. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him when the door to the quarters hissed open.
In walked a man, and at first, Charles didn't recognize him based on the state of his appearance. After a moment of staring, mouth agape, Charles realized it was Prince Max looking very worse for wear. The prince froze at the sight of him, clearly not expecting anyone to be in the room.
Max had a towel wrapped tightly around his waist, covering his bottom half. There were small cuts and bruises on his arms and face, accompanied by blood running down from the side of his head over his neck. The blood had leached into the high neckline of his bodysuit, turning the navy blue color black.
Charles leapt off the makeshift bed, crossing the room in two strides, and gently reached out to try and look at the side of Max’s head. “Are you alright? Max—what happened? Was there a fight?”
The worry etched all over his face deepened when Max recoiled from his outstretched hand and the prince scowled at him. Charles quickly retracted his arm and took a step back to give the prince some room.
“Do not concern yourself,” Max curled his lip in a rage and strode past him heading right for his private room. Charles followed only inches behind.
“Max, you’re bleeding! At least let me hel—”
The door to the private room slammed down shut in his face.
For a few moments, Charles stayed rooted in place right outside the door, stunned and processing what he just witnessed. Max was clearly hurt, but Alonso’s words rang in his ears: ‘Do not ever go in that room unless invited.’
He sighed in defeat and walked back to his cot, taking the contemplative position from earlier. His thoughts quickly drifted back to the image of Max in his mind's eye, heart clenched with concern at the sight of the regal figure now battered and bleeding.
There was clearly blood, a decent amount on the side of his neck. The cuts on his arms didn’t look serious, but he’d moved to the door with a twitch in his step. Had he hurt his leg as well? And if so, why would Max lie about getting in a fight? Charles corrected himself quickly. He didn't lie . . . he just told him not to worry about it.
Confusion mingled with frustration as Charles struggled to comprehend the prince's stubborn insistence on refusing help, especially in the face of evident distress. Beneath the prince's stoic facade, Charles felt a deeper turmoil in the way the prince had looked at him, a prideful reluctance to show vulnerability or accept assistance from anyone.
His frenetic thoughts were interrupted by the return of Alonso to the living quarters carrying an armful of some kind of containers. He lumbered across the room before setting them down on the counter in the corner.
“Perceval, I brought some food. Eat,” Alonso instructed, eyes focused on unstacking the items.
Charles rolled his eyes and got up again and approached the counter, suddenly starving at the sight of food.
“My name is Charles. Please, call me Charles.”
Alonso glanced at him for a moment, arms still working at the pile. “Charles,” Alonso said flatly, “eat.”
He didn't need to be told again.
Charles picked up one of the containers with what looked like some kind of a stew inside and quickly took off the lid before tipping it to his lips. There wasn't much to it, just some broth with vegetables and meat, but he finished the whole container and hurriedly went back for a second.
“You’ve a strong appetite, good for battle.”
Charles guessed that was as close to a compliment he would get out of the burly, mostly silent man. Finishing his second container of stew, he started to think about a third when he decided instead to ask Alonso about what he’d seen earlier. “Alonso, Max came in a short while before you came back, looking like he’d been in a fight. I tried to help him, but he just shut the door in my face.” Charles glanced back to the door that hadn’t budged since the man went through it.
“Prince Max, Charles. That's his title, and you will show respect,” Alonso answered without looking up from the container of food he was eating. It looked like some kind of meat on a stick. The older man’s brow furrowed into a hard line, and he quickly looked at Charles as though he had just realized what he’d said. “Wait—what did you say?”
“M—Prince Max came in looking like he'd been in a fight.” Charles wilted under the angry glare that Alonso shot his way, but the man nodded his head indicating for him to continue. “I—I tried to help him but—”
Alonso abruptly cut him off. “What did you see?” he ground out roughly between his tightly clenched jaw.
Charles took a second, not sure if he should tell him, dumbfounded as to why Alonso would be angry at him for trying to help the prince. Why was everyone here so upset with him? He’d never asked to be here in the first place.
Despite Alonso's hostility, Charles remained resolute in his determination to understand the truth behind what'd just happened, recognizing that this new hostage-like situation demanded a level of honesty and solidarity, even between them, especially between them. Deciding that he still needed answers, Charles continued, “He came in with blood on his neck from the side of his face, and there were cuts and scrapes on his arms. I couldn't see anything below the waist due to the towel, but . . . I think he hurt his leg the way he was slightly limping?”
Charles looked away from Alonso’s intense gaze to the floor where Max had been standing frozen when the prince spotted him . . .
There, on the floor, were a few drops of blood and some other mysterious liquid he hadn’t noticed until now. The subtle trail led all the way to the door of the prince’s private room.
Alonso followed Charles’ stupefied gaze to the drops before quickly growling low in warning to draw his attention away from the sight. “Shut your mouth, and listen to me very carefully,” Alonso started, firm and resolute while stepping into his space and crowding Charles against the counter. “You will hear this once and then you will never speak of this again, understood?”
Charles nodded his head affirmatively for the elder to continue. Alonso closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath through his nose and letting it out his mouth. “On occasion, Prince Max will return from audiences with Emperor Jos with some . . . injuries, but he can take care of himself. You are forbidden to ask him any more questions about this.”
“He fought with Jos!?” Charles hissed, now more confused than ever. “Why would he do that? Carlos said that he fought Jos before and lost, so why would he do it again? Are they training together or som–”
“ENOUGH!” Alonso all but exploded at him, stabbing down the stick he was eating off of and snapping it on the counter. “This is the prince's private business. You will not discuss it further.”
“B–but he,” Charles looked over to the closed door again. Had he done something wrong? Had he inadvertently crossed some unspoken boundary obvious to everyone but him? As he stood there, facing Alonso's wrath, Charles couldn't help but feel an even stronger sense of disillusionment creeping over him—a realization that perhaps he was truly alone in this new world, with no one to trust but himself. “Yes, Alonso,” he resigned.
Charles hung his head, not hungry anymore. He set his food on the counter and made his way back to the little cot. Curling in on himself, Charles tucked his nose down in the neckline of his hoodie. It still smelled of his home, pine sap and smoke, which helped settle him a little as he watched Alonso finish eating quickly, then exit the quarters again, leaving the Earthling alone.
_____
Max quickly removed the remnants of his bodysuit after taking his chest plate off, and ripped his gloves off by the pointer finger with his teeth. He stepped into the small shower stall of his ensuite, blasting the water as hot as it would go. Letting it pour down his back, he scrubbed violently between his legs as the pink water ran down the drain.
Once it was clear again, he continued scrubbing hard at the rest of his body and the side of his neck, seeking to purge any layers of skin touched by the warlord. His hand caught on something sharp in his lower back, causing him to pause his aggressive movements. With a grunt, he wrenched the object out and let it clatter to the floor of the stall behind him. He didn't need to see it to know it was tile from his impact with the ceiling and pink swirled the drain once more.
Facing the shower head, he opened his mouth, sticking out his tongue, letting water rush down his throat. It burned all the way down but helped soothe away that unbearable icy feeling in the depths of his core. After gargling and spitting, he placed both hands against the wall, hanging his head down between his shoulders under the scalding spray. Steam completely engulfed the tiny space and here, he could let go. Clamping his jaw tightly shut, quiet sobs wracked his body as he shook silently under the downpour.
Shame, anger, and a profound sense of violation threatened to engulf him as he sought to rid himself of the physical and emotional residue of the ordeal. Max hated himself, even after all these years knowing what awaited him when Jos beckoned. He should be used to it by now, and shouldn't fight it. That always made it worse. But he couldn't let himself be pliant or willing.
His pride would never allow it.
He considered for a moment what would happen if he simply refused to go when summoned again, but those thoughts were pushed away as quickly as they came. He knew what would happen . . . Jos would come for him and take his pleasure anyway, without so much as a care for who was around to bear witness. He couldn’t go on if his last few loyal subjects were included in the gallery.
Who could respect him after a display like that, prince or no prince?
Max cursed these tears of weakness as he lost himself in the raging torrent he stood under. He hated the power that Jos held over him, and loathed his destined role of being his favorite toy to degrade and humiliate whenever the bastard felt like it.
The water turned cold and Max stepped out, running a towel over his face and hair. He glanced in the foggy mirror, doing his best to not let his gaze linger. He needed to appear strong and always in control for his followers, even if he knew the truth about his weakness.
Max remade the scowling mask ever-present on his face, but faltered at the image of Charles’ worried expression in his mind's eye. Those big doe eyes, so green, a rare color in the vast expanse of twisted metal and red that’d been his life until now. Painted with such genuine concern he couldn't stop picturing it. Max had to physically shake his head to clear it from his mind.
It was bad enough that Alonso and Carlos were aware of what happened during his ‘strategy meetings,’ but he couldn't bear the thought of Charles seeing him like that.
He was, after all, innocent in all this.
Despite the humiliation of being seen in such a raw and wounded state, Max found a sliver of solace in the presence of someone who, albeit unknowingly, bore witness to his pain and tried to help him. It had been so long since anyone other than Carlos and Alonso, who were honor bound to assist him, showed any kind of care for his state of wellbeing. After all, why would someone like Charles—a stranger in this alien world, with no reason to care for Max's safety—bother to show him any kindness at all? It didn't make sense to Max, who had grown accustomed to the cold indifference of those around him.
Max started to wonder whether he made the right choice in telling Carlos to bring the young Torossian onboard after reporting he was sure he’d located his missing brother while scouting Earth. Carlos had tried to convince Charles to come with him willingly but he’d refused, and Carlos couldn't make a scene that would’ve alerted the other men in the scouting party. When he returned, the three of them agreed Carlos would go back alone, using the excuse of needing to double check some resource estimates and return with Charles in tow.
An agreement was made between the three of them many years ago. If any of their group came across another Torossian during the endless missions aimed at expanding Jos’ empire, they’d keep them safe using any means necessary. If the planet was going to be purged, he was safer with them than back there, but only if Jos didn't know who or more importantly what Charles was.
Max grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. How could Charles have asked him so blatantly about his injuries? Alonso and Carlos gave him some semblance of dignity by pretending they didn't see how hurt he got, even going so far as to leave him alone for a few hours after he returned from an audience.
His grimace turned into an angry contortion. Did Charles truly believe Max had gotten into something he couldn't handle? Like he would ask him for help even if he did? Max scoffed at the thought.
“Idiot,” he muttered to himself.
Turning away from the mirror, he quickly picked up the tattered bodysuit from the floor and tossed it in the incinerator shoot. He dressed in a hurry as he walked back into his bedroom, putting on off-duty clothes and heading for the door while wincing at his unsteady gait.
_____
Charles startled as the door to the prince’s room slid open without warning, hand falling from his mouth where he’d been chewing on the skin around his thumb. He hadn’t been sitting long, since Alonso left to take dinner to Carlos who was still on duty on the navigation deck.
Frozen in place as he stared at the prince, Charles took in his new appearance, so different from how he looked before. Max was wearing a long-sleeved snug black shirt with loose navy lounge pants that hung low on his hips, revealing a strip of pale skin. He was barefoot and gloveless with beads of water dripping down from the back of his soft looking dirty blonde hair. Charles' eyes zeroed in on his arm as the prince reached up, running his fingers through the damp hair, flexing a chiseled bicep visible through the material.
Again with those butterflies. What was with him today?
Max again seemed caught off guard by his presence, clearly not used to anyone sharing their quarters at this time of the evening. Absent-mindedly biting his lip, Charles was lost in thought before he stood up from the cot and timidly motioned towards the counter. “Alonso brought food, if you’re hungry.”
Max lingered in his doorway for a moment before answering, “Very well,” and made his way over to the counter, sifting through the containers.
Charles wasn’t sure what to do then. This was a prince, right? Should he stay standing in his presence or wait for Max to sit somewhere before sitting back down? Were there more unspoken rules he would break by unknowingly making the wrong gesture?
His thoughts were interrupted by the prince, who without turning to look back spoke, “Were there more of these?”
Charles paled slightly, looking at the familiar container Max was holding up for him to see: the same container he’d already eaten two of earlier.
“Y–yes, there were two more earlier. Were they yours? I–I didn't know, and I–I ate them . . . ” Great, now he was really in for it. If just offering help got him a tongue lashing, he hated to find out what eating the prince’s food earned him this time. Charles shifted nervously in front of the cot, wringing his hands together before quickly bending at the waist with head bowed. “I'm sorry P–Prince Max, forgive me.”
Max turned around fully then and assessed the curled form Charles had taken. He straightened up to meet the prince's eyes, the deep cerulean orbs immediately had his cheeks tinted pink and the prince looked unsure if he should be angry or amused.
“Enough of that, there's plenty more here,” he said, amusement present in his usually gruff voice as he made a dismissive gesture. The prince picked up a similar container to the one Alonso ate from earlier and leaned back against the counter, crossing his ankles while removing the lid.
Charles sat back down and another soft, “Sorry,” escaped his lips. He felt grateful that he hadn’t made another mistake. The feeling was short lived as the prince turned his gaze to him once more, but with a stern expression this time. Looking up at that angry stare, Charles realized he’d sat down without asking if it was okay to do so and cursed himself. Before Max could say anything, Charles rushed out, “I've never been around a prince before, I’m not sure how I should act. I'm sorry—”
“Stop this nonsense. You're Torossian. Carry yourself with pride and dignity. You dishonor yourself with these apologies.” His voice was rough with an edge of something Charles couldn't quite pinpoint. Almost like the tone one’s voice had after overuse or a sore throat.
Charles all but swallowed his tongue to avoid apologizing again, and he briefly reflected on his interactions with the prince and the other Torossians so far with a heavy sense of self-reproach. He couldn’t help but berate himself for the seemingly constant stream of mistakes and missteps he’d made, and he was starting to get frustrated. After Max went back to eating quietly, he tried to fill the awkward silence. “Right, I guess I'm Torossian now.”
“You were always Torossian, Charles,” Max said, more gruffly than perhaps intended based on the face he made. As annoyed and angry as the prince seemed at his presence, Charles couldn't bring himself to really be upset by the man's abrasiveness, even when all he was doing was trying his best to be respectful, taking everything in stride. “Come, eat.” Max jutted his chin to the side in the direction of the food on the counter.
Even though he already ate, Charles couldn't pass up this opportunity to try and get to know the prince. There was just something about him that drew Charles in a little, like a moth to a flame, instinctual almost. He'd never felt such a strong pull to be near someone before. The prince's piercing blue eyes sent electricity down Charles’ spine right to his tail spot at its base, gaze wrapped around him like chains pulling him closer.
Charles felt his eyes linger on the prince, drawn to the subtle nuances of his expression, the gracefulness of his movements, and the quiet strength that seemed to radiate from within him. Still sitting on his cot, Charles asked, “Would you like to come and sit here to eat? I can go sit on the floor so you don't have to stand.”
Max crossed the room with intention and placed his big palm flatly over Charles' chest as he made to stand up again.
“Stay.”
The single syllable had his stomach doing somersaults and his heart beating uncontrollably. The firm palm was warm and resolute in its mission to keep him on the cot.
When Charles nodded absently, brain completely shorting out with the weight on his chest, Max removed his hand and sat down on the cot, crossing his legs under him and holding out a skewer with the mystery meat for Charles to take. He accepted the peace offering and took a bite before he could say anything else that displeased the prince. The mystery meat was actually delicious and tasted a bit like chicken.
“So, I take it you decided to stay after Carlos explained the situation? No need for a fight?” Max said, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
Charles wasn't sure if he should mention the part about Carlos changing his scouting report, so he settled for, “Not much of a choice really, but he explained the basics to me. I’m sorry about Toro.” Charles winced at the fact he apologized again, but the prince didn't seem to notice, a distant look in his eye. Charles continued, “It's been a tough day all around, I guess. Found out my home could be destroyed by an evil warlord, and I’m part of a dying race with four people left, so . . . it's like this.”
He couldn't shake the nagging doubts that plagued his mind: doubts about his own worthiness if he was sent away by his family, doubts about his ability to live up to the legacy of valor and resilience that defined their storied lineage the three of them seemed to cherish so much.
His home being destroyed was just an added bonus.
Max caught his eye then. “It possibly won't be destroyed, if the resource expenditure to purge is too great. The profit ratio would have him look at other planets in a nearby star system.”
Charles' lips pulled up into a half grin for a moment before falling back into a deep frown. “But that just means another planet will be sold then instead, yes?”
“Jos has a buyer looking for something suitable in this region. One of them will be sold," Max said all too matter of fact for his liking and took another bite. The prince shifted on the cot and hissed softly before schooling his expression quickly.
Charles bit off another piece of the skewered meat in response and chewed for a while, contemplating his next move. Even though he looked fine, the prince was still hurt from his fight with Jos, and the memory of Carlos’ deadly warning about confronting the emperor directly came to mind. An error like that could jeopardize any chance of escape. Undeterred by his thoughts, the wild idea of testing his strength against the prince in a friendly spar excited him. This would offer a safer alternative to satisfy his curiosity and gauge his own abilities and place on this ship. It was worth a shot asking the prince.
“Would it be okay if you and I sparred some time?”
Sucking in a quick breath and taking in a piece of food with it, Max broke off in a violent coughing fit. “W–what did you say?” His eyes were watery as he continued to clear his throat.
“Carlos said I shouldn't try and fight Jos because he’s too powerful. I figured maybe you and I could, so I can see where I stand.”
With one final cough, Max mustered the most stern look he could with his face splotchy red and eyes teary. “You will not approach Jos under any circumstances . . . Do I make myself clear?”
Charles contemplated for a moment, carefully considering his words. He was getting tired of everyone telling him what to do. “Fine, but will you at least spar with me?” Charles put on his best hopeful look with the bright doe eyes that always got him what he wanted on Earth.
“Yes, Charles, we can spar some time.”
Notes:
Comments are always welcome. Come say hi on tumblr and check out this Chapter's inspo images!
Chapter 4: In Your Blood
Summary:
'Electricity sparked around the two men, ki bright and rolling off their bodies in waves of intense, almost blinding color. Max was astonished at the raw power Charles showed in their spar, but he lacked the grace and technical mastery a true warrior developed over decades of hard war. Despite being outmatched, Charles was bouncing on his toes, sporting a huge smile on his face.
The prince chuckled, “Can’t you see Charles? It's in your blood, you love to fight like a true Torossian,” the prince said as he easily evaded Charles' attack.'
Notes:
New tags have been added!
Since I know most people are unfamiliar with the source universe I'm using for this, I'll provide examples of key DBZ aspects mentioned in the chapter on my tumblr.
Chapter Warnings: Graphic non-con, violence, blood and injury, death, sexual slavery.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“How are we supposed to keep him hidden on this damn ship? There are cameras everywhere!” Carlos hissed at Alonso.
The elder was sitting on his bunk with eyes closed, leaning heavily against the wall. It was early the next morning before their duty shifts started, and Charles was still fast asleep. Carlos stood up, sliding on a tight red band, nestling it firmly high up on his left thigh, followed by the matching one on his left upper arm.
The dark-haired Torossian continued his complaints, “First of all, he needs new clothes, that bright red draws too much attention.”
Alonso didn't seem nearly as worried as Carlos, which frustrated him further. He couldn’t help the feeling that keeping Charles hidden on the ship was not only a bad idea, but would also be a monumental task–one fraught with possible danger and uncertainty. But more than that, Carlos worried about the potential repercussions if Charles were to be discovered–not the repercussions for Charles, but for the prince. Carlos knew that Max’s safety was paramount, and the thought of anything so preventable as this situation jeopardizing that, filled him with dread.
They already couldn't afford to let their guard down, not even for a moment, and Charles’ presence onboard only added to the mounting pressure and stress of their situation.
“I’m serious Alo–”
“Have you so little faith in our prince? It's already been taken care of while you went back to fetch him,” Alonso remarked gruffly. Carlos glanced over at the closed bedroom door and back to the elder, scrunched brows now a little less worried. “I talked to a friend on the cleaning team, and they’re dropping off an extra battle suit along with a cleaning crew outfit in our laundry delivery today, so we have both depending on if the need for disguise arises.”
Feeling guilty for not thinking their prince had the matter completely in hand, Carlos asked, “Did you tell them what it was for?”
“Of course not, you fool!”
The pair looked over when Charles groaned, rolling his body over on the cot from his back to his side, facing away from them. Alonso stood from his bunk and headed for the door. “Get to your post.”
_____
When Charles awoke in the desolate living quarters, he stretched out with a big yawn, like a cat unspooling. He had no idea what time it was without the familiar yellow rays of the sun. Instead, there was only endless blackness outside the porthole windows.
He was suddenly homesick. The stark, cold, unfamiliar surroundings of the Torossian suite only served to intensify his longing for the warmth of Earth's sun and he shivered, feeling adrift.
A small bundle at the foot of the cot drew his attention when he sat up. There was a note on top with the most beautiful, elegant handwriting he’d ever seen. It read;
Discard your clothes in the incinerator shoot and put these on.
I will come to retrieve you later .
— M
Charles traced his fingers over the letters, imagining Max's big hand, heavy and firm on his chest yesterday, producing such delicate strokes. God . . . what was wrong with him? He smacked his right cheek, quickly chasing away the foreign, indecent thoughts from his mind. His friends would never let him hear the end of it if they knew what he was thinking right now, especially Lando.
Gratitude mingled with uncertainty as Charles grappled with the weight of Max's promise in the note. Following the note's instructions exactly, Charles dressed himself in the all gray bodysuit provided, with white boots but no gloves. Locating the incinerator shoot was no problem, since he stumbled upon it yesterday while exploring the living quarters during his alone time.
Charles slowly took his hoodie off and brought it up to his nose one last time. It smelled of pine trees and firewood around his mountain hut, and he said a small prayer of forgiveness before reluctantly letting it fall into the opening on the wall. The fabric, a symbol of familiarity and comfort, now felt like a relic of a life left behind, a reminder of the innocence and ignorance that had defined his existence before the forced revelation of his true heritage.
The matching red pants along with the note soon followed after, destined for the fire's erasure.
The bodysuit was surprisingly comfortable and stretchy, a one-size-fits-all type thing. Deceptively warm given the material’s thin nature, Charles looked down to admire how it fit snugly. The dark gray fabric showed off the hard lines of his toned body, and was accompanied with a matching white and gold chest plate that he opted to leave on his cot.
The note didn't say anything about his bracelets, and Charles decided he couldn't part with those. At least, not yet.
Deciding to test out his new suit a bit to help alleviate his growing restlessness, he went through a full body workout routine on the floor in the middle of the room. He decided against using any ki techniques, since he didn't know about the quality of the ship’s construction and using them without a proper outlet always left him unsatisfied. His father–or rather adopted father, he supposed–was a martial artist, as well as the members of his small friend group back on Earth.
He not only learned from his father how ki worked but, most importantly, how to use it.
‘Ki, also known as "latent energy,” is the life force of the soul. It’s made up of three things: energy, courage, and mind. Once controlled, it’s used to enhance a warrior's strength, speed, and durability beyond their body's natural limits.’
Charles laid on the floor of the suite and let a small ball of ki flicker to life in his hand. Staring at the red-orange crackling energy, which appeared much like a small star hovering just slightly above his palm, he hoped there was somewhere on the ship he could train properly, or he might actually go insane. The desire to get stronger and push his limits was never chased away for long.
Keep pushing. Just like his father said.
Another important skill he was glad his father taught him, was how to sense other peoples ki energies. He noticed the other Torossians didn’t seem to have that ability without the use of that device they wore on their faces. He thought it curious that they only seemed to put it on when they left for duty, and no one commented on the almost overwhelmingly powerful dark energy lurking somewhere on the ship.
That had to be Jos, the energy was unlike anything he had ever felt before.
Mind wandering back to Earth, Charles thought about his friends. What would they think of this situation he’s in? Had they noticed he was missing? Would they ever know what happened to him? Charles tried his best to push the thoughts from his mind, but the occasional faces of his friends filtered in. Even the thought of never seeing Seb, the Guardian of Earth, again twisted ugly knots in his stomach.
They're safe, he reminded himself. He could do this to keep them safe.
_____
The air crackled with anticipation as Charles and Max squared off in the training room, their energies pulsating with raw power. Max, with his years of combat experience, exuded an aura of confidence as he assumed his fighting stance, muscles coiled like springs ready to unleash their fury.
Across from him, Max observed Charles whose eyes had a mixture of determination and apprehension, gaze locked in on his opponent as he prepared to strike. With a sudden burst of speed, the prince launched himself forward, fists blazing with energy as he unleashed a flurry of punches aimed at Charles' center mass.
With lightning-fast reflexes, Charles dodged and weaved through Max's attacks, but his movements were choppy and uncoordinated as he barely evaded each blow. Despite his agility, it was clear Charles was struggling to keep up with Max's relentless assault, and the prince backed off the sheer force of his strikes threatening to overwhelm the Earthling.
Electricity sparked around the two men, ki bright and rolling off their bodies in waves of intense, almost blinding color. Max was astonished at the raw power Charles showed in their spar, but he lacked the grace and technical mastery a true warrior developed over decades of hard war. Despite being outmatched, Charles was bouncing on his toes, sporting a huge smile on his face.
The prince chuckled, “Can’t you see Charles? It's in your blood, you love to fight like a true Torossian,” the prince said as he easily evaded Charles' attack.
Max had gone to collect him late in the day, when most of the crew were in the commissary and Max made him carry a stack of boxes up close to his face to hide from the cameras while they walked to a training room he knew had a broken one.
As the spar raged on, Charles seemed to tap into an inner reserve of strength, channeling his energy into a powerful counterattack. With a mighty roar, he unleashed a wave energy blast towards Max, the force of his attack sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Max, caught off guard by Charles' sudden display of power, barely managed to evade the onslaught, his forearms singed by the searing heat of the blast.
Undeterred, Max launched himself back into the fray, movements fluid as he danced around Charles, his strikes coming with precision and purpose.
He had to think quickly on his feet, thrown off a little by Charles' creativity and inventive movements that kept him guessing. His heart rate was elevated, breathing erratic, working harder than he had in years.
They danced across the training room floor at speeds hardly perceptible to the human eye and yet, their movements were a graceful symphony of strength and skill. Max found himself relishing the challenge presented by Charles' burgeoning prowess. He only needed some guidance to transform into a mighty adversary on the battlefield, and the prince was enthralled at the prospect.
Spars with Carlos and Alonso had become impossible in the last few years due to his strength engulfing both of their limited potentials. Charles, however, showed promise of even more strength to be unlocked, and that promise of having a partner who could push his limits for the first time excited him in ways he’d never dreamed of.
Times like these made him long for his people, to see those ruby red skies again and hear the roar of the arena from the imperial box. While he didn’t remember much of his home world now, what few memories remained were cherished. Max silently thanked the universe for bringing Charles into his life.
The prince saw an opening and with a roar, he head butted Charles with a loud crack, knocking him on his back hard. Charles let out a yelp of surprise at the uncharacteristic attack and Max leapt on top of him, sitting quickly on the Earthling’s stomach and pinning his wrists above his head. Their faces were but a breath apart, and for Max, time stood still. Only the sound of their panting filled the room.
A sudden realization dawned upon him—a revelation that sent shockwaves through his heart and mind. The warmth of Charles beneath him, the intensity of their shared gaze and mingling breath, sparked a fire within Max's soul unlike any he had ever experienced before.
The trance was finally broken by Charles leaning his head back blinking sweat out of his eye, chuckling as he said, “I yield, Prince Max.”
Max's heart skipped nervously at the use of his proper title while having a warm pliant body underneath him. Not just a body, a Torossian, strong and powerful. Charles' lips were red, face flushed pink from exertion, and a lopsided smile adorned his beautiful face. Max's breath caught in his throat making it hard to swallow as his thoughts ran wild.
Taken from his home when he was only seven, long before coming of age, Max had never experienced any traditional Torossian courting rituals. The only full blooded Torossians he'd spent time with since his abduction were his palace bodyguard and mentor Alonso, and his general's oldest son Carlos. He’d never felt any sort of attraction to either of the men in the twenty years they'd been together in this godforsaken hellhole. Even when Carlos warmed his bed for a short time, that hadn’t felt like this.
Why did this feel so different?
As he gazed down into Charles' eyes, Max felt a sense of vulnerability wash over him, a fear of the unknown mingled with the exhilaration of newfound desire. And yet, despite his confusion, Max was drawn to Charles’ genuine warmth and sincerity. There was something about the way Charles looked at him, with eyes that seemed to see beyond the walls Max erected around himself, that made the prince want to open up and let the younger man in even though he’d only known him a day.
Before he could do something he'd regret, Max quickly stood, freeing the pinned man while holding out his hand to help him off the floor.
“No need for such formality,” he said and turned around quickly, pretending to dust himself off while hiding a deep blush brought about from the sweaty state of the other. The smiling image of Charles beneath him didn't go away when he closed his eyes tight, sighing. He opened them and with a stern gaze again said, “We must go back. I need to get back on duty.”
Charles followed him silently back to their quarters, and Max tried but failed to keep a thin smile off his face.
Max's high for the next few weeks following the start of the pair's ritual sparring was doused with a bucket of ice water when Jos demanded another audience with him. Reality came crashing down, and he remembered who and more importantly what he was: Jos’ favorite plaything.
He couldn't let Charles get too close to him. He knew what would happen.
What was he thinking?
He'd let himself become too lax, temporarily forgetting his well practiced self discipline. Having dinners together and sparring in the evenings let him briefly ignore what he long knew to be true. As the realization of the danger inherent in his feelings for Charles settled like a heavy weight upon his chest, Max's mind raced with a tumult of anxiety and apprehension. He knew all too well the ruthless nature of Jos, and the lengths to which he would go to maintain his control over Max.
He was destined to be alone in his suffering until either he died in battle, or Jos finally grew bored of their game of wills. The last time he’d shown even a small remote interest in someone, Jos quickly torched that teenage dream of his.
A flicker of determination ignited within Max's soul, a resolve to protect Charles at all costs, even if it meant burying his own desires beneath a facade of indifference. He was hated and feared across the universe, what was one more person added to the list of many?
Max's thoughts ceased when he came to the end of that long familiar hallway of the throne room. Swallowing thickly and emptying his mind of all emotion, the double doors opened before him.
The sight that greeted him was new.
Jos, already undressed, had his cock buried down the throat of a young scout, gripping his neck tightly. The hairs on the back of Max's neck stood up in alarm, but he showed no emotion on his face, waiting by the open doors to be called in. His gaze stayed firmly locked on the floor in front of his boots.
These mind games were tiresome.
When Jos noticed him, he freed himself from the scout’s throat before snapping the man's neck in the blink of an eye. Kicking the body down the few steps of the throne, he spat, “Clean that up and leave us,” to the few guards by the throne.
The guards hurriedly dragged the corpse away catching Max's eyes as they hurried out the doors, faces haunted, full of fear. The doors sealed shut behind them.
“Prince Max,” Jos delicately made a come hither motion with the tip of his tail, full of an indifference long practiced by a warlord who always knew he would be obeyed.
Max kept his expression neutral as he followed the patronizing gesture. His eyes didn't leave the floor as he put one foot steadily in front of the other, only to stop at the top step near the throne. Jos’ tail traced the curve of his collarbone in an perversely intimate gesture.
“Remind me, how long have you served me?”
“Twenty years, sire.”
“And you remain loyal to me?” The absence of the usual sardonic tone gave Max pause, eyes finally leaving the floor, rapidly assessing for danger.
Did he know?
No, he couldn't possibly know.
Max had been so careful to keep Charles hidden from everyone on the ship. But the mere possibility of Jos uncovering the truth filled Max with a sense of primal terror. In that heart-stopping moment of imagined revelation, Max's mind raced with a flurry of panicked thoughts—visions of Charles subjected to Jos' wrath.
Jos’ expression remained opaque, making the hairs on Max's neck stand once more. “I received a report about a new revolt on Merc.”
“Yes sire, there’s a small group of rebels that our intelligence missed, but the matter is firmly in hand.” Max cursed his inability to lie to Jos without the latter seeing right through him. However, lying would be a grave mistake. Jos despised a traitor above all else, but a liar was a close second.
“The last time you were in this room, I was assured Merc was handled. As I recall, your EXACT words were ‘conquered, sire’, were they not?” The danger in the emperor’s tone didn’t go unnoticed.
“It is conquered,” Max rushed out unevenly, “just one last wrinkle to be ironed out—”
“You lied to me.”
Jos' red eyes blazed with a fury the Torossian prince hadn't seen in a long time, causing his well practiced mask of neutrality to crack and crumble. Max’s brows raised and lips parted in a genuine display of fear. He made to step back, but Jos was faster.
His breath was cut short when Jos’ tail constricted around his neck, hoisting Max up in one smooth motion. A sickening crack rang out as his back collided with the wall after skipping across the floor like a stone on a lake.
Charging into the air from his throne, Jos came down hard, landing on Max’s stomach and punching the air from his lungs as the prince curled in on himself. Max fought for air to fill his lungs but was stopped short when another kick landed in his ribs, surely cracking some. His next cough painted the floor in red splatter.
Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Jos landed with knees straddling Max, yanking him up from the floor, fist firmly in the front of his armor. A hard slap snapped the prince’s head to the side, spraying the wall with spit and blood.
Max's hand came to shield his face from another blow, but his wrist was blocked and pulled away. “You think you can lie to me, prince?” Jos spat harshly as he squeezed the bones of the captured hand.
“N–no Lord Jos, I–” His denial caught in his throat as his wrist gave under the pressure with a crunch. Jos snarled as Max's wail of agony echoed in the cold room.
Max cradled his hand close to him when it was released, only for his hair to be the next victim of that unrelenting grip as Jos pulled his head off the floor to meet at eye level. The blow this time had Max's head snapping back bouncing off the floor, the toe curling crunch of his nose clearly audible as it was shattered by the force of the emperor.
Jos stood up, taking a step back as Max squeezed his teary eyes shut, good hand shielding his face with his broken wrist still cradled against his chest. Rage apparently not satisfied, Jos readied a kick towards where the prince’s tail was wrapped around his middle and Max whipped his leg out to block the next blow, connecting behind the warlord’s knee and knocking him down on the floor.
Jos bellowed, seething with rage as he lashed out, seizing the offending leg at the ankle midair, and bending the foot in an unnatural direction. A searing pain shot up Max’s leg as his ankle bent horribly and snapped. He let out a loud cry, twisting on the floor trying to get away, eyes screwed shut, jaw hanging open in a silent scream even after sound stopped escaping his throat.
Pulling Max up by the throat with his hand, Jos growled low. “Say it,” he spat, forcing their eyes to meet. “Plead for mercy, mighty Prince of Torossians.”
The tears in Max’s eyes didn’t fall by sheer force of will alone, blood pouring from his mouth and nose. He drew in a shaky breath and glowered at Jos, defiant. “I’d rather die,” he ground between his teeth before spitting blood on the creature’s face.
Jos’ tongue snuck out from the corner of his mouth to lick at Max's blood splattered there, smiling wickedly. “So be it.”
Jos flipped Max onto his stomach eliciting another strangled cry from his raw throat as his broken ankle was twisted further. The enormous, thick, smooth lizard tail lashed angrily behind the emperor as he used both hands to raise Max up on his knees, tearing his bodysuit away.
The spindly erection Jos maintained during the entire assault, buried itself to the hilt all in one go. Max jerked his good leg in an attempt to roll away screaming, arms trying to shamble away from the searing pain in his ass as he was pounded into with a furious pace.
Jos leaned over his back and pushed his head down, using his tail to keep his hips in the air high above his head. “Beg me to stop and I will.”
Max shut his eyes tight and willed himself to ride it out. He couldn’t give in. Pain vibrated through his body, and with every cruel slam of his hips, Jos’ alien cock sent shockwaves of agony up his spine. Blood pooled on the floor from his face, smearing across his cheek as Jos rocked over him, and Max felt his eyes well up again. Grinding his teeth so tight, the wear on them from over the years started to show, and he held his breath to keep every sound in.
Their war would rage on, until his dying breath.
Biting hard into his shoulder, Jos came with a low groan above him, ice cold filling Max's core once more and spilling over to run down his legs. The obscene squelching sound Jos’ member made when he pulled out made the prince nauseous. The warlord used two fingers to gather up his dripping mess and plunge it back into Max's gaping hole, stretching his rim for emphasis and spit inside. Once bored, Jos wiped himself on Max’s raised ass, making a mess over the navy fabric in tatters. Max stayed perfectly still, trembling only slightly, waiting to see if his unjust punishment was over.
Jos cracked his neck and stretched languidly. “Don’t lie to me again.”
Limping from the throne room, Max barely made it out the double doors under his own power. As soon as he was out of Jos’ line of sight, he let his ki flare just enough to take pressure off his mangled ankle and he dragged himself down the corridor, burning through his energy reserve to maintain flight. Banned from doing so, Max needed to hurry so no one saw him flying on the ship. Their quarters seemed so far away as he struggled to breath through his mouth, nose completely unusable. One eye was starting to swell shut and his vision swirled with black spots, threatening to consume it entirely.
Unable to keep his injured leg up, energy giving out, Max slid part way down the wall. He panted with the effort that’d been required to make it this far, clutching the side of his chest over clearly broken ribs. The trail he left behind him made him sick to his stomach at the thought of his fellow servicemen seeing it. He managed to stand up once again and momentarily continue his trek down the hallway, eyes closed, tail guiding him against the wall.
His mind flashed to those innocent green eyes and soft brown curls. He would die if they ever saw him like this. The face of admiration Charles had given Max after their spar pierced his heart like daggers. He could never let his newest subject find out just how weak his prince really was.
“Prince Max!” An alarmed voice beckoned him from further down the hall. Cracking his good eye open, he saw a mechanic come running towards him, and helped lift him up with his shoulder.
“Alonso,” he whispered breathless. “G–get Alonso.”
“I’ll be right back!” He rushed away, scurrying off back down the hall in the direction he’d come.
Max groaned and rested the side of his head against the wall. His body wracked with agony. Every breath he took was a struggle, each movement sending waves of searing pain coursing through his battered form. His limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, as if they were made of lead, refusing to obey his commands. The pain was relentless, a constant companion that gnawed at his senses and threatened to consume him whole. Every break, every laceration screamed out in protest with each passing moment he stayed standing, a cacophony of agony that echoed through his mind and body when the darkness closed in.
He let thoughts of that strong body underneath him takeover as he slid the rest of the way down the wall, face connecting with the floor.
Notes:
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Chapter 5: Stay with me my prince
Summary:
“Have you seen General Alonso? I need him urgently!”
Charles, still frozen on his knees, looked up with concern, “No, he left for duty this morning, and I haven’t seen him. What’s going on?”
“It’s the prince. He’s hurt. Badly.” The man rushed out breathless.
Notes:
Apologies for the delay! AO3 interruptions as well as life in general got in the way, but it's up and thanks again for reading! How are we feeling about the dynamics between Charles and the others so far? The next few chapters will be fluffier I promise ❤️
I also went back and added a section to the start of Ch 1 for some later plot purposes. Hopefully I wont have to do that again but if I do, I'll be sure to let you know.
Since I know most people are unfamiliar with the source universe I'm using for this, I'll provide examples of key DBZ aspects mentioned in this chapter on my tumblr. Link in the end notes
Chapter Warnings: blood and injury
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Charles felt a burning pang of frustration as he scrubbed yet another corner of the Torossian quarters, his hands wrinkled and sore from the harsh cleaning chemicals. When he agreed to stay with the small crew to protect his home, he imagined he would join their activities and try to acclimate to a new home. But, what had once been a unique opportunity to serve alongside the Torossian crew, quickly turned into a monotonous chore, leaving him with a role more akin to a glorified maid than a valued member of the team.
The only time he’d left the suite in the last few weeks was when the prince took him to spar. It was something, but not enough. Gone were the days of adventure and excitement he had foolishly sold himself as a consolation prize for his sacrifice. Instead, he was trapped in a never-ending cycle of dusting, polishing, and tidying up after the Torossians' every whim. It was a far cry from the life of freedom and training he once had on earth, and Charles felt a twinge of resentment towards his new role, trapped in a gilded cage of polished metal.
As he diligently scrubbed at a stubborn stain on the floor of the suite, mind preoccupied with the task at hand, he was startled by the sudden intrusion of a crew member bursting into the room. The urgency in the man's voice was unmistakable as he frantically searched for something that seemed nowhere to be found.
“Have you seen General Alonso? I need him urgently!”
Charles, still frozen on his knees, looked up with concern, “No, he left for duty this morning, and I haven’t seen him. What’s going on?”
“It’s the prince. He’s hurt. Badly.” The man rushed out breathless.
The news hit him like a sledgehammer. His eyes widened in alarm as a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach was soon accompanied by his racing heart. He struggled to reply to the panicked man. “Where is he?”
Already running from the room, the crew member yelled over his shoulder, “Follow me, quickly!”
Without a moment's hesitation, Charles abandoned his cleaning supplies and rushed after him into the ship's corridor. He caught up quickly as they rounded the corner. “Is he conscious? Did he say what happened?”
“I don’t know. He asked for General Alonso, and I left to try and find him.”
Their conversation was punctuated by the sound of footsteps bouncing off the metal walls, echoing through the corridors while they raced to the injured prince. As he ran, Charles couldn't shake the sense of panic he felt, the memory of Max's previously injured state flooding his mind. Could it be worse?
God, please don't let it be worse.
Charles' fears were realized when he laid eyes on Max, bloodied and battered, lying face down unconscious on the floor in a puddle of blood. A surge of adrenaline coursed through him as he rushed to the prince's side, heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to take in the extent of Max's injuries.
Scooping up the limp form, Charles firmly held the prince to his chest, feeling a surge of protectiveness. He stood up just in time to see Alonso appear at the end of the corridor, moving quickly toward them.
“Give him to me. Back to our quarters,” the elder rushed out and moved to take the prince from his arms.
Charles squeezed Max tighter against his chest, “No, let me. I can help!”
Looking like he wanted to argue the point but deciding against it, Alonso ground out, “Fine. Follow me, Charles.” The elder stepped in front of him, crowding the Earthling as he carried the precious cargo. “Stay close to me and keep him covered as much as you can.” Alonso said, then turned to look over his shoulder while barking angrily, “You, get back to work!” at the crew member who nodded before disappearing.
Face etched with exhaustion, Alonso directed them inside a room not far from where Charles found the prince. Taking in the space, Charles easily identified the room as the one he woke up in when he first arrived on the ship.
Alonso searched frantically before discovering and dragging over a rickety metal table that looked like maybe it would be used for some kind of examination. “Bring him over here,” he said. Obediently, Charles followed his instructions, laying Max down on his back, reluctantly letting go.
The prince was horribly bruised and battered, almost lifeless on the cold metal table. Charles' feet were glued to the floor right by the edge of it, unable to look away. With the prince now laying face up, Charles could assess the damage. Blood was all over Max's regal face with his nose crooked and swollen. Purple bruising marred the expanse of his neck and up one side of his face. A deep bite wound on his right shoulder caught Charles’ eye, a testament to the brutality of this recent ordeal, and it just got worse as he scanned further down.
“What happened to him!?” Charles cried in alarm and shock.
“Over there, behind you. Grab me that.” He turned around at a loss for what the older man was referring to and picked up a tray with instruments on it, none of which he was familiar with. This had to be what Alonso was talking about, as there wasn’t anything else on the counter behind him where the man indicated. Retrieving it quickly, Charles handed the items over with shaking hands.
Continuing to scan the prince’s state, Charles' right hand flew to his mouth in shock. Alonso began the process of removing Max's bodysuit, revealing the extent of his injuries underneath. The Earthling couldn't suppress a gasp of horror as he took in what lay before him. Max's wrist and ankle were twisted at unnatural angles, evidence of the severe fractures sustained. His chest was bruised over the ribs, some of them clearly broken. The lower part of his bodysuit was shredded, and his soft light brown tail hung limp off the edge of the table. Scrapes on his knees and elbows accompanied the tracks of blood and a white liquid that Charles couldn't identify drying on his legs.
Where was that coming from? He couldn’t see a source of the blood, and he surmised that the prince must have an injury on his back somewhere.
It wasn't just the visible injuries that alarmed Charles. As Alonso worked to assess Max's condition, Charles caught glimpses of the multitude of bruises and lacerations that marred the prince’s already severely scarred skin. It was clear the prince had endured a great deal of pain and suffering in his short years, and Charles felt a surge of anger and sorrow welling up inside him at the thought of what he’d been through.
Using a piece of the shredded fabric, Alonso attempted to keep Max’s dignity intact as best he could, while Charles looked away blushing wildly. He just knew the prince would be mortified if he saw him in such a state, naked and vulnerable.
Lastly, the elder pulled off the glove from Max's good hand but didn't dare touch the glove hiding his mangled one. Alonso firmly tapped the unbruised side of the prince’s face with the open palm of his large hand, “My prince, stay with me. Open your eyes.”
Charles held his breath, praying those cerulean orbs would reappear, but the look of complete agony in them made him wish they hadn’t. Max’s one good eye cracked open as he gasped in a ragged breath, “Al–lonso?” It came out as a question, head lulling in the direction of the voice.
“We shielded you and brought you here as fast as we could.”
“W–we?” Max said with a shaky exhale, his head rolling back to center. Charles knew the instant he came into focus for the prince. Despair plainly engulfed him as he squeezed his good eye shut, a tear slipping down from the corner.
“Ch–Charles, ” he rasped.
He couldn't take this. The physical pain Max must've been under seemed to pale in comparison to the shame that swam in those blue eyes. Charles tried to reach for his good hand, but Max turned away in an attempt to shield himself from the Earthling’s view. The prince must’ve put pressure on those bruised ribs, since he groaned through the movement and reluctantly rolled back.
Charles couldn't stop a surge of helplessness welling up within him. How could he stand idly by, watching as their prince suffered like this? The thought gnawed at his conscience, a bitter reminder of the cruel realities of his new existence on this ship.
His hand clasped the prince’s upper arm, gently resting on clammy skin, as he whispered, “I'm sorry. I just wanted to help–”
“L–leave,” Max broke off with a sudden coughing fit that splattered more red on his chin, fresh bright red contrasting over dried darker red. Charles turned his pleading eyes to Alonso for help.
“He’s not going anywhere. I need his help. We can't use the tank,” Alonso said while using some foreign device to suture the prince's knee.
“WHAT!?” Max lifted his back off the impromptu stretcher only to crumple back down in a wail.
Charles placed his hands on the prince’s chest to keep him steady. “You’re badly hurt. Please, stay still Max,” he pleaded.
Alonso looked at Charles with irritation, but seemingly ignored the informalness of his response because the prince actually listened to him, relaxing under his touch. “The tank stopped working yesterday, but it shouldn't be long now before it's operational again.”
Max tried to take a deep breath, but was cut short with more coughing, and Charles gingerly rolled him more to the side without broken ribs to prevent him from choking.
“Stay with him. I need to get a few things from our quarters,” Alonso ordered. “Go through the drawers over there and see what you can find for medical supplies. Keep this area secure.”
Charles nodded his head affirmatively before quickly rummaging through the drawers, looking for anything that might be useful. For a med bay, this place was a real mess. The main doors closed, indicating Alonso had left and Charles was in charge.
Groans from the table made him redouble his efforts searching the cabinets, but he came up empty handed, other than some gauze and a few rags that he dampened in the sink by the alien looking fridge.
“Charles?” Max called, and he was back at his side instantly.
“I’m here Max.” He desperately wanted to hold his hand or provide some form of comfort, but was too afraid he’d cause more pain, or Max might turn away from him again. Worry showed on his lip as he glanced at the mostly nude body in front of him, Charles doing his best not to stare. He wracked his brain to remember if he’d ever seen someone hurt so badly while still remaining conscious.
He couldn't say he had.
“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want me here with—,” Charles started, but Max cut him off with a whimper.
“Fuck— Charles,” voice pained and breathy. He lifted his good hand to shakily gesture at the transparent medical fridge across the room. “Th–there are syringes and a b–blue vial. Can you administer an injection? I–I can't do it with my hand like this.” Max limply gestured to his mangled right hand, wincing as he jostled it lightly.
Charles found the blue vial and was back promptly, hands trembling as he tried to remove the thin wrap around the casing on the syringe. He was terrified of needles, but he was even more scared he would mess it up and hurt Max. Fumbling, he dropped it on the table before quickly picking it back up again, worry spreading across his face as he bit his lips between his teeth.
The prince placed his bare, good hand over those trembling fingers, and whispered, “It’s alright Charles.”
If it had been any other time, Charles would’ve turned to a puddle at his words and how soft Max's skin was, always hidden under white gloves, but now was not the time.
Max needed him to do this, so he steeled his nerves the best he could, taking the prince’s hand to stretch the forearm looking for a vein. “I’ve never done this before, Max. I don’t know if I can do this,” he rushed out nervously. He didn't want to hurt the prince anymore than he was already suffering.
Max’s good eye fluttered closed, teeth clenched in pain as he drew shallow breaths. Another violent coughing fit brought the prince’s hand away from Charles’ to clutch at his side, and more blood dribbled from his lips down his chin and onto his purple neck.
“Charlie.”
It was spoken like a plea, so soft Charles almost missed it, but his heart lurched in his chest. He finally managed to get the cap off, exposing the needle, and took a long steadying breath through his nose. Sticking the needle down in the vial, he drew back the plunger and filled the syringe with the viscous liquid.
Why was it so thick?
Surely you weren't supposed to inject blue jelly-like substances into your body. If he’d known he was going to come here instead of being forcibly taken, he could’ve brought along a few senzu beans for times like this. God, did he wish he had one right now. Injuries like this would be gone in an instant after consuming one of the sacred restoring beans.
Tracing his fingers up and down Max's scarred forearm, he quickly committed to the act, sticking the syringe in the first suitable vein he could find. Fighting the urge to not look or squirm, Charles pushed the plunger down slowly, releasing the strange medicine. The blue sludge was visible under the skin for a moment before it faded and disappeared, dispersed in the blood. The sight of it under Max's skin made him sweaty and cold all over.
Don't throw up, don't throw up, don't throw up, Charles told himself mentally.
The prince's face relaxed from its twisted grimace to more of a relieved state of exhaustion. Withdrawing the needle quickly and putting it on the tray he’d given Alonso earlier, Charles took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes to stop the room from spinning.
He hated needles.
Releasing his clenched shoulder muscles, Charles applied some pressure to the injection site with the gauze he’d found. Something soft brushed his hand once he released pressure and wrapped around his wrist. Charles looked down and saw Max’s fluffy tail caressing the back of his hand, wound tight around his forearm.
"Bedankt." [Thank you] Max said with his eyes still tightly shut. Charles just listened to the sound of his now steady breathing and hoped the prince had said something positive about the injection.
With his spare hand not captured by the tail, Charles picked up one of the damp towels from earlier that he'd set on the foot of the table and started cleaning the drying blood away from the prince’s face, neck, and chest.
The Prince's pain appeared to be slowly returning to a manageable amount, but was definitely nowhere near gone. Max seemed completely drained from not only the pain, but the immense effort of not breaking down in front of Charles. He wished Max didn't feel like he couldn't trust him with this. Charles wouldn't see him any differently than he had when they dined together or when they sparred. He didn't feel anything but overwhelming admiration for the man on the table before him.
It had only been a few weeks, but those feelings Charles had developed on the first day had only grown, despite his multiple attempts to swat away those persistent butterflies in his stomach. They would always return when he was near the regal Torossian.
Max was incredibly strong. He’d never seen someone beaten so badly to the point of collapse still able to maintain an air of command and control over their emotions. Knowing if the situation was reversed, he wouldn't come anywhere close to the regal grace that rolled off the prince effortlessly in waves. It was obvious now that he was royalty, quieting all nonexistent doubts that Max was born to rule.
The prince’s tail held onto Charles’ hand like a lifeline keeping him tethered to this plane of consciousness, but his gentle cleansing strokes soon lulled the prince, and he couldn't fight exhaustion any longer.
_____
Max started to drift back to consciousness, the fog of heavy pain medication slowly began to lift, allowing him to register the distant voices of Charles and Alonso nearby. Despite the lingering haze in his mind, a wave of anguish washed over him as he recalled the sorry state he must’ve been in when they found him in the corridor.
By the goddess, he'd even left a trail of blood and the emperors foul spunk behind him as he dragged his broken leg. Did Charles know now? Did he know what Max was too weak to stop?
His thoughts turned to Charles, and Max couldn't dispel the pang of shame that came from knowing his newest subject witnessed him in such a vulnerable state. The very thing he swore he wouldn't let happen. He wondered what Charles must think of him now, after seeing him battered and broken, his body a canvas of bruises and wounds painted by their jailer.
A fleeting memory of wrapping his tail around Charles' arm like he’d seen his father do to his mother, filled Max with a sense of embarrassment and self-consciousness. He’d acted on instinct and nothing else he told himself. Seeking comfort and reassurance in the midst of pain was normal, but now, he couldn't help but feel foolish for his actions.
As he lay there, Max fought the unease gnawing at his conscience. He must’ve made Charles feel so awkward and uncomfortable with the gesture. Would the Earthling even know what it meant? That twining your tail around someone was an incredibly intimate thing to do in Torossian culture?
Why did he do that? He hadn't used his tail like that since he’d been taken from Toro.
His mentor, Alonso, taught him at a very young age Torossian tails were special and sacred. And Max should keep it safely guarded around his waist at all times, tucked up under his chest plate, guarded. Letting it wander freely was not something he would normally ever do unless he was alone.
Max's consciousness slowly took hold amidst the whirlwind of pain, disorientation, and self deprecating thoughts. Confusion clouded his mind as he momentarily struggled to make sense of his surroundings, realizing he was lying in the dimly lit confines of the dirty, rundown med bay, his body throbbing in agony. The stolen medication Charles had given him was the strongest thing on the ship, but Torossians metabolized everything much faster than other species, and his pain was rushing back with vengeance.
The hushed whispers filtered through clearer now, bringing him back to focus on the world around him. “–need you to hold his leg down while I set this. DO NOT let go, understand?”
Max barely understood the words as he felt hands like vice grips holding his broken leg to the table. He tried to sit up groggily, blinking his dry eyes. “Charles–,” was all he managed to say before white-hot lightning shot up his leg, crippling him back down flat on the table. The unyielding grip kept his leg firm against the surface no matter how much he writhed or tried to pull away.
Max howled, voice raw and unfiltered, softening into whimpers once the hands of steel retracted from his skin.
“Just breathe, my prince.” Alonso gave him a sympathetic look that he hated immediately. Sitting up finally, he clutched his injured leg, assessing the wrappings and bandaging done while he was unconscious on his various other injuries.
“Don't touch my nose,” Max growled. He'd be damned if he let the elder put that back crooked.
The Earthling turned away before he wrenched his nose back into place with the heel of his hand. Tears burned and blood began to flow again in earnest, but Charles was quick to bring a rag to his face.
“I've managed to get the tank up and running while you were out,” Alonso said, and walked to the machine between the other clearly broken ones. After pressing a few buttons, it came to life with a low hum and flickering lights.
“Thank the goddess.”
Max knew he was risking it using a tank after an audience with Jos, but he couldn't decline. The amount of time he would need to heal naturally from his injuries would be catastrophic, and, if Jos demanded him again too soon, he may lose their war of wills even with his Torossian enhanced healing abilities.
“Can someone please tell me what that thing is? What’s it for?” The Earthling was apprehensively looking at the alien capsule. “Will it really help that much?” He asked, fixing his gaze on him while Max moved to sit on the side of the table. The prince looked down and noticed his broken wrist was already in place.
Small mercies.
“That’s a healing tank,” he said and tilted his head to the side in the direction of the whirring machine. It's a stem-cell nanite bath that helps heal injuries faster than natural regeneration. “Help me stand.” He winced immediately after asking.
The sight of his battered and broken body, laid bare before Charles, filled him with a lingering sense of humiliation again. In that moment of vulnerability, Max was stripped of his usual facade of strength and authority, and he couldn't stand it a moment longer. Those eyes could never look at him with awe and admiration ever again after this. His weakness and inability to protect them, evident all over his body, naked and plain for all to see. Max avoided eye contact as Charles approached, not wanting to see what he thought of him now.
Charles moved to his side and placed the prince's arm over his shoulders, bearing as much of his weight as Max would let him as he wrapped an arm snug around his waist, careful not to aggravate his ribs. They stumbled together awkwardly across the room and Max tried his best not to let on how affected he was by their close proximity. The feeling of the Earthling's warm skin was a soothing balm to his anxieties.
The front of the machine opened and raised up like a lift gate as Charles helped him turn around, gently placing him on the smooth bottom over the drain. Max let out a hiss when his swollen ankle touched the cold, hard surface. Frowning, Charles held up more of his weight while getting him settled.
The tattered piece of suit that covered his manhood fell off, forgotten sometime in their journey between the table and tank. Max noticed how hard Charles tried not to look with pink lightly dusting the tops of his cheeks. Reeling from further embarrassment, he used his mangled hand to cover himself and leaned all his weight on his good arm propped up against the side of the chamber so Charles could step back.
Only . . . Charles didn't move away from the tank after he was settled.
Max looked at the younger man in confusion who met his eyes with an even brighter blush now on his face, eyes flashing down to his and then back to Max. Following his gazed down, the prince made a horrifying discovery: his tail had wound itself tight around Charles’ slim waist, keeping him close and acting with a mind of its own. The prince hurriedly unwrapped the earthling and coiled his unruly appendage back around his own waist, shifting away from Charles as much as possible while pressed against the back of the tank, mortified.
Thankfully, Alonso interrupted the moment and brought over a black mask that covered his nose and mouth with an air intake hose attached to the front. Placing it over his tender nose was not an easy task, but after a few attempts he found a tolerable position. Anything to hide the intense red of his cheeks was welcomed.
“Why does he need that?” Charles' eyes locked onto the mask apparatus cautiously. Alonso shut the hatch of the tank, sealing Max inside. The prince could still hear the ongoing conversation, though sounding more distant.
“The mask is so he can breathe when it fills up with solution.” The machine made a loud gurgling noise and the nanite stem gel fluid poured in rapidly from the hose at the top. Max saw Charles put his hands on the glass in alarm, big green eyes filled with worry.
Max focused his attention on Charles, hoping to convey a sense of calm and reassurance through the glass barrier that separated them. Putting his hands over where Charles’ rested, the prince tried to steady the earthling and let him know he was okay, that the healing tank would do its job and facilitate his recovery. He made soothing motions with his hands, despite the unsettling environment of the tank.
Alonso spoke again, “As Prince Max said, it’s a stem-cell bath that will speed regeneration and heal his wounds more efficiently. It won't hurt him. No need for such hysterics.”
The fluid quickly filled the tank leaving him to float in suspension, with eyes closed and small air bubbles sneaking past the sides of the mask. Max listened to the muffled conversation, but was losing grip on consciousness once the tank was full. He drifted into that comfortably familiar weightlessness.
Notes:
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Chapter 6: Undeserving
Summary:
A smooth palm on his chest right over a particularly nasty scar had him turning back, locking blue eyes with green.
“You won't convince me you deserved this.”
Max looked deeply into his eyes. This close he could see the small flecks of gold in those green orbs right around the pupils and he studied them for a moment, but didn't find a hint of a lie in them.
“And what if I did?”
Notes:
Welcome back! Now for some fluff ❤️
There will be a lot of explaining of complex DBZ lore concepts in this chapter and I hope I explained everything well enough, but if you think something is totally left field, leave a comment or send me a message on Tumblr !
Very special thank you to Lady_Something for continuing to put up with my shit and telling me when something needs more explanation!
Since I know most people are unfamiliar with the source universe I'm using for this, I'll provide examples and photos of key DBZ aspects mentioned in this chapter on my tumblr. Link also in the end notes!
Chapter Warnings: Blood and injury, Medical procedures
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As Charles stood before the imposing stem-cell regen tank that held Max's battered body, a sense of apprehension gripped him like a vice. The sight of the intricate machinery, humming softly with unseen energy, gave him a mixture of awe and unease. Alonso didn't seem bothered at all by the whirring machine as he disappeared behind it with an odd tool in hand.
Though he understood the tank held the promise of healing Max's injuries and restoring him to fighting form, and Alonso and Max both reassured him this would help, Charles’ instincts just wouldn't listen. They screamed at him to stay close by, should anything happen.
He would just have to trust them for now, and his thoughts drifted back to the state of the room instead.
Surveying the dismal condition of the rundown med bay, anger and frustration boiled within him like a tempest. The sight of Max, the prince of their race, injured and vulnerable amidst the filth and neglect of their surroundings gave Charles a sense of righteous indignation.
How could they allow someone of Max's stature and importance to suffer in such deplorable conditions? Even if there were only four of them . . .
There had to be a better medical facility on the ship. It was huge, with hundreds of soldiers and all the necessities to keep an army well fed and in fighting form, not to mention the required staff to keep everything running.
Deciding to push for more information about his new home, he asked, “Is this the only medical facility on the ship? Where are the staff?”
Alonso stuck his head out from behind the tank where he'd been making some last minute adjustments and scowled at him as though the answer was obvious. “I mean look at this place. It's a wreck!” Charles gestured to the broken tanks and rundown equipment lying around. “Why—”
“There’s a proper medical clinic on deck two, but we’re banned from using it.” Alonso cut him off curtly, adjusting some temperature settings next. Charles saw Max relax even more with the changes and the permanent frown lines between his brows disappeared.
“If Emperor Jos knew we tanked him after . . . one of their meetings he would kill him. Even helping him by treating his wounds and cleaning him up could get us both killed.”
Every grimy surface, every broken piece of equipment, served as a damning testament to the disregard and neglect that had become all too commonplace in their captivity. Charles felt his anger twist in his chest. “Jos did this then,” he declared more to himself.
Alonso turned from the control panel to glare at him. “Don’t even think about trying to do something brave or stupid. Prince Max would never forgive himself if you were injured.”
He panicked a bit internally, unsure what to do with that information. Charles had been spending more time with the prince than either Alonso or Carlos, that was true, but he didn’t think Max saw him as anything more than what their interactions consisted of: a training partner, dinner companion, and a servant.
Had Max said something different to Alonso? Was he just overthinking it like he always did?
Not sure he really wanted to know the answer to that, he decided to focus on the situation at hand. “You said we’re banned from the clinic . . . why?”
There was something between the lines he was missing.
Alonso took a breath, clearly trying to be patient, but Charles was over being left in the dark, so he persisted with irritation. “Look, I agreed to stay here and be a part of your squad/team/group . . . whatever this mess is, but I can't do that if I don't know what’s going on here. So just tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Charles let his gaze wander from the control panel to the floating man in desperate need of better medical attention than the two of them could provide.
Was this really the best they could manage? Shabbily stitching him back together, only for their work to be undone in a matter of days?
As he watched Max's labored breathing and lightly pained expression return in the tank, Charles felt helpless, knowing that there was little he could do if he was kept in the dark. “Please, just tell me why we’re banned? He needs better care than this.”
“Torossians get stronger after every battle. It’s in our blood. When we’re pushed close to our limits but don’t succumb to them, every cell is regenerated stronger than the one before. This is the key to our strength and what made enslaving our race vital to the warlord in the first place.” Alonso took a second to let him process while he checked a few more settings and progress estimates.
Okay, that made a little sense. This new information definitely cleared up some questions Charles had about his own physical abilities. That was for sure, but it also created a whole new line of questions.
He'd always felt differently about fighting than his friends from Earth. He loved pushing to his absolute limit and the boost it gave him when he recovered in strength and stamina was not shared by his training partners.
His friends told him he must've been naturally gifted to excel so rapidly . . . now, he surmised, they didn't know how accurate their guess had been—
“This boost is also Jos’ greatest fear.” Alonso continued, drawing Charles confused gaze again. “Tales of a legendary Torossian warrior that would appear every one thousand years were known throughout the universe. Most of the knowledge around the conditions required to break through into the altered state were lost with Toro, but even Jos knew this warrior would've been able to challenge him.”
A button on the control panel lit up blinking rapidly before Alonso pushed it and a few others and the light turned off.
“His forced enslavement of our people meant he could monitor the population for anyone who showed signs of the legendary potential. This is also why he took Prince Max.” Alonso turned away from the control panel to the glass front of the tank, looking fondly at the floating form before going on, “His battle power at birth was the highest that had ever been measured and our king was convinced he would be the next legendary Torossian. King Christian entrusted that information with few people, but the emperor still found out with his spies everywhere, even in the palace.”
Charles reeled with this revelation, the grim truth behind Jos' motivations for keeping Max subdued. There had to be more to the story though. This was just one piece of the puzzle. “What does he want from him?” he gestured to the tank, “Why do this to him? Look at him, Alonso! How can he possibly get away with this?”
The thought of Max's childhood innocence being shattered by the machinations of a ruthless tyrant like Jos ignited a firestorm of rage within Charles. How could anyone condemn a child to such a fate, robbing them of their freedom and their rightful place in the world?
The idea that Max had not only endured untold abuses, but then also had been denied proper healing and care made him sick.
Why hadn't Alonso or Carlos protected him if they were his so called ‘guards’? What good were they to Max if they couldn't even properly treat his wounds . . . His thoughts were cut short when he looked back at the older man who seemed to read his thoughts.
Bitterness flickered in the elder’s eyes, and he took a protective step in front of the glass shielding the unconscious prince from view. “I swore an oath to protect my prince with my life, and I would gladly give it to make this stop. So get that look off your face, before I beat it off for you!”
Charles held his hands up with fingers splayed out and palms turned up. The harsh tone Alonso used made his knees wobble like they had when he’d argued with the prince in the med bay that first day.
Why did that keep happening? It was so odd, something he'd never felt before in his life. He argued with his father and Lando plenty of times, and their ire never triggered this kind of reaction in him. Even that scar on his back where his tail had been, tingled uncomfortably.
Noticing this and giving him a softer look, Alonso lowered his voice and pressed on. “I'm powerless to defend him from Jos, and I'm ashamed I've failed in my duty to keep him from harm like I promised his father . . . I've failed my king and my prince, and I don't need your judgment on top of my own. Rest assured, if I could take his place, I would.”
Alonso had turned around to face the tank during his admission and rested his forehead against the glass. Charles could see how much Max's suffering hurt the man, even to the point he would rather give his life to end it.
That wouldn’t get them anywhere Charles thought. “Right now we’re both worth more to him alive than dead. What can I do to help you help him?”
Guilt pained his chest for thinking anything but the best of the older man's actions. There really wasn't anything else they could do under these circumstances if all he'd been told was true.
Max lurched forward slightly in the tank, deep frown lines returning between his brows and a puff of bubbles escaped the sides of the mask. Alonso checked the control panel again but didn't change anything this time.
“You can help me by doing exactly what you've been doing, sparring and dining with him. I've not seen him enjoy company in many years. But don't ask him anything about this, it kills him for us to see him like this.”
“If we're only trying to help, why doesn't he let us?”
“Because he's ashamed, Charles. He thinks since he can't stand up to Emperor Jos that he's an unfit leader and undeserving of his title. He's never admitted it, but I know he thinks the enslavement of Toro is his fault too. Every audience with Jos reminds him that he couldn't protect his people.”
Charles took a few steps closer to the tank but not close enough to touch it. “How can he think that? It's not his fault. How could a child be expected to defend an entire race?”
“You don’t know the prince well enough,” Alonso said, then checked the time and briskly headed for the door. “He should be finished in a few hours. I have to get back on duty. Come, I'll take you back.”
Charles decidedly stepped towards the tank instead of the door. “Can I stay with him?” He still didn't entirely trust this machine, and the thought of leaving the prince alone didn't seem right. The back of his head ached at the thought.
A place in his mind he hadn't thought about in a long time.
The older man shook his head no. “Since you insist on helping, I might have something you can do for me.”
Before exiting the med bay and flicking the lights off, Charles looked back at the tank, listening to the soft bubbling and whirring wondering how much more training he would have to do to challenge Jos and bring an end to this. He’d done this before, training with a particular goal in mind. With a silent prayer on his lips, he decided that if he dedicated all his free time to it . . . maybe it would be enough.
In the corridor outside of the med bay, Alonso pulled Charles close to him by the arm. “Torossians are banned from the clinic, but humans are not. I need you to go to deck two, and request another field medic kit since the one I have is almost out of supplies.” The elder surveyed the hall quickly before he continued, “A regiment from our latest conquest has recently arrived and the clinic will be busy. You should be able to blend in with the crowd and go relatively unnoticed.”
Charles nodded in understanding, “How do I get there?”
Alonso turned him by the arm to the left and started briskly down the hall, practically dragging Charles with him. “I can take you as far as the entrance since it's on my way, but you’ll have to find your way back here. I'm late for my next post.”
As the pair hurried through the halls, Charles made a mental map of all the twists and turns until Alonso whispered, breaking his train of thought. “Next room on your right is the clinic. Remember, don't speak to anyone other than necessary to request the kit, and come straight out.”
The Earthing stopped at the doors while Alonso continued on with his steady gait, not looking back or acknowledging they knew each other. Charles had a light queasy feeling about going into some place that would leave him so exposed, but as the elder had said, no one from their suite was allowed in but him.
And he did want to help.
Once he entered the clinic, Charles realized he underestimated how uneasy he would feel. The sterile environment and the sight of all the medical equipment made his skin crawl, but he couldn't help but marvel at the advanced technology and machinery that surrounded him. The sleek, futuristic design contrasted starkly with the rustic charm of the Torossian quarters and the old med bay on the lower deck, and Charles found himself awestruck by the level of sophistication on display.
There were dozens of alien medical staff of various shapes, colors, and sizes assisting soldiers with a wide variety of injuries. With the aid of a menagerie of diagnostic scanners and healing devices, he watched awed as staff worked efficiently at stabilizing the large number of wounded soldiers, setting bones and repairing tissue with remarkable speed and accuracy.
The thought of Prince Max being denied care in this superior facility had him grind his teeth in anger just as a shorter octopus-like humanoid with purple skin and an elongated head approached him.
Translucent tablet in hand, the staff member asked in a heavy accent, “What unit are you from? What medical assistance do you need?”
Charles blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the questions and the man’s appearance. "Uh, I'm not from any unit . . . I'm just here to get a field medical kit.”
The staff member let out an exasperated sigh and pointed towards a crate through an open door. "Help yourself then. And if you're not in need of medical care, stay out of the way."
Feeling slightly chastised, Charles made his way over to the container and started to rummage through its contents, searching for the kit Alonso requested. The only problem was, the elder hadn’t actually told him what it looked like or any other information that would help him identify the right item.
As he looked through the odd colored and shaped packages in the crate, Charles opened a green one with a cross inside a glowing hexagon on it and smiled when it appeared to be what he was looking for.
Across the room, behind a room divider were a group of staff speaking to each other in hushed urgent whispers. He couldn't help but overhear bits and pieces from their conversation.
" . . . hear about the casualties from the last deployment?"
“ . . . should've sent him, would've been over in seconds . . . "
" . . . the strongest we've got, a single strike would've . . . "
" . . . why keep him in reserve, it's a waste of . . . "
" . . . if only they'd let him loose, no one could stand . . . "
"Yeah, it was a fucking mess. Would've been less of a blood bath if . . . ”
The group of four emerged from behind the divider and continued talking all the way to the door, ignoring Charles’ presence.
“Oh it still would’ve been a blood bath, but far less casualties from our side.” One of them chuckled. “That guy is a one-man army . . . I heard his confirmed kill count is even higher than that of Lord Jos!”
“Is that why you practically shit yourself every time you see him in the corridor?”
Two of the group burst out laughing and started shoving each other as the four exited back into the main lobby, leaving Charles as the only one left in the side stockroom.
Charles’ brow scrunched, trying to piece together the meaning behind the chunks of conversation while still elbow deep in the crate. He identified they were talking about someone significant, someone with immense power and influence. Yet, without mentioning titles or names, he couldn't be certain who they were referring to.
But a body count higher than Jos . . . that couldn't be right. If there was a more powerful and sinister energy on the ship, he would’ve been able to easily feel it over the ki reading he got on the emperor. Charles' mind raced at the possibilities, but for now, all he could do was focus on finding the field medical kit and getting back to the suite to assist Alonso and the prince.
After finally deciding he’d found what he was looking for, and taking two for good measure, Charles crept back over to the door of the room and peered out into the bustling lobby. A group of about eight wounded and battered soldiers came stumbling in through the main entrance doors and the few milling staff quickly rushed to help the group.
Charles took it as his chance and slipped out the double entrance doors amidst the chaos, letting out a big sigh when he emerged into the empty corridor.
Wasting no time, he rushed back to their suite, mind filled with worry for the prince floating helpless in the healing tank. He took a few wrong turns, but quickly back tracked and arrived at the suite with a huff. Charles placed the kits on Alonso's bunk before turning on his heel and heading back out the door, his concern for the prince overriding any desire to rest or take a break.
Entering the med bay once again, he opted to leave the lights off to not draw attention that someone was in room, and Charles was still confused by the conversation he overheard in the clinic. He’d mulled over their words during his journey back, but he did his best to push it aside for now, focusing all of his energy on the prince.
Sitting down in front of the tank, the Earthling leaned his back against it, starting to doze with eyes closed while the soft bubbling of the tank relaxed him. A small smile turned the corner of his mouth up at the thought he'd finally done something of use on the damn ship. Maybe if he did a good enough job helping Alonso and Max, they would let him leave the room more and spend less time scrubbing blood and god knows what off the floor.
Hope blossomed in his chest, but it was short lived when a few minutes later, he felt a deep rumbling start behind him, jolting him fully awake.
Jumping to his feet, he checked the control panel that now had several flashing indicators on the screen, none of which he understood. A series of ominous sounds echoed through the med bay and suddenly, a loud grinding noise filled the air followed by a shower of sparks erupting from the back of the control panel.
Charles started mashing lit up buttons on the panel like he'd seen the elder Torossian do, when even more warning lights appeared and he started to panic. “Shit, come on you piece of–”
A loud rumble followed by smoke billowing out temporarily obscured the view of the prince inside and the machine went dead. Only the soft glow from the chamber illuminated the room.
Unsure of what to do next, Charles fanned the smoking control panel and tried not to breathe in the fumes when bubbles poured from the side of the mask on Max's face. The prince jerked trying to breathe, but must’ve only gotten a mouth full of fluid as he clawed off the respirator off, placing his hands on the glass looking disoriented.
Charles’ panic doubled when he realized the airflow must have been cut off when the machine stopped. His first instinct was to break the glass, but a quick look around the room reminded him that this was the only semi-working tank left and if they couldn't take the prince to the clinic . . .
He was a shambolic mess while searching the panel for some kind of a release. Every button was flashing with symbols he didn't recognize, but there had to be an emergency release somewhere. With each passing second, his sense of urgency mounted. Banging on the glass drew his attention from the panel to see Max smacking the front of the tank, eyes open searching the room. Charles quickly stepped to the glass and placed his hands over Max's.
“Where's the release!?” He yelled hoping Max could hear him and was conscious enough to know what he asked. After a moment, Charles repeated the question banging on the front of the tank over the prince's hands. “Max! Where's the release!?”
Max's arm pointed down to the bottom corner of the opposite side of the control panel with a gargled shout. Charles looked down and saw a red lever peeking out from the direction the prince was pointing.
For fuck’s sake—
What was the release doing over there? Charles lamented to himself, while he rushed to pull the handle. He felt a series of hydraulic mechanisms activate, causing the hatch to disengage from its locked position with a distinct hiss. The glass windowed hatch on the tank lifted up, flooding the room with solution and spilling Max onto the floor a few feet away on his front. He rose up on shaky arms, hacking and coughing liquid from his nose and mouth.
Charles rushed to his side, heart pounding. The floor around Max was slick with the fluid, making it difficult for him to gain his footing as he carefully approached, crouching down beside the prince.
With a gentle touch, Charles placed one hand on Max's back, just between his shoulder blades, as the prince continued to cough and sputter. Feeling the tremors coursing through Max's body worried Charles, while the room was filled with the sound of Max's ragged breaths and the echoes of his coughs reverberating off the smooth metal walls.
That couldn't feel good against his broken ribs.
“Max! I don't know what happened. The tank started making weird sounds a–and no matter what I tried it just wouldn't cooperate. I tried to get you out as soon as I could, but I–I didn't want to smash the glass since all the other tanks don't work and w–we might need this one if we can't go to the cli–”
Charles snapped his blubbering mouth shut when Max turned his weary eyes to meet his. The prince’s eye that had been completely swollen was now open and horribly bloodshot.
He took a quick inventory of Max's other injuries; fingers were still broken, shoulder mostly healed, bruises on his hips and neck gone but still present across the bridge of his nose, stitching still firmly in place, and his ankle was still very swollen and purple.
“Damn tanks,” Max mused and spit on the floor, wincing from the pressure leaning on his broken hand.
Charles moved to kneel in front of him and placed his hands under each arm ready to lift him up. “Let me help you stand.”
The prince growled low in warning between ragged breaths, and Charles withdrew his hands, holding them up defensively, confused as to what offense he’d committed. Max pointed to a towel hanging from the edge of the table, and Charles brought it over quickly, mentally kicking himself for forgetting the naked state of his prince.
How could he possibly forget that? More mistakes he mused.
“Was that supposed to happen?” Charles felt like the answer might’ve been obvious with the shattered state of the other tanks in the room, but he couldn't stand the awkward silence for another second.
“It's just old, and Carlos needs to have a look at it. He's the best mechanic we've got and unable to slip away from the nav deck without being noticed.” Running his fingers through his dripping hair, Max made to stand with the towel now slung around his waist. His swollen ankle buckled immediately when he tried to put weight on it, tipping him off balance and tumbling into Charles’ arms.
Charles helped him stand, gingerly touching his waist and good arm. The prince didn't pull away from the arms cradling him, but he didn't have a choice if his ankle couldn't support him. Max, not so subtly, checked on his tail to make sure it didn't wander off again, causing heat to rise in Charles’ cheeks at the memory.
That was clearly something significant for the regal Torossian, and Charles actually enjoyed the feeling of the tail's fur against his skin.
The pair made their way over to the table for Max to lean his weight on it. “Alonso said you'd need a few hours in there, but it's only been about thirty or forty minutes.”
“The rest will have to wait. Come, help me back to our quarters.”
The corridor back was barren and thankfully not far from the med bay.
______
The room was empty when they arrived, and the pair headed straight for the prince's private room.
Max felt Charles' breath hitch against his neck, apparently at the idea of being invited into his personal space, and the Earthling hesitated at the doorway, ceasing his overburdened steps holding most of the prince's weight. Max didn't actually want him to go in, but he needed the help, so he nodded once for the younger man to continue, hobbling into the space and bringing Charles along with him.
Charles helped the prince into the small bed nestled inside of a cut out in the wall.
Max’s private quarters weren't anything special. The room was long and skinny, with the cut-out bed area to the right when you walked in the door and a metal desk with some storage places to the left. An ensuite finished the space at the far side away from the door. The metal was darker than other areas of the ship, more of a gunmetal gray, and recessed lighting over the bed and along grooves in the floor lit the space in a softer glow than the halls and main cabin room where Charles’ cot and the other Torossians’ bunks sat.
Settling into the bed, on top of the neatly made sheets, Max exhaustedly sighed. Charles fumbled with his hands for a second, looking around awkwardly before he gasped and quickly stepped back to the prince. Max looked down where the Earthling was focused and saw red dampening the towel around his waist.
“We must’ve pulled your stitches. Let me . . . c–can I—” He trailed off, seemingly unsure of how to ask the prince for permission, hands hesitantly outstretched.
Max looked down to the stained towel high on his hip bone, pink dusting his cheeks at the implication that Charles needed to move it to check the stitches. He didn't really know when that happened, but he assumed it was when he spilled from the tank on the floor in a crumpled heap.
He’d spent too much time on the way back to their quarters focused on controlling his unruly tail and keeping it away from Charles to notice much else.
The Earthling looked to gather his courage and spoke firmly, “Prince Max, I need to check your wound.” He didn't wait for a reply before kneeling beside the bed and gently tugging on the knot in the towel, pulling it to the side and exposing the stitches but leaving Max's modesty intact.
The wound was an angry red with a few stitches pulled clean through and hanging limp. “I’ll be right back,” Charles said while quickly disappearing from the room.
Max shifted on the bed to get a better look when Charles returned not even a moment later, evidently having some foresight to bring a field medic kit with him. Fishing out a needle and thread, the Earthling got to work threading it. A far cry from the tool Alonso had used earlier and the high tech equipment available in the clinic, but they had to make do with what they had.
"Baise-moi," [fuck me] Max heard the younger say in his Earth accent he'd quickly grown fond of and the prince placed a hand on Charles' arm when his face turned white looking at the needle.
“I can do it myself. Hand them here-”
“No, you stay still and rest. I'm getting better after giving you the pain meds and watching Alonso do your sutures earlier. Being in the clinic was a lot though,” Charles said with a soft chuckle.
“Wait, you went to the clinic? Charles, I told you to stay out of sight," he scolded, his tone tinged with worry. "It's not safe for you to wander around the ship. You aren’t supposed to leave these rooms. I thought I made myself perfectly clear—”
"I'm not some fragile doll, Max." Charles retorted, voice sharp with mild anger. "I can't just hide away in these quarters while the rest of you go about your business. I want to help, too."
Max opened his mouth to respond, but Charles cut him off before he could speak, ignoring the death glare the prince was giving him. "I'm not going to sit idly by while everyone else goes about their work and refuses to help you." The Earthling continued, frustration clear in his voice, "I may not be as strong as you, but I won't be treated like some helpless bystander. I’m not a child, Max,” Charles quipped. “Alonso said he needed another med kit, and since I pass as a human, I was the only one who could get it. Now shut up, and let me concentrate.”
A small, barely there smile adorned Max's face while he watched the younger concentrate on the eyehole of the needle. The sight of the corner of Charles' lip pulled up between his teeth in deep focus stirred fondness inside his chest.
The Earthlings fiery attitude was so attractive. Torossians only liked strong-willed partners, and Charles was cute when he was spirited like this.
Max was surprised at how tender Charles treated him. He knew Charles was a ferocious warrior from their spars and an immense battle power hid beneath those gentle hands.
He couldn't remember the last time he was cared for like this, maybe not since his mother died.
Alonso and Carlos cared about his well-being as their sovereign, but this, with Charles . . . was different. He didn't see him as just their prince but as an individual deserving of care. Feelings he couldn't identify swirled in his chest at the thought that Charles had stayed with him in the med bay. He probably would've stayed the whole tank cycle to make sure he was alright, and Charles even exposed himself on the ship to get supplies to help him. Max was grateful he was with him now.
For a moment, he fantasized about what a normal life for him could've been like. The idyllic scenes that played out in his mind—carefree days spent beneath the warmth of their home planet's sun, surrounded by loved ones and unburdened by the weight of this current reality—offered a fleeting glimpse of the innocence and joy that had been stolen from him. He could've even courted Charles in another place and time.
Those hopeful feelings were chased away suddenly, as he was reminded by that voice in his mind.
Charles didn't know who he really was, what he'd done. He wouldn't treat him this way if he'd known the truth about the life he'd lived ‘til now. Feeling mildly foolish for thinking he could trust someone like Charles, Max chastised himself. This was someone who had no idea of the darkness that lurked within him.
Max clutched Charles' wrist as he prepared to stitch up his hip, his thoughts turbulent. "Thank you . . . for doing this for me. Not many would . . . show such kindness," he managed, his words strained.
Charles furrowed his brow, a curl of his brown hair falling onto his forehead. "Why wouldn't I help you?" he inquired sincerely.
Unable to meet Charles' gaze, Max turned away, his voice heavy with resignation. "I'm not a good man, Charles," he admitted, his tone devoid of emotion.
“Everyone deserves respect and care, Max. Besides, you're not a bad person.” When he looked back, those green eyes were caged by the cutest smile lines and dimples in what he could only describe as the most genuine smile someone had ever given him.
Charles shook off the hand on his wrist and started restitching the open wound.
His heart twisted violently in his chest. He knew how wrong Charles was about him. There was so much innocent blood on his hands, and he was haunted by their faces in his nightmares. If anyone was undeserving of Charles' kindness, or care in general, it was him.
Relaxing against the shabby mat he had for a mattress, Max let Charles finish attending to his hip, eyes closed and breathing steady. They sat in silence while the Earthling worked tending to Max’s wound with unwavering focus and gentle precision until the temporary nurse spoke again.
“I know Jos did this to you. I can't unsee the bruises or keep pretending that everything is okay.”
That had his eyes shooting open again, whipping his head to look at Charles who wasn't meeting his gaze, still focused on his hip. As the words hung in the air, a tense silence enveloped them, punctuated only by the soft sound of their breathing and the thread being pulled tight. For a long moment, Max remained silent, his gaze fixed on the younger Torossian's face, grappling with the weight of Charles' words. When he finally did speak, his voice was hoarse with turmoil.
“Charles—”
“What he forced you to do doesn't make you a bad man, my prince.” Charles spoke with what felt like a flood of compassion as the truth hung between them like a tangible force.
The familiar feeling of shame filled Max’s chest at his words. His thoughts clouded with images of his people, their home planet Toro, being the last in the line of his ruling house started by his great grandfather. If only they could see him now, their captor’s play thing drowning in the screams of the innocent. The universe's mightiest people, reduced to slaves because of his weakness and lack of leadership.
Only Max and Jos knew the truth about the demise of planet Toro, and he would take that secret with him to the grave.
“Call me Max, and you don't have a clue what you are talking about.” He looked down to see Charles finishing his work on the stitches. “I’m not who you think I am. I’ve done terrible things, things that can never be undone—”
“Finished. Alonso did a better job, but it will hold. Might leave a nasty scar though,” Charles redirected the conversation, undeterred, and packed the surgical needle and thread back in the medic kit before standing beside the bed.
“Given your seeming lack of awareness, one more scar won't make a difference,” Max rolled his eyes, gesturing to his torso and arms that he’d noticed Charles was clearly trying to avoid looking closely at until now.
With the invitation, the Earthling let his gaze wander and Charles' mouth dropped open a moment later. Max knew there were dozens of scars; big, small, painful looking across his whole chest and arms. A patchwork of jagged edges marred smooth pale skin.
If this was the man’s reaction to his front, Max dreaded the thought of what face Charles would make looking at his back.
The intricate network of scars that crisscrossed the prince's torso and arms was a silent testament to the trials and tribulations he had endured in his captivity. Most of them he couldn't even remember how they got there if he was honest. He heard a soft gasp of shock as Charles recoiled slightly, breath catching in his throat when he took in the extent of damage.
Feeling entirely too exposed under that pitying gaze, Max squeezed his tail tight around his waist and turned his face away sharply, but didn't dare roll on his tender ribs or pull on his fresh stitches. He knew the tank didn’t prevent scarring, but it had been a long time since someone saw his bare form for the first time like this.
The horrified look on Charles' face told him everything he needed to know about how revolting he must look to the younger man, and he instinctively tightened his tail around his waist even more.
A smooth palm on his chest right over a particularly nasty scar had him turning back, locking blue eyes with green. “You won't convince me you deserved this.”
Max looked deeply into Charles' eyes. This close he could see the small flecks of gold in those green orbs, right around the pupils and he studied them for a moment, but didn't find a hint of a lie in them.
“And what if I did?” Max challenged, unable to help himself.
He needed to push Charles away, keep him safe and far from him. If not for his sake, then for Charles’, but Max had no words for what Charles said next.
“Whatever mistakes you think you’ve made, no one could deserve this.” The Earthling gestured to his scars like they meant nothing and could magically disappear or the actions that caused them be undone.
Max was enamored by the Earthling’s mind and so—so fucked.
“Good night, Charles.”
Notes:
Comments are always welcome. Come say hi on Tumblr and check out this Chapter's inspo images!
Chapter 7: Wanted Here With Me
Summary:
The next few days for Max were a gift from the goddess, who he thought had abandoned him long ago.
He'd received a notification on his scouter that he was relieved of all duties for the next week. Jos’ pitiful form of apology, he supposed, and instead, he'd spent all day every day talking with Charles in his room.
They talked about everything: food, fights, strategies, anything to fill the silence, but most importantly, anything to keep him in bed. Charles was insistent that he rest and recover, even going so far as to bring him all of his meals and help him back and forth to the ensuite. Max to his own surprise allowed the assistance.
Notes:
Back on my fluffy angsty agenda break for this chapter❤️
Again...There will be a lot of explaining of complex DBZ lore concepts in this chapter and I hope I explained everything well enough, but if you think something is totally left field, leave a comment or send me a message on Tumblr . For clarity, Oozaru hindbrain will be fully explained in the next chapter, but it's very similar to regular Omegaverse alpha hindbrain functions and dynamics for Max in this chapter.
Very special thank you to Lady_Something for continuing to put up with my shit and telling me when something needs more context for the uninitiated.
Chapter Warnings: none?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next few days for Max were a gift from the goddess, who he thought had abandoned him long ago.
He'd received a notification on his scouter that he was relieved of all duties for the next week. Jos’ pitiful form of apology, he supposed, and instead, he'd spent all day every day talking with Charles in his room.
They talked about everything: food, fights, strategies, anything to fill the silence, but most importantly, anything to keep him in bed. Charles was insistent that he rest and recover, even going so far as to bring him all of his meals and help him back and forth to the ensuite. Max to his own surprise allowed the assistance.
Watching the Earthling move about his chambers also didn't hurt his recovery.
His ankle still couldn't bear any weight, but his hand was definitely better with the ability to slowly bend his fingers and wrist returning.
Max found the Earthling charming and funny, in an unassuming kind of way. Charles wasn’t completely oblivious to his unnaturally good looks, and he would bat those stunning green eyes at the prince when he gave Charles grief about staying in bed. His kind heart, though, was infectious. He’d talked to the young Torossian more in a few days than he'd talked to anyone in years.
He learned a bit about what life was like on Earth and how Charles grew up learning martial arts from his adoptive father. They’d lived in the mountains outside of a region called Monaco together until Hervé had passed two years ago when Charles was nineteen. When he was alive, they had grown vegetables together to take into town and sell in a local market.
Charles made friends in a similar manner, training and getting himself into all kinds of trouble in their adventures. Max discovered that he had gained the ability to control his ki at a young age, along with his small group of friends, by attending the Turtle Academy led by Master Vasseur. On the planet, the average Earthling couldn't use ki at all, and most were frightened or awed witnessing its use. One only mastered it after years of dedication to the craft, and there were only a few masters on the planet to learn from.
The prince also learned that everywhere he went, Charles made friends easily. It didn't matter if they were enemies to start, he would always bring them around and treat them like family.
One particular story stood out for Max about an interesting man who almost killed Charles in a tournament, Lewis he thought his name was? He couldn't keep them all straight with the names the Earthling rattled off talking about his adventures and his life back home in his accent.
Home.
In the absence of a physical sanctuary to call his own, Max found solace in the thought of Charles' connection to Earth, a world steeped in memories and familiarity for the younger man. The idea that Charles still had a place to call home, a beacon of light amidst the darkness of their shared captivity, filled Max with a sense of quiet gratitude and longing, but he didn’t dare mention it.
“Tell me about that fight you had with a king again,” Max asked Charles during a lull in their dinner conversation. “I was thinking about a different strategy you could've used in the final stages of that battle.”
The younger rolled his eyes at him, and Max just smiled back, something he also felt like he was doing more of in the last few days than he had in his entire life. Charles told him he did this a lot, “Maxsplaining” or whatever term the Earthling coined for his love of strategy discussions, but it only made him more fond of listening to Charles’ stories.
As Charles once again reminisced and regaled the prince about his final battle with Lewis when he was eighteen, the younger animatedly recalled the intensity of the confrontation, a clash that held the fate of the Earth in its balance. The battle took place at something called the World Martial Arts Tournament, a fitting stage for an ultimate showdown. It reminded him of the imperial arena on Toro where annual festival competitions were held for tests of strength and might.
Charles vividly described the charged atmosphere as he faced off against Lewis, a reincarnation of the malevolent King Lewis who he defeated two years prior at sixteen. With every strike and dodge, Charles felt the weight of his responsibility to protect Earth from the malicious threat. Their fight was a test of strength, skill, and resolve, each combatant pushing themselves to their limits. Charles recounted the fierce exchange of energy blasts, the thunderous clash of their fists, and the acrobatic maneuvers that defined their combat style.
As the battle reached its climax, Charles tapped into his inner reserves of power, channeling the energy of his friends and allies to unleash his signature move, the Kamehameha. The energy beam surged forward, colliding with Lewis' own devastating attack in a cataclysmic clash that shook the arena to its core . . .
“Wait—” Max interrupted Charles mid story. “What do you mean he’s a reincarnation? Humans live multiple lives?”
Charles smiled and took another bite of his food, leaving Max hanging for a second before shaking his head and explaining further. "No, Lewis is different. I suppose now that I know aliens are real, I would have to guess he isn’t from Earth, and I’m not really sure what alien species he belongs to, but he has the ability to reincarnate upon death. When I defeated King Lewis many years ago, he spat out an egg just before dying.” Max nodded, beginning to grasp the concept, and let the younger continue explaining. “When it happened, we were all shocked and attributed it to him being like a demon or something, but now an alien makes more sense.” Charles laughed at himself, and Max's tail lightly flitted at the sound.
"That egg hatched into a new person, who we called Lewis. However, unlike his predecessor, Lewis is not inherently evil, but he still has the memories and traits of King Lewis within him. It’s like a continuous cycle of reincarnation, with each new version inheriting the legacy of those who came before."
Max nodded again, absorbing the information. "So, Lewis is both his own person and a continuation of King Lewis’ legacy," he concluded.
"Exactly," Charles confirmed with a smile. "And that's what makes Lewis’ journey so fascinating. He tried to assimilate to a normal life as much as possible after that and even went so far as to get a driver's license. He fell in love with driving so much that he's now a racing driver in something called Formula 1, the pinnacle of motorsport on planet Earth.”
The prince chuckled, “But can’t he fly? Seems like a strategic advantage.”
Charles laughed hard in apparent agreement with the prince. “You'd have to ask him about if it helps or not. But for the other question, if you were looking to live multiple lives, you'd need to ask Shenron for that.”
“What in the goddess is a Shenron?” Max was starting to think there was a glaring problem with their scouting teams if they’d missed all this data while assessing the planet.
“On Earth, we have wish orbs that are scattered across the globe. When you locate all seven and bring them to a sacred temple, you can have a wish granted by a spiritual being that accepts the orbs as payment. No one actually knows what the being looks like though, because no one has been able to find all seven orbs, but we know the being's name is Shenron.”
Max sat up straighter on the bed, slightly dumbfounded at this new information. “So you can wish for anything and this being will make it so? Including multiple lives and eternal life?” The prince’s brain was working overtime to process all this and what it would mean if it fell into the wrong hands.
“So the legend goes. I don’t know what the limitations are around making a wish, but I know the orbs only work after a certain length of dormancy. I think it’s a year?”
Max looked over to his desk to make sure his scouter was turned off and decided they’d better wait to discuss this topic further when he could be sure no one would intercept them. If the emperor got word of something so powerful, the universe as they knew it would cease to exist. “So,” the prince deflected, "do you want to hear my ideas about how you could’ve finished off Lewis sooner?”
On the third day of Max’s confinement, Carlos informed them that he'd be able to work on the tank later in the week and hopefully get it fully functional again. Max prayed he would because if he spent much more time cooped up, he'd start blasting holes in the ship.
The prince had a problem with being idle. After twenty years of a forced rigorous schedule, complacency set him on edge.
Propped up with his back against the wall sitting on the bed, the prince had his ankle resting on a pillow. They were back to discussing Charles' life on Earth, and Max opened up a little more as the conversations continued.
He shared a few stories of his own adventures on Toro, recounting the thrill of youth battle training and the camaraderie forged in the training grounds. "I was only allowed to have a few sparring partners, all of which were pre-approved by the king, but even then, I learned there was nothing quite like the rush of adrenaline in the heat of combat," he explained, voice tinged with nostalgia and sadness.
Sensing the prince's growing unease, Charles attempted to change discussion tactics for their evening meal. “Can you tell me about Toro itself? What was it like when you were there?”
Taken aback by the question, having assumed Charles had no interest in a home he'd never known, Max decided to indulge him nonetheless. He gave a detailed lesson on planet Toro, the legendary home world of the Torossian race.
Planet Toro was a harsh and unforgiving world characterized by vast expanses of arid desert, rugged mountains, and ominous volcanic landscapes. The sky above was tinged with hues of red and orange, casting a subtle glow over the planet's surface. Occasional massive storm systems raged across the atmosphere, unleashing torrents of rain and lightning upon the lands below.
Despite its harsh environment, Toro was teeming with life, albeit mostly of a primal and ferocious nature. Dangerous creatures roamed the wilderness, their predatory instincts honed to perfection in the arena of survival. Thick jungles and dense forests housed exotic flora and fauna, each adapted to thrive on the planet's harsh conditions.
At the heart of Toro was the sprawling capital city of Rosso, a testament to the Torossian race's prowess and ambition. Towering spires of gleaming metal and stone pierced the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling streets below. The city was always a hive of activity, with Torossian warriors training tirelessly in preparation for battle and the ruling elite overseeing the affairs of the empire. Surrounding the capital were vast expanses of fertile farmland, where farmers toiled under the relentless sun to cultivate crops to sustain their people.
Despite the abundance of natural resources, life on Toro was marked by a constant struggle for dominance and survival, with the strongest and most ruthless rising to the top of the Torossian hierarchy. Amidst the harshness and brutality of life on Toro, there was a fierce sense of pride and camaraderie among its people.
Bound by a warrior's code of honor and loyalty, they stood united in the face of any challenge, ready to conquer any obstacle that was in their way. Toro was the crucible in which the Torossian race was forged, shaping them into the formidable warriors they were known to be throughout the universe.
Charles' eyes grew wide as the prince continued, “Toro was not much bigger than your Earth, but the gravity was roughly ten times its level. The capital city of Rosso had lush trees and flowers in the palace gardens with a stream running the span of its walls.” Max mused fondly remembering the garden walks he would take with his mother as a child between his many training sessions.
“What was it like living in the palace?” Charles asked as he set down their dinner on the foot of Max’s bed, climbing on and sitting cross-legged.
Max reached for his favorite stew that Charles learned to save for him and took a few sips before answering. “From what I can remember, my day was packed with training, lessons, and diplomatic appearances as my father’s oldest son and heir. I wasn't allowed to leave the grounds unaccompanied, but I used to take my lessons in the garden with Alonso and your father who taught me military strategy, history, and our religion worshiping the godin van de maan.” [goddess of the moon]
“Wait—you knew my father? What was he like? Tell me about him, please!” The Earthling practically jumped on Max, eager for information. The sudden weight pressing on his ankle startled a yelp out of the prince, and Charles scurried back to his side of the bed so fast, he almost fell off. “I’m sorry! Oh my God . . . let me check the bandages. I'm sorry!”
Max rolled his eyes, fondly chuckling as the other quickly unwrapped his ankle and checked the swelling. “I’m fine, I promise. I’m tough, remember?”
Once Charles was satisfied that he hadn’t hurt the prince, he revisited his question, much calmer than before. “Please, tell me about him?”
“Your birth sire was General Bianchi of the king's army third class. He was very close with my father and unmatched in strategic mastery. King Christian never made a major decision without running it by the young general, much to the displeasure of the high council.” Max could picture their faces now, stony displeasure at the favor the third-class general held with their king.
Charles' face lit up at the news his father was well respected by the king, but as soon as that million watt smile appeared, it was gone, dimples and all. The younger shakily took another bite of his dinner in an apparent attempt to hide his change of mood.
Max frowned at the gloomy look, bringing the stew away from his mouth, “What's wrong?”
Charles swallowed thickly, “I was just thinking . . . if he was so respected, is that why he sent me away? Carlos said my battle power was too low, and I had to be sent away. T–that I was expendable . . . ” Tears welled up in his eyes, and Max couldn't stand the sight of them. “Was my father ashamed of me?”
Max grappled with the weight of Charles' perception, a pang of guilt piercing his heart like a jagged shard of glass. The thought that Charles believed he'd been sent away because of some perceived shame on his father's part made Max sick. How could he not have realized Charles could harbor such a hurtful misconception?
Obviously, Carlos hadn't done a good job of explaining things if the poor boy was still so confused.
“No, Charles—no! He was never ashamed of you.” Max leaned up as much as he could to place both hands on the man's shoulders, trying to meet his downturned gaze. “Look at me, Charles,” Max tipped his chin up with his index finger and his heart squeezed at the dejected look in those teary green orbs.
“The practice of purge infants was barbaric and only put in place after we were enslaved by Jos. It was his way of keeping the lower classes in line and expanding his empire with little effort.” Tears streaked down Charles’ face while the prince spoke, and Max quickly wiped them away with his thumb. “I know your father was devastated they sent you away. He was so enraged by it, the king had to restrain him from trying to go after you. Jos would've killed him if he'd brought you back.”
The memory was fuzzy and faded, but he still remembered their fight in the king's private quarters in the palace.
“How can you allow this to happen to your people!? He's my son! You can't stop me from going after him.” Jules angrily tried to free his wrists from Christian's hold to no avail.
“I need you here with me. There is nothing we can do for Perceval now other than continue our plans to overthrow Jos. Please, I can't do this without you . . .”
Max knew he wasn't meant to see the small private moment between them, but it had always stuck with him as one of the few times he saw his father’s regal facade of control crack under the pressure of Jos’ oppressive rule. Not long after that memory Max was taken from his rooms to Jos’ prisons, and he could only imagine the rage Jules must've calmed the king down from in a similar manner.
The hopeful look on Charles' face was almost too much for Max to not pull him into a firm hug, but he kept his well practiced composure.
“H–he didn't want me to leave?” Charles' voice was small and scratchy.
“No, Charlie, he wouldn’t have sent you away if it was possible not to. I know my father shed many tears over those abhorrent rules Jos forced on us. Please, don't ever think you weren’t wanted.” He paused before cradling Charles’ face with both hands adding, "You are wanted here, with me.”
The irony of the scene between their fathers and the fate of them now was not lost on Max. He gave up on trying to maintain his distance and wrapped his arms around Charles tightly, rubbing soothing circles on his back. He never wanted to see tears in those beautiful eyes again.
His tail unfurled from around his waist to wave back and forth gently behind him, spreading calming pheromones in the room that seemed to help Charles relax.
Not sure why he did that, Max had started to notice thing he absently did that seemed to effect Charles. Almost instinctually, on a primal level.
This all but enforced his need to keep Charles hidden from Jos. Not only was he another Torossian spared from the genocide of their race, but a surviving purge infant that failed to conquer the planet he'd been sent to . . . Max squeezed him tighter at the thought of what would happen if the emperor got his hands on him, nuzzling into his neck and breathing in his scent.
The smell of the Earthling's sadness vibrated the back of his skull.
They broke apart after several moments and Max leaned back to give the man some space, only to discover his tail was around the younger’s waist again. He removed it gently, feeling heat on his cheeks, and continued eating in silence.
Charles' eyes followed the movements of his unruly tail, but he didn't say anything about it. Once finished, the Earthling gathered up the food containers and wished Max a goodnight. The prince considered asking him to stay, but the younger one needed some time to care for himself. Slapping his forehead when he was alone again, Max whispered aloud, "What the fuck am I doing?"
He received no response.
Over the next few days waiting for the tank, Max discovered that Charles' proclivity for making friends didn't stop with him. He really couldn't be surprised. Charles had a gentle soul and a tender heart he wore on his sleeve, and of course, everyone he met adored him.
After the Earthling’s insistence that he be given more freedoms aboard the ship, Max reluctantly agreed to a few more approved outings.
Charles made friends with the uniform maids and several other crew members in the kitchens when he went to get their food rations for the day. Max still felt like it wasn't safe for him to go, but with Alonso and Carlos doing double time posts to relieve his duties, no one else could keep up with the maintenance of their quarters. Charles always wore his cleaning staff uniform and did his best to blend in with the crowds of workers on the ship.
So far, his existence had gone totally unnoticed.
What hadn't gone unnoticed, was the new feelings of jealousy Max had toward the crew members who would stop by for a chat with Charles regularly. The frequent visits were starting to get to him and taking away from the time they could’ve spent together during his recovery. Normally, Max kept completely to himself and didn't even know the names of fellow shipmates unless they were in war room meetings. But lately, he found himself straining to listen to bits of conversations through the door of his private room, hoping to gather pieces of information he didn't know about Charles.
He learnt small things like Charles used to play some kind of instrument on Earth he couldn't remember the name of, and his favorite sweet thing to eat was called tira–misu? From what Charles had described, it was made with a bitter drink and layering fingers of women?
Very strange.
Max’s mental image of the dish made him frown and he would have to pull up the scouting reports from Earth later to verify if he missed cannibalism in the culture section.
The uniform maid was back today, causing Max to grind his teeth. She clearly had a thing for Charles by the way she laughed too loud at his jokes and hung on his every word. Jealousy was not a feeling he was accustomed to, but he'd also never felt so protective or drawn to someone before.
He was being ridiculous, Max chided himself mentally. Charles didn’t belong to him. He was free to do as he pleased so long as he stuck to the rules that maintained his anonymity. Aware of the delicate balance between supporting Charles making a life for himself on the ship and addressing his own feelings of inadequacy, Max decided to try and ignore the situation at hand.
That was easier said than done when that flinty voice grated on his nerves.
“Are you going to come by later and help me get down the new box of gloves like you promised? I don't know why they decided to put them all the way in the top storage pod. Maybe such a strong guy like you could lift me up so I can reach them?”
Oh— Fuck no. Max had had enough of her shameless flirting.
Hobbling from his bed to the door, he smacked the button on the control panel angrily and it slid open. He stepped through and used the now closed door to support most of his weight, letting his gaze fall on Charles, whose back was turned to him as he engaged in conversation with the maid by the main entrance door.
Her hand was delicately placed on the inside of his arm and a playful smile adorned her lips.
The sight instantly ignited the smoldering embers of his temper into a raging fire. Max strode forward with purpose, grinding his teeth to not wince at his ankle taking pressure it wasn't ready for yet, but he couldn’t let his weakness show in front of any crew. To relieve some of the pressure he let his ki flare just enough to hover slightly off the ground, but not high enough to be detected by a scouter in the area or be fully airborne.
The prince's voice rang out sharply, cutting through the air like a whip. “Charles,” he called, his tone clipped and icy, “a word.”
Startled by the sudden interruption, Charles jolted and turned to face Max, surprise evident in his expression. "Max, what's wrong?" he asked, his brow scrunched with confusion.
While Charles had his head turned, he missed the color drain from the maid’s face. A sight Max was very familiar with when he met the eyes of the crew.
Fear.
A reputation well known on a ship of murderers and beyond its metal walls, to the far reaches of Jos’ empire.
Ignoring Charles' inquiry, Max directed his gaze towards the maid, his eyes flashing with barely contained fury. "You," he spat, voice dripping with venom, "need to learn some respect. Charles is not here for your amusement."
The maid recoiled at Max's harsh words, her cheeks flushing lightly with embarrassment. "Yes, Prince Max, I–I'm sorry," she stammered, her eyes wide with terror.
Charles turned back to look at her, eyes searching her face, then the room for whatever the perceived threat was. The prince knew exactly when Charles figured out it was him. The man's eyes slowly landed back on Max realizing he was the cause of the maid’s trembling with shock written on his delicate features.
Max's jaw clenched harder with anger as he took a menacing step forward through the pain, his towering presence casting a shadow over the stunned maid. "See to your work," he growled, voice low and dangerous. The maid ran from the room without so much as a glance back at Charles.
Turning his attention back to the Earthing, Max's features softened slightly, though the fire still burned brightly in his eyes. "Come, Charles." He said, tone brusque yet tinged with an undercurrent of concern. The younger had a look of bewilderment on his face, clearly dumbstruck at the odd interaction.
The tension between them was palpable, and Max's mind seethed with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Though he knew his anger had gotten the best of him, he couldn't shake the sense of possessiveness that gripped his heart, driving him to protect Charles at all costs, even from perceived threats as innocuous as a flirtatious maid.
Charles' apparent moment of confusion and anger at how the prince just treated his friend, was broken by the realization Max was standing on his own, ankle still bruised and angry looking. He hurriedly stepped to the prince, voice full of concern, “Max! Your ankle, come on, you need to get back in bed.” Charles assumed his practiced position supporting the prince as they walked together back into his private room.
Max settled back on his bed and took a deep breath while Charles quickly got the pillow that supported his ankle and put it back in place, eyeing the prince with clear irritation. Realizing he needed to diffuse the tension he'd created by interrupting Charles and the maid’s conversation, Max was at a loss.
What was he supposed to say? How could he possibly justify his behavior without revealing his feelings of possessiveness regarding the young Torossian?
Thinking quickly, he cleared his throat and spoke in a more measured tone, "I didn't intend to upset you," he said, voice tinged with regret, “I–It had been some time since you left to collect rations and I'd just thought . . . ” Max twisted his hand in the blanket over the mat, kicking himself for this pitiful excuse. “Apologies for the interruption, Charles.”
Charles gave him a soft pained smile and placed his palm over the prince's hand gripping the blanket, “No, I'm sorry. I got distracted. You must be so hungry. Let me get the food and I'll be right back.”
“I'm not hungry just yet,” Max said before he could stop himself. The prince was indeed famished, but the thought of Charles leaving him even for a second right now was too much.
Charles crawled to his spot on the foot of the bed and sat quietly, apparently waiting for the prince to speak.
Lost in thought, the prince desperately looked to salvage this. He regretted his impulsive outburst, but he knew that his priority was always to ensure the safety and well-being of their few people. Even if it meant sacrificing his desires in the process.
Max chided himself for messing up this badly with the Earthling. How fucking stupid could he be? Flying off the handle at the first sign that Charles was settling into life on the ship. Charles felt so distant in that moment, still eyeing him wearily and sitting further away from him on the bed than normal.
Was the Earthling now afraid of him too?
A worse thought sparked within him: maybe Charles wasn’t interested in him at all. Maybe he had misread all of their interactions. Maybe the young Torossian would be a better match for someone else with less baggage and risks associated with being in his general vicinity. He debated for a moment, and the image of her ogling Charles wouldn’t leave his mind.
“That maid comes around too often. Someone will start to get suspicious.” Max spoke tentatively and wasn't sure how to get his point across.
Charles looked over at him. “She's a friend,” he said nonchalantly.
Max pinched the bridge of his nose trying to get ahold of his anger blanketing the room in waves. “No one is supposed to know you're here, Charles. I won’t have needless risks taken with your safety. We disposed of your clothes and personal items for a reason, and although I'm not pleased you kept those things on your arm, I've allowed it.”
Brows knitting together, Charles looked down at his wrist and argued, "things? You mean my bracelets? What possible harm could that do? My friend made these for me and it's the only thing from my home I have left!” The Earthling took a deep breath, but his irritation bled straight through. “As for the maid, I was still in our quarters? Am I never allowed to talk to anyone again on top of never being allowed to leave these rooms? Must I stay here and cater to your every whim? Be your personal manservant and—”
“Would you rather go and stay in her quarters?” Max barked angrily, unable to let him finish that thought. Charles didn't respond, pink dusting his cheeks lightly with an unfamiliar glint in his eye. The sight of his blush had Max's embers of jealousy smoldering again. “Are you interested in her?” Max spat, glaring at Charles under his angry brow and crossed his arms over his chest.
Charles looked down to his hands in his lap and picked at the skin around his thumb and leaned away just slightly. “I don't see her like that. We’re just friends.”
Apparently, he couldn't fix this awkwardness between them as he watched Charles wilt a little under his hard stare. Sighing, he resigned himself to the idea that he definitely wasn’t a good match for the younger Torossian if he couldn't keep his temper at bay. He knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, Charles seeing what everyone else saw when they looked at him.
“Maybe we should find a proper room for you then if you desire it.” Max cringed at his own words. His jealousy held fast, but he wouldn't force Charles to be in his presence if he didn't want it.
“Is that what you want me to do?” Charles looked up at him again, biting the corner of his lip.
“No–yes–I . . . ” Max sighed, relaxing his arms on his lap. He’d never been the best with words and everything he said was just making it worse. "I could make other arrangements if that's what you want.”
He looked away to his ankle and gave it a testing lift. Yup, he definitely made it worse standing on it.
Charles stayed silent and leaned forward to check the swelling on Max's irritated ankle. At this point, most of Max’s other injuries were well on their way to being healed and needed less attention. Another fun fact the prince had mentioned to Charles, Torossians healed much faster than most other species even without the tank.
After making sure there was no additional bleeding, Charles resumed his cross-legged position at the foot of the bed, staring at the floor while he picked at his hands.
Neither spoke for a while, and Max couldn't stop the intrusive thoughts.
Dozens of images with Charles and the maid flooded his mind. Charles laughing and chatting with the woman in her quarters, his infectious smile lighting up the room, surrounded by warmth and coziness. Max's jealousy twists like a knife in his gut, turning the idyllic scene into a nightmare. He pictured her laughing at his jokes, sharing stories over meals, and slipping into bed together at night. The thought of anyone else capturing Charles’ attention, of anyone else occupying the space that he longed for, fueled an overwhelming desire to claim Charles’ for himself and banish any other intruders from his orbit.
Thoughts of Charles turning against him like the rest of the crew tortured his soul next. The secret Torossian whispering behind him and avoiding crossing his path at all costs, leaving Max alone and abandoned once more. With each passing moment, Max's insecurity festered and grew, poisoning his thoughts and clouding his judgment. His Oozaru hindbrain rose to the surface with the fear of losing Charles consuming him from the inside out, and he couldn't stand it—he let his instincts take over.
Max turned to face Charles and when the latter's head turned to meet his gaze, the prince grabbed the younger’s face in both hands pulling him down, sealing their lips in a passionate kiss. Charles’ eyes widened in shock, but after a moment, the Earthling melted into the heated kiss. It must have clicked in Charles’ head what was happening, since he circled his arms around Max’s neck with his right hand tangling in the nape of the prince’s short blonde hair. Charles moaned into the prince's mouth, and the younger almost instinctively let Max take control of the kiss.
Max kissed him like a starving man, biting his lips, tongue darting out, seeking entrance when Charles gasped and Max took advantage to deepen the kiss, groaning low in his throat.
Charles tasted amazing, and he was immediately addicted to the feeling of their lips sliding together with his greedy hands easily finding the younger's waist.
Before Max could change his mind, he pulled Charles down on his bed and moved on top of him, keeping their lips together the whole way. He positioned his leg so his ankle took no pressure while he slid between Charles' pliant legs that opened with no resistance. Panting and moaning softly, Charles seemed unsure where to put his hands, grabbing any part of Max’s back he could get a hold of, trying to bring their bodies closer together.
Max broke off the kiss, staring down at Charles and taking in the sight.
The Earthling's pupils were blown wide, eyes half lidded, wet red lips well bitten, face flushed clear down to where his neck disappeared underneath his body suit, and Max decided he needed to know how far down it went. He slid his hands under the top half of Charles' suit and brought it up quickly, helping Charles lift it off over his head and tossing it aside. The sight of Charles topless had Max’s brain misfiring.
He was ashamed to admit he’d pictured what the younger would look like during their spars when Max had the younger pinned beneath him, but even his wildest imagination couldn't do him justice.
Charles was exquisite; toned and defined, perfect tan unmarked skin smooth beneath his gloveless fingers, broad chested but not as large as the prince, and an impossibly small waist that Max could encompass with the span of his hands.
A true Torosian warrior in all his glory.
Max wished Charles still had his tail so they could twine them, feeling the soft fur ruffle together. The thought of it made him achingly hard, and he swore he smelled a sweet aroma coming from Charles that had him heady with need. Body on fire, Max hungrily sucked on every open patch of skin he could find, feeling out of control. His tail swayed behind him, puffing up slightly at they noises the Earthling let spill past his pouty lips.
“Je hebt geen idee wat je me aandoet,” [You have no idea what you do to me] he growled in their native tongue. The guttural tone of the words had Charles keening under him with a whimper, tossing his head back and exposing his throat.
Max’s inner Oozaru roared with delight and encouraged him to leave marks on him for all to see. He quickly latched his mouth onto Charles’ neck, licking and sucking deep purple bruises all over his sensitive skin.
The Earthling was a trembling mess under him as he continued his assault down to his chest, biting his nipple hard before giving it a languid lick to sooth the abused bud.
“Max—” The word came out as a breathy whine, and Charles rocked his hips up to meet the prince, who was also desperately seeking friction for his straining erection. The sound of his name on those sugared lips sent a frenzied thrill of sparks through his body straight to his aching cock and he needed to hear it again.
Lowering himself as much as he could with his ankle, Max ground their bodies together, eliciting a gasp from the younger's lips before he licked a thick stripe up the column of Charles’ exposed throat, teeth grazing lightly on the under side of the Earthling's jaw. The prince sealed their lips together again, swallowing his cries.
Charles arched his back clear off the bed trying to meld their bodies into one, grinding quickly and fumbling to try and take the prince's shirt off. The thought of their bare chests pressed together made Max reach for the hem of his nightshirt, and his Oozaru’s presence was a constant thrum now in the back of his mind, demanding they take Charles.
Max paused at this, hovering his lips above Charles' panting mouth that tried to chase him when he pulled away.
His Oozaru had never acted like this before.
In the endless expanse of purging missions, Max had only managed a few of what he could consider intimate partners, one of which was Carlos. Even then, his hindbrain never pushed its way forward like this . . . demanding he mate with his partner.
That thought, and how out of control he felt sent a chill running down his spine as he came back to himself from whatever lust filled trance he was in, fueled by those breathy whines and heady scent of Charles’ arousal. Max was nothing if not the picture of perfect control, and this feeling scared him.
“Stop.” His voice was raw and guttural as he pulled back further, slow and deliberate with worry splashed across his regal features. He met Charles’ bewildered gaze and had to look away.
“W–why?” Charles' eyes were still lidded, and he looked absolutely wrecked, trying to bring the prince back down to their previous position with frantic grabby hands.
The Earthling caught him around the neck of his off-duty shirt and the prince's breathing choked off with memories caused by the insistent hands all over him. Max pulled away completely, creating space between them and letting out a hiss when he bumped his ankle.
Charles leaned up on his elbows looking confused. That look changed rapidly when the Earthling glanced down at the state of his undress, plainly feeling exposed and vulnerable by the tentative expression on his face.
“I—” Charles’ voice shuddered, and he shrank in on himself, sitting up and pulling his legs close to his chest. “First, you tell me I should find somewhere else on the ship to stay, and now you—you try and use me like this?” The young Torossian reached for his shirt that'd been tossed to the side and hurriedly yanked it back down over his head, angrily wiping at his wet eyes.
Max watched him spiral and quickly reached out to take a hold of his wrist, “No, Charles wait. Stop. Look at me, please.” Scooting closer on the bed and gently pulling the younger's hands away from his face. Max met teary eyes briefly before they darted down to the Earthling’s lap.
“I—I shouldn't be here. You’re right, I'll find somewhere else to stay and you can make arrangements,” Charles said hastily and tried to stand from the bed.
“Just fucking stop!” Max barked fearfully, more aggressive than he intended. “Please,” he said, softer. “ Please . . . just—”
Charles stopped his escape attempts but sniffled as more tears began to fall down his face.
“I need you to understand something. If we were to . . . if we start this, it would put you in danger from Jos even more than you already are just by being here.”
Charles' rolled his eyes. "Max," he protested, his voice trembling, "I agreed to stay here knowing the risks, to protect my friends. But now you are the reason I want to stay."
Max's heart clenched at Charles' words, his resolve sputtering at the promise of such unwavering devotion. Yet, he knew that he couldn't allow his own desires to jeopardize Charles' safety, no matter how much it pained him to do so.
"Charles, you don't understand," Max replied, his voice raw with emotion. "The emperor is ruthless. If he were to discover our relationship or that you were important to me . . . I can't bear the thought of putting you in harm's way because of my own selfish desires."
More tears spilled from Charles' eyes as he visibly struggled to come to terms with Max's words, the truth of their reality bearing down upon him like a crushing weight. The younger took a deep breath and met his green eyes with Max's, the determination there taking the prince's breath away.
"We have already lost so much: our home, our people, our freedom. Don't make me lose this too.”
In that moment of raw vulnerability, Max felt the remaining walls around his heart crumble, leaving him exposed and laid bare before the depth of Charles' gaze. He stared at the Earthling, heart pounding in his chest. He knew the danger he was putting Charles in, but his hands itched to feel Charles’ skin again, to pull him close . . .
His Oozaru all but demanded it.
He leaned in and touched his lips to the Earthling’s again, tasting the salt from his tears, and Charles melted, tangling his arms around him in apparent relief. Max gripped Charles’ jaw tightly, kissing him harder, hating himself, his own selfishness, but unable to pull away just yet.
When they paused for a breath, Max leveled a stern gaze at the Earthing. “I will have you . . . But not like this,” he gestured to his ankle, “The tank is almost finished. Can you wait until then?”
Charles nodded with understanding and laid down on the bed on his side facing Max. The prince folded himself around him and they held each other listening to their steady breathing, sharing stolen kisses with dinner long forgotten.
If his tail found its way back around Charles’ waist, that was for only them to know.
Notes:
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Chapter 8: Collateral Damage
Summary:
He was jumping to conclusions.
There wasn't any indication Max was romantically involved with Charles, and he just needed to take a step back and breathe. The helpful idiot could really just be trying to serve Prince Max as a nursemaid and nothing more.
Try as he might to put his suspicions aside, Carlos continued to grumble bitterly, frustration simmering beneath the surface.
“Should’ve left the tailless freak where I found him.” he fumed, finishing his work in silence.
Notes:
Carlos has entered the chat..... 😶
Taking a pause on the DBZ ted talk for this chapter and I hope you enjoy the drama.
Chapter Warnings: None??
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Carlos sighed heavily as he surveyed the array of broken parts scattered across the floor. The tank needed so much work. He didn’t know if he'd have time to finish it all before his next post.
The first component that caught his eye was the damaged plasma conduit, its cracked casing leaking a faint blue glow that illuminated the surrounding area.
Next to the conduit lay a tangled mess of wiring, its once-organized configuration now a jumble of exposed circuits and frayed connections.
Off to the side of the tank, the main control panel was in shambles. Its interface marred by cracked screens, black charring, and malfunctioning buttons. Serving as the nerve center of the healing tank, the panel needed to take priority since it controlled functions to monitor vital signs, adjust treatment parameters, and initiate emergency protocols as needed.
Finally coming to life after some tinkering, Carlos turned his attention to the diagnostic display, its flickering screen indicating a litany of error messages and system failures.
As he worked meticulously on making the necessary repairs, his concentration was interrupted by the med bay door hissing open and Alonso appearing in the doorway.
Carlos rolled his eyes from his crouched position under the control panel and tried hard to not let the elder’s presence add another layer of tension to his already foul mood.
Storming into the room, expression stern and footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet space, Alonso stopped in front of the pile of parts across from him and broke the silence. "I need to know who's taking the prince's evening duty post. I'm needed in the war room in ten."
Carlos paused his work, frustration bubbling beneath the surface, and set down his tools with a heavy clang, shooting Alonso a glare filled with resentment. "Of course, I'll take evening duty," he snapped in irritation. "Seems like I'm the only one around here capable of handling any responsibilities. Goddess forbid the Earthling do any actual work."
Frown deepening, Alonso's eyes narrowed at his response, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Watch your tone, Carlos," the elder quipped with more than a hint of condescension. "We all agreed on the plan to bring him here, and we have our roles to play. If you can't handle the extra load, I'll take the shift."
Carlos clenched his jaw, frustration mounting with each passing second. "Oh, spare me the lecture," he shot back, voice rising slightly with anger. He stood up from underneath the panel and turned his shoulders square with the imposing Torossian's. "I know exactly what's at stake here, but it's hard to focus when the prince and his new toy are off playing their little games while the rest of us are left to pick up the pieces."
Alonso's gaze hardened, patience apparently wearing thin. "Don't be jealous, Carlos. It's beneath you." he sneered. "Charles is Torossian just like us. Now get back to work and stop with your petty whining."
The elder turned on his heel, and Carlos looked away from Alonso’s retreating form, frustration boiling over as he returned to his task. Kneeling back under the panel, his thoughts drifted to the prince's recent interactions with Charles.
Confusion and frustration swirled within him as he wrestled with the implications of Max's growing closeness to the young Earthling.
"Why would you take such a risk with someone you barely know?" Carlos asked aloud to no one, features tight in consternation. "He's always been so cautious, so calculated and callous. But now . . . it's like he's throwing everything away! All for that fucking—"
Carlos angrily threw some of his tools back in their bag.
A pang of jealousy twisted at his insides as he reflected on how much time Max had been spending with Charles as of late. Yes, the prince was hurt badly, but he'd been through worse. He and Alonso couldn’t assist much with their overtime shifts relieving Max's duties, and he couldn’t help but feel sidelined and overlooked, replaced even by this—this outsider who seemed to have captured the prince's attention.
His own little brother no less.
He'd spent twenty years by Max’s side. How could that still not be enough? What does he see in Charles that the prince didn’t see in him?
They were both third-class, so that couldn’t be it, and he’d always assumed that was the reason the prince dismissed his advances in the past.
Prince Max was royalty after all, and Carlos still remembered the sight of him striding into the palace throne room on Toro brimming with confidence, red mantle fastened to his young shoulders swishing through the air, licking at his heels.
He had been captivated by the prince ever since.
On Toro, the prince would've never been allowed to court with anyone outside of the nobility at court, let alone a second-class. A third-class was unthinkable , and King Christian would have the prince's head if the monarch were alive and saw . . .
What had he seen exactly?
He was jumping to conclusions.
There wasn't any indication Max was romantically involved with Charles, and he just needed to take a step back and breathe. The helpful idiot could really just be trying to serve Prince Max as a nursemaid and nothing more.
But, try as he might to put his suspicions aside, Carlos continued to grumble bitterly, frustration simmering beneath the surface.
“Should’ve left the tailless freak where I found him.” he fumed, finishing his work in silence.
_____
A knock on the door startled him from his sleep.
Charles blinked his eyes open slowly, realizing he was in the prince's room as the memories from the night before came rushing back. The maid . . . the friendly conversation interrupted . . . Max’s strange aggressive behavior that had the woman running for her life . . . their tense exchange . . . Max’s lips . . .
Charles looked beside him at the sleeping prince. This was the most relaxed he’d ever seen Max's face, and he didn't want to disturb him.
A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth until the knock on the door sounded again, and Charles quickly slid out from under the blanket, bare feet padding over to the door, and pressed the control panel button.
Carlos’ surprised face greeted him when the door slid up. The tanned man's eyes glanced down at his shirtless form and the man’s lips pressed together into a thin line of agitation.
“Good morning,” the Earthling said, but Carlos didn't reply. He just continued to stare daggers at him and rake his gaze over Charles and the room.
Feeling slightly exposed, Charles brought his arms around his middle to cover himself a little. The intensity of Carlos' eyes had him taking a step back, unsure of what to say.
Max stirred to life on the bed behind him and Charles turned to see the prince stretch his arms up over his head still half asleep. “Charles?” Max's voice was groggy and rough.
Before he could speak, Carlos cleared his throat and directed his words at the prince. “I have finished my repairs, your highness.”
Sitting up quickly in the bed, now wide awake, Max nodded in their direction, “Finally.”
He made to stand and Charles quickly crossed the room to support him. Max growled under his breath but accepted the help walking to the door.
Carlos held out a shirt towards Max, completely ignoring Charles' presence. The prince took it from him before leaning his weight on the door frame and releasing Charles’ hold.
Quickly slipping the shirt over his head, Max returned to his prior position and let the Earthling support his weight again with his arm. Following Carlos from their quarters toward the med bay, Charles was elated that the prince was finally going to heal his lingering injuries.
They came across a group of cleaning staff in the corridor busy working and not paying any attention until the trio got closer. Charles nodded at one of them with his signature friendly smile, and the worker nodded back before his eyes darted over to the prince in Charles’ hold.
He was taken aback by the reaction of the worker whose eyes went wide and face paled as the man quickly fumbled to pick up the materials he was cleaning the floor with. The worker took off at breakneck speed down the hall. The other cleaning crew member turned in confusion to see why his partner fled before his face also drained of color and his arm froze, pausing his wipe mid-journey.
Glancing over at the prince's stony expression, Max stared lifelessly back at the worker. Charles tightened his hold on the prince’s waist in an attempt to get his attention off the terrified man.
Indignantly, Max pushed Charles away from him, never breaking eye contact with the staff member on the floor.
“Unhand me,” Max harshly snapped at him, putting some distance between them and more weight on his abused ankle. “You forget your place.”
Charles was hurt by his words and confused. “But M—”
“Prince Max,” Carlos ground out curtly and loud, drowning out Charles' words. “This way.”
The prince turned away from Charles huffing, not even using the wall to lean on as he followed Carlos down the hall under his own power. The cleaning worker quickly returned to scrubbing shakily with eyes cemented to the floor, trembling when the prince passed by directly behind him.
Charles followed silently behind the other two, biting the corner of his lip in mild embarrassment.
Kicking himself mentally, he couldn't believe he'd almost said the prince's name without his proper title in front of other staff. That was practically the first rule he'd been given when the prince allowed him more freedoms on the ship over the past week.
Once the trio was through the med bay doors, Max turned to him with a regretful look. He clearly wanted to say something to him but stopped himself when Carlos spoke again.
“Proceed, my prince.” The tanned Torossian punched a few buttons on the control panel, and the hatch rose up with a hiss.
Approaching hesitantly, Charles offered an arm for the royal to hold. To his surprise, Max grabbed it and used it as a steady anchor while lowering himself into the tank.
The prince held onto his arm longer than needed as some sort of an apology he supposed, before withdrawing his hand when the hatch slid back down to seal him in. After affixing the mask breathing apparatus over his face, Max closed his eyes when the tank started filling.
Being this close to the tank filled Charles with anxiety, remembering how it went the last time the prince was in the patched machinery. It was only a moment, though, before Carlos’ voice startled him from his reflections.
“Everything has been recalibrated, and I replaced the parts that needed it. Should only be a few hours ‘til he’s good as new.”
“I’ll stay with him.” Charles replied and put his hand on the glass, gazing openly with fondness at the floating prince.
Carlos didn’t look up from the control panel, still pressing buttons before responding. “You will do no such thing. Prince Max doesn’t need you mothering him. Find something else to do with your seemingly endless amounts of free time and leave him be.”
Charles bristled at the thinly veiled hostility in Carlos' words, his instincts warning him of the danger lurking beneath the surface of the other man's tightly controlled facade. "I'm just trying to help Max, which apparently is more than can be said of you. Where were you when this happened? I haven't even seen you in our quarters since the first night I got here.” Charles retorted, voice tight with defiance.
Carlos whipped his head around to look at Charles, eyes smoldering with a mixture of anger and offense.
The Earthling swallowed hard, steeling himself for the confrontation that looked inevitable based on the Torossian's simmering gaze. Carlos had been giving him an angry glare ever since he'd found him in the prince's room, and Charles knew he was about to find out why.
With a sharp exhale, Carlos closed the distance between them, his gaze piercing through Charles like a dagger. “Who the fuck do you think you are!?”
All formal indifference he’d had when the prince was awake quickly left him as he grabbed Charles’ wrist in a crushing grip, ripping it away from the glass.
“What're you doing!” Charles cried out. He tried to break the hold on his wrist, but his brother's vice-like grip remained firm.
"You speak his name openly with no regard for his proper title. Do you think I’m blind?" he demanded, words laced with accusation.
Charles hesitated, acutely aware of the delicate balance between truth and discretion. But if he was completely honest, he didn’t actually know what was going on between them either?
"We're just friends," he replied carefully, choosing his words with precision, his voice surprisingly steady despite the hostility of the other man. “I care for him.”
A bitter laugh escaped Carlos' lips, the sound harsh and grating in the quiet of the room. "Friends?" he scoffed, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Is that why you have the prince's love bites all over your neck?”
Carlos finally released Charles' wrist and the latter brought his hand up to cover the side of his neck where the prince had ravaged him the night before. The memory of those expert lips bringing a flush to his cheeks.
Sensing the rising tide of anger in Carlos' voice, Charles struggled to remain calm, completely bewildered by the man's outburst. "Carlos, I don’t know what you're insinuating," he replied evenly, tone firm yet measured. “But, it's also none of your business.”
Charles' knees were shaking, and his tail spot at the base of his spine tingled unpleasantly. He reached out and used the front of the tank to help support his unstable legs under the radiating waves of rage coming from other Torossian.
Jaw clenched with barely contained fury, Carlos’ hands balled into fists at his sides. “You're a very bad liar. I’ve known him for decades, and he’s never let someone stay in his bed chamber, least of all some—some fucking harlot!”
Carlos forced his body between Charles and the tank. Bewildered, the Earthling took a few steps back before bumping into the surgical table, almost cutting his hand on a sharp tool still resting on it from Max’s treatment.
“This broken ankle is no excuse for your continued presence, and it's nothing compared to other injuries he’s sustained from Jos in the past.” Carlos let out a long breath trying to control his outburst, and soften his features from an angry scowl to a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But let me give you a piece of advice. Stay away from Prince Max. He doesn't need someone like you complicating his life.”
“Now who's doing the mothering? He can make decisions for himself.” Charles sniped back as he crossed his arms over his chest and steeled his brow to try and look the most Torossian-like possible. “Whatever shit you're trying to pull here, isn’t going to work.”
"You don't understand, Charles," Carlos spat, his voice wobbly betraying his ire. "Max is . . . complicated.”
Carlos glanced at the floating prince, a mixture of regret and overwhelming sadness flashing on his face before he washed away his feelings once more and turned back to Charles.
“And I'm not the one you should be worried about. Prince Max is off-limits as property of Emperor Jos. As much as I would love to see you learn the hard way what being too familiar with him means . . . even I'm not that cruel. We're all pieces in his game, and you're bound to be collateral damage either way. If not from Jos, than from Max himself.”
Charles' heart sank at Carlos' words, a wave of uncertainty washing over him.
Max would never hurt him, not willingly at least?
The Earthling knew the prince wasn’t what his hard exterior presented him to be, but the doubt planted by Carlos' accusations gnawed at his conscience.
As Carlos turned to leave the med bay, his parting words hung in the air. "Be careful, brother," he warned, voice tinged with disdain like the word tasted bad in his mouth. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into. Get back to work and leave him be."
And with that ominous pronouncement, Carlos disappeared through the door, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts and the weight of his own uncertainty.
_____
Carlos stormed out of the med bay, frustration bristling over his usual stoic facade.
It took longer than expected to fix the tank and then arguing with that buffoon set him back even more. He'd have to rush to make the start of his scheduled post.
Navigating the brightly lighted corridors of the ship with purposeful strides, his mind was consumed by the interaction he'd just had, and the echoes of his clash with Charles reverberated in his thoughts. The words exchanged left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Resentment simmered and gnawed at him—a resentment born from the realization that he was in fact being passed over by their prince in favor of his naive little brother.
Who, to add insult to injury, didn't even know what it meant to be a Torossian or even have a fucking tail.
For years, Carlos dedicated himself to serving Max; mind, body, and soul. Swearing an oath to stand by his side through all the horrors they'd witnessed and committed together.
He'd sacrificed his pride, poured everything into his duties, only to be cast aside in favor of someone who'd barely set foot on the ship, someone who had such little promise and value. He was classed as a purge infant for goddess’ sake.
It stung, more than he cared to admit.
The sense of betrayal cut deep, leaving a gaping wound in his pride. He'd thought himself indispensable to the prince, his loyalty beyond question.
Carlos had even spent many a night warming the prince's bed, taking everything the prince had to give, submitting to him without hesitation, and the prince was by no means a gentle lover. It was a challenge to hide the litany of bites and bruises he was always left with after. It had been a very long time since they had laid together, and the small hope that Carlos was still holding out for was crushed by the day's events.
His fears from this morning had materialized right before his eyes. The sight of Charles, half naked in Max's private quarters, could’ve sent him into a murderous rage had it not been for the prince actually being in the room as well.
It was inconceivable how reckless they were both being.
The scene confused him because Max didn't do intimacy, or so he believed. Always quick to dismiss him after their escapades, Carlos had even asked Max once why he was never allowed to stay with the prince after. He'd simply said he shared his bed with no one. Supposing the prince was worried for security reasons, Carlos had never asked again.
Self-doubt bled into his thoughts as he rounded the next corner on his way to post. Faced with the harsh reality of his own insignificance to the prince, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of bitterness.
He'd always prided himself on his unwavering loyalty to Max, but now, confronted with the prospect of being replaced, he questioned his place by the prince's side.
With each step he took, the weight of his disappointment grew heavier, dragging him down into a pit of jealousy. He knew he should focus on his duties, on serving the prince to the best of his abilities, but the sting of rejection lingered like a festering wound, refusing to be ignored.
_____
Charles placed his hand on the tank glass before resting his forehead against its back.
As much as he didn’t want to leave the prince alone in the tank, he needed to go back to the clinic and get more supplies since he’d used most of the field kit already. He also still needed to collect their rations from the kitchen.
Giving the tank a once over, it did indeed seem to be in better working condition than the last time Max was inside it, and Charles let out a breath. Hopefully Carlos was a better mechanic than he was a brother.
Pushing off of the tank with one last longing glance, he headed for the door, flicking the light off and leaving the room bathed in the tank's soft glow.
After he’d gotten their rations and deposited them in the Torossian suite, Charles headed for the clinic. As he walked along the corridor, his thoughts drifted back to the night he spent with Max. The whole interaction had been so . . . unexpected , and he wasn't sure what came over him.
The prince suggesting he should maybe move in with someone else twisted his heart uncomfortably. Charles supposed the maid might like him, but nothing about her really sparked his interest. He liked chatting with her just as much as he liked chatting with everyone else he’d met on the ship.
Well, everyone else except for the prince.
Sure, the prince was prickly, and he pushed himself too hard to recover before he should, which had Charles running in circles to keep him in bed, but he'd grown fond of taking care of him over the last week.
In fact, trying to make the prince smile or even laugh had quickly become one of his favorite things to do, and Max, despite his hard exterior, actually listened to him when he talked and remembered the things he’d said.
Back on Earth, his friends would do their best to pretend they were listening to his stories, but he could always tell by the way they’d ask repeating questions he'd just answered or how their eyes would glaze over mid-way through him excitedly talking about a new technique he'd just learned.
By contrast, Charles couldn't get enough of the prince's stories. He could listen to Max talk for hours about battle strategy with his animated hand gestures and vibrant expressions.
Entranced by the freckle on the prince’s upper lip, Charles would sometimes zone out completely staring at it while listening to Max's gravely voice and calming tone. The prince didn’t smile much, but when he did, he developed the most endearing wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.
Charles smiled to himself as he walked, thinking about rushing through chores to spend more time with the prince after the tank finished, and he longed for the day they could spar again. The prince made him feel light and full of electricity, a feeling he’d never had for anyone else before.
On Earth, his scientist friend Hannah hypothesized maybe he was a forever bachelor, since he’d never shown any interest in dating or having any type of partner in his time there, despite the hoards of women at tournaments all wanting to talk to him.
The truth was, there just wasn’t anyone there that interested him like the prince did. Sometimes even just catching a glance of his face in the right light was enough to make his stomach fill with knots and his tail spot burn.
Last night, the prince's lips left a trail of fire in their wake, and his whole body had hummed with desire, heart pounding in his ears. He thought about the noises he’d let slip past his lips without a second thought, and felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
He’d never experienced anything like that before.
Charles had only been with one partner on Earth, a woman he’d met at a martial arts tournament shortly after his discussion with Hannah. The encounter was his chance to challenge her theory and prove that he wasn’t different from the rest of them. He could pretend.
The night they’d spent together was an experience he’d like to forget.
It was awkward, uncomfortable, and he’d had an aching desire to reverse their roles. She’d laughed at him when he suggested they try something different and was revolted by the sight of his tail scar. She’d asked if he was some kind of monkey before calling him a freak and hastily leaving.
He thanked God they’d never made it far enough for her to notice the slickness he produced from just below the scar and from the little research he did after that encounter, that definitely was not normal.
Charles couldn't bring himself to ask anyone about it, and he tried to just ignore it anytime it would happen. A few times when the ache became too much, he’d used his fingers for relief in the shower, but he was always disgusted with himself after it was over.
Maybe Max wouldn't mind though?
Would the prince think he was disgusting? He didn’t seem put off by him last night if the lustful look Max gave him was anything to go by, and he still had his tail.
Maybe the prince would even let him touch it sometime?
A deep blush paired with a smile spread on his face when he thought about how the prince wrapped it around him in the med bay.
The first time it happened with his wrist, Charles had thought nothing of it. The prince was just seeking an anchor amidst the pain. But when Max had wrapped it around his waist while they walked to the tank, Charles knew it was intentional and was meant to tell him something.
As Charles continued to reminisce about their intimate moments, he vividly recalled the way Max's blue eyes glimmered with unbridled desire, gaze speaking volumes of longing and fire.
The memory brought a rush of warmth to Charles' core as he replayed the tender moments they shared together, feeling the heat of Max's skin etched into his mind like a cherished painting, each brushstroke of those thick fingers capturing the depth of their inexplicable connection and the fervor of their intimacy.
With a heavy sigh, Charles couldn’t help a pang of self-doubt looming at the edges of his thoughts. Despite the intensity of their short makeout, Max pulled away.
The prince said it didn't have anything to do with him physically, that it was about keeping him safe from Jos. But, as his mind replayed the memory of Max’s body leaving his, insecurity crept in casting a shadow over their shared embrace.
Did he do something wrong?
He’d admit, he didn't have any idea what he was doing, being led purely by instinct alone. Seemingly in response, the prince had said something to him in a language he didn't understand.
Was that a command he should've followed?
He’d been so lost in his own lust that he couldn’t string two thoughts together, let alone follow foreign instructions.
Still, Charles felt a lingering fear that his own sexual inexperience had somehow diminished the encounter for Max, and he was saddened by feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness.
He was, after all, a third-class Torossian according to the prince himself. If he even held the same status his father had after being sent away.
He could be even less than that.
The prince must’ve had countless partners, Charles lamented, each one undoubtedly more experienced and worldly than he could ever hope to be. Max was so handsome and regal. If planet Toro still existed, Charles imagined the prince would’ve had a harem full of partners eagerly awaiting his call.
“Fuck,” Charles muttered aloud and ran his fingers through his hair.
Banishing that horrid thought, he let his mind wander back to Carlos. The dark haired man’s words came back to him as he saw the door to the clinic ahead: 'We are all pieces in his game, and you're bound to be collateral damage either way. If not from Jos, than from Max himself.'
Yes, the prince had a temper, but did that mean he should be afraid of him?
Charles knew Jos was bad news, but the Emperor had to be busy, right? If he ran this massive army and committed genocide for a living, how would he have time to even notice someone as insignificant as him? Charles also didn't have his tail and could pass for a human easily, so he didn’t see the reason—
“Oof, I’m sorry!” Charles rubbed his chin, “I didn't see you.”
He’d run right into the back of someone as he entered the clinic door.
Notes:
Currently looking for a beta or just someone to bounce ideas off of. Comment below or message me on tumblr if you're interested!
Comments are always welcome. Come say hi on Tumblr and check out this Chapter's inspo images!
Chapter 9: A Gift
Summary:
“You didn't know?” Alonso set his water down, now suddenly very serious. “Max…I smelled it on him that first day in the med bay. You mean to tell me, you had no idea what he was when you asked Carlos to bring him here?”
“What?” Max asked, completely bewildered. “You knew this then—and didn't tell me? How dare you keep this from me!”
“Don’t raise your voice at me boy.” Alonso quipped back, dragging his large palm down his face exasperated.
Max opened and closed his mouth several times but no sound left it.
“I suppose I can't really be surprised you and Carlos didn't figure it out. You both were so young when we came here and never properly courted on Toro.”
Barely listening, Max’s mind raced as he processed Alonso’s revelation. The realization that Charles was not only different, but also held a profound significance within their lost society, filled him with a newfound sense of reverence and protectiveness.
Notes:
Okay, first of all, I'm so excited for this character reveal after last week's cliff hanger! This the absolute PERFECT swap out for the source character Zarbon and I've provided examples to that fact on my Tumblr . I mean.... even the face is basically the same.
More drama and world-building. Hope you like it!
Chapter Warnings: Referenced theoretical forced pregnancy
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Are you blind? Watch where you're going.”
The man he'd run into smoothly turned around, cocking his head slightly, staring down at him with pursed lips of irritation.
The tall, firm man had medium-length fluffy brown hair pushed back from his forehead, high cheekbones and an immaculate complexion. A thin string of pearls adorned his forehead like a crown, with a purple glittering jewel hanging down from the middle.
He was wearing a similar battle suit to the one the prince and Carlos wore, except the bottom of his suit ended as briefs. The rest of the leg was covered in a tight matching navy material from just above the knee down to the ankle, leaving the top of his thighs exposed. His top half was sleeveless, with thin light purple arm coverings that stopped at the wrist and didn’t attach to the shoulders of the body suit, instead snuggly clinging to his muscled arms.
The man looked Charles up and down with a tablet in hand, checking it before asking, “Who are you? Morning cleaning duty started over an hour ago.”
Charles looked down, scrunching his brow and remembered he was supposedly wearing a cleaning crew uniform the prince said would help him blend in.
Swallowing quickly, he stood at attention with his hands firmly at his sides like he’d seen other crew do when reporting to a higher officer. “Charles, m-my name is Charles,” he said, but the tall man made no attempt to offer a similar greeting or provide his name. Scrambling, all he could come up with was, “I’m here to help. The clinic was overrun last week by the latest injured regiment and needed additional staff support.”
Charles thought that actually wasn’t half bad, for pulling it completely out of his ass . . . He could salvage this.
The man scrolled the tablet quickly with his manicured finger, “I don't have that name on my staff list.”
Shifting his weight on his feet nervously, Charles mumbled, “I–I’m new.”
Eyeing him suspiciously, the man's sculpted eyebrows pitched together. “I will add you to my list,” he said, tone clipped and cold. “Species of origin?”
“Human.”
Reaching out and firmly grabbing Charles by the chin, the man turned his head from side to side, leveling him under an appraising gaze. “Mmm,” he murmured to himself as Charles paled slightly under the intense scrutiny. The man let his face go scoffing, “We don’t allow unregistered crew on this ship. Report to Silvia and get assigned to this post immediately.”
Nodding dumbly and thinking better of opening his mouth again as the man pushed past him, Charles watched him tuck his tablet under his arm and retreat down the hall with a long light blue cape flapping behind him.
What a dick.
Running a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh, Charles felt the weight of his deception settle.
He knew his impromptu trip to the clinic hadn’t gone unnoticed, and that someone would undoubtedly be informed of his presence aboard the ship with whatever device that man was carrying. He'd better not make more trouble and ignore what the man said.
Fully entering the clinic lobby, he stopped by a worker unpacking bandaging from a crate.
“Can you tell me where to find Silvia?”
The worker didn’t even look up from the crate and simply pointed at a door on the far side of the clinic. He made his way over to the door dreading how badly this could go for him now that he was to be officially registered on the ship.
The encounter with the man had left him slightly shaken, and his hastily concocted cover story barely held together under that probing gaze.
Thoughts that he’d narrowly escaped discovery by that man's watchful eyes offered little comfort in the face of the looming repercussions of his actions. Charles couldn't help but worry about Max's reaction.
He was going to be furious.
But what if he just . . . didn't tell him?
He could hide this? He'd already been here to get supplies once before and went fairly unnoticed.
This was fine. Everything was fine.
The door raised up, motion activated, and Charles was met with a short, thin, older woman with striking fiery red hair seated at a long spotless desk devoid of any personal touches or cozy items.
Looking up over the top of the tablet she was holding, the woman had an air of annoyance that was palpable even from a distance. “Are you here for the conscript physical assessments? They are down the corridor to the left today.”
Charles wrung his hands together, lightly biting his lip, “No I–I . . . Are you Silvia? I was told by a tall man with a tablet out there,” Charles pointed over his shoulder, “that I needed to see you for a duty assignment here.”
Silvia let out an exasperated sigh, her frustration evident in the way she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course he did." She muttered under her breath something along with a name that sounded like George before straightening up to address Charles. “Just a moment.”
So his name was George. Charles hadn’t decided if he was going to tell Max about their interaction, but he thought it best to make a mental note of the name for now.
The woman put her tablet down on the desk and turned over to a much larger console with a touch screen before asking, “And you are?”
“Charles.”
Yes, this was going to end very badly.
The screen lit up and flashed a few times while her fingers interacted with the display and Charles stared down at his boots. Was she reporting him to someone now too?
“I've added you to med station stocking duty. Go out this door and take a right. The team will instruct you on your morning duties.”
The old woman waved him away with a flick of her wrist, and he left her with an irritated brow and an impatiently tapping foot.
Back in the main clinic, the workers were unloading crates of supplies since it was still early and there were no patients in triage.
Jumping right in, Charles opened up a box one of the workers brought over to him. It was filled with syringes, which made him immediately turn a little green, but he shook it off and told himself he could do this. He had to do this.
Charles wasn’t a stranger to manual labor, and he’d helped his father treat a wide variety of injuries with martial arts training. Granted, he'd never assisted in anything surgical for hundreds of enslaved soldiers before, but if he kept his head down and didn't draw too much attention to himself, this could work.
They were in need of medical supplies. Plus, he thought he might be able to pick up a skill or two from watching so he could be of better help to the prince when he was injured.
The memories of the bloody crumbled pile he'd found in the hallway twisted his stomach in knots. He was so helpless and could only watch while Alonso meticulously treated all of Max's injuries. He didn't want to feel like that again.
He’d also grown a little restless trapped in their quarters as it was, and getting out would be good for him.
Contemplating the inevitable confrontation he would liked to avoid, Charles couldn't help but worry about how Max was doing in the tank. The thought of him not being there if something went wrong again weighed heavily on his conscience, a reminder of the risks the prince was taking just to get even poor medical treatment.
Anger simmered in him once again at the thought Jos purposefully banned the Torossians from the clinic. There had to be something more going on here than just some worry about their strength boost after healing.
If Charles remembered correctly, it didn't happen every time, at least it didn't for him. Only when he'd been beaten close to death and recovered did he feel a jump.
From the few times Charles saw Max after an audience, he wasn't in bad enough shape to warrant a boost, and the ban felt vindictive, spiteful. Even worse, if the emperor knew about the boost, then he would know exactly how far he could go before triggering it.
What was Jos’ goal?
What did he want from Max that hurting him would accomplish? Charles couldn’t imagine the extent of Jos’ cruelty that would have caused all the scars he’d seen on Max’s body. The prince was only seven when he was stolen. Had the abuse started then? God he hoped not. How could anyone beat a defenseless child?
Carlos had told him Max was taken for his battle power and that it was the highest of any child ever measured on Toro. If the warlord wanted him for his strength, why compromise him in that way?
The details just weren’t adding up.
Calming his thoughts for a moment, Charles let his mind reach out, searching for the prince's energy on the ship. It took a moment to sift through everything humming around him, but he found the familiar ki easily, bright and strong like it always was.
The prince's energy felt like lightning, incredibly potent and intense. His ki signature emanated power and grace, with a hint of arrogance, reflecting his royal status and proud warrior heritage.
After spending so much time around Max, Charles was able to detect the finer details of his signature as well. There was pain, darkness, and self-doubt. The prince's soul was marred and battered, but Charles felt it, the golden center beneath all the layers built from years of torment. He could feel it now, a glinting jewel trapped beneath the prince’s ribs kept safe and protected.
He let out a shaky exhale, relieved that everything still seemed okay and the tank hadn't tried to drown the prince again—
“Charles,” a whisper came from behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Alonso standing in the clinic entrance, confused eyes darting between him and the other clinic crew who weren’t paying attention. “What’re you doing in there?”
Putting on his best smile, trying to appear relaxed, Charles said, “Oh you know, just helping out. I've used up most of the field kit and came for another when I was asked to help.” The younger took a quick look around to confirm no one was eavesdropping before continuing, “Would you let . . . umm, ‘him’ know I took the rations back to the room when he . . . ahh gets back? I’m not sure when I'll be done.”
Alonso looked like he didn't believe a word the younger said, but he didn't press the issue. The elder wasn’t even allowed to come into the lobby anyway. He just nodded before looking around the area, clearly not wanting to leave the Earthling alone.
The elder stopped looking at the other clinic workers and turned back to him before whispering, “Come straight back when you’re done here.”
Charles nodded and Alonso stepped back through the door before briskly leaving the clinic.
_____
The tank drained the last few drops of solution through the grate in the floor as Max slowly regained consciousness.
He stood up and the very not sterile surroundings of the shabby med bay came into focus, the soft hum of the healing tank fading into the background as awareness returned to him.
With a groan, he stepped out of the tank and shook off the excess liquid from his hair. There was no lingering ache from his injuries, serving as a grim reminder of how important it was to keep the tank operational.
A small grin spread on his lips when his ankle held his full weight with ease. He couldn't help testing it with a small hop.
Glancing around the empty med bay, Max felt a flickering ember of unease.
Where was Charles?
The absence of his newest subject's familiar presence sent a twinge of worry coursing through Max's veins, heart twisting with a misplaced sense of urgency.
Max quickly pushed that feeling aside, reassuring himself that the Earthling was probably just back in their quarters.
Ignoring the protests of his sleeping muscles, Max made his way toward the door, movements unsteady as he stumbled towards the exit, still dripping solution from his wet clothes. With each step, the worry in his chest—that he told himself wasn't real—only grew heavier, a relentless drum beat of uncertainty echoing in his ears that wouldn’t settle.
What was with him?
He was never this unfocused and struggling to keep his thoughts in check. For goddess’ sake, he was a highly trained warrior and a prince, the last of their house on Toro. Feelings weren’t something he expressed freely or couldn't control.
He emerged into the brightly lighted corridor, and Max's mind wouldn’t stop racing with a million possibilities, each one more dire than the last.
Had something happened to Charles? Was he in danger?
Max chided himself for these completely unfounded thoughts, but he just couldn’t make them stop, instincts on high-alert like his hindbrain knew something he didn’t.
With single-minded determination, Max set off in search of his . . . Friend? Subject? Lover? He wasn't quite sure what to call the young Torossian at this point in their—whatever this was.
His pace quickened with each passing moment as he retraced the familiar route back to their shared living quarters, heart now pounding in his chest, praying for Charles' safety.
As the door slid open, his worry bubbled over into anger when the room was empty.
Where was he?
How dare he not listen to Max and stay in their quarters as instructed, and a growl rumbled deep from his chest.
Angrily stomping his way over to his private room, Max quickly stepped inside, scanning for signs that Charles had been there and . . . nothing.
The room was exactly as they’d left it this morning.
Max hurriedly changed out of his wet clothes and redressed, now on a mission to find Charles on the ship.
As he pulled one of his civilian shirts down over his head, the door to the main quarters opened and closed with a metal thud. Max practically jumped to his door and punched the button on the panel next to it ready to unleash an angry tirade that fizzled slightly when he saw who it was.
Alonso had his back turned to him, sifting through their meal rations for the day on the counter.
Stepping through his door, Max asked, “Where is Charles?” It came out more desperate than he wanted it to. “I mean, have you seen him? I told him not to leave this room—”
“He's in the clinic getting more supplies for me and assisting the staff with station restocks.” The elder said without turning around. “You know him, trying to be of use and help me out.”
“You sent him up there again? It's not safe Alonso! There are—”
“Relax, will you? Fuck . . . I didn’t imagine you'd be this whipped for the boy already?” Alonso gave Max a cheeky grin over his shoulder, and the prince felt his face flush bright red.
“Wha—I . . . I most certainly am not!” Max huffed indignantly.
He crossed his arms over his chest standing proudly in defiance, like his face wasn't ablaze at the elder’s jeer.
Alonso rolled his eyes as he brought some food containers to his bunk. “Come, eat with me. We haven't conversed in a while.”
Striding angrily over to the bunk, Max flopped down, grabbing a piece of fruit and popping it into his mouth. The elder sat much the same way at the head of the bunk, ripping off a chunk of bread with his teeth before passing the loaf to the prince.
They ate in silence before Alonso spoke. “What're you doing with the boy then?”
Max took a sip of some water before answering nonchalantly with a mouth full of food, “Nothing.” He tried his best to keep his emotions neutral, but he still had the nagging feeling that something about his interactions with Charles felt different, almost inexplicably so, and he was slowly going crazy.
“You can't lie to me, my prince, I've practically raised you. Which is why I know something is different this time. You're different with him.” Alonso took a long gulp of water, not looking at him.
Max wanted to deny this line of questioning, but he knew it was no use. Alonso was right. He did raise him as best he could under these horrid circumstances, and played a key role in helping him keep as much of their culture from Toro as they could.
The prince considered him to be more of an uncle than a father figure. Less loving than a father would be, he had schooled him on how the real world worked instead of sheltering him from it. The elder never let him forget where they came from or who he was and what that represented. He realized he hadn't responded yet when Alonso spoke again.
“I saw you put your tail around him in the med bay. It isn’t like you to so blatantly announce your desire to court someone like that?” Alonso chuckled as the prince scrubbed his hand over his face in embarrassment.
“I’m not courting him, Alonso. Charles doesn’t even have his tail or know about Torossian mating rituals.” Max said, not meeting his gaze and pausing his meal, throat suddenly dry.
The elder took another bite of bread, “What’s going on then, my prince?”
With a furrowed brow, Max cleared his throat, mustering the courage to broach the subject that had been weighing on his mind. “My Oozaru goes wild when I'm around him. That—that’s never happened to me before. That it would push its way . . . forward, like it was trying to take over, and I wasn't even under threat?” Max reflected as he remembered the strange feeling his hindbrain gave him while with Charles the night before. “It was like it was telling me to breed him? But that's not—”
Max stopped short, eyes widening when the elder spit water off the edge of the bunk and coughed roughly, clearing his throat.
“Of course it was!” Alonso said, red in the face with an incredulous look before adding in a light, matter of fact tone, “It's reacting to being in close proximity to an Eldri.”
It was Max's turn to choke on his food, and he pounded on his chest to dislodge the piece caught in his throat when he sucked in a shocked breath. “What do you mean an Eldri!?” His mouth hung open, and his teary eyes widened in complete astonishment at the elder's implications.
“You didn't know?” Alonso set his water down, now suddenly very serious. “Max, Charles is a Torossian Eldri . . . I smelled it on him that first day in the med bay. You mean to tell me, you had no idea what he was when you asked Carlos to bring him here?”
“What?” Max asked, completely bewildered. “You knew this then—and didn't tell me? How dare you keep this from me!”
“Don’t raise your voice at me boy.” Alonso quipped back, dragging his large palm down his face exasperated.
Max opened and closed his mouth several times but no sound left it.
“I suppose I can't really be surprised you and Carlos didn't figure it out. You both were so young when we came here and never properly courted on Toro.”
Barely listening, Max’s mind raced as he processed Alonso’s revelation. The realization that Charles was not only different, but also held a profound significance within their lost society, filled him with a newfound sense of reverence and protectiveness.
How could he not have known?
It had never even crossed his mind as a possibility, but seemed so obvious now. He was so fucking stupid and last night, they almost—he had . . . Fuck.
“I guess this is partially my fault really,” Alonso mused as Max snapped his eyes up and glared at him. “I didn't teach either of you very much about them, because . . . I just thought it'd never be relevant?”
“Tell me now then. Why is my Oozaru acting like that? I feel so out of control around him.” Max put the fruit he'd been munching on back down, giving the elder his undivided attention.
“Do you remember none of your lessons? Goddess, give me strength.” Max pursed his lips, but didn't speak, letting Alonso continue. “The Godin van de Maan [goddess of the moon] blessed our people with the gift of the Oozaru. This hindbrain set of pure instincts is the key to our power and allows us to push our limits so thoroughly. That, and our tails.”
“Yes—yes, I know this already,” Max chided petulantly.
“Alright smartass, then you explain it to me.” Alonso rolled his eyes, taking another bite of bread.
Drawing in a breath for dramatic effect, Max rattled off in the best rendition of the elder’s teaching voice he could muster. “The Oozaru is the gift of a second gender. One that, once presented, gives enhanced physical strength and a commanding presence to those blessed with it. We are governed by primal instincts and hierarchical structures to maintain order and protection.” Max took another breath, regurgitating the well learned lesson from his youth. “These instincts will also take over in times of extreme stress and physical duress when the foremind is incapable of processing repeated trauma or life and death situations. How powerful one's Oozaru is thought to determine a Torossian's potential for the legendary shift—”
Max broke off agitated, “I know all this Alonso! What does this have to do with Charles being an Eldri?”
Softening his expression slightly with understanding, the Elder met Max’s frustrated gaze.
“The point is that the goddess bestowed many blessings on our people, not just the Oozaru. There has to be balance. Where there is aggression and strength, there has to be empathy and nurturing. Charles is part of our race’s second gender designation known as the Eldri, the counterpart of the Oozaru. They possess the unique ability to calm and soothe our Oozaru when over-stimulated and served more as caretakers and in spiritual roles on Toro. Eldris were known for their wisdom and intuition among other things. The relationship between an Oozaru and Eldri is symbiotic, each half fulfilling a vital role and need of the other. Your Oozaru needs guidance and emotional support, while his Eldri needs stability and protection.”
The elder explained everything in his best instructor's voice Max had been mocking from their lessons long ago, and Max was frozen taking everything in.
Alonso went on. “They were considered sacred and rare on Toro, and their presence triggers that primal instinct of the Oozaru within us, a recognition of their unique role within our society.”
Max’s eyes widened in astonishment, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly falling into place. Charles shuddering under his ire, his tail’s unruly behavior, Charles helping calm him in the med bay, the sweet scent of the younger’s arousal last night . . .
Alonso chuckled at the prince’s lost expression struggling to process this information. “I’m surprised you didn't realize this when you bedded him last night? Eldris have very sensitive—”
Snapping out of his daze, Max yelled, “No! He–I–we–I couldn't . . . ”
The elder regarded him with a knowing expression. “Ahh, that’s alright my prince,” eyes betraying a hint of sympathy as he listened to Max struggle for words. Alonso nudged his shoulder with his knuckles, “It happens to the best of us.”
Did he just . . .
Max punched the man square in the chest, knocking him off the bunk before landing flat on his ass, rolling up onto his back.
“Was that hard enough for you!?” He roared with a fiery temper. “Don’t project your inadequacies onto me, old man. That’s not what I was going to say!”
Alonso lifted himself up on his elbows looking amused at the angry prince on his bunk. “You really have it bad for him, don’t you?”
The elder chuckled again at the sight of the flushed prince before he quickly stood from the bunk and loomed over the seated form on the floor.
Seeing Alonso hold his hand up, Max stopped his angry advancement and Alonso placated, “enough my prince, I only jest.”
The elder hopped up from the floor and took his seat back at the head of the bunk, motioning for Max to sit back down.
He obliged with barely restrained anger as he reached over for the loaf and ripped off a hunk to chew on while Alonso waited for him to speak.
“That’s not what I meant,” he started, mouth full, before hesitating, grappling with the weight of his confession and swallowing. "I–I stopped our . . . activities last night because I didn't know what was going on with me," he admitted, voice tinged with regret.
“Mmm,” the elder nodded and chewed silently.
"I knew it was stupid and would put him in danger, but . . . I couldn't help myself. My Oozaru pulled me towards him, stronger than anything I've ever felt before, and I–I panicked.”
The vision of Charles curling away from him after the perceived rejection made him cringe. When the Earthling hastily dressed in an attempt to flee from his room, it sent chills down his spine. It was the complete opposite of what he wanted, and nothing he’d said up to that point came out right.
“Charles didn’t take it well either," is all he could tell the elder to spare his embarrassment.
Alonso listened in silence, his expression hard to read. "It's not uncommon, my prince," he reassured. "The bond between an Eldri and a compatible Oozaru mate is a powerful force, one that transcends logic and reason. But you're right to be cautious. Don’t think I didn't find out about what Jos did to that boy from the engine room.” The elder’s eyes darkened with a solemn gravity, “You must tread carefully."
Max's heart clenched with a mixture of grief and rage as the memories of that teenage affair’s tragic end flooded back with searing clarity. The smell of the charred corpse flung at his feet with little ceremony. Jos taking him while he was forced lay next to his ex-lovers body on the floor of the throne room.
He'd never let anyone close to him since, not that a few brave crew hadn’t tried. The whole ship thought him a heartless killing machine, and it was best to let things stay that way, even if it meant Max isolated himself.
"I want to protect Charles more than anything," he confessed, voice raw with emotion. "But I don't know how to navigate this—this new aspect of a potential intimate relationship with a Torossian. I can't make him a target for Jos.”
Alonso crossed his arms over his chest, pursing his lips, “and it was fine when it was Carlos?”
“Carlos was different. We were just blowing off steam, nothing more.” Max said dismissively.
The elder gave him a knowing look, but didn’t push the question further.
Placing an apprehensive hand on Max's shoulder, Alonso said firmly, "I won’t make your decision for you, but I'll help in any way I can to keep Charles safe if you pursue this. But I should tell you this . . . As important as it is for Jos not to find out Charles is Torossian, it is dire that he doesn’t find out Charles is an Eldri.”
Max's eyes snapped to his with curiosity, interest piqued by the tone of Alonso's words. "What do you mean?" he asked, leaning in closer.
The elder pinched the bridge of his nose before giving Max a pensive look.
“What?” Max urged with a twisting feeling in his gut that told him he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear.
“There’s something else at risk with Charles being an Eldri,” Alonso said, not meeting his eye.
Max leaned forward even closer and grabbed the elder’s arm to draw Alonso’s eyes back on him. “Tell me. What do you know?”
“If Charles’ tail was intact, he would also have the ability to bear children. The real reason Eldri were considered sacred is due to the nature of their offspring. A child conceived by an Eldri absorbs the stronger ki from the mother’s body during the pregnancy, therefore giving the child a higher battle power and limit potential when born.”
Jaw slack and falling open, Max gaped at the elder and blood roared in his ears.
“Before Toro was destroyed, the emperor had plans to capture as many Eldri as he could find to start a forced breeding program. He was going to raid the temples and noble houses, killing any of their mates standing in his way. The offspring of his proposed program were supposed to make up a special forces group for his empire.”
Max was going to be sick.
Not only did he not know anything about that potential program, but the thought of Jos using Charles or any of his most vulnerable people in that manner made his ki shoot up in an uncontrolled rage. His grip on the elder’s arm became so tight it threatened to break it.
The scouter Alonso left across the room beeped violently, sensing electricity filling the small space. A rumbling growl ripped through the air from deep in his chest and a blue haze formed around the prince.
“My prince,” Alonso hissed and tried to retract his arm from Max’s iron grip. “You need to calm down. You don't want to draw attention to our quarters.”
Closing his eyes, Max took a few deep breaths in through his nose, before letting them out of his mouth, and the scouter went quiet. He pictured Charles’ smiling face, letting go of Alonso’s arm, and the elder rubbed the red spot he’d made for a moment.
Alonso reached out and wrapped his fingers around Max’s tense forearm. “We won’t let that happen, no one even knows he’s here,” the elder tried his best to reassure him.
The gesture from his mentor did little to calm his Oozaru who was raging behind his eyelids. It rattled the cage Max kept it in deep in the recesses of his hindbrain and roared loudly, demanding they keep the Eldri close to them at all times. The untold danger Charles was in with this new information made Max question his decision to bring the Earthling aboard.
Max sat quietly for a while, the hundred questions he wanted to ask flying through his mind, but he couldn’t unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. There was only one he could make his mouth form the words for.
“You said he could . . . bear a child , but not without his tail. Are you sure?”
Looking thoughtful at his question, the elder rubbed his chin. “I’m not completely sure since I’m clearly no expert in Eldri anatomy, but I would think that missing the primary source of his energy would inhibit it.”
“But he’s strong? I’ve sparred with him. He’s not diminished in any way. Charles in some ways is more fearless without it, and he challenges me with his creativity in battle.” Max said, moving his hands while he talked to relieve some tension.
Alonso smiled at him. “I would like to join you at your next spar then. Let me see for myself if you say he has such talent and promise. Are you still training in the old wing?”
“Yes, that room still has a broken camera.”
Thinking back to their first few spars, Max almost let himself be distracted from the other question he wanted to ask the elder before he got his mind back on track. “Wait—” Max said, gears in his mind turning with the next question. “If Charles is an Eldri . . . then how’d he get sent off Toro for a purge assignment? Why wouldn't—why didn’t Jules take him to the temple as soon as he was scanned?”
Alonso leaned back against the wall and pondered his question for a moment before answering.
“The only explanation I can think of is because he was third-class. They didn’t always get the most advanced testing done, and General Bianchi most likely didn't know. If I remember correctly, Eldri were considered only to be of first-class descent since most of them married off into influential families, and Carlos didn’t test as an Eldri.”
Max didn't respond, opting to think about all of the new information he'd learned over the last half of their meal. They ate the rest in awkward silence before Alonso spoke again.
“As for bedding an Eldri,” he said, trying to lighten the mood with a grin. “It's a delicate matter . . . but lucky for you, I have experience with this.” That grin morphed into a wicked smile while the elder wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Alonso's smile grew even wider as he began to share the ancient customs and rituals that governed the courting process between Eldri and their chosen mates on Toro. Even going so far as to regale the prince with his sexual conquests when he was a much younger man, causing Max to roll his eyes and fane disinterest.
On the contrary to his facial expression, Max listened intently, with a sense of nervousness blossoming in his chest, knowing that he’d never been with an Eldri and had no idea what they liked.
Were the rumors true? Did male Eldri get wet like a woman? Would Charles even know anything about his advanced anatomy? Opting to probe for information this time, Max asked each of his questions one at a time and soaked up everything Alonso had to teach.
Notes:
If someone put George in a cape I would die 😭 Manifesting George Russell villain era.
Currently looking for a beta or just someone to bounce ideas off of. Comment below or message me on tumblr if you're interested!
Comments are always welcome. Come say hi on Tumblr and check out this Chapter's inspo images!
Chapter 10: Simply Lovely
Summary:
The prince kept walking across the room towards the ensuite, and Charles’ feet were compelled to follow him. “Would you like to shower first? I was just about to step in, but I can wait—”
Charles was on him in a flash, fingers grabbing onto the back of Max’s neck and pulling himself flush with the prince's bare chest. Max barely had time to utter a startled gasp before Charles crashed their lips together and kissed the prince like he'd just returned from war.
Notes:
Angsty smut. Hope you like it!
Can't thank Lady_Something and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. We still have a long way to go ❤️
Chapter Warnings: Referenced prior SA
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Charles stumbled wearily through the corridors towards the Torossian quarters, muscles aching and mind foggy from the long duty shift at the clinic. The acrid scent of sterile antiseptic clung to his clothes, a stark contrast to the comforting smell of the suite that Charles now associated with safety. As the metal door came into view, a surge of exhaustion washed over him, threatening to pull him into oblivion.
His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions and beneath the weariness lurked a deeper unease, a nagging sense of apprehension that refused to be ignored.
Charles couldn't shake the memory of his encounter with George, the unknown implications of being registered on the ship now weighing heavily on his mind. The man's icy gaze made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and his instincts reacted to the silent lingering warning long after their brief interaction ended.
Trepidation filled him when the door raised up and he stepped inside the suite, mind still racing. How would Max react when he learned of George's meddling? Would he be angry, disappointed, or perhaps indifferent? The uncertainty gnawed at Charles, twisting his stomach into knots.
If he wasn’t going to tell the prince, he would need to come up with something better than what he'd told Alonso. The elder Torossian hadn’t believed a word he'd said, but had enough tact to not question it and risk exposing him with other crew around in the clinic.
Charles knew he couldn't keep the truth from Max forever, but the thought of revealing it now filled him with a deep sense of dread after such a long day. It would be a setback with all the progress they’d made so far. It had been a journey of subtle victories and quiet triumphs, and each interaction with the prince seemed to bring him a step closer to breaking through the walls he'd built around himself over decades.
Their shared meals, once a tense affair filled with awkward silences, had transformed into moments of genuine connection. Charles recalled again the small smiles that would grace the prince's lips as they exchanged stories and laughter over simple dishes.
Their spars, though few in number, had evolved from mere exercises in combat to opportunities for mutual understanding and trust. Charles remembered the way the prince's movements had become less guarded, more fluid, as they'd danced around each other in the training room. Each clash of fists and feet had forged a bond between them, a silent acknowledgment of their shared determination to push each others’ limits and get stronger.
And then there were the moments spent sharing stories of their lost worlds, of Toro and Earth, of battles fought and victories won. Charles had listened with rapt attention as the prince recounted tales of his homeland, of its harsh beauty and proud people. In turn, he had offered glimpses into his own past, painting vivid pictures of life on Earth, of its wonders and its struggles.
The prince still felt like a distant figure shrouded in mystery, but Charles couldn't help but feel hopeful for what the future held. If this was to be his place in the universe now, he wanted to spend it at Max's side.
In addition to discovering more about the prince over the last week, Charles also had learned more about the ship and how it functioned. He was surprised that there was indeed a system for telling the time on the ship. It was equipped with a few advanced lighting systems that emitted light similar to natural sunlight. The lights were programmed to adjust their intensity and color temperature throughout the “day” to simulate a sunrise, daytime brightness, and a sunset, helping the ship's occupants maintain some form of circadian rhythm.
Different areas of the ship, such as crew quarters, common areas, and duty stations, all had adjustable light zones accommodating crew preferences and required activities.
Unfortunately for Charles, this meant the suite was set to Torossian daylight hours from Toro. Being ten times the mass of Earth, it rotated slower and extended the period for what was considered a day. The struggle to adjust left him even more weary.
The ship also had dedicated light therapy rooms where certain species of the crew spent time exposed to bright light, particularly for those species that came from planets with multiple suns and needed the additional radiation for basic bodily function. There were several crew members that came into the clinic during his shift that were in desperate need of the light room after returning from a long scouting trip.
The lights in the suite told him that it was long past the start of nighttime as he arrived. Carlos and Alonso were still on night duty schedules which left Charles alone in the suite as he flopped down on his cot.
His feet were aching from standing all day, mostly stationary, and his hands were rubbed raw from repetitive unloading motions as well as covered in small cuts from packaging.
Charles was woefully mistaken when he’d thought clinic duty would be easy.
There was so much chaos from people scrambling when large groups would return from assignments, and he couldn’t count the number of wounded he’d seen. It was hard to imagine where the ship housed all of the soldiers. But honestly, if he thought about it, he wouldn’t know how many rooms there were with his limited movement on the ship.
Charles took off his boots and started working at his sore arches before the door to the prince’s room hissed open, drawing his attention.
His breath hitched at the sight of the prince in nothing but a towel slung low on his hips, and Charles smiled at Max walking without assistance or the appearance of pain.
Max didn’t return his smile.
“Where’ve you been? Alonso said you were helping in the clinic, but that was hours ago. I almost didn’t report for an urgent meeting to look for you.” Putting his hands on his hips, the prince cocked his head to the side, pressing his lips together in a thin line waiting for the younger to answer.
As Max's hard gaze met his own, Charles felt a surge of guilt wash over him. How was he going to navigate this? He held his breath, quickly deciding if he was going to tell the prince what happened. No one had mentioned anything else about that man for the rest of his time in the clinic, and Charles was dismissed without incident. Maybe everything was okay and he didn’t need to worry the prince?
He decided to withhold that information for now.
“I knew you were going to be a while in the tank and I just wanted to make myself useful. I must have lost track of time . . . ”
The prince regarded him for a moment before Max relaxed his shoulders slightly, sighing from the doorway. “Come, you must be exhausted.”
A fond glint in his eye replaced the swirl of irritation Max had when the door first opened. The younger stood from the cot, a little shocked Max didn’t question his lie and followed the prince inside his room, door hissing shut behind them.
Catching sight of the bed, the younger's thoughts raced back to last night, and how out of control the prince made him feel with need. The memory of their intimate embrace filled him with a sense of yearning, a hunger that could only be sated by the touch of Max's lips against his own. It had started to be like this when he was around the prince, and he couldn't recall exactly when it started.
With each passing second, Charles felt the flames of desire burn hotter within him, body and mind thrumming with electric anticipation. He knew that he couldn't resist the pull much longer, couldn't deny the longing that stirred within him with each fleeting thought of Max.
Max said they would continue when he was healed, and by the looks of him, the tank did its job restoring his strength back to better than his original state.
Right, that was a Torossian trait after all.
Charles had had such a shit day. Between Carlos confronting him and running into that George asshole, he just wanted to have the prince help quiet the raging torrent of thoughts that threatened to drown him. The sight of Max in a towel was altering his brain chemistry and doing things to him he couldn't explain, but he liked the feeling.
So he made up his mind, and all thoughts of his previous torment about Carlos, George, and the clinic left him.
The prince kept walking across the room towards the ensuite, and Charles’ feet were compelled to follow him. “Would you like to shower first? I was just about to step in, but I can wait—”
Charles was on him in a flash, fingers grabbing onto the back of Max’s neck and pulling himself flush with the prince's bare chest. Max barely had time to utter a startled gasp before Charles crashed their lips together and kissed the prince like he'd just returned from war.
Max wrapped his arms reflexively around Charles’ waist, keeping him close while expertly taking control of the kiss, tilting his head and digging his long thick fingers into Charles’ hips.
Charles broke away to take a breath and smiled when he saw Max’s dilated pupils and flushed cheeks, panting in his still open mouth. His mind caught up with him a second later and he froze at the unreadable expression on the prince’s face.
What was he doing?
What if Max had reconsidered? If the prince decided he didn't want this with Charles like he said last night, Charles had just ruined their budding friendship. He’d also just come back from working all day in the clinic, and surely he still smelled terrible and looked even worse.
Charles, lost in his self-deprecating thoughts, opened his mouth to apologize when the prince eagerly sealed their lips together again, clashing their teeth with the force and answering all of the Earthling's unspoken questions.
The pair slowly moved completely into the small ensuite, leaving a trail of Charles’ soiled clothes behind them. Cool tile felt nice against Charles' aching bare feet, while the rest of his body felt like it was on fire as his hands greedily explored the expanse of the prince’s exposed chest.
“Charles—,” Max mumbled against his lips, pausing tentatively.
There was no way Charles was going to let Max pull away from him again. The Earthling didn’t give him a chance or waste any time, slipping his tongue between Max’s parted lips, pulling him down with a fist full of hair, deepening the kiss.
The prince made a deep rumble from his chest that sounded an awful lot like a growl. The sound did something funny to his insides and his tail spot tingled. He didn't pull away from Charles this time. On the contrary, Max brought Charles closer to him and pressed their hips together tightly, chasing away all doubts in Charles’ mind.
His senses were so overwhelmed, and he couldn't stop moaning into the prince's hot mouth. He let go of Max’s hair and let his hands wander over Max’s naked back, fingers skipping lightly over the raised scars he found there. The prince’s back was in much the same scarred state Charles had seen on his chest, possibly worse in regards to the number of them, but he wouldn't dwell on that now.
His hand wandered further to the swell of the prince's firm ass still covered by the towel. Squeezing it hard when Max captured his tongue, he sucked on it as the pair rocked their hips together in unison, creating a dizzying friction on his bare cock against the towel. Charles whined, rutting against the fabric, hands fumbling to untie the knot on the prince's hip with frenzied movements.
“Do you want this off?” Max chucked, looking down at his frantic hands before moving to lightly nibble the shell of Charles’ ear.
The younger nodded his head rapidly, looking up at the prince with hooded lust filled eyes, running on pure instincts much like he had last night.
Cupping Charles’ neck and jaw with his right hand, Max ran his thumb over the younger’s swollen bottom lip, “Use your words, Charles. Tell me what you want.”
“W–want to feel you . . . please.” He was barely able to string two thoughts together, but Charles was powerless against the prince's command. Max could’ve asked him to drop to his knees right then and he would’ve done it without question.
. . . Would the prince like that?
As part of his self exploration on Earth, he’d watched a few videos where women did that, among other interesting things with their mouths, and the men always seemed to like it. He should’ve paid more attention when Lando jokingly showed him a video that one time before a tournament.
Smiling widely, Max cooed, “Already so good for me, telling me what you want.” The prince captured his lips again, using his left hand to undo the knot and let the towel puddle on the floor by his ankles.
If he wasn't already so unbelievably hard, Charles would've felt indignant at how easy it was for Max to undo the knot . . . one handed.
The prince stepped back away from the towel toward the shower, bringing Charles with him. The younger shivered when his back pressed up against the cold tiles in the small shower stall.
Blindly reaching for the tap to turn the water on, Max sighed when it ran instantly warm over his back and chest, splashing onto Charles' front. The prince trailed his fingertips down the Earthling's chest, teasing a nipple with a swirl of his thumb on the way to his groin.
Gasping with hands scrambling for purchase, Charles looked down to watch the prince's movements. He was so hard it hurt, but he didn't want to take his hands off the prince’s fiery skin for even a moment.
Sensing his frustration, Max grabbed a hold of both their hard cocks with one hand and stroked firmly, eliciting a moan from the younger. Charles threw his head back, arching into the tight hold, desperate for more delicious friction.
Max took the opportunity to latch his mouth onto Charles’ exposed neck and work his way down his throat, sucking and licking his tongue out flatly, nipping and teasing the Earthing’s sensitive skin there.
His mind awash with a whirlwind of sensations and emotions, Charles found himself utterly unable to form a coherent thought, let alone articulate a single word. Max, with his intoxicating presence and magnetic allure, had a way of driving him to the brink of madness, his mere touch igniting a fire within him that threatened to consume him whole.
It was as though the prince knew exactly what his body needed, even when Charles didn’t know himself.
“Max— please,” Charles whined. His body was on fire, and the cold tile did little to soothe his burning skin. Charles rubbed his tail scar against the wall of the shower and saw stars burst behind his eyelids.
“Tell me, Charles,” Max’s deep voice vibrated against the column of his throat before sucking in more of his overheated skin.
Charles was so out of his element here. He didn't know what he wanted or needed. He only knew he needed more. More of the prince, more of his hands, more of his filthy mouth, more of anything, more of everything.
“I–I don’t know, need more, p–please more.”
Charles was teetering on the edge of sanity, his senses overwhelmed by the heady rush of desire that coursed through his veins like wildfire. And, as Max pressed closer, his lips trailing a path of fiery kisses along Charles' fevered skin, Charles felt the prince smirk against his shoulder before nibbling harder on his collarbone.
The prince worked his free hand between Charles' back and the wall, confusing him for a moment before he saw stars again, squeezing his eyes shut tight when the prince found his tail scar. Max used two fingers to circle it and press on it lightly.
White-hot lightning pooled in his belly unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and he quickly rutted back against the prince's fingers while Max continued to stroke their cocks together in a steady rhythm. Charles was hopelessly addicted to the feeling of Max’s hands on him, and he wished he still had his tail for the prince to run his fingers through its fur.
Biting down on his tongue to try and stifle his embarrassing cries, Charles grew desperate as the pressure in his groin approached a peak. The prince’s hand on his scar quickly left in favor of cupping the back of his neck and brought their eyes together with a worried look.
Green eyes met breathtaking ocean blue and Max murmured softly, looking down at his tongue still between his teeth. "Charles," voice laced with confusion, "Do you want me to stop?” A thumb traced over his lower lip. “Talk to me, Charlie.”
Charles met Max's worried gaze. The prince was looking at him with an expression he couldn't identify, and he urgently tried to convey how desperately he wanted Max to continue.
"N–no, don't stop Max," he replied, voice uneven, barely keeping it together after being so close to the edge, and Charles thrust his hips up into the tight grip of Max's hand still holding them to make his desires clear.
Hand returning to his scar, he was worked quickly back to the edge, sounds freely spilling past his lips now. He felt short nails drag lightly over his scar and the tightly coiled spring in his belly snapped. The prince looked at him in awe before Charles threw his head back, eyes closed and came with a shout, spilling thick stripes of white all over Max’s cock and hand.
He panted hard in the steamy air of the shower feeling completely wrecked. With the prince's lust filled eyes still locked on Charles’ when he opened them, Max's hand on his tail scar retreated to bring its coating to his mouth, using the flat of his tongue to clean it.
Charles’ knees buckled at the sight.
“Delicious.” Max said, before continuing to lick off his fingers one by one. “Simply lovely.”
The erotic display and the prince's words of praise almost had him coming again. It was so hot. He couldn’t believe his brain almost talked him out of pursuing this. Any thoughts of the risk they were taking were replaced by an all-consuming need to be one with the prince.
All Charles could do was surrender himself to the overwhelming tide sensations that threatened to engulf him, to lose himself in the intoxicating embrace of the man who had captured his mind so completely.
The Earthling leaned forward chasing Max’s lips, wanting to taste himself on them, and the prince groaned when Charles hungrily sucked at his wet lips, clearly pleased at his enthusiasm. The taste was different, salty but not entirely unpleasant, especially mixed with the heady taste of the regal Torossian's lips.
They kissed languidly for a few moments before Max pulled him off the cold tile and under the warm spray. Humming at the feeling and leaning heavily on the prince, Charles was practically boneless. Max chuckled, running his fingers through Charles' hair and gently rubbing his scalp under the water.
The prince turned him around and pressed his scarred chest to Charles' back while he continued massaging his scalp, eliciting soft moans from the younger. They stayed like that for a few minutes while the prince cleaned away the grime and antiseptic smell from his hair and skin.
He didn't know much about sex or intimacy for that matter, but he did know that this was special. And it must have taken a lot for Max to be so open with him like this, naked and vulnerable. Charles could've stayed like that forever, feeling so relaxed against the prince’s hard body. Large hands gently chasing away every ache and pain he had in his shoulders and neck, lips tracing all the dips and edges of his shoulder.
Charles felt the prince’s erection brush against him, breaking him out of his clouded blissful thoughts. With a silent gasp he realized that Max hadn’t finished yet and was still painfully hard. He’d been so out of his mind with his own lust and desire he hadn’t even noticed the prince hadn’t come.
Charles looked over his shoulder down to where Max’s dick was leaking against him and frowned. The prince followed his line of sight with a furrowed brow and placed his hands on Charles' hips.
“You don't owe me anything.”
Guilt flooded him and he started to spiral. Charles couldn’t believe how selfish he’d been to not ensure his prince was satisfied. That voice in the back of his mind whined in distress and urged him to do something about it, as though it couldn't bear the thought of displeasing the prince who'd done nothing but give in this interaction.
He pulled away from Max's embrace, earning him a confused look, before quickly turning around and sinking to his knees with a hard thud on the tile floor.
Max’s member was much larger than his own or anyone else's he'd seen, though he'd only had a few glimpses of Lando and the others during showers after training. The girth of it alone had his mouth watering as Charles imagined what the prince would taste like.
He hoped he remembered what he’d seen in those videos as he leaned in with shaking hands, but his wrists were suddenly tightly seized in a painful grip by the prince. Charles looked up surprised and met angry blue eyes.
_____
Charles' knees connected with the hard tile, and an audible thump had Max frozen in place. As the prince stood under the cascading warmth of the shower with Charles, his senses quickly overwhelmed him, and he was gripped by a sudden, paralyzing panic.
In an instant, the soothing sensation of the water against his skin transformed into a torrent of memories, each more vivid and terrifying than the last.
His thoughts were flooded by Jos and the throne room. Images flashed before his eyes, fragments of his audiences. He felt the emperor’s cruel grip on his tail, voice dripping with malice as he crumpled Max’s knees to the throne room floor.
A sensation of suffocation washed over him, memories threatening to drown him in a sea of despair when Charles got closer to his cock.
“Don’t. Charles, stop!” Max quickly leaned down in front of a startled, wide-eyed Charles and pulled him up off the floor by his wrists. Charles looked frightened by this, a soft whimper slipping past his lips and Max realized his grip on the younger’s arms was firm and surely painful. He let go immediately and took a step back, as much as the small shower stall would allow.
His bruised and battered knees of the past pricked with phantom pains from landing forcefully on that cold floor many times. Max's breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to regain his composure, his heart pounding in his chest like a drumbeat of terror. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him, body trembling with the aftershocks of his recollections.
Charles reached out to him, concern etched upon his features, but he was sure not to touch him. "Max, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with confusion and worry.
In that moment of vulnerability, Max felt a surge of shame wash over him, his hands shaking with the weight of his torment. He couldn't tell Charles. The fear of exposing his darkest secrets, of revealing the scars that marred his soul, held him back, trapping him in a prison of his own making.
Max tilted his face up to the ceiling, closing his eyes and taking some deep breaths, while willing away the panic and unrelenting memories. He opened them again to see Charles wringing his hands together, backed as far away from him as he could get and biting his trembling bottom lip hard, clearly struggling to figure out how to undo what just happened.
“I just thought—I didn't mean—I shouldn't've—” Charles shut his eyes tight, head casting down. “I–I'm sorry.”
Fucking hell.
Charles thought he'd done something wrong?
Max carefully stepped to him with a slow movement, making his intention known as he gently took hold of Charles’ scared face in both hands, bringing the Earthling’s downcast eyes to meet his. Worry mingled in those green depths before Max sealed his lips over the younger's again, softer and with purpose.
They stayed like that for a while under the spray of water, kissing lazily, and Max felt the tension in his shoulders relax. Charles also returned to putty in his hands, sighing softly between breaths.
Max couldn't offer an explanation for his sudden distress without revealing the true nature of his audiences with Jos, and he would rather die than Charles learn that awful truth.
When they broke apart, Max offered the only explanation he could. “Just, let me take care of you. You don't have to do anything you don't want to.”
Charles nodded shyly, and Max turned the water off. Stepping out of the stall before gesturing for Charles to follow, Max offered a soft smile to ease the lingering tension in the younger's face. The prince picked up the forgotten towel and quickly dried himself and Charles off before leading him over to the small bed.
Max let Charles lay down on his back before crawling slowly on top of him between the smaller’s pliant legs, resuming their position from the night before. The prince's large right hand engulfed the younger's waist, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb, while his left rested splayed out by Charles' head to support his weight above the Earthling.
Max scanned Charles' face for any hint of discomfort, but the younger's features were molded back to the same look of lust and desire he'd had in the shower, momentary worry long gone. The prince sealed their lips together before trailing down and hungrily sucking the mole on Charles' collarbone, drawing a soft moan from the latter's open panting mouth.
The sight of Charles flushed tanned skin under him had his cock roaring back to life, the episode in the shower already forgotten. Max nibbled lightly on Charles’ right nipple before dragging his tongue flatly across the dip of his sternum, leaving open-mouth kisses on the way to the other and sucking it into his mouth.
Charles gasped at the sensations and closed his eyes under the continued assault. The younger tangled his hand into the back of Max's hair making an uneasy feeling swirl in the pit of the older Torossian's stomach again.
Breathing in the scent of Charles' clean skin to ground him in the moment, the prince redirected the younger's hand to the blanket by Charles' side, not wanting to cause another episode like before.
Uneasiness gone again, Max continued down to Charles' abs, tracing the subtle lines of them with his lips and tongue, right hand snaking under the younger's lower back to pull his hips up, grinding Charles' half hard cock against his chest.
The younger tried to raise his hand to touch him again, but the prince firmly pulled it back away from his face to the bed, causing a whine to escape from his mouth. Max's hand on the Eldri's low back found his scar and circled it firmly, morphing that pithy whine into a drawn out moan.
He was fine. Everything was fine.
Moving down over the creases in Charles' hips, Max sucked hungry bruises there and grabbed the younger's ankle, pulling his legs further open to accommodate Max's shoulders now between them as he shuffled further down the bed.
Charles was fully hard again as though he hadn't come just a few minutes ago, but the prince ignored his leaking cock resting against his belly and sucked more marks into Charles' thighs, nibbling on the tender flesh.
“Max, please—” Charles panted, definitely struggling with so much teasing.
Surging back up to his lips, silencing him, the prince connected their hips together again, rutting slowly. Charles looked out of it, lost in the sensations of their erections rubbing together, and the Earthling brought his hand up to squeeze the prince's flexed bicep.
Max had to pull back, sitting up and kneeling on the bed and out of Charles reach while taking a deep breath.
He was fine, he could do this, repeated like a mantra in his head willing away any bad memories. Max wanted this so desperately with Charles, and he wouldn't let Jos ruin this for him. Charles was right when he'd said they'd lost so much already, and they couldn't let the tyrant take this away from them too.
“On your front for me,” Max commanded, perhaps for firm than intended while he continued to breath through his nose.
Charles whined again but eagerly rolled over onto his stomach, looking back at the prince over his shoulder with lidded eyes and mouth agape, puffing little pants of his own.
The younger stretched out, putting both arms out in front of him on the bed and raising up on his knees to arch his hips back in the air, creating an obscene display for Max.
His Oozaru, humming steadily in his hindbrain, roared to the front of his mind, pulling tight the thread of his self control. Max thought back to what Alonso had told him, ‘don’t fight it, let your Oozaru lead you when you’re with him. It will feed off of his Eldri hindbrain and guide your movements to best pleasure him.’
So far, all of Alonso's advice had been correct, especially about how sensitive an Eldri's tail was. With that in mind, instead of resisting like the night before, Max would trust what the elder had said and wouldn't try to stop his instincts from taking charge.
Groaning, the prince looked down at Charles presented for him. He placed a sloppy kiss between the younger’s shoulder blades and trailed his fingers along the dip of Charles’ spine. Two dimples resting on either side of Charles' tail scar above the swell of the younger’s plump ass were driving him insane.
“Fuck—Charles, just like this. Stay like this and keep your hands where they are.”
“Y–Yes Max—,” Charles called out in a breathy whimper at his instruction, rolling his hips while gripping the blanket tighter.
Max's Oozaru was eager to answer.
The prince dragged his trailing fingers down to where the younger was pouring slick from his hole, finally setting eyes on the source of the sweet scent of Charles’ arousal.
Alonso had mentioned this too, a unique part of the Eldri biology.
Max ran his thumb over the furled pucker and tentatively pressed in with just the tip of it to the first knuckle. It gave easily under the light pressure, but gripped his digit so tightly it made a filthy groan slip past his lips.
“No one's had you like this?” Max hummed into Charles' ear as more of a statement than a question, and he pressed all the way in, down to his palm with his thumb. He was pretty sure of the answer, but he wanted to hear the Eldri say it.
Charles squealed in delight, backing up to meet the prince's small tentative thrusting motions from his hand, dropping his head low between his shoulders on the bed.
“N–no one. God, Max please—”
“Begging for it already?” Max grinned, his Oozaru pleased with the readiness of the younger for them.
Seeing Charles’ frantic nod before arching his back further, Max pictured Charles’ imaginary tail arcing invitingly high over his back. If Max had half a mind, he would've teased Charles more with his thumb, but he was already too far gone, drunk on the Eldri’s scent.
Pulling his thumb out slowly, Max gathered some of Charles' plentiful slickness on his fingers before rubbing it on his aching cock that had now almost turned purple.
Max lined up over the younger’s entrance intending to take it slow, but his Oozaru was having none of it. He pushed in with one smooth movement as slow as he could, all the way to the root, bottoming out quickly. All reason left his body at the feeling of that suffocating heat.
“Charlie, mijn godin, ahh— ” Max broke off with a ruined gasp.
How had he gone so long without experiencing this?
He’d rolled his eyes when Alonso told him it was an experience like none other, but this . . . This was indeed true Torossian pleasure as it was intended by the goddess, and he was starting to think Alonso might have under sold it.
Torossians had a higher body temperature than most other species, and if Alonso was to be believed, an Eldri ran even hotter than that when aroused. The warmth he felt around his member permeated deep into his core and set his senses on fire.
Charles was keening under him, gripping the blanket tightly trying to still follow his instruction to stay still, while Max took a few tentative strokes before setting a quick pace, pulling all the way out to the tip and thrusting back in again each time.
The prince brought both hands to Charles’ hips, almost encircling his tiny waist completely, holding him steady up high on his knees. A passenger at this point, Max was relegated to riding out whatever his Oozaru had in mind for them, enjoying the pleasure of being lost in the moment.
Leaning forward and bringing Charles up higher on his knees, Max lifted the Eldri’s chest off the bed by the shoulder. Wrapping his left hand around the base of the younger's throat, Max twisted Charles’ head back to kiss him eagerly while he enjoyed the new deep angle.
The younger panted and moaned loudly into Max’s open mouth, and the prince bit Charles’ lower lip before sucking on it harshly. Slowing his pace, Max paused each time he buried himself to the base, grinding down hard against Charles' bouncing ass. They stayed like that for a while, the prince enjoying every noise falling past the Eldri’s lips.
Letting Charles' chest drop back to the bed, Max leaned back, changing the angle slightly, driving deeper and aiming more towards the direction of the inside of Charles' tail scar. The younger practically screamed and buried his face in the pillow, attempting to muffle his persistent cries of ecstasy with this new angle.
“Fuck— Max! There, right t–there.” Charles mumbled into the pillow, biting it hard.
“Je vind dit lekker. Zo goed voor mij, zo mooi als ik je neuk.” [You like this. So good for me Charlie, so pretty while you take me.] Max said in a ragged guttural voice, Oozaru talking for them.
He wasn’t going to hold out much longer. Between the heated shower, the constant filthy noises pouring past Charles’ lips, and his hindbrain demanding he breed the younger, Max was powerless to deny his instincts what they wanted.
Gripping Charles’ hips more firmly and surely leaving bruises in his wake, Max picked up the pace again, thrusting with his full strength like he’d never been able to do with a partner before, snapping their skin together with obscene squelching coming from Charles’ greedy hole sucking him in.
The prince’s tail snaked down between their legs and wrapped tightly around Charles' leaking cock at the base, starting to stroke it firmly across its length. The very end of his tail ran lightly against Charles' tip, dampening his fur with pre-come from the Eldri.
Pushed over the edge by the new sensation, Charles came for a second time with a shout, face still buried in the pillow and hand tearing the blanket. Max followed right after him, his cock squeezed hard like a vice by the fluttering heat of Charles’ entrance making his toes curl.
The ringing in his ears drowned out all sound, and his Oozaru let out a rumbling howl in the front of his mind before slowly receding, pleased with itself for having satisfied their potential mate.
Max collapsed over Charles' back panting and gasping for breath.
He couldn’t feel anything, as if his body was completely numb. The prince didn’t even feel as if they were still on that godforsaken ship—somewhere else entirely, somewhere free of care and worry. Somewhere it was just the two of them, alone and forever free of the horrors of their shared reality.
In that moment, Max knew he would do anything for Charles, no matter the risks, if only to experience the dizzying heights of passion and desire together in stolen moments whispered in the darkness. He would keep him safe at all cost, even die trying if he had to.
Charles squirming under him and whining in discomfort instantly snapped him out of it.
Pulling out gently, Max laid on his side, bringing Charles into his arms tightly and kissing the Eldri’s cheek. The younger hummed quietly with eyes closed, too sated to speak, and apparently unable to move, completely blissed out.
Soon after, Max used the damp towel from their earlier shower to clean them off, stroking gently between the youngers legs before using the towel on himself. When the prince returned from disposing of it in the ensuite, Charles’ light snores greeted him.
Max knew there was no turning back now.
Images of Jos and the unimaginable wrath he would lay down if he ever caught them flashed in his mind, but they were drowned out by brighter images of Charles; Charles’ face, Charles’ laugh, Charles’ smile.
The prince gently laid down on the bed next to the sleeping man and curled an arm around him protectively.
Max’s role as the emperor’s plaything on this slave ship weighed on his mind, and Jos’ cruel indifference and mistreatment towards the things that the prince loved turned in his gut as he drifted to sleep.
Notes:
No turning back now 😉
Currently looking for a beta or just someone to bounce ideas off of. Comment below or message me on tumblr if you're interested!
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Chapter 11: Taken
Summary:
Lando approached Charles' hut, immediately noticing something was amiss. A sense of unease settled over him. The usually tranquil and serene surroundings were shattered by signs of a violent struggle: scorch marks on the ground, upturned earth, and broken branches littered the area. His heart raced with concern as he rushed towards the hut.
“Charles!” He called out, voice echoing off the surrounding trees. The door stood ajar, swinging limp on its hinges in the breeze, and knots twisted in his gut as he realized something was terribly wrong.
Notes:
Time to check in and see how the Earthlings are doing!
We are about a 3rd of the way through this work and I'll be taking a break from posting so I can move by the end of the month😒 I will be back shortly to continue this wild ride with you all and I appreciate your patience ❤️
Can't thank Lady_Something and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. We still have a long way to go
Chapter Warnings: None??
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
-Six weeks ago on Earth-
Trekking up the winding path leading to Charles' mountain hut, Lando felt his anticipation grow with each step. The crisp mountain air filled his lungs, invigorating him as he ascended higher into the wilderness.
Their week-long truce was over.
They’d gotten a little carried away at their last spar, and Lando was itching for a rematch. He’d been looking forward to this day all week, eagerly counting down the days until their scheduled training session while he had gone about his daily routine.
Lando still lived in the training house at Turtle-Academy. The house was on a small uninhabited island off the coast of Monaco with only himself and Master Vasseur as full time occupants. He missed when Charles lived there with them, but after his father had gotten sick, Charles moved back home, right over the border in Eze and took care of him until he’d passed away. Opting to take over the small farm after, Charles had trained and visited less, but still managed to make time to have a spar three times a week with him.
During his downtime, he’d tried out a few new techniques and couldn't wait to test them out, knowing that his friend's skill and determination always pushed him to become a better fighter. The prospect of finally beating Charles with one of his surprise attacks got Lando’s blood flowing. He imagined the rush of adrenaline as they clashed, the thrill of each strike and counterstrike fueling their friendly competition, pushing themselves to their limits in pursuit of martial arts mastery.
Lando was still bitter about the fact he held the record at Turtle Academy for the most medal finishes at the world’s tournament without a win.
Pushing that aside, memories of their childhood together flooded his mind, intertwining with the rustling of leaves and the gentle chirping of birdsong.
Lando was young when they'd met.
A young promising student from the Orin Temple, he arrived at Master Vasseur’s island along with several other students to undergo ki training. Upon his arrival, Lando was introduced to Charles, a mysterious boy with a tail.
Initially, Lando was taken aback by Charles’ seemingly primitive nature and unique appearance, especially his unruly tail. However, as they began their training together under Master Vasseur's tutelage, Lando quickly realized that Charles was no ordinary boy.
Despite Charles’ youthful demeanor and simple upbringing, he possessed incredible strength, agility, and martial arts prowess the boy had learned from his father. As they sparred and trained together, Lando developed a deep respect for Charles’ abilities and unwavering determination.
He recalled the days when they were just kids, running through the fields and forests outside of their hometown, their laughter echoing against the backdrop of azure skies.
Lando couldn't help but smile as he remembered the countless adventures they’d shared, from exploring hidden caves to sparring on the beach under the watchful gaze of the setting sun.
As he made his way along the trail, Lando felt a little sad that his friend chose to live so isolated from town. The walk was sizable for the average person, but with his training and honed physical strength, Lando made the ten kilometer hike up in just under an hour. He could have flown up, but he wanted to save all of his energy for the fight.
He’d tried several times to convince the hermit that he needed to move back in with them or at least find a place in town to have any chance of getting a girlfriend. But, Charles---the weirdo---wasn’t interested, and Lando had given up hope for the young bachelor.
Once, he’d even talked a girl at the World Martial Arts tournament into asking Charles out. Charles had smiled and seemed interested enough, and Lando thought he had finally cracked the code on the recluse.
She was short with black hair, tan with enormous tits, and curves in all the right places. He'd almost saved her for himself, but if he was going to succeed in his plan, only the best bait would do.
She’d texted him only a few hours after they’d left saying she never wanted to hear from either of them again. Dumbfounded, he never found out what happened between them, and his mind ran wild with possible scenarios.
Had Charles been awkward and clumsy? Too nervous and frozen? Obviously the poor guy didn’t have any idea what he was doing, but how bad could it really have been?
An even worst thought ran across his mind. Could he not get hard? Did Charles cry? Oh God, he hoped not . . .
Whatever the reason, Charles didn't want to talk about it and Lando was sure it was just a misunderstanding. His thoughts drifted back to the present as he saw the small clearing just up ahead.
Lando approached Charles' hut, immediately noticing something was amiss.
A sense of unease settled over him. The usually tranquil and serene surroundings were shattered by signs of a violent struggle: scorch marks on the ground, upturned Earth, and broken branches littered the area. His heart raced with concern as he rushed towards the hut.
“Charles!” He called out, voice echoing off the surrounding trees.
The door stood ajar, swinging limp on its hinges in the breeze, and knots twisted in his gut as he realized something was terribly wrong.
Pushing open the broken door, Lando's fears intensified as he saw the disarray within. Furniture was overturned, belongings scattered, and the atmosphere heavy with tension. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realized that his friend was nowhere to be found.
“Charles,” he hissed inside the hut and was met with only silence.
Frantically, Lando searched every inch of the small space, calling out Charles' name again and again with increasing desperation. He checked under the bed, behind the curtains, and even in the small storage closet, but there was no sign of his friend.
As he stepped back outside, his eyes scanned the surroundings, hoping for any clue as to where Charles might’ve gone. His farming tools were still leaning against the side of the hut, and the field looked parched, possibly not having been watered in days.
The forest loomed oddly silent around him, and he steeled himself while moving toward the wilderness.
His heart pounded in his chest when he spotted footprints leading away from the hut, disappearing into the dense trees beyond. Without hesitation, Lando followed the trail, his mind racing with worry. There was only one set of prints, and Lando pushed away the thoughts about if they belonged to Charles or someone else.
Every shadow seemed to hold a threat as Lando pushed deeper into the forest following the footprints, senses on high alert. The rustle of leaves and snap of every twig sent a jolt of nervousness through him as he pressed on, determined to find Charles.
“CHARLES!” He yelled at the top of his lungs and received the same answer as before—an echo in the wind.
With each passing moment, the forest seemed to grow darker and more foreboding. He kept calling out Charles’ name over and over, voice growing hoarse with desperation.
Finally, he stumbled upon a scene of utter devastation.
Before him lay a sizable crater, surrounded by the splintered remnants of trees that had been knocked down and uprooted by some tremendous force.
The air crackled with an eerie energy, and Lando approached the crater cautiously, his stomach churning. The ground was scorched and blackened, but there were no signs of smoke from the edges of the crater. A stale scent of burnt wood and ozone hit his nose. It was weak, dissipated, like it'd been there for some time.
Peering over the edge of the crater, Lando's eyes widened in shock at the sight below. The earth had been torn asunder, revealing layers of rock and soil exposed by the force of whatever had struck the ground. The sheer power required to create such a crater left Lando in awe.
Amidst the destruction, there was no sign of Charles. Frantically, Lando scanned the area, his heart sinking as he realized that his friend was not here either.
Fighting back the rising panic threatening to engulf him, Lando closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts. He reached out tentatively with his mind, searching for the familiar presence of Charles' ki. His mind, usually so steady and sure, now felt like a hail storm, swirling with uncertainty and fear.
As hard as he tried, there was nothing. No trace of Charles' energy, no flicker of his essence. It was as if his friend had been erased from existence, leaving behind only the echoes of his absence. He reached out further, scanning the surrounding mountain peaks and as far down as the city below.
“Shit—”
A surge of frustration coursed through him at his own limitations and inability to sense ki with the same clarity and precision as Charles. If only he were stronger, more attuned to the subtle currents of energy that permeated the world around them.
If only he’d spent more time actually practicing and training like his friend, instead of fucking around at parties . . .
With a deep breath, Lando forced himself to stay calm. He couldn't afford to give up now, not when Charles might still be out there somewhere in need of help.
Deciding there was no time to waste, Lando flared his ki and launched himself up from the forest floor, clearing the treetops in a matter of seconds. Scanning the mountain peaks to gauge his sense of direction, his body became a blur of motion against the backdrop of the mid-afternoon sky.
The wind rushed past him, whipping through his hair and billowing against his clothes as he soared through the air with practiced ease.
Beneath him, the sprawling landscape unfolded in all its glory, a patchwork of forests, valleys, rivers, and cities stretching out as far as the eye could see. The distant peaks of neighboring mountains rose majestically on the horizon, their snow-capped summits glistening in the light of the sun.
After several minutes, the familiar sight of Hannah's compound came into view, and he rapidly descended toward its grounds, heading for the central building. He barged into the labs of Capsule Corp, pulse throbbing with urgency and located the testing area where Hannah usually spent her time.
Ignoring any protests or inquiries from the reception desk, he pounded on the locked lab door with a firm fist, knuckles rapping against the metal in a frantic rhythm.
The intercom crackled to life, and a voice filtered through, tinged with curiosity and irritation. "Who is it?"
Breathless and agitated, Lando blurted out his response, words tumbling over each other in his haste. "It's Lando! I need to speak to Hannah. It's urgent! Something's happened to Charles, and I need her help!"
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the intercom, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps approaching the door. Then, with a click and a hiss, the door slid open, revealing Hannah standing on the other side, her brow furrowed with concern.
"Lando, what's wrong?" she asked with genuine worry as she took in his disheveled appearance and the urgency in his eyes. “Come with me,” she quickly remarked and yanked him inside the lab, bringing him to her office.
Now in a more private area, Lando explained the situation the best he could, words spilling out in a rush as he recounted the events that led him to Capsule Corp. Hannah listened intently, her expression growing more serious with each passing moment.
"There's a crater in the ground? How big?" she asked, voice raising pitch in disbelief.
"Fuck, I don't know . . . Big? Like, the size of a house—big!” Lando answered, and held his arms out as far away from each other as he could to indicate the massive scale.
Rolling her eyes at him exasperated, Hannah swiftly took a seat at her desk and quickly navigated her way through the complex interface of the computer system, fingers dancing across the keyboard with practiced precision.
“What’re you doing?” Lando asked. “Did you not hear what I just said!? We need to find him—”
“That’s what I’m doing, Lando! Just—give me a minute.” Hannah barked angrily over her shoulder at him. Lando walked over behind her while the soft glow of the monitor illuminated her face, casting a faint blue hue. “I’m doing an aerial search first. I have tracking data for our satellites.”
With a few deft keystrokes, Hannah initiated a search algorithm designed to pinpoint the location of Charles' mountain hut. The computer hummed softly in response, its processors whirring as it sifted through vast amounts of data in search of the desired coordinates.
As the search progressed, Hannah's eyes remained locked on the screen, her gaze flicking back and forth as she analyzed the incoming data streams.
Lando’s eyes crossed as lines of code scrolled rapidly across the display, each one a complete foreign language to him. She'd said she was doing some kind of search, but everything looked like hieroglyphics.
“What’s it doing?” He asked tentatively.
“This code represents our satellite's telemetry data as it scans the Earth's surface. I’m looking to see when there was a change in that area to figure out what could’ve caused such an impact.”
Finally, after several tense moments of waiting, the screen flickered momentarily before stabilizing, revealing a detailed map of the mountainous terrain where Charles' hut was located. Hannah zoomed in, “I just need to adjust the parameters of the satellite feed to enhance the resolution and clarity so we can see what is going on.”
Lando nodded along even though he hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about.
At first, the image appeared blurred and distorted, the result of atmospheric interference and the dense foliage of the surrounding forest, or so she explained to him. But as Hannah fine-tuned the settings, the pixels gradually sharpened and resolved into focus, revealing a distinct disturbance in the trees near Charles' hut.
“What the . . . ” Hannah gaped, zooming in on the tree canopy of the forest. There was a break in the trees, and the image showed a sizable hole on the ground directly below.
“See—see! I told you there’s a HUGE crater!” Lando yelled excitedly, leaning over her shoulder and pointing at the screen.
“Hey!” She reprimanded when the pair almost went toppling over from Lando's weight pressing into her back. “Some breathing room please.”
Lando took a step back with his arms raised in defense, lips pressed into a thin line. “Can you make the damn picture bigger then?”
Turning back to her screen, Hannah punched in on the image and Lando leaned in again, keeping a careful space so he didn't touch her. “I can’t see anything in the bottom from this angle. Was there a meteor in it?” Hannah asked, fingers still on her keyboard making adjustments.
“No, I didn’t see anything other than dirt at the bottom.” He answered, eyes still fixed on the rapidly changing screen.
Hannah paused for a moment. “This is a live feed, but it looks like there are recordings for the last week. That’s what you said, right? You haven’t seen him in a week?”
“No I–I haven’t. W–We took a break after getting too carried away in the desert,” Lando said shakily, wishing that it wasn’t true. If he hadn’t tried that new move last week, maybe none of this would’ve happened. They would’ve still sparred every three days like normal, and Lando could’ve been there to stop whatever happened to Charles.
Hannah put a hand on his arm before slowly speaking, attempting to calm him down. “We’re gonna find him, Lando.”
Not in the mood for pity, Lando pressed on. “Scroll back over the last week,” he said sternly before swallowing, nervousness starting to churn into anger. “Can we see what made the hole?”
“Yeah, grab that stool over there so you stop leaning on me.”
Lando stood, not realizing he was leaning over the back of her office chair again, and dragged the metal stool over to sit down beside her. Hannah backed up the footage until everything looked normal and let it play for a minute before skipping through chunks of time to look for the change in the forest.
They had been meticulously reviewing the footage for an hour, scanning through frames for any sign of Charles or the events that had led to his disappearance. Each passing minute only seemed to deepen the general sense of unease that hung heavy in the air.
And then, suddenly, they saw it.
A brilliant white streak slashed across the sky, a stark contrast to the normal blue of the atmosphere. Lando and Hannah jolted in their seats, and Lando felt his eyes widening in surprise as they watched the anomaly unfold before them.
With lightning speed, the streak hurtled towards the forest near Charles' house, disappearing from view in an instant. For a moment, there was silence in the room, the only sound the rapid beating of his heart pulsating in his ears.
Hannah was the first to break the silence, her voice tinged with disbelief. "What . . . what the hell was that?" she whispered, her eyes still glued to the screen.
Lando shook his head, mind racing as he tried to make sense of what they had just witnessed. "I don't know," he replied, his voice tight with apprehension. "But whatever the fuck it was, it was headed right for Charles’ house."
They quickly stopped the footage, rewinding the recording to get a closer look at the mysterious object. But despite their efforts, they couldn't discern any further details, the image blurry and indistinct. After a moment of tense silence, Lando exchanged a worried glance with Hannah, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Whatever had caused that streak of light was clearly connected to Charles' disappearance in some way.
“Can we change the angle and focus more on the house?” Lando leaned on the desk and asked.
“Way ahead of you. I have to jump to a different satellite,” Hannah replied with her fingers already working furiously over the keyboard to make the adjustments. Watching the screen change a few times, it settled on a different angle and the footage synced up with the timestamp.
When it played, Lando’s jaw fell open as he watched the white object smash into the ground, knocking down trees and creating the devastation he’d witnessed up close. The dense tree cover still obscured the object from view once it cleared the treetops, but they now had a perfect view of the space between the forest and Charles’ hut and farmland.
The dust from the disturbance in the forest began to settle, revealing a figure emerging from the darkness, a tall silhouette with dark hair that seemed to blend seamlessly with the shadows. Lando held his breath as the figure approached Charles' hut, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of dread and anxiety.
Lando's grip on the edge of the desk tightened, his knuckles turning white and the metal indenting slightly as he watched, mind racing with a million different possibilities. He knew all too well what the state of Charles' house was left in, and the thought of him not being there to stop whatever happened twisted knives in his gut.
A shiver ran down his spine when he realized they were about to witness exactly what happened.
As the figure reached the door of the hut, Lando felt his breath catching in his throat when the door was roughly pulled open, almost completely off the hinges. Hannah gasped audibly beside him, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.
They waited in silence for several tense moments, the tension in the room reached a fever pitch as they saw the same figure flying out the door, landing on its back having seemingly been forcefully thrown clear.
From that angle they finally were able to make out that it was a man, wearing a dark tight outfit with a white garment over his chest. Gold on the shoulders, chest, and feet glinted in the sunlight as they saw him spring up from the ground to take on a defensive stance.
Charles came rocketing out of the hut right after, ki flared and attacking wildly. The two figures clashed in a frenzied dance of violence, their movements choppy and disjoined yet filled with a raw intensity that stunned Lando.
He hadn’t seen Charles that worked up since his fight with Lewis a few years ago.
Across the clearing and into Charles' small farm field they fought, exchanging blows with ferocity, tree branches swaying from the gusts of air produced by their superhuman clash. Lando could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he watched, his breath stuck in his throat with each bone-crunching impact. It was a battle of wills, each combatant vying for dominance with a primal determination that left no room for mercy.
For a moment, it seemed as though Charles had gained the upper hand, his strikes landing with precision and power that threatened to overwhelm his opponent. But in a sudden and unexpected twist, the man produced a hidden weapon, firing it at Charles. Lando couldn't tell what kind of weapon it was or where Charles was hit.
Lando's heart skipped a beat as he watched Charles stagger back, the impact of the shot sending him reeling before he finally collapsed to the ground. It was a gut-wrenching sight, seeing his friend brought low by such a cowardly act, and Lando felt a surge of anger and fear wash over him in equal measure.
As Charles lay motionless on the ground, the man stood up and walked over to him, before crouching down and scooping Charles’ limp form up in his arms and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The man walked with relative ease back towards the trees like lifting Charles was hardly a strain.
Lando felt Hannah’s hand grab onto his wrist as they watched the pair disappear through the trees, obviously heading back towards whatever had struck the ground. The footage rolled for several more seconds until they saw the white object from before, shoot out of the forest and into the sky at lightning speed.
“Where did it go!” Lando asked, shock making his voice unsteady.
Hannah backed up the footage and paused right as the object cleared the treetops. The two of them leaned into the desk in unison, now finally able to see the object clearly.
It was round, with no noticeable propulsion systems, protrusions, or landing gear. Its exterior looked metallic, with a polished or brushed finish. The only feature that stood out was a seam that looked out of place on the otherwise flawless surface, and a red tinted circle of some kind on the front that almost looked like a window.
Color drained from Hannah's face, and Lando had a sinking feeling that he was missing something. “What? Do you know what it is?”
Hannah didn't take her eyes off the screen as her fingers flew across the keyboard again and a document opened on the monitor. Scrolling down a few pages, she paused, finger mid scroll, with a photo on the page that looked exactly like the satellite footage on the other screen. With a sense of urgency, Hannah turned the screen with both hands towards Lando, her eyes wide with concern as she explained the significance of what they were seeing.
“It's a spaceship—” she said, voice barely above a whispered, disbelief clear in her tone. "And not just any spaceship . . . According to this report, it's part of a group of extraterrestrial craft that landed in the desert only a few days before this happened."
Lando’s brain whited out, ringing in his ears drowning out all sound in the room at her words. Eyes widened in astonishment, he absorbed the information, his mind racing with the implications of what Hannah had just revealed.
"That's not possible?" he said, voice tinged with incredulity. “How do you know that? What is that?” he asked, pointing at the document on the screen. “Where did you get it?”
Hannah took a deep breath, her gaze steady as she began to explain. "This is a confidential report from an undisclosed government body. I read it only yesterday after we received an inquiry from the French government asking if the craft were ours. R&D confirmed they're not Capsule Corp property.”
“If those ships aren't yours, why couldn't they be someone else's? How do they know they're alien ships?” Lando started to dread the answer as soon as the question left his mouth.
Hannah scrolled back up to the first page of the report. “This document details several countries' radar systems tracking the movements of these ships as they traversed the planet. No one claimed responsibility for them and there isn't even technology on the planet that would make something of that size move like that.” She said with a grave tone. "They landed, moved around in a grid-like pattern over most of the planet, motivations unclear, and then they reboarded their ships and left without incident."
The gravity of her words hung heavy in the air, the implications of extraterrestrial visitors roaming the planet sparked a whirlwind of questions and concerns in Lando's mind. It was a revelation that sent shivers down his spine, with potential catastrophic results.
As Lando sifted through the evidence in his mind—the charred ground, signs of struggle, and the mysterious figure in the satellite footage—a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. With each piece of the puzzle, the realization grew clearer: Charles was not only absent from the forest, but he was also likely no longer on the planet at all.
The weight of this revelation hit Lando with the force of a physical blow, leaving him breathless and disoriented. He felt a tightness in his chest as his thoughts raced, grappling with the implications of Charles' disappearance.
Images flashed through his mind; Charles, taken for unknown reasons, whisked away to some distant corner of the galaxy, perhaps hurt and never to return. A sense of urgency seized Lando as he struggled to come to terms with this horrible situation.
“They took him—” he said suddenly, voice echoing loudly off the lab walls, stool clattering to the ground behind him when he shot up. “They took him!”
Hannah, grabbed onto his hand, her voice calm yet firm as she tried to steady his racing thoughts. "Lando, listen to me," she said, grounding him in his frenetic thoughts. "We need to stay focused and think clearly. Panicking won't help us find Charles."
Though her words offered some measure of comfort, Lando's mind raced with fear and uncertainty. The image of Charles being whisked away by that alien vessel haunted him, fueling his sense of desperation and helplessness.
Hannah, ever the voice of reason, took charge of the situation. “Seb will know what to do," she said, her tone resolute. "He can help us find Charles. Let's go to the lookout."
Chapter 12: Good Boy
Summary:
Max’s lungs felt like they were going to burst from the forcible inhale he took, and before Charles could even react, Max . . . exploded.
"Get out," his voice reverberated off the walls, filled with raw anger and desperation. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, trembling with the intensity of his emotions.Charles recoiled, clearly stunned by the sudden outburst. The horror in Charles' eyes was replaced with that familiar look held by the rest of the crew. The prince always knew it was just a matter of time before Charles wore it too.
Fear.
The Eldri tried to speak, to offer some explanation or consolation, but Max's words came out in a torrent of rage, drowning out any attempt at communication.
"You had no right!"
Notes:
This is an intense one. Be sure to check the chapter warnings.
Welcome back! ❤️ Thanks so much for sticking around and I'm back with maybe the most angsty chapter yet.
Can't thank Lady_Something and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. We still have a long way to go
Chapter Warnings: Graphic Violence, Graphic Non-con, forced orgasm, burns, injury, mental break down, panic attack
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
-Present time on the PTO base ship-
The prince was called for an audience a few days later in the mid afternoon.
As Max emerged from his quarters, the weight of exhaustion hung heavy on his shoulders, each step a laborious effort against the oppressive gravity of his forced servitude.
The corridors of the ship stretched out before him like an endless labyrinth, their cold metal walls reflecting the unnatural glow of the harsh artificial lighting.
Gait slow and deliberate, the prince listened to the rhythm of his footsteps echoing in the empty halls as he made his way towards the throne room. With each stride, his mind was consumed by a maelstrom of conflicting emotions—frustration, anger, unease, and a gnawing sense of weariness that seeped into his very bones.
These games with Jos were being pushed to a new level, and he didn't know if he could predict what the emperor's next move was going to be. Despite his weariness, Max's jaw was set in a determined line, his resolve unyielding as he walked.
He couldn't afford to falter now, not when not only his life, but Charles’ hung in the balance, tethered precariously to the whims of a tyrant.
As he approached the towering doors of the throne room, Max paused for a moment, steeling himself for the confrontation that awaited him within. With a deep breath, Max pushed open the doors and stepped into the cavernous pristine chamber beyond, the air heavy with the scent of power and malice.
He squared his shoulders, his mind still a battleground of conflict as his thoughts focused on the recent days with Charles.
Those days had been some of the best in his life, sneaking as much time together as they could manage with Max being back on duty and Charles helping gather clinic supplies. Max spent those glorious few days exploring Charles' body as an Eldri, learning about him, sparring with him, and struggling to accept his overwhelming feelings for the man.
The contrast between them was stark, almost poetic in its clarity.
Charles was like the suns of Toro, a beacon of warmth and light in the endless void of space. His presence was soothing, his laughter a melody that could chase away the shadows of Max's darkest days. The Eldri had a way of making even the harshest realities seem bearable. His optimism and kindness radiated like the golden rays of their home world's sun.
He was a source of life and energy, bringing warmth to everyone around him. The prince often found himself drawn to that warmth, seeking refuge from the cold, unyielding world they lived in.
Max, on the other hand, felt as icy as midnight rain. His life had been shaped by the brutal realities of war and survival, the constant pressure to meet the emperor's limitless expectations, and the need to suppress his true self to stay strong.
The frigid exterior he presented to the universe was a shield, protecting the barely recognizable vulnerable part of himself that he couldn't afford to show. His heart was burdened by the weight of countless battles, and the loss of those he had cared for. The coldness was a necessity, a way to cope with the harshness of their existence and the relentless stress of uncertainty.
When the prince reached the bottom of the steps to the throne on autopilot and lost in thought, Jos chuckled, tapping his nails on the edge of the throne.
“You seem to have recovered well from our last meeting, my pet. Dear me, I did fret about you.”
Upper lip raised in a wordless snarl, Max replied. “How kind of you to be so concerned.”
“I'm glad we can agree,” Jos mused. Floating up out of his throne, the frost demon landed lazily at the top of the stairs. “I sent Commander George to take care of your mess on Merc, but I trust that you were already made aware of that fact.”
“Is that why you called me here? To tell me you sent your lap dog out for some treats?” Max sniped.
Jos scoffed indignantly before hovering down the steps with measured ease to approach the prince, his tail flicking unsettlingly playful behind him.
“Don't worry, you are still my favorite.”
Confusion gnawed at Max's mind as Jos closed the distance between them, unsure of what he had in store for him this time. His muscles tensed with anticipation, every nerve on edge as he awaited the next clue of the warlord's intentions.
Without a word, Jos motioned for Max to follow him, his inscrutable gaze piercing through Max's defenses like a dagger. His mind raced with a million possibilities, each more haunting than the last, but he knew better than to voice his concerns aloud.
With a sense of impending doom, Max fell into step behind Jos, his booted feet echoing hollowly in the vast expanse of the throne room. As they disappeared back out the towering doors, Max couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking into the lion's den, an especially hungry one.
The emperor led Max through the brightly lit corridors, and Max suddenly realized where they were headed—Jos’ private residence. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and he followed with guarded steps, senses on high alert, anticipating the warlord's next move with a mixture of dread and revulsion.
He'd never been in Jos’ private quarters in the two decades he'd spent on the warlord's base ship.
As they entered Jos' opulent chambers, Max's gaze swept over the lavish decor. The air was heavy with the scent of exotic incense and the faint aroma of blood. The rooms were spacious, and Max had to hold back his eye roll.
Of course Jos would have such a ridiculous waste of prime defensive positioning on the ship.
His bed chambers were in the heart of the ship. A decent trek from any of the entry points or launching pads and one of the largest rooms on the ship, indicative of the demon’s authority.
It consisted of multiple interconnected areas: a bedroom, a private lounge, and a small office space. Despite the grandeur, Jos' bed chamber contained personal touches that made Max's tail bristle with anger.
The emperor’s most prized possessions from his conquests and victories were displayed prominently throughout the room. Heads of rebel forces and more than a few Torossian tails were mounted on the walls, trophies of his unimaginable cruelty.
Max tried not to stare, but tearing his eyes away from his father's chestnut tail was impossible. Seeing it now, hanging limp like a dead snake in an eagle's mouth, churned his gut in a tidal wave of guilt. His golden mating band was still affixed to the end that would've been closest to his body, gifted to him by his mother during their vow ceremony.
It was sacred, treasured, and Max would do anything to have it back. To keep that small piece of his parents commitment protected.
Any sense of awe at the spaciousness was quickly overshadowed by a deep-seated disgust as Jos turned to face him, a sinister smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
"Now, Prince Max," Jos purred, his voice tinged with false charm as he approached Max with predatory grace. "It's been too long since we've had the pleasure of each other's company."
Max's recoil was instinctive, a shiver running down his spine at the frost demon's proximity. He could feel the weight of Jos' gaze like a physical presence, cold and calculating, sending a shudder of revulsion coursing through him.
"I'm not here for pleasure, Jos," Max replied tersely, voice thinly veiled with contempt. "I'm here, because you summoned me."
The warlord's smile widened, his tail’s flicking increased dramatically, and his crimson eyes gleamed with malice as he circled Max like a predator stalking its prey. “Now, now . . . my pet, don't be so rude. Can’t you simply enjoy my company sometimes?”
Max ground his teeth together, “I can think of a million places I'd rather be. Better company too.”
“I thought you were a prince? Where is your chivalry?” Jos tutted. “This foreplay is lacking enthusiasm.”
Max snarled and angrily crossed his arms over his chest. “Foreplay . . . with you?”
Circling behind Max, Jos pressed himself flush against the prince’s back. Using his cold hand to grip the prince’s jaw and crane his head to the side. Max met his red eyes and went rigid, feeling Jos’ bulge rub against his ass.
“You . . . do not do foreplay with anyone, but me.” The prince met Jos’ hard gaze unflinching, giving nothing away.
Max's jaw clenched with barely contained fury, his fists balling at his sides again as he fought to maintain his composure in the face of Jos' relentless mind games. Every fiber of his being recoiled from the frost demon's touch, repulsed by the mere thought of succumbing to his vile charms.
Charles, Charles, Charles, he thought. Keep breathing, get through this, and get back to Charles.
“This attitude of yours needs work,” Jos breathed into his ear, ghosting his icy tongue over its shell, making the prince shiver involuntarily. “I let you rest after our last love making. You've had a whole week to miss me.”
Max looked straight ahead breathing through his nose, livid at the thought Jos would consider what he did to him loving in any way.
"I have no need for your pity," Max spat, his voice laced with contempt. "Do not waste my time."
Grabbing his jaw harder, Jos forced his head back around to look into those horrid eyes. “Say, thank you, Lord Jos.”
“Thank you, Lord Jos,” Max ground out between his teeth drowning with contempt.
“There’s my loyal pet. So obedient,” Jos cooed and patted the side of Max’s face.
Releasing the prince's jaw in favor of grabbing the back of his armor, Jos dragged him over to the bed before throwing him on it. Max landed in a huff on his front and quickly scrambled to roll onto his back, not wanting to lose sight of the emperor for even a second.
Jos coiled his tail around the leg of a plush armchair from the lounge and dragged it over to the end of the bed, scrapping loudly against the floor.
Settling down, the warlord threw one leg up over the arm and looked Max up and down hungrily.
“Undress.”
The prince obeyed, face ablaze, sitting up on his knees before pulling his chest plate up over his head and peeling off his body suit, finally kneeling fully exposed. His hands were fisted into the plush sheets at his sides, seeing no point in trying to cover himself or delay the inevitable.
He hadn’t even bothered to wear his gloves to this audience after last time.
Keep breathing, get through this, and get back to Charles.
Jos’ lizard-like tail now swished through the air in a manner Max assumed was supposed to be enticing, but the sight of it just made him nauseous. Curling a cold finger in a come-hither motion, Max hesitantly scooted down to the foot of the bed, still on his knees.
Standing up and approaching the bed, the frost demon said, “I pitied you after how we left things last time,” before stroking his four fingers through Max’s short hair. The prince did his best to keep picturing Charles' smiling face, breathing deep.
“I must admit, your inadequacy infuriated me, and perhaps . . . I got carried away.”
Rage.
Max practically vibrated out of his skin with it. He had to hold his breath not to let out a snarl and try to rip Jos’ hand away from his head.
Grabbing his chin with both hands, Jos pulled him in close, gazing deep into the prince's eyes.
“Let me atone for my harsh treatment of you,” he spoke evenly, tone not revealing what he had in mind, but Max knew it couldn’t be good. He was straining up on his knees, hands fully off the bed and hovering at his sides.
The emperor's lizard-like tail darted forward and coiled around the root of the prince's flaccid cock, startling him. Max lurched back trying to pull away, but Jos held him steady with frigid hands firm on his jaw. Heat rushed to the prince’s cheeks, and he let the snarl he’d been holding back free from his lips.
Jos just smiled back at him, tail continuing to stroke him, coaxing a painful and reluctant erection out of the proud warrior.
The prince felt his cock grow stiff and he gritted out, “fucking monster,” at his tormentor.
Jos’ face lit up with delight at his blush and reaction. “I'm only trying to make it up to you, Prince of Torossians.”
Max shuddered angrily. The tail was moving faster now, more friction than would be pleasurable. He shut his eyes for a moment to escape that sickening grin on Jos’ face.
Keep breathing, get through this, and get back to Charles—
His train of thought was cut short, Max's eyes snapping open again after a frigid hand pulled back from his jaw and struck his cheek hard.
Jos dug in his jaw roughly, nails leaving dents in the skin.
“Eyes on me, prince.”
Max glowered at him when he opened his eyes again, just in time to see Jos release that familiar object of torment from his armor. Trying harder to twist out of the firm hold on his chin, Max managed to create some distance, but Jos moved one hand from his face to the prince’s throat.
“Will you not accept my offered apology?" His voice was dangerously light. “Really consider your options, Max.”
Max brought his hands up to the wrist squeezing his throat and growled, continuing to fight him harder while sliding backwards on the bed, still on his knees.
Tightening his hold on Max's throat, Jos leapt from the floor and landed on top of Max, pressing him down by the throat into the soft bed.
“How rude, Prince Max,” Jos feigned disappointment as he grabbed Max’s wrist and pulled them roughly up over his head. Burning ki energy cuffs appeared on his wrists and Max let out a pained shout, struggling to free his hands from the immovable force locking them down on the bed.
“You repulse me,” Max ground out with a breathy pant, his cock still under assault from the relentless tail as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Keep breathing, get through this, and get back to Charles.
Jos ignored him, placing a soft kiss on his thigh. “I’ve often thought about having you in my bed like this.” He whispered, pulling Max's knees apart and leaning down to lick a thick stripe of cold dampness up the prince’s bare chest to his exposed jaw.
The prince turned and tucked his chin down to his chest in an attempt to hide his throat. His movements stopped dead when Jos sealed his icy black lips over Max’s own.
Eyes flying open, his scream was swallowed by Jos’ glacial mouth devouring his unwilling lips. A cold, vile tongue pushed its way past his lips before he could stop it, and Max brought his teeth down, biting as hard as he could.
Jos didn’t show any sign of deterrence from his action, and Max’s mouth was immediately filled with a foul sulfur taste as Jos pushed his bleeding tongue deep into the prince’s throat with a groan.
Max gagged hard when Jos’ mouth released his with a dark chuckle, and the prince hacked the rancid blue fluid onto the bed.
Scrunching up his face in disgust, Max hissed at the feeling of his hole being prodded by something wet and slippery. The prince’s breath hitched in his throat when Jos slid a lubed, taloned finger into him, and started working him open at an unhurried pace.
“What’re you doing!” Max yelled in a tone that was supposed to be harsh and cutting, but came out way too desperate for his liking.
Jos gave him a soft smile before replying simply, “Apologizing,” as though that explained this complete change in behavior.
A second lubed finger slid alongside the first, scissoring him open with unsurprising efficiency. Max pulled hard against the ki binding on his wrists. He twisted and writhed in an attempt to get away from Jos’ fingers, but the emperor held him steady, free hand on Max’s waist and his body between Max's thighs keeping them open.
Keep breathing, get through this, and get back to Charles.
After a few moments, Max felt something bigger prod at his hole and the air was punched from his lungs mid-breath when Jos’ alien cock, also covered with lube, slid in smoothly.
Despite the relative absence of physical violence, Max's sense of violation was acute, as if his very essence was being invaded by Jos' unwanted touch. It was always so much worse when the emperor acted like this.
He felt trapped, powerless—forced to endure this torment alone in the confines of Jos’ private bedchamber with the universe turning a blind eye to his pain.
Max's thoughts were scattered and frantic, desperately seeking a way out of this nightmarish situation.
He only floundered for a moment before deciding that this psychological torment would not break him. Beneath his fear and revulsion, there burned a raging fire of defiance, a stubborn refusal to surrender completely to Jos' depravity and to this war.
Max did his best to control his breathing and focus on anything other than the tail still coiled around his now leaking cock.
Keep breathing, get through this, and get back to Charles.
After the emperor set a tentative pace, he scoffed again, “Me . . . repulsive?”
Jos pulled Max's legs up by the back of the knees, pushing them into the mattress. Hips picking up the pace quickly, Max used his trusted method of biting through his own tongue to keep any noise from escaping his lips.
“You insult me, Prince Max.”
Max bit down harder as unwilling tension built at the root of his abused cock with Jos nailing his sensitive spot head on with each stroke. The tail increased the speed of its movements, matching the pace of Jos’ thrusts as tears of despair gathered in the corner of his eyes.
Drifting back to the intimate nights the prince shared with Charles, Max tried to find comfort in the memory of their tender embrace and let it help him ride this out.
Keep breathing, get through this, and get back to Charles.
He would not beg . . . He could do this . . . Charles couldn't know, he told himself over and over. A mantra that started to work and help his mind escape.
Yet, even as he clung to the memory of their first night together, a seed of doubt began to take root within him, whispering cruel insinuations of his own perceived complicity in Jos' heinous acts.
As Jos' tail continued a brutal pace, its touch a cruel reminder of the powerlessness that bound him to his captor, Max felt a surge of unease well up within him, his heart pounding in his chest with a sickening sense of dread. For a moment, Max couldn't help but wonder if he'd become like the monster who tormented him, if the darkness that lurked within his own soul had finally consumed him whole.
Was this what he’d done to Charles? Using his tail on the Eldri?
Max's mind spiraled out of control thinking about that night they’d spent together.
Did Charles show any signs he didn’t want what they did? Had he ignored the Eldri like he was being ignored now?
His tail’s touches were only intended for comfort and pleasure, but he supposed Jos thought the same. Every instance where Max’s tail sought out Charles filtered through his mind, scrutinized to the finest detail.
Breathing shallow, pooling tears growing larger, the prince tried to tell himself it wasn't true. That he would never hurt Charles like this, but the intrusive thoughts wouldn't stop.
Even when his Oozaru bristled at the implication it had harmed their Eldri while in control, it reminded him they would never. But the doubt remained.
Was he a monster now? Was Charles just pretending out of fear? Appeasing him with reluctant compliance?
Charles had even bit his tongue while they were together, and that thought ached in his chest. He'd stopped immediately, asking the Earthling if he was okay or if he was hurting him, knowing that was a clear sign of pain. Charles said no though, and practically begged him to continue.
Was that a lie?
The thought made bile rise high in his throat, and he immediately pleaded to the goddess for forgiveness.
It was unclear how long it had been when Jos sucked a deep bruise on Max’s neck as he came with a grunt, releasing a deluge of that frigid spunk deep in his core and breaking the prince out of his inner thoughts.
“Your body seems to have missed my touch prince. You respond so well.” The satisfaction in Jos’ voice was sickening. “You’ll come for me won’t you, my pet? Like you always do, when I touch you like this?”
Drawn back into the moment, trying to fight his imminent orgasm by willing it away. The prince started thinking of anything that could stop it. Begging the goddess silently to spare him this indignity.
He received no such mercy, and he took that as damning judgment on his prior request of forgiveness.
After a few more strokes from that abrasive tail, the sheer volume of fluid, and Jos’ cock, all putting pressure on his weak spot, Max coated himself in white streaks that settled in the dips of his muscular abdomen with a pained cry, wrists still bound unmovable overhead.
“That's my good boy,” Jos whispered in his ear as the emperor’s tail gave a few more over stimulating pulls on Max's spent cock.
He was gasping for breath, wracked with anguish that he hadn’t maintained his silence when Jos pulled out of him and stood up off the bed. Shuddering at the feeling of chilly thick liquid starting to pool on the bed underneath him, Max prayed it was over. Prayed he could see Charles and all would be right again.
Keep breathing, get through this, and—
No . . . No—
He couldn't go back to Charles. He had to stay away from him. Keep him safe. Max would not hurt him like this.
He wouldn't.
He wouldn't.
Jos’ tail dragged across his abs, smearing Max's come over himself before pushing down, right below the prince’s belly button, dribbling out more white onto the sheets.
Max groaned under the pressure and turned his head away, burying it in his stretched bicep to not see Jos’ smile at the sight of his seed leaking out of the prince’s wrecked hole.
That abhorrent tail lifted lazily in the air to cold lips, and Jos licked off some of Max's release.
“Based on this result,” he shook off the remaining liquid, “I'd say I'm not that revolting to you.”
Jos tucked himself away while Max trembled slightly from the cold and pain in his wrists, glaring daggers at the offending tail.
The ki cuffs disappeared with a wave of the warlord's hand, and he tossed Max’s clothes at him, dismissing the prince without a word.
With a final glare of defiance, Max put his bodysuit on as fast as he could and elected to carry his chest plate so he could leave as soon as possible.
As he stepped back out into the cool forced air of the corridor, Max was drowning in the feeling of contamination that clung to him like a foul stench, a bitter reminder of the darkness that lurked within Jos' twisted soul.
If the frost demon even had such a thing.
He limped quickly through the halls, feeling his sore inner walls shift with every step. The walk back to the Torossian suite was sizable, and he was determined to jump in the shower as soon as he got to his room.
His feet finally stopped at the main entrance door, and he smashed the button, relieved he could rid himself of his soiled bodysuit and forget what happened like every time before.
Relief morphed into horror and the prince's heart jumped to his throat—Charles was sitting on his cot meditating quietly.
The sight of the Eldri had the prince feeling sick, his prior tormented thoughts returning and Max tightened his tail wrapped around his waist. Quickly contemplating retreating from the suite, the prince watched in a daze as the younger gave him a brilliant smile and leapt up, rushing over to wrap Max in a strong embrace.
“I thought you had duty until after dinner?” The younger said with his buttery accent, as his scent enveloped the prince.
Wincing at the squeeze Charles gave to his abdomen, Max felt more dampness seep down his thighs.
He returned the hug lightly asking, “What're you doing here? I thought you were getting more supplies for Alonso?”
Max tried to sound casual, even with his throat still burning from Jos’ acid blood.
“Uhh, he didn’t need me to get anything today,” Charles said, and leaned back, looking into his eyes full of excitement. With his arms still wrapped firmly around the prince’s waist he squeezed again, “I wanted to ask if I could spend some extra time with—”
“No. I–I can't right now, Charles.” Max was short with him, tone clipped, and he roughly yanked the Eldri’s arms away from his middle, before quickly moving to the door for his room, forcing himself to walk steadily.
Charles followed close behind, apparently undeterred by his foul mood.
“That's okay. Can we have dinner together then? I can heat up your fav—”
“Charles! I said no!” He snapped.
Max made sure he faced Charles, so the Earthling couldn't see the dampness on his back, but that meant he couldn't look away from the younger's face as it changed. He knew his tone was angry and he was being unfair to Charles, but he just couldn't do this with him right now.
He was a mess, and he couldn't let Charles see.
The bright smile on Charles’ face slid off in a hurry as he seemed to finally realize the prince's mood.
“Is everything okay?” He asked, voice so soft with concern Max felt queasy.
The younger's concern for him was just an act. Charles only pretended to care out of self preservation, his mind whispered in his ear.
Charles gently touched his upper arm before the Eldri’s eyes widened, zeroing in on what he was sure was a new red mark on the side of his neck from Jos' mouth.
Max smacked his hand over the mark, inadvertently displaying the heat burn adorning his wrist, before roughly pulling the sleeve of his bodysuit down to cover it.
He turned away, but it was already too late.
Charles worried his lip and looked up at him with big doe eyes. “You were just with Jos . . .” he said softly, more of a statement than a question.
Twisting his other arm away from Charles' hold, Max snapped sharply, “don't concern yourself,” sounding much like he did that first time Charles saw him after an audience.
Tossing his chest plate on the bed before tugging off his bodysuit completely, Max chucked it at the bed with a huff, striding to the ensuite not looking back.
“Wait! Max—”
The ensuite door slid shut with a thud.
Barely holding it together, breathing ragged, Max’s heart pounded while shame threatened to swallow him whole. Steam filled the small bathroom as the prince pushed his fingers through his hair.
He was embarrassed at how poorly he’d treated Charles just now. The younger hadn’t deserved Max’s ire after an audience.
He didn't deserve it, period.
And it wasn't just any audience, but the worst kind. He could take all the physical abuse and the beatings just fine. But he couldn't handle the tender ones. The ones where Jos treated him like a lover, his gentle touch more frightening than a heavy hand.
The image of Charles' hurt face burned behind his eyelids as he stepped under the scalding spray of the water. The prince started his well practiced routine, purging his body of all traces of Jos, wracked with guilt for the interaction they'd just had.
How could he be so weak that he let Jos use his tail to—
Max punched the wall cracking the tile under his fist.
After he finished, he turned the water off, and decided he had to apologize to Charles for his outburst. None of this was his fault, and the look on the younger's face after he'd snapped at him made his chest ache with regret.
He also needed to apologize for his—his tail and beg for forgiveness, but he hadn’t the faintest idea how to approach that topic with the Eldri.
“Ik heb hem geen pijn gedaan!” [I did not hurt him!] His Oozaru yelled in his mind. Rumbling growl felt deep in the base of his skull.
“Dat weten wij niet,” [We don't know that] Max whispered aloud.
Max felt his Oozaru bristle again, but recede. “Vraag het hem.” [Ask him]
Deciding he needed to know the answer, he tried to form the right words in his mind while he dried himself off with a towel, fearing the worst.
_____
The bathroom door slammed shut and Charles bit the corner of his lip. He looked around nervously, unsure if he should leave or wait for the prince to finish.
Something happened that Max clearly didn't want to talk about, but he was walking okay, and Charles hadn't seen any other signs of physical injury other than a few bruises and the burn on his wrist.
Perhaps the audience wasn't as bad today as last time? Nothing could be as bad as the last one . . .
Charles sighed and figured if the prince didn't want to talk, he could at least make himself useful and ready the room for Max to try and relax.
The room was mostly tidy—save for the few things Max just threw on his bed. He always kept his room spotless and well maintained. A little OCD-like if he thought about it.
Charles retrieved the chest plate from the bed and put it back on the stand by the door before picking up the cast-aside bodysuit to place it with the rest of the laundry.
He felt wetness on his fingers and raised his hand away from the suit. Hand sticky with something cold, he touched the tips of his fingers together, smearing the liquid between them.
Had Max stepped in something?
Taking a sniff, Charles scrunched up his nose at the sour rotten scent and quickly held the suit out away from him at arm's length.
As the Earthling gingerly held the discarded bodysuit, his fingers grazed over the fabric again, tracing the wet stain that adorned it. His brow furrowed slightly, a fleeting curiosity stirring within him, but he quickly pushed the thought aside, not daring to dwell on it further and get too distracted.
Max would be out of the shower soon anyway.
Charles frowned at the thought of Max's reaction to his request to dine with him. The prince was never in the best of moods, but maybe he should give him some space and let him relax after his shower alone.
Alonso had even told him that one time to never ask the prince about his audiences with the emperor. Maybe he waod that because the elder knew Max didn’t want to talk about them?
Just as he was about to toss the garment into the laundry pile, Max's scouter emitted a sudden beep, drawing Charles' attention. Without hesitation, he reached out and pressed the button on the side like he had done many times before, expecting a routine message he could give to the prince when he finished.
The device made another beeping noise and an automated feminine voice said, “Relaying voice message from Lord Jos: ‘Until next time, my good boy.’”
Charles stilled, hairs on the back of his neck standing on end hearing the emperor's voice for the first time. Did he just call the prince—
“Projecting photo message now.”
What materialized on the wall was anything but routine.
A vivid projection flashed on the wall before his eyes, freezing him in place. It was Max, naked with his wrists locked above his head by some kind of glowing cuffs, eyes squeezed shut tight, head thrown back in a silent pained scream, painting his chest with his own release.
He could see a white-ish colored object coiled tightly around the prince’s dick, but he had no idea what it was. It looked painful from how firmly it was wrapped around Max's member, but he wasn't really looking at anything else at that point other than the prince’s frozen scream.
Charles felt his breath catch in his throat as shock and disbelief washed over him.
He stood there, unable to tear his gaze away from the projection, the image burning itself into his mind with searing clarity. Emotions surged within him—sadness, confusion, and a deep gnawing ache that threatened to consume him whole.
Staggering backward, Charles collapsed onto Max's bed, thoughts spinning in turmoil as he grappled with the devastating revelation before him. His knuckles turned white from gripping the suit tightly, feeling dizzy and lightheaded.
He turned the bodysuit over in his hands, hurriedly trying to find the location the liquid had come from, and cold shock filled his chest. His fingers ran over the wet stain that had pooled from the prince.
Horrified, he stared down at the material in his hands before glancing back up at the projected image connecting the two pieces of evidence together.
The stain was right at the seam where the legs met.
The younger’s thoughts drifted back to the first time he saw the prince injured up close, laying almost lifeless on the rickety table, bodysuit sliced open in the med bay, the tracks of blood and white on Max’s thighs that he'd not given a second thought to, so focused on all the other obvious injuries burned brightly in his mind's eye.
Tears of horror poured down Charles face as he kept staring at the bodysuit in his lap.
Should he pretend he didn't see it? Should he leave right now and wait outside on his cot?
His instincts demanded he run to the bathroom and hold the prince close, never letting Max be hurt like that again, but he knew how sensitive Max was about his audiences with Jos. He didn't want to invade the prince’s privacy anymore than he already was.
In a brief moment of clarity, Charles threw the bodysuit in the laundry pile across the room and quickly jumped up from the bed, fumbling to turn the scouter off.
The image disappeared and Charles remained frozen with indecision about what to do next, tears dripping off the end of his nose, still trying to process this new awful revelation on the scouter held in his hands.
How long had this been going on? Was it like that every time Jos called for him?
So lost in his thoughts, mind reeling, Charles didn’t hear the ensuite door open behind him.
_____
Max finished drying his hair with a towel before wrapping it around his waist. The bathroom door hissed open in a cloud of steam, and he walked through seeing Charles standing in front of his desk, back to him.
He still wasn't sure exactly how to ask the Earthling for forgiveness, but he had to try.
If Charles never wanted to see him again, he would honor the Eldri’s wishes. He didn't know if he could even live with himself if the Earthing confirmed his fears. Nervously fidgeting with his hands, picking at his skin, Max took a deep breath and prepared for the worst.
From the slim side profile he could see of the Eldri, tears glistened on Charles’ cheek in the harsh glow of the fluorescent lights. Max walked closer thinking he’d made the man cry with his rude behavior earlier.
“Oh, Charles. Please don’t cry. I—”
The Earthling was staring at his desk, glassy-eyed, with Max’s scouter in his trembling hands, message indicator light blinking softly in the silence.
A surge of panic and desperation coursed through him. Knowing the message could only be from one person, Max felt dizzy with his stomach flipping wildly, threatening to be sick.
Quickly approaching, Max tried to rip the scouter away from Charles' hands, shaking with fear, but Charles pulled it back away from the prince with a gasp when he got his hand on it.
“Why do you have this!?” He roared, reaching for the device again, panic exploding within him.
His harsh words caused Charles to flinch away and drop it, sending the scouter clattering across the desk and turning on.
Time moved in slow motion for Max. Ringing in his ears drowning out the world around him when a photo materialized from the device's projection lens. An image of him from Jos’ bed chamber danced across the wall until coming to a halt when the scouter ceased clamoring across the metal desk.
Revealed was the prince's biggest secret and shame, in perfect color detail.
Max’s lungs felt like they were going to burst from the forcible inhale he took, and before Charles could even react, Max . . . exploded.
"Get out!" his voice reverberated off the walls, filled with raw anger and desperation. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, trembling with the intensity of his emotions.
Charles recoiled, clearly stunned by the sudden outburst. The horror in Charles' eyes was replaced with that familiar look held by the rest of the crew. The prince always knew it was just a matter of time before Charles wore it too.
Fear.
The Eldri tried to speak, to offer some explanation or consolation, but Max's words came out in a torrent of rage, drowning out any attempt at communication.
"You had no right!" Max's voice cracked, raw, his chest heaving with each breath.
He advanced toward Charles, movements erratic and uncontrolled, energy bursting forth.
In his blind fury, Max lashed out, hands reaching out to shove Charles away from the desk, but instead, caught the neck of Charles' shirt. The prince yanked him away from the desk and threw him violently at the door.
The force of the blow sent Charles stumbling backward, crashing into the recessed door frame with a sharp cry of pain.
As Charles crumpled to the ground, clutching his side where he’d impacted, the Earthling watched in clear disbelief as Max's anguished cries filled the room, mingling with the Eldri’s own heart-wrenching sobs.
“GET OUT!”
The prince started throwing anything he could get his hands on at the trembling form, before eventually resorting to throwing small balls of ki blindly at the Eldri. Charles put up his hands to protect his face, shrinking down into a small shaking ball under the assault.
Tears poured down Max's face as shame exploded out of him in radiating waves, completely consumed by the horror that Charles knew his secret.
When the Earthling stayed put on the floor by the door, frozen in shock, Max broke off in a choked cry and conjured a large ball of crackling energy, burning blue lightning in his hand. He hurled the beam at the door, missing its target in disjointed fury, landing inches from Charles' left arm, shaking the wall with its force.
“GET OUT! NEVER COME BACK HERE AGAIN!”
Max conjured another ball even bigger than the one before and leveled his arm at chest height. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he was blinded by anguish and pain. Defaulting to the only self preservation method he knew—violence.
Charles let out a strangled sob, turning and scrambling to run from the door that slid shut behind the younger, just as that ball of energy engulfed the space he'd been sitting in. It exploded with blue fire and sparks of heat, warping the metal door with its intensity.
Yelling at the top of his lungs with free flowing tears drenching his face, Max tore the room apart. Blue lightning crackled through the air as his soul exploded with shame and anguish.
Despair burst from him as he thought about the tender moments he'd shared with the Eldri, and how they would surely never share them again. He was alone again, forever cursed to hurt and maim everyone and everything he’d ever cared about.
How could Charles want him when he now knew how weak he was? No one deserved a mate who laid with another in the face of a true bond. The betrayal and helplessness shattered his heart into a thousand pieces.
The image on the scouter and the memory of Jos whispering ‘my good boy’ in his ear sent the prince crumbling on his knees with a strangled gasp, struggling to get air into his burning lungs.
The whole room shook as he pounded his fists on the floor in devastation and smashed the scouter to bits.
“HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!” He raged at his captor who wouldn’t hear him and had unknowingly stolen the last piece of happiness from the prince.
In that moment of profound despair, Max was torn in two by the conflicting desires warring within him. Torn between his selfish desire for Charles, and the need to keep him safe—a need that meant Max was a danger to Charles.
Max was a danger to everyone.
He was now the monster he'd fought against his whole life, and that crushing realization broke Max from deep within.
The prince collapsed into sobs, the image of Charles' face burned into his brain with searing clarity, terrified.
Terrified of him.
“Charlie—” Max rasped with a whisper, curling in on himself on the floor of his destroyed room.
Max's Oozaru raged at him for chasing away their Eldri, pulling the tether of their joint consciousness painfully taut.
It whispered deep within his mind for no one else to hear. “Wat heb je gedaan . . .” [What have you done]
____
In the corridor outside the Torossian quarters, Charles' heart pounded in his ears as he pressed his back into the cold metal wall. More tears spilled down his cheeks when he heard the prince tear apart the room in a violent rampage.
A loud boom shook the wall against his back as he heard the prince cursing at him.
Frightened that Max would pursue him, Charles took off down the hall toward the med bay, sealing himself inside before sliding down the back of the door, burying his face in his hands.
He shook violently with the force of his sobs, and cursed himself for the mess he'd created. Why didn't he just leave Max alone? Pretend he didn't see? Max hadn't even invited him into his rooms and Charles had just waltzed in like he owned the place.
Instead of helping the clearly distraught prince, he was so focused on his own needs, that he completely missed Max's anguish. He'd brought so much pain on the prince with his lack of discretion.
He didn't know why it took him so long to see it. The look on Max's face when he came in the door should’ve made it obvious. That haunted look—
Charles berated himself for not noticing the signs, for not seeing that something was wrong with Max before it was too late. The realization struck him hard. He'd been so absorbed in his own plans, eagerly anticipating their pleasant evening together since he was released from clinic duty early.
He had meticulously prepared everything, wanting to surprise Max with dinner. Charles had imagined the look of delight on Max's face, the warmth in his eyes as they shared a quiet meal together. He had envisioned the evening ending with them wrapped in each other's arms, getting lost in the prince's addictive touch, forgetting the world outside of just the two of them.
But in his eagerness, he'd missed the subtle cues—the tension in Max's shoulders, the distant look in his eyes, the way he had seemed more withdrawn than usual, barely returning the Earthling’s embrace. Charles cursed himself for not paying closer attention, for being so focused on his own plans that he'd overlooked Max's needs.
He prided himself on being attuned to Max's moods, on being able to provide comfort and support when it was needed. Yet, he had failed this time when it mattered most.
Max’s reaction terrified him, but he was more fearful that the prince would never forgive him, and that he truly didn't want to see him again when he told him to never come back.
A burning pain on his arm made him look down when his adrenaline started to wear off.
There was a serious burn on his left forearm. Charles shakily rotated it so he could get a better look, and hissed at the feeling of his scorched skin twisting. The mark was an angry red where the skin started to bubble and rise to a blister.
He took a deep steadying breath and felt more pain in his side from where he'd collided with the door frame. There was definitely going to be a nasty bruise there, but he didn’t feel like anything was broken.
Charles' thoughts went back to the spars he’d had with the prince. Max was clearly holding back and not using his full strength with him. They weren’t anywhere close to evenly matched if that was the case. Max’s energy had spiked to an unbelievably high level during his angry tirade, and Charles felt suffocated with Max's all-consuming ki in the small space.
The prince's blue eyes had flashed golden yellow when he'd leveled his arm at him, and Charles had never been more frightened in his life.
Those familiar cerulean jewels that always made him smile and feel tingly inside, melted into molten pools of fire and rage. Max's eyes reflected back at him in the dim room like caged Hell, ready to be unleashed causing untold devastation. His wet hair, darker than its normal blonde, had even started to glow like spun strands of golden silk at the tips.
The dazzling blue aura of his ki battled with licks of yellow sparks, dancing around his body in a fight for dominance. Max was completely unrecognizable in that state, an amalgamation of despair and raw power.
He had to be crazy or hallucinating.
Eyes and hair didn't just magically change color like that. He must've been so caught up in his own fear that he imagined it, his mind transforming the prince into a frightening figure of pure spite.
Charles paled at the thought of what that first blast would’ve done if it hit him directly or the beam he’d just managed to dodge that rocked the room, almost bursting a hole in the metal door.
Carlos had not been kidding when he said their prince was a ferocious warrior, feared across the universe. More of Carlos’ words flickered in his mind as he held his arm delicately, failing to get his sobs under control.
‘You're bound to be collateral damage either way.’
Chapter 13: Knows Better
Summary:
“I didn't know where else to go when he told me to leave? So I've been staying here.” The younger gestured to the space and hissed at the use of his injured arm.
The elder leaned forward, pulling Charles' left wrist to extend his arm, and Charles yanked it back quickly with a whine, cradling it to his chest.
“How did this happen? Let me see.”
Alonso pulled his wrist again and didn’t meet any resistance, stretching Charles' forearm over his lap. He unwrapped the bandage and hummed at the burn mark.
The blisters that'd formed on the first day had since broken open, leaving a moist, weeping surface to the wound. The skin surrounding the burn was red and swollen, and there were patches that were whiter and discolored, indicative of more severe damage.
“It’s not his fault,” Charles rushed out. “He t–told me to leave and I didn’t listen.”
“Do not make excuses for him. He knows better than this.”
Notes:
Lighter than the last one but still angsty! Hope you enjoy the sad babies figuring it out.
Can't thank my beta, Lady_Something , and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. We still have a long way to go!
Chapter Warnings: Injury, second-degree burns, description of wounds, self-imposed starvation
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Charles didn’t return to the Torossian quarters.
With trembling hands, he carefully tended to his injured arm, movements slow and deliberate as he applied soothing ointment to the angry red welts marring his skin. Each touch sent a jolt of pain shooting through him, a visceral reminder of the consequences of his actions—or lack thereof—that had inadvertently contributed to Max's suffering.
He’d spent the rest of that night sifting through the few medical supplies left in the med bay, before falling into a fitful sleep in the corner of the room having only a dirty towel for a blanket.
The next few days went by similarly, going to the clinic for stocking duty, and returning late at night to the med bay. He couldn't get rations for the suite without going in to deliver them, and he couldn't pick up any food without being assigned to a suite allotment. That being the case, Charles ate scraps of food from meals served in the clinic, left mostly untouched by patients. No one seemed to like a particular piece of hard bread and it became the major part of his diet for the last few days.
He’d taken for granted sharing meals with the prince and just the simple act of eating made his heart ache at the loss of Max’s presence.
Every day he'd hoped to see the prince come to the med bay or the clinic looking for him, but he never did. He’d even made it halfway to the suite a dozen times before turning around, darting back to the med bay in tears.
Carlos and Alonso were also suspiciously absent.
Now passing the third day, he had given up on any of them coming to look for him. Clearly having offended the prince beyond repair, the other Torossians must’ve also disavowed him and left him to whatever fate awaited him when he was discovered on the ship.
He'd even thought about looking for a way to escape, steal a pod and return to Earth, but he didn't know where the space pods were housed or how to operate one. He was just as likely to jettison himself out into deep space through the trash bay as he was to successfully make it off the ship in one piece.
And leaving Max behind was also not an option.
It was late and Charles couldn't sleep.
He finished some training exercises, as much as his arm and sore side would allow, and meditated to the point of exhaustion, but he just couldn't sleep. The floor was unforgiving and always cold to the touch, no matter how long he'd laid on it. The towel he had for a blanket barely reached his knees when he pulled it all the way up to his chin.
The memory of the prince's furious outburst echoed in his mind like a haunting refrain every time he closed his eyes. The royal’s explosive anger had been palpable, radiating with intense energy that seemed to fill the entire room.
Charles had never seen that side of Max before, and it had frightened him deeply.
Each moment etched itself into his memory with painful clarity, replaying on an endless loop. The look of betrayal in Max's momentary golden eyes as he unleashed his fury upon him; the searing pain of the energy blast that marred his flesh; the hollow ache of loss that lingered in the wake of their shattered bond.
‘GET OUT! . . . HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!’
How could he have been so blind to the extent of Max's torment? So deaf to the silent cries for help that had gone unheard for so long?
Did the others know? Why didn’t they do something? Why did everyone refuse to help Max?
Alonso definitely knew . . . the elder had to know. Was this what he’d been referring to when he told Charles Max would return with ‘injuries’ after his audiences with the emperor?
A fresh stream of tears slipped down his cheek at the thought that everyone knew, and no one could do anything against the overwhelming force that was Jos’ energy. Charles had felt the warlord's ki leave the ship a few days ago, shortly after the prince had returned to their quarters and chased him away. That fact brought him a small sense of comfort.
At least the tyrant wasn’t around to hurt Max for the time being.
As he sat alone in the quiet darkness of the med bay, back against the cool metal wall, Charles couldn't help but wonder if he'd lost Max's trust forever, if their bond had been irreparably damaged by his own foolishness and naivety.
Minutes stretched by and he should've tried to sleep, but stray tears kept his consciousness intact.
The door to the med bay hissed open, flooding the room with light from the corridor. Charles squinted from his seated position in the corner, straining to make out the figure.
“Charles?” Alonso's quiet voice rang out into the darkness.
The lights flicked on and Charles had to close his eyes completely, blinded by the fluorescent-like blaze. After his eyes adjusted enough to open, blinking rapidly, Charles curled further in on himself as the brute approached with threatening heavy steps, clearly irritated.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention, dreading the tongue lashing he was sure to receive. Remembering how upset the elder had been the first time Charles saw Max after an audience and asked questions, he could only imagine how angry Alonso was at him now after what he'd done.
Maybe it wouldn't stop at just words this time?
“What's the meaning of this? I've needed to speak with you all day, and you haven’t returned to our quarters?”
Did he not know? Charles thought.
The prince must've not said anything to him. Perhaps he really meant so little to Max that he’d gone back to his daily routine, completely unfazed by the Earthling's absence.
“I–I can't. Max—” Charles swallowed thickly and cast his eyes back down to the floor, words stuck in his throat. If the prince hadn't told Alonso, then he didn't want the elder to know, and Charles thought better of discussing the prince's private business.
Alonso’s brow furrowed with confusion and he must’ve taken in the scene around him, eyes darting left and right: Charles sitting alone in the dark room, dirty and cold with a poorly wrapped bandage on his arm, expression drawn and troubled, slightly shaking.
Charles knew he must look terrible. He'd only managed to give himself a sponge bath with a rag in the sink after his duty shift. His eyes were surely puffy and red from the amount of crying he'd done over the last few days, unlaundered bodysuit plastered to his dull skin and hair a mess.
“Tell me what happened,” the elder said with a knowing look as he sat down cross-legged in front of Charles, palms turned up and waiting for him to begin.
The burly Torossian even let his tail unfurl from around his waist, drifting lazily in a soothing motion by his side.
He wasn't sure why that made him relax a little, but it did.
Charles watched the tail for a moment before he looked up at Alonso, his eyes clouded with sorrow and regret. With a heavy sigh, he shakily recounted the events of the last time he saw the prince, voice strained with emotion as he spoke of Max's explosive rage and the painful rift he had caused between them.
"I–I stumbled upon Max's bodysuit after J–Jos . . . and I didn’t t–think anything of it at first. But then there was a m–message on his scouter. Jos called him a—” The Earthling swallowed roughly, bile stinging his throat. “A–And there was a picture . . ." Charles confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't realize . . . I didn't know . . . I had no idea what he was . . . how could Jos do that to him?"
Expression softening with understanding, Alonso listened to Charles' rambling words. "I see," he replied quietly, his voice saddened. "Prince Max has been through a great deal, Charles. More than any of us could ever imagine."
Charles nodded solemnly, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"I know that now," Charles murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "I just . . . I didn't realize the extent of his suffering, that Jos would . . .” Charles couldn’t finish that sentence, throat full of cotton. “I shouldn’t have pried, and now he’s so—so angry with me. He told me to never go back to the suite.”
Alonso frowned at that, but Charles continued. “I didn't know where else to go when he told me to leave? So I've been staying here.” The younger gestured to the space and hissed at the use of his injured arm.
The elder leaned forward, pulling Charles' left wrist to extend his arm, and Charles yanked it back quickly with a whine, cradling it to his chest.
“How did this happen? Let me see.”
Alonso pulled his wrist again and didn’t meet any resistance, stretching Charles' forearm over his lap. He unwrapped the bandage and hummed at the burn mark.
The blisters that'd formed on the first day had since broken open, leaving a moist, weeping surface to the wound. The skin surrounding the burn was red and swollen, and there were patches that were whiter and discolored, indicative of more severe damage.
“It’s not his fault,” Charles rushed out. “He t–told me to leave and I didn’t listen.”
“Do not make excuses for him. He knows better than this.”
The elder grabbed the almost empty, old tube of burn ointment Charles took from the clinic rubbish bin and applied a thick layer before expertly affixing a new dry bandage. “Is there anything else?”
Charles paused for a moment, deciding if he should have the elder look at his side, before he wordlessly pulled up the top half of his bodysuit. The bruise was impressive, deep purple-black and yellow around the edges. It was sore to the touch but showed no signs of lasting damage.
Alonso sighed with a small shake of his head, and touched it in a few places gently before retracting his hand.
“Nothing is broken. This will heal fine. The tank is for emergencies only.”
Charles nodded quickly in agreement. The tank wasn’t necessary and the bruise had already started to heal.
Silence descended between the pair and Charles picked nervously at the skin around his thumb. He wanted to ask if the prince was okay, or if Max had asked about him, but he thought better than to ask too many questions. He’d learnt his lesson about prying.
Alonso sighed again, more heavily, processing the whole story in silence. He looked at Charles thoughtfully for a moment before reaching into his armor, pulling out a tablet. The screen flickered to life and the elders fingers flew over the transparent surface with practiced ease.
“I need to talk to you about this . . .” He turned the screen so Charles could see, and the younger's face paled.
His name was displayed on the tablet in bold letters.
“What is that?” Charles' voice was stressed from spending the last few days sobbing.
“This is your name on the clinic's stock duty assignment list. What I would like to know, is how you got on here, but more importantly why you didn't tell us about it. This record was created a few weeks ago, but I can’t see by who.”
Charles wrung his hands together, biting his lip nervously. There was no point in trying to hide it now, his name was printed on the list in fucking bold.
“I was heading to the clinic to collect another field medic kit since I used most of the other’s supplies treating the prince before the tank was fixed, but I–I was distracted.”
Charles thought better of telling Alonso about his confrontation with Carlos in the med bay.
“When the clinic doors opened, I walked right into the back of a tall man who asked for my name and why I wasn’t on his list. I couldn’t think of anything to say off hand, so I told him my name and he sent me to someone named Silvia to be assigned a duty post.”
“Do you know the man’s name or what he looked like?” Alonso turned the tablet back to him, and the screen shut off.
Charles cursed himself for being so frazzled. He knew the name, but couldn't place it in the moment.
“He was tall, with brown hair pushed up off his forehead.” Racking his brain to remember the details, he said, “Oh, and he had a jeweled headpiece with some kind of purple stone hanging from it.”
“George—” the elder rushed out, suddenly nervous. It was new for Charles to see the stoic man worry about something other than the prince.
“Yeah, that's it. I think the woman in the clinic office said his name was George.”
Alarm bells started ringing for Charles when Alonso got an even more stressed look at the confirmation of the name. “Who is he?” Charles tentatively asked, worried by the elders' change in demeanor.
Alonso leaned closer before speaking again, “Did he say anything else to you? Did he ask where you were staying?”
“N–No? He didn't ask where I was staying, just my race. I said human because I’m not a total fucking idiot,” Charles pursed his lips.
Alonso relaxed more, leaning back and stood up from the floor. The elder gestured for Charles to do the same. “Does Prince Max know?”
Charles stood up on shaky legs, half asleep from sitting too long and used the wall for support. “No, I–I didn't tell him.”
“You have to tell him.” The elder spoke firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve been covering for you when he asked, and I told the prince you were getting supplies for me from the clinic. I knew you were hiding something, but I needed to be sure.”
“But Alonso?” Charles worried his bottom lip. “He doesn’t want to see me. Said to never—”
The elder gave him a pitying look. “Go to him. The prince is stubborn and prideful, but I know he'll not turn you away. He cares deeply for you.”
Alonso walked toward the door, but stopped and turned looking back over his shoulder when Charles didn’t follow.
“H–How is he?” Charles took a few tentative steps to follow Alonso to the door. That voice in the back of his head was begging him to follow and return to the prince.
Charles had reached out to check on the prince's ki almost constantly over the last few days. His energy was barely recognizable in its current state, a meager shell of its prior brightness. After expanding to a dizzying height during his rampage, Max's aura retracted to such a low level, Charles had to strain to feel it. The golden center was almost nonexistent and his energy felt dull, lacking spark. Occasionally throughout the day, the prince's ki would raise a few times, seemingly in conflict, but would return to its new low baseline shortly after.
“The prince hasn’t left his room, I suspect since your altercation.” The elder Torossian said, looking at the doors to the med bay. “He’s missed duty shifts and hasn't taken any meals that I know of for two full days. Jos is due to return any day now, and I fear if the emperor called for him, he would not report.”
Alonso turned around fully, face grim. “The last time he didn’t appear for an audience when requested, we had to tank him for a week.”
Charles couldn't bear the thought of Max being so badly hurt by Jos that he would need the tank for that long. The troubling news about Max's state of seclusion and self-neglect twisted a knot of worry in the pit of his stomach. That voice made itself known again, whining loudly and begging him to act.
With trembling hands, Charles ran his fingers through his dirty hair to try and soothe the ache in the back of his head. Mind still racing with a million unanswered questions, the weight of guilt and regret sat like a heavy burden and compelled his feet to move with its oppressive force.
“I have to report back and cover the prince's next shift. Go to him, Charles.” With that, Alonso left the med bay and Charles trudged towards their quarters.
When he eventually returned to the suite, Charles cautiously stepped inside the main room looking for any signs of the prince. Instead, he was met with the angry glare of Carlos, hurriedly eating his very late dinner on his bunk. The dark haired Torossian turned to face him, eyes narrowed with thinly veiled hostility.
“The prodigal son returns,” he quipped spitefully. "I should've fucking known you'd be the cause of all this."
Charles braced himself for the onslaught of Carlos' anger. “It was just a misunderstanding. I—”
“He hasn't eaten in days, or left his room for duty, and you call it just a ‘misunderstanding.’ Do you have any idea how damaging that is? Torossians need to eat more than most other species to maintain our high energy levels. I can't even imagine how weak he must be right now.”
Gut churning, the Earthing tried not to show how affected he was by the news. His mind started to conjure image after distorted image of the prince being too weak to stand, and that voice at the base of his skull threatened to claw the dark haired Torossian's eyes out for delaying their intervention.
Carlos stood up from his bunk, empty meal container in hand, and disposed of its remnants in the incinerator shoot before turning back to him with an icy glare.
“He won’t let anyone in. Alonso and I haven’t heard a peep. If he’s called for deployment now, he would not survive it. That's if he would even go.” Putting his hands on his hips, Carlos pressed his lips in a thin line. “I will not allow my prince to sacrifice himself for the likes of you.”
Charles bristled at the accusation from the man, his own frustration bubbling to the surface with nerves on edge. He didn't have time to deal with Carlos’ shit and he was blocking his path to Max’s private room.
"You act like I did something on purpose. I didn't mean to upset him?”
Scoffing, Carlos hardened his expression. "You may not be responsible, but you sure as hell are the cause," he shot back full of bitterness. "You've been nothing but trouble since you came here—”
“You brought me here!” Charles snapped. “I didn't ask you to kidnap me and force me to be a slave.” Crossing his arms over his chest, fighting back a growl, he added, "And ‘your prince’ . . . give me a fucking break.” Temper flaring at the insinuation, Charles said, "Don't pretend like you have any more of a claim over Max than anyone else.”
Eyes darkening, Carlos crowded Charles against the door, fist clutching the neck of the Earthlings dirty bodysuit. Cold metal dug into his back, but Charles met the man's eye, jaw set.
“Listen, you little shit. I don't care what happened, just fix it and fix it fast, or you might just find yourself world-less like the rest of us. As easy as it was for me to change my scouting report for Earth, it could easily be undone.” A smile stretched across the man's face as he pulled Charles closer by the collar. “I’ll even lead the purge team myself. I’ve always wanted to try my hand at gardening . . . And I know the perfect little field to practice on.”
The implication behind Carlos' words sent a chill down Charles' spine, a cold realization dawning upon him as the man briskly shoved past him and left the suite in a huff.
Would Carlos really do that? Damn a world with billions of innocent lives just because he was upset?
Charles decided he wasn't going to find out. He was determined to fix this. Carlos just needed to get the stick out of his ass and Charles needed to stop stalling.
Walking over to the small counter, he gathered up the prince's favorite dinner items that were still warm before heading to the silent door of his . . . their chambers.
He softly knocked on the door and received no answer. Charles knocked harder calling out, “Max? Open the door . . . please,” but was met with continued silence.
The door was dented from the blast Max had fired at it, creating a gap in the usually tight seal around its edges. Charles put his ear to the gap, listening for any response from the prince. There was nothing, not even the sound of breathing and Charles grew more worried.
He readied to knock again before he heard the almost inaudible whisper, “Leave me be, Charles.”
The voice was strained and hoarse, Charles barely heard it, and the dull ache in his chest grew. Through the small crack Charles could see the room was a mess and with the arrangement of the room, he could only see Max’s feet resting on his bed. Resolute, Charles placed his hand on the spot of the wall where he knew the control panel rested on the other side, and fired a small orange-red beam of ki clean through.
Sparks danced under his palm before the door creakily rose up, but stopped short when the bend in the door met the rim for its housing pocket with a metal-on-metal scrape. Charles gathered the dinner items he'd prepared and slipped under the half raised door.
The sight that greeted him was heartbreaking.
The prince's private room was in tatters. Dents littered the smooth walls, ash coated the floor in a thin layer of dust, and Max's small metal desk in the corner was mangled beyond recognition. Any loose object that wasn't the prince's armor had been burnt to a crisp and scorch marks painted the walls and floor.
Charles carefully stepped to the bed, setting the food down on the only non-ash coated surface he could find. He stood for a moment, unsure if he should join the prince on the bed.
Sitting up with his back against the wall, knees tucked up under his arms, hiding his face, Max still had the towel around his waist like the last time Charles saw him. The prince hadn't moved at all, not even reacted to Charles forcing the door open, fingers fisted tightly in the back of his hair.
Hair greasy and unkempt, Max clearly hadn't bathed in days. His tail was dull looking and hung off the edge of the bed, dragging on the floor dipped in ash. If Charles hadn't heard him speak earlier, he would say the prince wasn't even breathing.
“Max?” Charles spoke softly.
Worrying his lip, Charles sat gently on the side of the bed trying to not get too close. He tentatively reached out for the prince's elbow but stopped when Max spoke again.
“Leave me,” The prince's voice came out choked and raspy, muffled from being buried in his arms.
Retracting his hand, Charles moved to sit across from Max on the bed after picking up the food he brought. He rested the container by the prince's bare feet and waited for the prince to do something, say something, anything. Even if he just continued to tell him to leave, any sound was better than the crushing silence.
The only sounds in the room were Max's shallow breaths and Charles' heartbeat in his ears.
Charles didn't even know where to begin.
As he sat across from Max on the bed, the air between them was heavy with tension and unspoken regret, and he struggled to find the words to convey the depth of his remorse. The prince sat hunched over his legs, fists still firm in his hair, knuckles white and shoulders tense.
That voice in his mind mewled high-pitched, ringing in his ears, pleading for Charles to do something he didn't quite understand. He decided he would start with an apology.
"Forgive me, my prince," Charles offered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have pried about your private business with Jos.”
This seemed to get a reaction from Max. The hands on his hair loosened their grip and then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, he looked up, dull lifeless eyes peeking out over those folded arms at Charles in a look of confusion. They were that familiar blue and Charles was sure he must've imagined their change in color before.
Progress, Charles thought, and he continued hopeful. “I shouldn’t have come into your room uninvited or stayed when you—”
The prince's head shot up off of his arms, “N–No don't you dare apologize.” It came out ragged. “I—”
His eyes widened with shock as he took in the sight of Charles' bandaged arm.
"You’re hurt? Charles—what happened to your arm?" Max's voice was filled with tension, his eyes laser focused in disbelief. “Who did this to—”
A pang of guilt stabbed at Charles' heart as he looked down at the scarred flesh of his forearm hidden under the bandage.
"N–no one, it's nothing Max," he offered and attempted to hide his arm in his lap.
The prince reached out and roughly pulled Charles’ arm closer by the hand, trying to get a better look before Charles could stop him. The lowest part of the bandage by the wrist slid up when the arm was fully extended, revealing a strip of scorched skin that disappeared below the wrapping. Charles whimpered at the harsh treatment of his injured skin, but didn’t pull away from the prince’s firm hold.
A million different emotions danced on the prince's face before settling on horror as Max must've realized what had happened. The prince's eyes clouded as he reached out to gently thumb over the burnt skin of Charles' forearm, his fingers trembling, face a mixture of remorse and regret.
The prince glanced at the dented door before looking back at Charles' arm. "I did this," he whispered, voice raw. "The door—when I . . .”
Tears pricked in Charles' eyes as he reached out to take Max's hand in his own. "It's okay, Max. I’m fine,” he replied, attempting to reassure the distraught prince.
Max's face scrunched up with the appearance of pain. "What’re you doing here, Charles?" He spat harshly, words heavy, startling the Earthling. "You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be anywhere near me."
Pulling his hand back from Charles’, Max scooted away as much as he could with his back already pressed up against the wall of the cut-out bed space. He only moved an inch or two, but it felt like a mile to Charles with the sense of urgency with which Max scrambled back. The prince's hand also returned to his hair, pulling roughly and squeezing his eyes closed tighter with a grunt.
Taken aback by the harshness of Max's tone, Charles hesitated.
It almost looked like the prince was warring with himself about something, breathing unsteady. His hands were firmly pulling on the back of his head like Charles did sometimes when that voice got too distracting or needed soothed.
Did the prince have a voice there too? What was it trying to tell him?
"Max, please," he pleaded. "Can we just—just talk? I want to understand what happened."
But Max shook his head, his eyes still squeezed tight as he turned away, unable to meet Charles' gaze. "There's nothing to talk about, Charles," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “You should go.”
How could he fix this? Charles didn't want to push him, but they were getting nowhere with Max's refusal to communicate.
Out of the corner of his eye, Charles noticed the prince's tail gently lifting from the floor, slowly stretching across the bed in an attempt to reach him. The sight of it and the remembrance of its soft soothing touches made his breath hitch aloud, hope warming his chest.
The Earthling loved when the prince would put his tail around him, or when it would gently stroke against his leg in their bed. Sometimes in the early morning hours, he would pretend to still be asleep with eyes closed and feel the prince unwrap his tail from Charles’ waist with a curse. He could practically feel the heat radiating off of Max’s blush and fighting off a smile to continue the farce was excruciatingly difficult.
He’d only touched it once when Max was deep asleep. The light brown velvet had coiled around his thigh, squeezing him gently and Charles couldn’t stop himself from running his fingers through it. It was so soft and well maintained, nothing like the shape it was in now.
Smiling softly at the memory, he reached out, wanting to run his fingers over it gently. Maybe that would help soothe the stressed prince? Slowly, mirroring the tails movements, Charles slid his hand across the bed, trying his best not to spook Max.
Opening his eyes at the sound Charles' fingers made gliding on the blanket, Max looked nauseous at the sight of his tail so close to Charles. Lightning fast, Max physically grabbed his tail, harshly yanking it back away from Charles’ outstretched hand before slamming the back of his head against the wall with a pained growl. His hand fisted so tight in the back of his hair, Charles thought he might actually tear some out.
"Raak hem niet meer aan. Nooit meer,” The prince growled. [Don't you dare touch him. Never again.]
Charles gasped, so confused by Max's behavior, unsure what to do next. “What does that mean, Max? I don't understand—”
"You need to leave." The prince said through gritted teeth.
The command hung heavy in the air between them. With a sigh, Charles leaned back, giving the prince some space, his heart breaking with the weight of Max's apparent torment over injuring him.
"Pushing me away isn't going to make it better. Please, just . . . tell me what happened. What can I do?"
Max remained unmoved, his shoulders tight with anxiety. "Don’t, Charles," he whispered, his voice strained and tight. "I can't see you hurt because of me. I won't let it happen again.”
“I am fine, Max. I’m not some porcelain doll you'll break as soon as you touch me.”
The prince didn't meet his gaze and kept his eyes fixed down on the ash covered floor. The Earthling winced internally when the prince's hand holding back his tail squeezed it hard.
Charles knew how much that hurt.
Trying a new tactic, he picked up the prince's favorite stew container and opened it, filling the space between them with its warm hearty aroma. Max looked over at the container in Charles' hands longingly, before looking back to the floor again, hand loosening in his hair a bit.
“Take it, Max. Please eat. Alonso told me you haven't eaten in two days, and I’m not leaving this room until you do.”
Max’s stony eyes remained locked on Charles for a few more tense moments, a silent battle of wills raging between them. The younger man could feel the resistance radiating from the prince, the stubborn pride that had kept him from accepting the food, perhaps some misguided feelings that he didn't deserve it. But as the aroma of the stew wafted between them, the loud rumble of Max’s stomach betrayed him.
It was clear that hunger was slowly overpowering his ire.
Reluctantly, Max reached out, his fingers brushing against Charles’ in a fleeting moment of contact as he took the container. The prince’s hand trembled ever so slightly, and Charles held his breath. Max pulled the container toward himself slowly, as if it weighed more than it should, his movements careful and deliberate. He lifted it to his lips, tilting the container just enough to take a cautious sip, the warm liquid sliding down his throat. His eyes fluttered shut, and Charles couldn’t help but notice the way Max’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
The sight brought Charles a deep, overwhelming sense of relief. Max had clearly been deteriorating for days, and while the change hadn’t been immediately obvious, the signs were now painfully clear. The prince’s once-strong frame looked thinner, his skin paler than usual, a sickly sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. His arms were shaky, his normally steady hands trembling as he held the container. And then there were his eyes—sunken and ringed with dark circles, evidence of sleepless nights and the heavy toll of exhaustion.
It hurt Charles to see him like this.
His long, slow sips of stew spoke to how tender and empty his stomach had become, how his body was struggling to adjust to even the simplest nourishment.
Not wanting to ruin the fragile peace between them, Charles picked up his dinner and started eating in silence with the prince. The Earthling hummed softly at the familiar smoky taste of the skewered meat, grateful for something that felt normal in the chaos of the last few days. The meat was a far cry from the sour, flavorless clinic bread he had been choking down for days.
He never wanted to see another hunk of that cursed bread again.
Charles struggled to eat slowly, wanting to hide his own ferocious appetite. If Max knew Charles had also hardly eaten in the last few days, there was no telling what the prince would do.
This meal was oddly reminiscent of the first time they had dinner together on Charles' cot, and he still couldn't stand the pregnant silence like he couldn't then. It was uncomfortable, but it also felt necessary. He tried to think of anything to say that would make the prince go back to how they were before, but only one topic came to mind.
As Charles and Max sat across from each other, he wilted lightly under the weight of the truth he carried. He watched as Max solemnly finished the peace offering from Charles, tension in the prince's shoulders receding.
"Thank you," Max said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. The silence that followed was deafening.
Charles' mind raced with concern for how the prince would react to him being logged on the ship. He knew he had to tell Max, no matter how upset the prince might be. Alonso was right, he should’ve told him right when it happened.
Clearing his throat, Charles’ voice shook as he broached the subject. "Max, there's something I should tell you," he began, his words halting as he struggled to find the right way to say what needed to be said.
Max looked up, his eyes curious and apprehensive. "Go on,” he sighed.
Taking a deep breath, Charles plunged ahead, his words tumbling out in a rush as he recounted his encounter with George, and how he was added to the ship's official log without his consent.
The prince’s lips pressed into a thin line as he listened, making Charles' sensitive stomach slightly queasy.
"I'm sorry, Max," he said after he’d confessed.
“You ran into George?” Max barked angrily and Charles flinched at the prince's sudden anger. The prince took on the same pensive look that Alonso had when Charles said the man's name.
“Who is he? Alonso wouldn't tell me,” Charles asked, temporarily setting down his dinner on the bed.
Ignoring the question, Max stood from the bed and paced the room, towel still slung around his hips and bare feet getting coated in thick ash. Charles tried not to stare, but he struggled to tear his eyes away from the prince’s horrifically scarred back. The sight was both mesmerizing and heartbreaking, jagged corded ropes crisscrossing across pale skin. He had seen them before, but they never failed to affect him deeply.
Worried that Alonso and now the prince were avoiding his question, Charles knew this was bad. “It was an accident, I didn't mean—”
“Just shut up for a second!” Max lashed out, tail bristling behind him.
If there had been anything left in the room to destroy, Charles was sure it would be in pieces right now, and the younger wilted at the prince's spiteful tone.
Charles noticed this phenomenon happening with the prince. When Max was angry and short with him, Charles' whole body would quake, barely being able to stay standing and his tail scar would itch or burn uncomfortably. It had happened once or twice with the other two Torossians, but nothing like when the prince was angry at him.
By contrast, when the prince was sweet or lustful with him, Charles' body would thrum happily and his tail scar would tingle with a pleasant sensation that almost made him feel like his phantom tail was blowing in the wind. He wasn't sure what to make of those feelings.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Max stopped pacing and turned to face Charles still on his bed. “This is very important Charles.” Max took a breath. “I need you to tell me exactly what he said to you and if anyone else was with him.”
“He only asked for my name and race, w–which I said I was human . . .” His throat scratched with cotton and Charles thought, here it comes . . . before he added, “and that my n–name was Charles—”
“You told him your fucking name!?” The air around the prince shimmered in a haze, and warmth enveloped the room.
Charles didn't respond, instead he had an irresistible urge to bear his throat to the prince and make himself as small as possible. He pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his hands in his hair, unable to turn his gaze away from the angry prince.
Taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of his nose again but harder, Max stepped closer to the bed in a non-threatening manner, waving his tail gently at his side in an appeasing motion before continuing.
“Was anyone with him?”
Charles shook his head no.
“Have you seen or talked to him since?”
The younger shook his head no again.
After the prince returned to pacing the room silently, Charles whispered, “Max, who is he? What does this mean?”
Stopping suddenly and turning back to him, eyes ablaze, the prince said, “George is Jos' second-in-command. That fucking dickhead reports everything he sees to Jos. He's always sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong and leaving chaos in his wake.”
Jos’ second . . .
Charles felt dizzy. Realizing the extent of how exposed he now was on the ship, he chewed his thumb nervously, watching the prince continue to pace the room, tail lashing in agitation and clearing a trail of ash on the floor.
“This means Jos is angry . . . something's gone wrong in one of his plans, and George is going around making sure everything else is in order to not anger him further.” The prince stopped pacing and his face paled slightly while he was lost in thought.
Anger and anxiety rolled off Max in waves, bathing the room. Charles sat frozen in stunned silence after the prince laid bare the truth of his actions, his expression a mixture of shock and disbelief.
"Max, I . . ." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the words to express an apology. A lonely tear made its way down the younger's cheek followed by a sniffle. “I'm sorry, Max.”
How could he have been so careless? So reckless with his safety even after the prince warned him so many times? Now George knew he was on the ship and probably Jos as well.
He was as good as dead already if that was the case.
Dejected, Charles rose from the bed, hands trembling with the weight of his foolishness for keeping this hidden from the prince for so long. "I shouldn’t have waited to tell you," he whispered, voice choking. "Thank you for dining with me . . . I'll leave you be."
Fumbling hands hurried to grab the empty food containers causing one to slip off the bed and roll away from him. It stopped moving in front of the prince's feet and Charles didn't want to invade Max's space. Opting to leave it, Charles held his container to his chest and started walking to the door, now desperate to retreat to the safety of the med bay before the tears really started to flow freely.
He hated crying in front of the prince. It made him feel weak and childish in the presence of the stoic, regal man. Maybe he was wrong . . . Maybe he was a broken doll.
But before Charles could take another step to the door, Max reached out to stop him, his hand warm against Charles’ bare uninjured wrist.
"Wait," the prince said softly, his voice laced with an emotion Charles couldn't identify. "Don’t go.”
Only a few minutes before, the prince was demanding he leave and wouldn't so much as look at him. Now, Max was asking him to stay with an unreadable look in his eye and Charles didn't know what to think. He desperately wanted to stay, but didn't want to overstep with the prince again so soon after last time.
Max is complicated, he reminded himself. He'd have to be patient.
Charles nodded softly and sat back down on the bed with a hiccup, but the prince didn't follow. Looking down at himself and lightly sniffing, Max made a face.
“Let me shower quickly and I'll be right back.” Nervously running a hand through his greasy hair, the prince stepped towards Charles before adding, “Don't go anywhere.”
After Charles nodded with a soft smile and said, “I call next after you,” the prince disappeared into the ensuite and Charles got to work cleaning up the destroyed room and the remnants of their dinner.
Chapter 14: All in the Name of Loyalty
Summary:
Jos' influence had twisted Max, molding him into a ruthless warrior who showed no mercy on the battlefield. Alonso saw firsthand the devastation Max's actions had wrought, the lives lost and the suffering caused.
But it wasn't just the battles that defined Max's past. There were whispers of atrocities committed in the name of the emperor, rumors of entire civilizations razed to the ground in a matter of minutes, countless lives lost in the slaughter. Max's thirst for violence and his captivity under Jos drove him to commit unspeakable acts, staining his hands with the blood of untold millions.
Violence was part of battle and expected of a great warrior, but being lost to one's baser instincts was not befitting of Max's station.
He remembered the turning point for the prince.
Notes:
Taking a look through the eyes of our elder Torossian and shedding more light on Max's past.
Can't thank my beta, Lady_Something , and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. We still have a long way to go!
Chapter Warnings: Past Injury, mentioned past SA, description of wounds
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max was chained to that familiar cold, unforgiving wall of his childhood, wrists bound tightly overhead as he struggled against the ki draining shackles that held him in place. His ankles were similarly shackled tightly with chains, not letting him take even a step away from the wall into the dark room.
A thick metal collar bit into his throat when he tried to move forward, connected at the back to the fixed partition of the cell.
Before him, Jos loomed like a sinister shadow, his red eyes glinting with sadistic delight as he advanced upon Charles, who stood resolute between the prince and the frost demon in the face of impending doom.
The Eldri was snarling, crouched low in an defensive position ready to strike. The sound of Charles' warning threat vibrated in the base of Max's skull as the Earthling's tail lashed angrily behind him, whipping through the stale damp prison air.
Yelling out in terror, Max’s voice was a desperate plea in the darkness, as Jos' cruel tail closed around Charles' throat in a flash, squeezing the life from him with merciless abandon. The action was so fast, Max blinked and suddenly Charles was off balance, gasping for air.
"Don’t hurt him! Please Jos, please . . . let him go!" Max begged, his voice trembling with fear and desperation. "He's innocent in this. Please, I'll do anything you ask of me . . . Just spare him!"
But Jos only laughed, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Max's spine.
"You think your pleas mean anything to me now after all these years trying to make you beg again?" he sneered, voice dripping with contempt. "He's nothing to me, just a pawn in our game. And you . . . you're even less."
Max's heart beat wildly in his chest, the weight of his powerlessness crushing him beneath its unbearable burden. The prince watched in horror as Charles' life hung in the balance, feet dangling off the ground, tail puffed out in a desperate brissle, and hands scratching at that lizard tail, failing to gain any relief from its constricting hold, before falling down at his sides unmoving.
Soul torn apart by the agonizing consequences of his choices before him, Max begged again.
“Please stop! Please, don’t do this, I beg of you! Anything! Anything you want of me! Just stop—STOP!”
Jos tightened his tail’s grip around Charles' throat in response. Max felt a surge of rage and despair well up within him, his entire being consumed by the overwhelming urge to protect the Eldri, his chosen mate, at any cost.
Rendering his wrists and ankles bloody, Max pulled with all his might, blood trickling from his throat around the unyielding collar, choking around the hardened metal. But no matter how hard he struggled against the chains that bound him, suppressing his energy, he couldn’t break free from the prison of his own nightmares.
Then he heard it.
The soft snap of the younger's neck followed by Charles' lifeless body crumpling to the floor, a silent end to the cruel whims of the Earthling's fate.
Max let out a deafening cry, echoing off the barren metal cell walls.
~~~
The prince shot up off the bed, scream lodged in his throat, clawing his wrists bloody as he sought to fight off an invisible force. In the dead of night, Max was consumed by a nightmare so haunting, so suffocating, it felt like he’d been plunged into the depths of his own personal hell.
Those red eyes . . . That soft snap.
Max leaned over his legs trapped under the blanket dry heaving, struggling to get air back into his body.
Instantly, Charles sat up in bed next to the prince and pulled Max's hands away from his wrists before he could cause any more damage than the large scrapes he'd given himself.
Placing one hand on the haunted prince's cheek and turning to meet those wild blue eyes, Charles spoke to him softly. “Max, it's okay . . . You’re safe, everything's alright. Just take some breaths for me. Can you do that?”
Shaking and gasping for breath, Max shut his eyes tight, letting a few tears spill over the edges and down onto Charles' palm.
“Here,” the Earthling whispered and took hold of Max’s left wrist. Pulling it along slowly, Charles put the prince's palm over his chest and took a few deep breaths of his own. “Like this. Follow the movements Max. In and out, nice and slow.”
Max’s ears were full of cotton and the younger’s words sounded far away, distorted. He focused on the gentle rise and fall of Charles' chest instead, trying his best to match the rhythm, but he couldn’t quite manage it.
More distant words . . . rises and falls . . .
It took several tense minutes for the prince to calm himself down as Charles rubbed soothing circles on his back and continued to whisper that he was safe and everything was okay.
But, it wasn’t his safety Max was worried about.
Breathing mostly regular again, Max focused on the steady thump of Charles’ heartbeat below his fingers, gently curling them into the younger’s night shirt. It was too big on him, one of Max’s civilian shirts, but they didn't have much else for him after making Charles burn all of his other clothes.
He still felt bad about that, and Charles had even mentioned how hard it was for him to let go of those prices from his home. Mind struggling to focus, Max stared at the brightly colored pieces of material wrapped around the younger’s wrist. Gilt churned knowing those few items were all Charles had left from Earth.
Charles is here. He’s alive, he repeated in his head. It's not real . . . It's not real—
“Let me get you some water,” Charles said as he peeled himself out of the prince's bed before Max could get control of his hand to stop him, night shirt slipping easily from his loose grip. He wasn't ready to let go of the Eldri yet, needing his presence to ground him, the steady beat to reassure him it was just a dream.
His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and words wouldn't come no matter how much he tried. On second thought, perhaps it was better he couldn't speak to save him the indignity of asking Charles to stay with him.
He didn't need to be coddled like a child.
Left alone with the haunting specter of his own nightmares, Max's chest was heavy. In that moment of profound despair, he knew he'd do anything, risk everything, to protect Charles from the horrors that haunted his dreams, even if it meant sacrificing his own soul in the process.
By the goddess . . . He needed to get his shit together.
The next few nights went by much the same, the prince sleeping fitfully and jerking awake in a scream, only for Charles to soothe it all away.
Peaceful sleep had evaded him for years. Between nightmares and an inconsistent duty schedule, Max felt embarrassed for constantly disrupting the younger’s sleep. Charles had had a hard enough time as it was, adjusting to the longer daylight hours, and he was making everything worse by fucking up his much needed rest.
On the rare occasion when Max awoke late in the night and managed to not wake Charles in the process, he would simply lay awake, just staring at the sleeping Eldri, admiring how beautiful and peaceful he looked, gently running his fingers through his soft brown curls.
Every time, he would discover his uncontrollable tail coiled tightly around Charles’ waist or thigh, staking its claim over their desired mate.
“Verdomd beest,” [Fucking beast] Max whispered to his Oozaru that only gave him a self-satisfied rumble in return.
His instincts knew what they wanted and Max, if he was honest, wanted the Eldri too, but he had to let his rational mind not be influenced by his hindbrain desires. There was too much at stake, even if he'd give anything to feel those perfect lips against his—that soft unblemished skin under his gloveless fingertips.
Being so close to Charles and yet so far away was agonizing, but he had to stay strong. He would never hurt the younger again and keeping him close was only to keep Charles safe, nothing more.
It was still practically inconceivable to Max that Charles wanted to share a bed with him, even after what he'd done. Offering to instead sleep on the cot in the main quarters, Max had even considered picking up extra duty shifts to give the Earthling more space. If he couldn't get his dreams under control, perhaps a few night shifts would be better for Charles to get some rest.
Still trying to keep his distance intimately from Charles as much as he could, Max didn't fully trust himself around the Earthling yet. Not that the Eldri hadn’t pursued him.
Quite the opposite, really.
Charles only seemed to get bolder and bolder with his attempts at seduction. From leaving the ensuite door open while he showered, to ‘forgetting’ a towel when he got out dripping wet, water glistening against the hard lines of his abs, trailing lower and lower before Max forcibly ripped his eyes away with pink stained cheeks. He even went so far as lying completely naked, fast asleep in their bed when Max returned late from a council meeting.
That meeting had been a disaster and Max opted to sleep on the floor instead of sharing the bed with the nude Earthling.
His old back injury really loved that.
It was getting harder and harder to come up with an excuse every time, and he swore he could even smell Charles’ slick on the younger’s fingers and in their bed when Charles was at his duty shift while Max worked at his desk alone.
But in moments like these—Charles still fast asleep, snoring lightly, hair disheveled and perfect . . . Max allowed himself to pretend that everything was different.
Pretend that they were on Toro and not on Jos’ slave ship.
Pretend that Max hadn't ordered for Charles to be forcibly taken from his home into his hell.
Pretend that he hadn’t hurt him, that he wasn't being completely selfish by stealing just a few moments of peace away from his nightmares with the sleeping angelic form.
Pretend that he'd begged for forgiveness for what he'd done like he should’ve, and that the Earthing forgave him, no matter how impossible that idea was.
Pretend that Charles really wanted to be here with him . . .
These small mercies were his only reprieve when his dreams started to take an even darker turn after that, with the prince's insecurities and self-doubt bleeding into the imagined scenarios.
Charles grimaced at him in disgust while watching Jos take him on the floor of the throne room. Max’s left arm was broken, and he could barely see out of swollen, black eyes filled with blood.
“You're pathetic, I can't believe you are the prince of our race . . . ” dream Charles snarled at him as Jos held him down on his stomach, claws digging into his scalp. The younger turned away from his battered and bloody body on the floor, and the prince reached out for him, shakily extending a mangled right hand, forcing his eyes to open.
“Charlie, wait—”
Without so much as looking back, Charles yelled out, “They're all dead because of you!” and the double doors slammed shut behind him.
~~~
Max jerked awake.
_____
For the sake of the prince’s hard earned reputation, Max's personal struggles were kept well hidden from all of the crew. Alonso ensured that the young boy learned very quickly what looking vulnerable on a ship of murderers meant—kill or be killed was an understatement in Jos' endless war for expansion.
Despite this, Alonso had started to notice the prince would often become jumpy and agitated when Charles left for clinic duty. The elder would catch Max checking the time in the early afternoon waiting for lunch and the prince would all but sprint from the war room to their quarters to dine with Charles.
Only once, Alonso managed to catch Max emerging from their quarters after lunch to head back to the strategy room, and he asked to walk with the prince to their next meeting for a chat.
“Gaat het goed, mijn prins? Te veel late avonden met de jongen?” [Are you well my prince? Too many late nights with the boy?] Alonso asked and slowed his gait slightly, keeping parallel with the prince.
Max tried his best to hide his weariness from him, but since he was a small child, the elder could always read him like a book.
Standing straighter, Max responded in Torossian as well, since they weren’t in the privacy of their suite, “I’m fine, Alonso.”
“Well then . . . ” the elder continued in Torossian, “Is it as good as I remember? Insatiable, are they not?” he said with a cheeky knowing grin on his face.
The tips of the prince’s ears turned brilliant red.
“Fuck off,” Max quipped back with a soft smile on his face, not meeting the older man's eye. The elder let out a hearty laugh and smacked his heavy palm on the prince’s back.
Alonso continued to walk with the prince at an unhurried pace to their next meeting. “Once you awaken that desire in an Eldri, it’s impossible to deny them.”
Max’s smile faltered slightly at that and the elder took notice. Studying the prince’s face, Alonso could tell there was something bothering him. In times like these he knew all the prince wanted was just an ear to listen, and he’d been the sounding board for the prince’s frustrations for years, offering advice and guidance when requested.
Today, it seemed his ear was needed again.
Max’s smile quickly slid down into a frown as the pair walked the long corridor back to the war room. “I worry for him in that clinic. So many people in and out, it’s too . . . exposed.”
Alonso hummed in agreement. “No guarantee George won’t pay a surprise visit as well. But Charles is resourceful and capable. I'm sure he can handle himself."
Max snarled at the Commander’s name. “Sick bastard. He’s playing some kind of game with me, but I’m unsure what his goal is.”
Alonso placed a hand on Max's shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze. "We'll keep an eye on him, my prince," he promised. "And if anything seems amiss, we'll intervene. But for now, let's focus on keeping our heads down and trust that Charles can take care of himself. He's a feisty one.”
Alonso could see the lingering tension in Max's posture, the frustration etched into his features. Knowing there was more weighing on the prince’s mind, he took a deep breath and decided now was as good a time as any to talk about what he'd witnessed.
“Max,” Alonso began, voice carrying the weight of his concern and the tone he always used to let the prince know he was serious. “We need to talk about what happened between you and Charles.”
Max stopped walking and turned to face him, the defensiveness already clear in his eyes. “I—,” the prince started, but bit his lip nervously, gaze darting around like it did when he was trying to find the right words to get out of a lecture.
Moving a step closer, the elder Torossian kept his expression stern yet fatherly. “He told me what happened . . . what he saw on your scouter. The photo from—” Max flinched and closed his eyes with a sigh at the mention. “I understand you weren't ready for him to know about the audiences, but throwing him out of the suite like that . . . unacceptable.”
The prince pinched the bridge of his nose and puffed out his lips, holding back his reply until the elder was finished. “I treated that burn, Max. It could've been so much worse if he wasn't Torossian. The heat alone could've cooked any other species being that close. Not to mention how lucky he was that no ribs were broken from whatever happened to his side.” Alonso scrubbed a palm down his cheek taking a breath. “I thought I taught you to be better than that—”
“I panicked!” Max’s eyes flashed with frustration, unable to hold back his rebuttal any longer. “He just wouldn't leave, and I had to get him f–far away from me. I—I didn’t intend—”
“Max,” Alonso interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. The prince would always listen if he kept a calm head and spoke to Max as an equal instead of how the emperor conversed with the prince—treating him like a child . . . a pet. “That’s not an excuse and you know it. You were trying to protect yourself, not him. Charles is capable of deciding what risks he wants to take, and as a Torossian, he has every right to. You let your emotions cloud your judgment, and didn't think with your head.”
Max’s fists clenched at his side, frustration palpable. “What was I supposed to do? Just—just tell him everything?”
“He’s your mate, Max. Even I can see that. Instead of coming to terms with it, you let your anger take control and push the Eldri away at every opportunity. Afraid of what that means for him. Of what it means for both of you.”
Max turned his back to the elder, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn't want to know,” he admitted. “What he’d say—what he’d think . . . That his Eldri would realize how weak I am and that he deserves better. Better than a prince of nothing—”
Alonso's reaction was immediate and fierce. His usually composed demeanor cracked, and he turned Max around sharply by the shoulder to face him, eyes blazing with anger.
"Nothing? Your Torossian blood means nothing?" His voice echoed through the corridor much louder than intended, filled with a mix of disbelief and fury. "Do you even realize what you're saying? Those words are not yours. They’re the emperor's. Spoken like poison to make you forget who you are . . . Forget that you are not his to own.”
Max looked down, unable to meet Alonso's intense gaze. "But they are true nonetheless. Charles is different. He's kind and pure. He doesn't know about the things I've done. What I really am—"
Grabbing Max by the chest plate, the elder shook him forcefully as if to snap him out of his self-pity. "Listen to me, Max. You are the Prince of Torossians. You are a warrior, born to fight and to lead. You carry the blood of our ancestors, the house of Toro, and with that comes pride and dignity. Enough of this worthless loathing. I won't hear another word."
Taking a deep breath, the prince nodded several times and stood a little straighter, getting more ahold of himself.
Alonso didn't like this part of his job, but it was his responsibility as part of his oath. Keeping the warlord's insidious words out of Max's head was not easy, especially when Jos knew the exact right buttons to push and insecurities to sink his claws into.
As part of the oath the elder made to their king, he swore to protect Max from all harm to the best of his ability. That meant from both the physical and mental attacks Jos waged on the young prince. He cursed his inability to stop the physical, but he would be damned by the goddess if he didn't stop the mental as well. Alonso wouldn't lose a war of words, not against someone so obsessed with their own rambling madness.
The pair turned and headed further down the hall towards the war room. They were almost there and this meeting was sure to be a long one.
Alonso wrapped an arm around Max's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze, a half armed hug. “Your father would be proud of you,” he said softly.
A sad smile crossed the prince's lips. “I think he would disagree and give me a good lashing for injuring an Eldri, I'm sure.”
“You are definitely deserving of that, but he would be proud all the same.” The elder gave Max's shoulder one last squeeze before letting go and returning his arm to his side. Harming an Eldri on Toro was punishable by death, but Alonso didn’t need the prince berating himself anymore than he already was. “But, you still need to apologize.”
Max startled and whipped his head to face him. “How’d you know I haven’t—,” he said quietly, swallowing back a tinge of guilt from his voice.
“Because I know what a stubborn jackass you are,” the elder chided with no real bite, earning a shoulder check from the prince.
The pair ended their conversation as the door to the meeting room appeared and they went inside.
Prince Max’s words stayed with the elder well after the meeting started. If George really was up to something, they would have to take extra precautions with Charles now that he was registered.
He was still kicking himself over that.
He knew Charles was hiding something, but he’d never imagined the Earthling was hiding something as big as a run-in with George. The only person worse he could’ve run into would've been Jos himself, but the warlord never ventured on this side of the ship with the crew quarters.
Practically uninjurable as far as Alonso was aware, Jos would never be in the clinic either.
A small mercy for the prince’s sake—Jos wouldn’t find Charles in there.
The atmosphere in the strategy meeting was tense, filled with the sharp scent of metallic anticipation and the low hum of machinery as Max and Alonso took their seats alongside George and the other high-ranking officers.
Large and rectangular with a high, reinforced ceiling designed to withstand significant impacts, the war room chamber was well equipped. The walls were lined with matte black panels that absorb light, creating an atmosphere of intense focus and seriousness.
Dominating the center of the room stood a large, rectangular holographic command table. Serving as the nerve center of the war room, the table was capable of projecting detailed three-dimensional maps, tactical data, and live visual feeds. The holographic display could be manipulated with touch or voice commands, allowing users to zoom in on specific areas, rotate views, and overlay various data sets while planning strategy decisions.
Display rapidly changing, Max's brow furrowed in concentration as he listened intently to the discussion unfolding around them. As he watched, Alonso knew the prince's mind was already racing ahead to formulate his tactical recommendations.
There was no one Jos trusted more with these decisions in the warlord's absence than Max.
“This latest uprising on Sauber will be costly if we don't deal with it fast,” Max began, his voice firm and authoritative. “I propose that we take an aggressive approach to quashing the revolt by sending the Ferra force. They're the best team not deployed right now, and could be readied within the day. We must prevent the uprising from spreading further."
But George, ever the damn contrarian, shook his head in disagreement. "Of course that is your recommendation. You Torossians are all the same, running head first into a situation you don't fully understand, fists first. I'm not convinced that a direct assault is the best course of action here, or that we need to waste the Ferra force's time with this worthless crusade,” he argued with an air of skepticism and annoyance. "Just send some of the latest conscripts from Renault. They're mostly worthless, but should get the job done either way."
Alonso observed the exchange with a thin-lipped expression, arms tightly crossed over his chest, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. He got the feeling that George's objections were more than just a difference in opinion—that the man was up to something.
He was always up to something . . .
"They haven't even finished the most basic level of training yet, and most have never seen battle before. It would be a complete slaughter and a waste of resources on top of the casualties," Max countered, voice tight at the man's complete disregard for the potential loss of life. "A swift and decisive strike with team Ferra is our best chance at quelling the uprising before it spirals out of control. Anything less would be a disservice to our lord and our men."
As the debate raged on, Alonso couldn't help but feel honored he’d had a hand in shaping the man Prince Max had become.
Coming a long way from the disillusioned, jaded, bloodthirsty young man Jos had forced him to be in his teens. Max no longer made rash decisions with a lust for unnecessary cruelty as an outlet for his own suffering.
Memories of Max's past flooded Alonso's mind, memories of a younger prince whose power was unchallenged as he cut down enemy and innocent alike, without hesitation or remorse. In those years, Max was a whirlwind of destruction, leaving devastation in his wake, his desire for violence insatiable, a gaping maw with the darkest appetite.
Jos' influence had twisted Max, molding him into a ruthless warrior who showed no mercy on the battlefield. Alonso saw firsthand the devastation Max's actions had wrought, the lives lost and the suffering caused.
But, it wasn't just the battles that defined Max's past.
There were whispers of atrocities committed in the name of the emperor, rumors of entire civilizations razed to the ground in a matter of minutes, countless lives lost in the slaughter. Max's thirst for violence and his captivity under Jos drove him to commit unspeakable acts, staining his hands with the blood of untold millions.
Violence was part of battle and expected of a great warrior, but being lost to one's baser instincts was not befitting of Max's station.
He remembered the turning point for the prince. The first time he was—
By the goddess, Alonso didn't even want to think about what the heartless warlord did to the young prince that time. Max was almost twenty and had taken up the company of an older boy from the engine room. He'd advised the prince against it, but he was young and in love.
Happier than Alonso had ever seen him.
The couple were as discreet as one could be on the heavily monitored ship, but not discreet enough.
Jos discovered them, and the affair was met with a gruesome end. Max had fled the throne room a mess and bolted straight for his room, locking himself in for hours. Alonso was only let in after a fair amount of coaxing, and the abuse from then on never stopped.
The young prince trembled like a leaf on his bed as he struggled to tell the elder what Jos had done and all Alonso saw was red. Max was covered in scratches and bite marks, trails of drying crimson where the emperor’s claws raked Max’s scalp bloody, his bodysuit ripped in several places. The young prince had clearly fought hard with defensive wounds littering his arms and legs, but he was no match for the emperor's unimaginable power.
Only the sight of the shaking boy stopped him from leaving for the throne room that very minute. He couldn't leave Max alone, not after it had taken so long for him to be let in the room.
Max didn't tell him about the engine room boy, and no explanation other than ‘he was sent away’ was offered by the traumatized prince. Alonso only learned of the unspeakable act Jos committed years later from some idle crew rumors and gossip.
Ashamed, the elder didn’t even remember the older boy’s name and Max never spoke of him again after that night.
Alonso recalled watching as Max's eyes widened in horror and realization, the truth of Jos' manipulations sinking in like a heavy weight on his shoulders that day. The prince was shaken to his core, his entire worldview shattered in an instant. With a heavy heart, Alonso knew that he had to act quickly to prevent Max from succumbing to his despair and heartbreak.
Recounting the lengths to which Jos had gone to mold Max in his image, Alonso emphasized the years of manipulation and deceit that had warped the prince's sense of self. He spoke of the sacrifices Max had made, the lives he’d taken, all in the name of loyalty to a tyrant who cared nothing for him.
But Alonso also reminded Max of the strength that lay within him, the courage and resilience of their people that had carried him through even the darkest of times.
He spoke of Max's inherent potential, the heritage and storied lineage that had always set him apart from Jos and his ilk. As Max listened, Alonso could see the spark of hope reigniting in his eyes, the resolve to break free from Jos' control and forge his own path forward.
The same transformation could not be said of George, though . . .
The man was kind of a mystery, really.
No one knew where he came from or how he arrived on the ship under Jos’ rule, but the depraved cretin seemed quite at home. George was already on the ship when Alonso arrived twenty years ago, and the commander still looked the same as he didn then. He did everything Jos said and practically worshiped at the throne when Jos gave him even a small piece of recognition. George viewed cruelty and power through the lens of the emperor—that they were one and the same.
Alonso knew that the Commander had always harbored a grudge against Max due to his favor with Jos. Even as the emperor's second-in-command, George was no match for Prince Max’s intuitive tactical genius and strength. But seeing him actively trying to undermine his prince in front of the war counsel filled Alonso with a sense of righteous anger.
His thoughts snapped back to the present when George rose from his seat across from them, his voice dripping with false concern as he questioned Max’s decisions, implying incompetence.
“What are you trying to achieve here, Max?” George sneered, his eyes glittering with malice like they did when he knew he was losing the room. “Your recent decisions on Merc have led us into a precarious position and quite the mess. One that I had to clean up myself.”
Alonso felt his blood boil at George's brazen disrespect.
Before he could respond, Max stood up slowly, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. “Commander George, I am more than happy to let you do this job if you want it. But we both know why I have this job and why you have yours.”
George’s eyes flickered with anger, but the prince pressed on with cold authority. “Let’s not forget the strategic blunders you’ve committed in prior campaigns, blunders that I’ve had to rectify on multiple occasions. Your failure on Jordan nearly cost us the entire campaign.”
“You’re right, Prince Max,” George bit out, eerily calm for the insult he’d just received. Running his tongue along the inside of his teeth, he glanced down at the table top, cocking his head to the left. George trailed his eyes up slowly to lock with the prince’s, sadistic glee shining in them. “We both know exactly why Emperor Jos gave you your job . . . ”
The room fell silent, the weight of George’s words hanging heavily in the air. Max’s face twisted with rage as he put his hands flat on the console and leaned over it, but he remained silent, clearly struggling not to rip the commander’s throat out.
Alonso's Oozaru violently shook its cage in his mind, demanding they not tolerate such disrespect of their prince, but Alonso had much greater control of his instincts in tense situations like this than Max.
If the prince's loose and lashing tail was any indication.
The most senior member of the council stood up and addressed the room. “There is no place for pettiness in war,” Marko continued, his voice unwavering. “This council demands competence of all its members. Prince Max has proven his loyalty and skill time and again, something you’d do well to acknowledge, commander.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Marko’s harsh rebuke left no room for rebuttal, and George’s face contorted with impotent rage as he slowly sat back down.
Alonso, who had been listening in stunned silence, touched Max’s hip where his tail should've been safely tucked to let him know it wasn't, and finally found his voice. “Let's get back to Sauber.”
In the end, the decision was unanimous: Max's strategic approach would be implemented, and the necessary preparations set in motion to execute the plan within the day. As the meeting drew to a close, Alonso made a mental note to keep a close eye on George, the prince’s prior suspicions about the man's unwarranted aggression now confirmed.
Chapter 15: Our True Nature
Summary:
His instincts let out a roar of frustration, echoing in the prince’s mind. “Vechten tegen onze ware aard is zinloos. Je zwakte is zielig.” [Fighting against our true nature is pointless. Your weakness is pathetic.]
Letting out a rumbling growl of his own, Max pulled his head back and smacked his forehead against the tile of the shower, closing his eyes. “I know,” Max whispered aloud, frustrated and trembling lightly from the cold.
His Oozaru’s presence seemed to recede, though the dissatisfaction felt still palpable, vibrating as the door to its cage rattled again.
Opening his eyes, Max took a deep breath trying to steady himself. The internal battle had left him exhausted, but he couldn’t afford to give in to the weariness. One slip of his resolve and he knew his instincts would jump at the chance.
Notes:
Moving right along with the plot in this one. Charles and Max finally figure it out a little bit ❤️
Can't thank my beta, Lady_Something , and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. We still have a long way to go!
Chapter Warnings: None??
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Finished with his post war council report earlier than expected, Alonso strode purposefully through the corridors of the ship, mind abuzz with the impromptu mission he’d devised to ease his prince’s worry and distraction.
For days, he’d been thinking about the prince’s concern for Charles’ risky clinic duty, and always having a keen eye for opportunity, he’d come up with a plan too good not to work.
Or so he hoped.
Spending many sleepless nights considering how to reduce the Eldri’s exposure, his loyalty to Max burned deeply within him, as he had a profound responsibility to alleviate his prince’s burdens where he could.
The plan he’d concocted felt like a stroke of genius, but it also came with a knot of anxiety in his stomach—what if it failed? What-if after what-if swirled around in his mind, but he pushed them aside.
This had to work. For all their sakes, this had to work.
After doing some research on the clinic blueprints and positioning of equipment, Alonso discovered that one of the diagnostic scanners along the main corridor wall was particularly susceptible to magnetic disruption due to its age. Several requests for replacements or repairs had been declined, and Alonso said a small prayer to the goddess that the oversight would continue.
On the way to his night shift on the nav deck last night, Alonso strode past the outer clinic wall and bent down to readjust his boot. At the same time, he subtly affixed a strong remote activated magnet to the juncture where floor met the wall on the opposite side of the machine. An audible alarm sounded, and he heard hushed voices on the other side of the wall in the clinic get closer to the machine.
With a smile, the elder Torossian continued on to his post with a spring in his step.
Phase one, complete.
The next morning, he’d overheard murmurs among clinic staff on their way to duty about a malfunctioning medical device critical for patient care. No one had managed to fix it all night, and his heart leapt at the confirmation of the first part of his plan’s success.
As he approached the side entrance of the clinic with a discreet, unhurried pace, the elder paused for a moment, steeling himself for phase two and straightening out his official uniform to look as authoritative as possible. Down the corridor in front of him, the clinic maintenance door pushed open and out walked Silvia into the hall busy reviewing patient records on her tablet.
Not believing his luck, he said a silent thank you to the goddess who apparently also favored his plan. Alonso approached the clinic manager with his best facade of concern and wasted no time offering his ‘expertise’ in troubleshooting and repairing the malfunctioning equipment.
“Good morning, Silvia,” he began with a friendly tone. “I heard you had a rough night?”
The fiery red-haired woman scowled at him, dark bags under her eyes accentuating her exhaustion, before she turned back to looking at her tablet. “It’s certainly not a good morning, General Alonso.”
“I couldn’t help but overhear the news about the malfunctioning diagnostic unit. It sounded like a critical issue. Has your unit received the needed immediate attention?”
“No, it’s quite the headache. The damn thing has been making all sorts of racket all night, and I’ve developed a burning migraine from the noise,” she admitted with a sigh while rubbing her right temple. “We’ve been trying to troubleshoot it for hours, but we’re at a loss. If we can’t resolve the problem soon, I’m afraid I’ll have to notify Lord Jos, and you know what a nightmare that will be.”
Alonso nodded gravely, doing his best to mirror Silvia's expression of concern and exasperation. “Well, we certainly don't want that. I have some experience in equipment maintenance and repair. Perhaps I could take a look?”
Her eyes widened slightly at Alonso’s offer, but she remained hesitant. “I appreciate the gesture, Alonso, but you know the rules. Access to the clinic is prohibited for Torossians per Lord Jos’ direct orders,” she explained regretfully.
Anticipating her reservations, Alonso quickly interjected using the most earnest and persuasive tone he could muster. “I completely understand. However, given the urgency of the situation, I believe every action should be taken to avoid bringing the matter to Lord Jos’ attention, especially with the foul mood he’s been in lately. I also can’t imagine the constant alarm is helping our wounded rest and recover.”
He could tell by the look on her face that Silvia was exasperated enough with the situation to agree. She just needed a bit more convincing.
“With your permission, of course,” the Torossian prodded gently,” I’m confident I can at least assess the issue and provide a preliminary diagnosis.”
Silvia looked thoughtful and weighed his words carefully, visibly torn between adhering to protocol and resolving the aggravating issue at hand. After a moment of internal deliberation, the second phase of his plan was a success when she nodded reluctantly.
“Alright, general. You can have temporary access, but please exercise caution and report back to me with your findings. I’ll return to my office shortly after making a suite visit.”
Offering a grateful nod, Alonso said, “Thank you, I’ll keep to myself and won't cause any trouble,” before swiftly making his way through the maintenance doors and towards the ‘malfunctioning’ unit.
Phase two, complete.
As he entered through the doors, Alonso quickly navigated to the main clinic triage area that housed the machine. Now that he was inside, the alarm was obnoxiously loud, and he felt a small pang of guilt for causing the disruption. But as quickly as it came, it was gone, his primary focus being his prince and his plan.
The bastards should be grateful they were even allowed in the clinic in the first place. A little noise wouldn't kill anyone.
Continuing on with his plan, he meticulously inspected the diagnostic unit, all the while keeping a keen lookout for Charles' presence.
For several minutes, the elder Torossian failed to gain sight of the Eldri, a sense of unease beginning to gnaw at him, stomach churning.
What if Charles wasn’t on duty today?
What if his entire plan was for nothing?
By the goddess, if the prince kept the Earthling in bed this morning past the start of his scheduled shift . . . Alonso was going to fucking skin that Eldri slick-drunk idiot alive.
He couldn’t afford for this to go wrong, and there would be no second chances.
Every second that ticked by without seeing Charles increased his anxiety. His mind raced through various worst-case scenarios, each one more distressing than the last. His eyes scanned the clinic frantically, the noise of the alarm fading into the background of his growing dread.
He moved methodically, pretending to make calculated adjustments at various parts of the back of the machine while his heart pounded in his chest. If Charles wasn’t here, this carefully orchestrated ruse would collapse, and Prince Max’s concerns would remain unresolved.
A cold sweat had just started to form on his brow when Alonso finally spotted the Eldri nearby, stepping out of a room to assist another staff member with organizing supplies. Relief washed over him in a wave so intense, his knees almost buckled and he had to steady himself, taking a moment to compose his expression and mask the irritation inside him.
Not drawing too much attention to himself, Alonso wasted no time as he pretended to make further adjustments to the diagnostic unit. His hands moved with purpose, but his mind was solely focused on the figure of Charles in his peripheral vision. The tension that had gripped him moments before began to ease, replaced by a renewed determination.
He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away.
Feigning concentration, he spotted Silvia returning from her brief visit, eyes scrutinizing his actions with a mix of curiosity and cautious optimism.
“Any progress?” she inquired, sounding hopeful.
Alonso glanced up from his crouched position, maintaining his facade of earnest diligence while surreptitiously feeling for the remote control hidden in his chest plate.
“I believe I’ve identified the issue,” he replied confidently, fingers deftly manipulating the remote as he prepared to enact the next phase of his plan.
Just as Silvia leaned in for a closer look, Alonso discreetly activated the remote control, causing a faint click to resonate within the diagnostic unit. With a subtle motion, he disengaged the magnet he’d strategically placed earlier, allowing the internal mechanisms to realign and resume their normal function.
To Silvia’s amazement—and to Alonso’s smug satisfaction—the unit hummed to life, its previously erratic display now stabilizing as it generated a series of readings. The incessant alarm finally went silent. Silvia’s eyes widened in astonishment, her initial skepticism giving way to genuine relief and appreciation.
“I–I don’t believe it,” she murmured in disbelief as she took in the miraculous turnaround. “You actually managed to fix it?”
Alonso nodded modestly, his expression a mask of humility hiding his inner triumph about his plan. "It appears so," he replied, tone understated yet tinged with quiet pride. "Sometimes, all it takes is a fresh perspective and a steady hand."
As Silvia marveled at the restored functionality of the diagnostic unit, Alonso discreetly buried the remote control further down in his chest plate, ensuring no evidence remained of his clandestine intervention.
With the crisis averted and the next phase of his mission accomplished, Alonso offered Silvia a reassuring smile, his mind already shifting gears as he plotted his next move.
"Alonso, I can't thank you enough for fixing this," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with genuine awe. "Is there anything I can do for you in return?"
Phase three, complete.
Alonso offered a humble smile, pleased that his bait worked as intended. "Actually, Silvia, there is something you could help me with. I've been tasked with selecting a personal assistant for Prince Max," Alonso continued smoothly, his tone carefully neutral. "And I thought that perhaps one of your clinic staff might be suitable for the role, seeing as his highness has been too overworked, struggling with some physical health aspects and just basic menial tasks."
Eyes widening in surprise at Alonso's words, Silvia’s mind clearly raced as she considered the implications of such a request. "I didn't know he was ill?”
Alonso didn't elaborate and instead just made a sympathetic face. The less he said the better.
“In that case, we are a bit overstaffed at the moment with some new crew assignments from last week.” Silvia paused, offering a more serious tone. “The prince technically wouldn't be coming in here, correct?" She questioned, her gaze drifting over the busy clinic. “The emperor would—”
“Correct, this would not be breaching the Torossian clinic ban.”
"Was there someone you had in mind then?"
Alonso glanced around as well, his eyes alighting on Charles, who was diligently attending to his duties in the store room. He then shifted his gaze to another staffer, an experienced nurse named Drina, who was irreplaceable and had been with the crew for years.
“No one in particular. What about Drina?” Alonso suggested, pointing subtly in her direction. “She’s incredibly knowledgeable and has years of experience.”
There was no way Silvia would go for it, but that was all part of the plan.
The red head shook her head, a small scoff escaping her lips. “Drina? Are you out of your mind? I could never let her go. She’s indispensable here, especially with the recent influx of new wounded. We rely on her too much.” Placing her hands on her hips, Silvia gestured with her head over to the store room. “I could maybe only spare one of our store room staff to assist with the menial tasks, but all of our clinical crew are off limits.”
Alonso nodded, as if considering this information. “That's unfortunate, but I'll take what I can get I guess.”
Silvia followed Alonso's gaze as he turned back to Charles who was diligently attending to his duties in the store room.
“What about him then?" He suggested casually, nodding in Charles' direction.
Silvia's expression was thoughtful as she considered. "Charles?" She mused, her lips quirking into a knowing smile. "Yes, I think I could spare him. I don't know much about him other than he's hardworking, dedicated, and punctual. He’s only been here a short while, but he's very smart, albeit a bit clumsy at times.”
Hook, line, and fucking sinker.
Their joint gaze settled on the secret Torossian just as he managed to knock over a box of some kind of bandaging, sending the lot scattering across the worktable and spilling over onto the floor.
Alonso fought back a fond smile threatening the corner of his lips as he shook his head.
Over the many weeks Charles has been with them, he’d grown quite protective of the little Eldri, and anything that brought the prince some comfort was a bonus.
The elder Torossian saw something in Charles that others might’ve missed, besides the fact that Charles was an Eldri in the first place. The Earthling didn’t see the prince for his reputation, his feared power, or his status as the emperor's mightiest weapon. He saw Max as a man, with all his complexities and struggles. This perspective was exactly what the prince needed—someone who could see beyond the iron façade and help him become the better person he strived to be.
Max had always been at constant war with his Oozaru since he was a teen, the darker parts of his instincts nurtured and poisoned by Jos. But Alonso believed that Charles, with his gentle nature and innate empathy, could help balance those instincts in ways the prideful prince desperately needed. His presence seemed to bring out the best in Max, reminding the prince of their lost culture he often felt disconnected from.
In the young Eldri, Alonso saw hope for Max’s redemption and growth.
“I would worry about him with the prince, though,” Silvia said, bringing Alonso's gaze back to her tired eyes. “Prince Max a little . . . intense to be around."
Alonso nodded in agreement, hiding a small smile of satisfaction at how well Charles handled their prince’s moodiness. He'd seen the subtle ways Charles diffused Max's temper, the calming influence he exerted without even realizing it—part of his designation.
Charles’ ability to see and understand Max’s true self was a rare gift, and Alonso was convinced that their budding bond would be mutually beneficial.
"I'm sure the boy will be adequate," he said. "Thank you for recommending him, and I’ll handle the prince. I'll speak to Charles personally and let him know of his new assignment.” The elder started to walk away before he paused and turned back to the clinic manager, adding nonchalantly, “And don’t worry about official reassignment in the log."
Silvia shook her head, her expression resolute. “That, I’m afraid, I can’t do for you,” she said. “Commander George has been coming around often to make sure all of our logs are in tip-top shape. I’ll have to re-assign him officially.”
Alonso’s heart skipped a beat, caught off guard by Silvia’s insistence on the official log entry. He hadn’t anticipated this complication, and his mind raced for a solution.
The last thing he needed was George’s scrutiny on this matter.
Thinking quickly, Alonso forced a reassuring smile. “Of course. Must follow proper protocol. I’ll be seeing Commander George later this afternoon for a council meeting. I’ll inform him personally of the change and ensure it’s all taken care of.”
Silvia seemed satisfied with this arrangement. “Thank you, Alonso. I appreciate you handling this directly. It will save us any potential issues and more paperwork I don't need.”
“Not a problem,” Alonso replied smoothly. “I’ll make sure everything is in order.”
With a nod of acquiescence and farewell, Silvia returned her attention to the chaos of the triage area, and Alonso turned on his heel making his way back through the clinic, mind already turning to the task of informing Charles of his new role while not alerting any of the other staff.
The final phase—four, complete . . . ish.
As Alonso approached Charles amidst the bustling activity of the clinic, he maintained a facade of casual indifference, careful not to betray any hint of recognition.
"Excuse me," Alonso said, polite but impersonal. "Your name is Charles, correct?"
Charles, momentarily taken aback by Alonso's approach, nodded hesitantly. "Yes, th–that's me," he replied, his brow furrowing with confusion.
"Stop your work," the elder continued smoothly, his gaze sweeping over the other clinic staff as if he was bored. "I've been tasked with selecting a personal assistant for Prince Max, and your new assignment will be with him. Come with me."
Charles blinked in surprise, his mind clearly racing to make sense of Alonso's unexpected intrusion. But as the Earthing glanced around the storeroom, noticing the curious glances of the other crew, a dawning realization showed on his face.
"I—I see," he said slowly, his expression guarded but intrigued. "Am I to start . . . now?"
With a nod of affirmation, Alonso motioned for Charles to follow him as they made their way out of the bustling clinic and into the crowded main hall of the ship's corridors.
As they walked side by side, Alonso maintained the pretense of casual conversation, asking Charles about his background and experience while carefully avoiding any mention of their past acquaintance when walking in the busy hallway filled with crew leading to their quarters.
He’d discreetly stopped and picked up the magnet on their way, holding it firmly in his palm with a smile. When they reached the door to the Torossian quarters, Alonso's demeanor shifted, his gaze locking with Charles' in a silent acknowledgment of the truth.
"Head inside, the prince will be done with his meeting soon and you can tell him of your new assignment." Alonso said softly, his voice tinged with a note of urgency. "I have to get back to the nav deck before I’m late."
With a shared nod of understanding, Alonso thought about the younger’s look of gratitude for the unexpected twist of fate while he ventured back to his duty post.
The elder considered what would happen if word got out Prince Max had chosen an assistant; Jos would have them in his throne room within the hour for sure. But by being the one to ‘randomly’ select a staff member, Alonso gave the prince plausible deniability when it came to Jos or anyone else for that matter.
With no rules or restrictions preventing the prince from having an assistant, and Max’s high ranking status with a heavy workload to use as cover, this seemed to be a risk worth taking if it eased his prince’s burden.
He hoped the prince would see the calculated risk the same.
_____
Over the next week aboard the ship, Charles settled into his new role as Max's personal assistant, their interactions taking on a comfortable rhythm that belied the initial tension of the new arrangement.
In the quiet moments between their duties, Max’s remade walls slowly started to crack with every passing day.
In the mornings, Charles would wake early to assist him with his daily routine, their conversations flowing easily as the prince discussed his plans for the day ahead. Max, while initially reluctant to involve Charles so intimately in his responsibilities, soon appreciated the comfort of having someone he trusted by his side, his mornings brighter and more productive with Charles' gentle support.
In the evenings, they would spar together for training, their movements fluid and coordinated as they honed their skills now under Alonso's watchful eye to help guide Charles in his technique. The younger was a quick study and had already greatly improved his form. Every burst of energy blasts and exchange of blows made his respect for the fierce Eldri grow, which only deepened his attachment, and, not at all to his liking—Max's fascination with Charles strengthened.
Battered and exhausted, they would retire to Max's private quarters, with conversations ranging from lighthearted banter to more serious discussions about Max’s battle assignments, but never about the prince’s audiences with Jos or what had happened between them.
As they sat together in the quiet darkness, Max started slowly opening back up to Charles in ways he hadn’t even before his outburst. His mind unburdened by the weight of his past the younger was still ignorant to, and he shared small pieces of his thoughts and desires with the Eldri.
Speaking of desires . . .
The younger’s acts of seduction had also continued to ramp up to the point Max almost relented.
Once.
Trying to focus on the notes in front of him, Max sat at his desk. The sparring session with Charles that evening had been intense, and the adrenaline still coursed through his veins, sweat lingering on his brow.
He glanced at the closed bathroom door, hearing the faint sound of the shower still running while he combed his fingers through his sweaty hair, waiting for his turn.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm his racing thoughts and the lingering heat from their near-intimate moment in the training room.
Turning back to his notes, the prince attempted to concentrate on the strategic plans littered across the elongated screen, but his mind kept drifting back to Charles—the way his body moved during their spar, the intensity in his eyes, and the undeniable lust he saw in those lush green depths.
Max shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they clung to him like a second skin.
Suddenly, he heard it. A soft, breathy sound.
A moan.
He froze, finger mid scroll across the screen, not sure if it was just his imagination. Straining his ears and listening intently, there was only the sound of water hitting the tiles.
Then he heard it again, clearer this time—a low, throaty moan of his name.
"Max—"
Heart skipping a beat, his body reacting immediately, a rush of heat flooded through him. Max swallowed hard, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety as he stood up slowly, eyes fixed on the bathroom door.
Should he leave? Should he . . . go in there?
Part of him wanted to burst in, to see Charles like only he had seen him before. Max felt his Oozaru rumble in the base of his skull, puffed up chest standing proud at the thought that no one else had had him—been inside him.
But another part of him hesitated, the rational part of Max that wasn't driven by primal needs.
He took a step closer to the door, his hand reaching out to touch the smooth metal, hoping it would cool his flushed skin.
He heard another moan, this one more urgent. More desperate.
"Max, please—Ahh"
Resolve wavering, he could picture Charles in the shower, water cascading down his toned body, slim fingers skipping across his unblemished skin before finding their way to the rim of his entrance, head thrown back in pleasure when he slipped one inside.
Maybe it was even more than one.
Max thumped his forehead against the door harder than he intended and squeezed his eyes shut.
A flurry of images flickered in his mind's eye, each more desperate than the last.
Was Charles standing? Kneeling? Bent over . . . pressing his cheek to the cool tiles for leverage? Was his tail—
The prince opened his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He wasn't exactly sure when he'd started to imagine the Eldri with his tail, but he knew it had something to do with his dreams.
Every time the Earthling appeared in them—which was almost every night—he'd have a feathery soft, reddish brown tail. Long and sinewy, he could picture it now, curling around his tiny waist, resting against his chest and rubbing its tip lightly against Charles' oversensitive nipples.
Fuck.
He was so hard already, embarrassingly easy to excite with his recent bout of celibacy.
“Max . . . nnhh, God—yes. Harder, please harder!”
There was no way Charles didn't know Max could hear him. The Earthling wasn't even trying to be quiet anymore, pithy whines and moans spilling freely from his lips accompanying the lude smacking of skin.
Max's hand on the cold door dropped to his side as he took a step back away from the ensuite before mindlessly slipping said hand into his body suit purely on instinct. Squeezing around his hard length lightly, the prince groaned deep at the pressure, tail excitedly flitting in the air behind him.
Giving himself a few languid strokes on total autopilot, his senses caught up with him and he immediately pulled his hand away from himself, wrapping his shameful furry appendage around his waist in a huff.
The noises from the ensuite continued and he couldn't take it, self control at a breaking point.
He childishly pressed his index fingers in his ears in an attempt to drown out the noise, but his enhanced, sensitive hearing still picked up the debauched cacophony of moans and squelching fingers with ease.
One of them had to put a stop to this madness before Max did something Charles didn’t really want.
That’s right, Max thought.
Charles doesn’t actually want him.
The Earthling was just trying to survive like the rest of them.
"Charles," he called out, voice strained and scratchy, but loud enough to be heard over the sound of the water.
There was a pause, and then he heard Charles' voice, breathless and slightly surprised. "Max?"
"Is everything . . . alright in there?" He said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Charles was silent for a moment, and Max could almost hear the self-satisfied smile in his voice when the Earthling responded. "I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute."
Max's heart pounded in his chest when the noises started again.
Fuuuuuuuck.
Flopping down again in the chair at his desk, forcing his eyes to stay trained on the screen, Max pretended to focus on the maps and documents, but his mind was elsewhere. The steady heartbeat between his legs was impossible to ignore and he was going to fucking lose it.
Tension in his shoulders growing, he heard the bathroom door slide open and he glanced up just in time to see Charles’ freshly showered form wrapped in a towel standing there. It clung to his hips, tanned skin glistened slightly, still damp from the shower, and his hair fell in tousled waves around his face.
The Earthling looked at Max with a mixture of feigned innocence and desire that caught the prince’s breath in his throat.
"All yours," he said, and strode over to the bed, exaggerating the sway in his hips.
With deliberate slowness, Charles undid the knot of the towel and let it fall to the floor, soft fabric landing in a heap at his feet. His skin glistened in the soft evening light of the private quarters, each curve and line of his muscles accentuated.
Max was pretty sure he wasn’t even breathing now.
The younger Torossian then turned around and bent over the edge of their bed, arching his back obscenely and sighing when he couldn’t reach . . . whatever it was that Charles was looking for. Crawling onto the bed and leaning over to the far side against the wall, he pulled back the blanket and widened his stance on the edge of the bed, spreading his knees further apart.
From this angle, Max got a perfect view of Charles’ heart shaped ass and tail scar resting right between those delicious dimples. There was slick gently trailing down the backside of the Eldri’s right thigh, positively gushing from his engorged puckered heaven, flushed a deep pink and perfect.
Max's heart pounded as he scented the air and felt dizzy with the overwhelming sweet scent of it, mouth agape and panting.
Watching Charles move with a grace that was both hypnotic and tantalizing, Max froze when the Earthling stood up and crossed the room with feline fluidity, each step deliberate and measured. The prince could feel the heat radiating off him, the subtle scent of soap and something uniquely Charles filling the air.
Before he could react, Charles straddled his lap over the desk chair, the warmth of his body seeping through Max's tented bodysuit. The regal Torossian immediately put his hands behind his back, gripping tightly onto the metal backing of the chair for dear life.
“My prince,” Charles said softly, his voice carrying a playful insistence. “Don’t stay up too late working. We should retire early tonight.”
The proximity was intoxicating, a mix of arousal and confusion swirling within him and the temptation almost too much to bear. He could feel Charles’ weight on his thighs, slick dampening his suit right over his painfully hard cock, the intimate contact igniting a fire within him.
Rocking back, the Eldri rubbed his ass over the prince's dick and Max moaned embarrassingly loud, eyes locked on Charles’ hard length pressed to his stomach. For a moment, he allowed himself to be drawn into the allure, the suggestion of going to bed together almost too inviting to resist.
Charles leaned closer, his breath warm against Max’s ear. “Come on,” he murmured, nuzzling Max’s neck gently with his nose and lips, daring tongue grazing the shell of his ear. “Take me to bed.”
Hands moving instinctively to rest on Charles' hips, the sensation of his smooth skin sent shivers down his spine and he squeezed the younger tighter, fingers digging into his pliant flesh. Charles tipped his head back and bore his throat to the prince, gasping as he rocked his hips against Max's erection.
Closing his eyes, Max almost broke . . .
Almost.
Taking a deep breath through his mouth to avoide the Eldri's scent, he gathered his resolve. With a swift, unexpected movement, he shifted his grip under the Eldri's thighs and stood up, lifting Charles effortlessly. The Earthling let out a surprised gasp, his arms wrapping around Max’s neck for support and buried his face in it, mouthing at the prince's throat as he walked.
Max carried him over to the bed and not so gently set him down on the edge, the suddenness of the action leaving Charles momentarily stunned. Looking down at him, the prince’s eyes filled with a mixture of regret and anguish. He could see the confusion and hurt in Charles’ gaze, and it only deepened his own internal struggle.
“I—I need to take a shower,” Max said, his voice tight with emotion.
The prince's cursed tail, of course, found its way around Charles' waist as he'd carried him and Max jolted in place when Charles ran his fingers against the fur coiled around him. Reaching behind his back, Max squeezed the base of his tail to the point his knees buckled, but the menace went limp around the Earthing and, he bent over to pick up the towel on the floor to hide his pain from Charles.
Turning quickly, striding towards the ensuite bathroom, Max needed the distance to regain his composure.
Once inside, he closed the door behind him, leaning heavily against it, breath coming in ragged gasps, the intensity of the moment crashing over him. He needed the cold water to clear his mind, to regain some semblance of control.
“Fuck!” he whisper-shouted, squeezing his eyes shut and banging the back of his head against the metal. He covered his face with the towel before realizing that was a huge mistake.
The scent of Charles’ slick engulfed him and he let out an embarrassingly loud whimper before he chucked the material across the ensuite with a snarl.
His Oozaru instincts were insistent, a constant presence in his hindbrain demanding attention.
“Je ontzegt onze partner,” [You’re denying our mate] The voice of his Oozaru growled within him, filled with frustration and anger. “Hij heeft ons nodig. Alleen is hij kwetsbaar.” [He needs us. He’s vulnerable alone]
Max gritted his teeth, struggling to keep quiet. He pushed off the door and turned on the shower to cold, stepping under the stream of water, letting it cascade over him. The chill seeped into his skin, helping to calm the raging heat within. He closed his eyes, the memory of Charles’ touch still vivid in his mind.
“You think I don’t know that?” he retorted in a hiss as the frigid spray doused his sweaty hair. “I know he needs us, but not like this. Not in the way you want.”
The growl deepened, a low rumble of dissatisfaction. “Jij bent zwak. Jij duwt hem steeds weg. Het is onze verantwoordelijkheid om hem te beschermen, om voor te zorgen.” [You’re weak. You keep pushing him away. He’s ours to protect, to care for]
Max’s head throbbed with the intensity of the internal conflict. “Protect?” he said bitterly, bracing his hands against the cold tile. “We hurt him before. Do you remember that? His arm? Our tail?”
“Ik heb hem geen pijn gedaan. Jij wel” [I did not hurt him. You did.] His Oozaru’s tone was almost pleading now, as if trying to force Max to listen. “De Eldri reageerde op mij. Hij heeft ons nodig. Heeft mij nodig” [The Eldri responded to me. He needs us. Needs me.]
“No,” Max insisted, continueing his angry whispering, the memory of Charles’ biting his tongue searing through him. “I won’t risk it. He deserves better than that. Better than us.”
“Je houdt hem en jezelf tegen.” [You’re denying him and yourself.] His Oozaru’s voice was filled with a mix of anger and desperation. “Je ontkent wat natuurlijk is, wat rechtmatig van ons is. Gezegend door de godin zelf!” [You’re denying what’s natural, what’s rightfully ours. Blessed by the goddess herself!]
Max’s fists clenched against the wall, his nails digging into his palms. Dipping his head back under the freezing spray, his whole body shivered and his erection finally started to subside. “The fucking goddess forsook us years ago. We have to be better. I have to be better . . .”
His instincts let out a roar of frustration, echoing in the prince’s mind, causing him to wince. “Vechten tegen onze ware aard is zinloos. Jouw zwakte is zielig.” [Fighting against our true nature is pointless. Your weakness is pathetic.]
Letting out a rumbling growl of his own, Max pulled his head back and smacked his forehead against the cold tile of the shower, closing his eyes.
“I know,” Max whispered aloud, shaking with frustration and from the cold.
His Oozaru’s presence seemed to recede slightly, though the dissatisfaction felt still palpable, vibrating against the door to its sealed cage in his mind.
Opening his eyes, Max took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The internal battle had left him exhausted, but he couldn’t afford to give in to the weariness. One slip of his resolve and he knew his instincts would jump at the chance.
The following week, Max started picking up extra shifts, spending more time in the war room planning tactical maneuvers, and returning to their room very late in the night, all part of his attempts to keep his distance. Some nights he wouldn’t retire to their shared bed at all, opting to continue poring over maps and scouting reports that had to be reviewed by the morning.
Hunched over his new desk, the old one completely unsalvageable after his tantrum, Max's fists tangled in his cropped hair when heard Charles call out from the bed half asleep. “Max? What time is it? Come back to bed.”
“I have to finish this first,” the prince said without looking at the younger.
"But Max, you need rest?" Charles insisted, his tone groggy but firm as he reached out to gently pat the prince’s side of the bed closest to the door. "When was the last time you got some sleep?”
“I have to finish this by morning. Go back to sleep, Charles.”
Max heard the Eldri roll over and start softly snoring again before he scrubbed a palm over his face.
He was exhausted, burning the candle at both ends.
Correct in his assumption that there was something amiss in Jos’ plans, he’d witnessed the tyrant be extra hostile to everyone in his path, and the warlord spent a great deal of time off ship as of late, much to the prince’s relief.
The farther away from Charles, the better.
Shakily repairing his new relationship with Charles after the Eldri had learnt the truth about the extent of his mistreatment by Jos had not been easy.
Max was still ashamed by how he reacted and was beyond mortified that he'd hurt Charles in the process. They never fully discussed what’d happened, nor did Charles ever again bring up the state of the prince when he’d returned from that audience. The prince even committed to asking Charles about his tail a dozen times, but always backed out of asking the younger when the Earthling looked at him with those innocent green eyes.
He didn't want to see the realization flood them when Charles admitted he'd never actually wanted to lay with the prince.
This pretending was all that kept Max going through the recent long days of grueling work.
He chose to love Charles in silence. For in silence, he found no rejection.
And so, Max kept that silence, living in those late night moments of peace. Burying his inner turmoil beneath a facade of strength and composure, even as the weight of his perceived disloyalty to the Eldri threatened to consume him from within. He knew that he could never be with Charles the way he wanted to when he belonged to another, even unwillingly.
Eventually, he'd have to confront the issue and stop dancing around the problem to keep Charles safe.
Max kept his distance as much as he could from Charles, still firmly believing that he couldn’t trust himself around the younger. Rebuffing all of the Eldri’s intimate advances so far, the prince’s self-control was wearing thin with all the close calls, and his Oozaru was biding its time, waiting ‘til the prince had a moment of weakness to take control again.
Turns out, it didn’t have to wait much longer.
The next night, Charles was playful during their spar, taking advantage of the absence of Alonso, who had been called away on an urgent matter with Carlos. The training room was dimly lit, the soft glow of ki energy sparking brightly against the shadows, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere.
As they circled each other, Max couldn't help but notice the change in Charles' demeanor.
There was a mischievous glint in the Eldri’s eye, a subtle flirtation woven into their routine. With a fluid grace that seemed to defy gravity, Charles launched into a series of blows, his movements swift and precise, body moving like water, flowing seamlessly from one attack to the next.
Max’s eyes were drawn to Charles’ every move, the way his muscles flexed under his skin, the light sheen of sweat highlighting his defined form. Each step Charles took closed the distance between them, his lithe frame darting around Max with a playful energy that was almost intoxicating.
Then, with a calculated twist, Charles' backside brushed tantalizingly against Max's groin as he dodged an attack. The contact was electric, sending a jolt of arousal through Max that caught him completely off guard. Blood rushed to his lower half, and he struggled to maintain his composure, his heart rate quickening in his chest.
Caught in the web of Charles’ playful seduction, the prince couldn’t help but be drawn in, energy crackling between them, each movement charged with a lustful edge. He fell into rhythm with Charles, his own techniques mirroring the Eldri’s with an intensity that bordered on feral.
The Earthling had improved significantly since his solo training sessions with Alonso, his strikes more precise and his defenses tighter. He’d even managed to nearly submit the prince a few times with surprise maneuvers, though he had yet to actually win a spar.
Tonight, however, there was a daring edge to Charles’ actions, a boldness that both excited and unnerved Max.
With a Cheshire grin, Charles closed the distance between them in a swift lunge. His body pressed flush against Max's, the heat of their exertion mingling in the close quarters. Max felt Charles’ breath against his skin, their panting exhales echoing in the confined space.
Lips hovering just inches from Max’s, the Eldri’s eyes darkened with unspoken desire and time seemed to stand still as they stood locked in a silent embrace. Max’s grip on Charles’ wrists was tight, almost unbreakable, trapping the younger’s arms at his sides. The tension between them was thick, each breath, each heartbeat amplifying the implicit connection.
Charles’ rich scent filled Max’s senses, a heady mix of sweat and something inherently Charles that made his head swim. Bodies so close, Max could feel every rise and fall of Charles’ chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat matching his own.
The moment was magnetic, every nerve ending in Max’s body alive with sensation.
As they stood there, the room around them faded away, leaving just the two of them in a bubble of charged energy. The unspoken desire between them was almost suffocating, a tangible force that neither could ignore.
Max’s eyes locked onto Charles’, searching for any hint of doubt or hesitation or . . . fear, but found none.
For a brief, infinite moment, they were suspended in time, caught between the worlds of combat and intimacy. Resolve wavering, his Oozaru roared at him to close the gap, to claim what was his—theirs. But he held back, the memory of past mistakes and the fear a constant reminder.
Sensing Max’s internal struggle, the Earthling leaned in, his lips brushing ever so lightly against Max’s. It was a tentative, fleeting touch, but enough to set Max’s senses ablaze. The prince’s grip on Charles’ wrists tightened momentarily before he forced himself to loosen it, a silent acknowledgment of the delicate balance they were treading.
Max's breath hitched, his pulse racing as he fought to maintain control, standing on the precipice of the desire to give in, to lose himself in Charles.
Sweeping the younger's leg while he had him distracted, Max pinned the man to the floor and wrenched his wrists up over his head much like the first time they sparred together. A flood of tingles bloomed in Max’s chest at the image of Charles beneath him and the thrumming in his hindbrain grew stronger.
Louder.
No matter how many times they’d been in this position, the prince would never tire of it.
Charles’ bodysuit hugged his form tightly, outlining every delicate line of muscle on his biceps. His discarded chest armor no longer hid his excellent pectorals, and Max’s cock ached as he glanced down, eyeing the delicious V-shaped muscles trailing towards Charles’ pubic bone.
The way the fabric clung to Charles’ body left little to the imagination, accentuating every curve and dip, every hard-earned muscle. A subtle sheen of sweat made his neck glisten in the dim light, highlighting the contrast between the tanned flesh and the dark material. Max's gaze traced the line from Charles' clavicle down to his navel, lingering on the perfect cut of his abs through the bodysuit.
Biting his lip, Max closed his eyes, trying to regain control of his lustful thoughts.
He took a few deep breaths through his nose, the scent of their exertion and Charles’ unique, intoxicating aroma clouding his judgment. The prince was positioned firmly above the Eldri, leaning over him with sweat trickling down his temples. Legs bent at the knee over Charles’ stomach, he was surely giving the younger a perfect view of the sizable bulge in his pants.
The closeness of their bodies was almost unbearable. Max could feel the heat radiating off Charles, the subtle rise and fall of his chest with each breath sending more and more of his blood rushing south.
It was beyond embarrassing.
Mortified, Max felt a flush spread across his cheeks.
He was a prince for goddess’ sake, almost thirty, not some hormone-raging teenager. This lack of basic self-control was beneath him.
He started counting to ten, attempting to will away his erection before standing and making it plainly obvious how hard he was. The effort was almost painful, each second feeling like it only made the problem worse.
Not even making it to five, he felt Charles surge up with a soft, desperate sound escaping his lips, straining against the hold Max had on his wrist and sealing their lips together.
The kiss was hungry, desperate, Charles' mouth demanding and insistent. His teeth grazed Max's lower lip, his tongue seeking entry, igniting a fire within the prince that threatened to consume him.
Eyes blown wide, Max pulled back quickly, creating distance from the Eldri, his hands moving to press down on Charles' chest to pin him back down. The sudden movement caused a rush of cold air to replace the warmth between them, leaving Max feeling exposed, almost vulnerable in his position of control over the Earthling.
His heart pounded in his chest, the beat echoing in his ears like a war drum.
Charles' lips were slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss and Max felt the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way his muscles tensed beneath the tight fabric of his bodysuit. The sight sent another wave of arousal through him, making it even harder to focus.
Mind a whirlwind, the prince’s primal instincts of his Oozaru nature threw itself against its cage, pulling their tether taut. His hands tightened on Charles’ chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath. The tactile sensation grounded him, reminding him of the fine line he walked.
Sliding his hands up to squeeze both of the Earthling’s biceps, the prince barely put any pressure to keep him on the floor. The touch was firm yet gentle, a juxtaposition of the power he held and the restraint he exercised in that moment. Max's breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as he tried to steady himself.
Charles looked up at him, now a mix of confusion and concern in his eyes.
Eyes roaming over Charles' face, Max took in every detail—the slight furrow of his brows, the parted red lips, the way his chest heaved with each breath. The longing in his eyes was clear, but so was abashment.
Max's touch, though firm, was not meant to harm. It was a desperate attempt to maintain control, to keep his raging instincts at bay.
The Eldri’s soft, questioning gaze met his. The warmth of Charles' skin beneath his hands was a stark contrast to the cold fear in his heart. He was torn between desire and restraint, fear and hope. He could see the mask of trust in Charles' eyes, a trust he desperately wanted to be real.
A trust to be worthy of.
Max's grip softened, his hands sliding back to rest on Charles' chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“Don’t. I–I can't,” he rasped, taking a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut again.
And he thought he was hard before . . .
Fuuuuck—Now he was almost painfully hard, straining against the tight material of his suit.
The taste of Charles lingered in his mouth and he almost whimpered at the sinful flavor. He hadn’t tasted him in weeks and didn’t even realize how much he craved the subtle sweetness of those lips, like a drop of water on his parched tongue in the desert.
“Please, Max . . . Why won't you touch me?” Charles said, rolling his hips up under the prince, groaning at the friction.
Max focused his eyes to stare intensely down at him, bewildered.
Charles wanted him to . . . touch?
No, that was a lie. Of course he said that. Max had just beaten him in a spar and was holding him in a compromising position.
He doesn’t mean it. The Eldri just wants to keep being compliant because he’s afraid. Afraid that he will hurt him again.
Afraid of Max.
Immediately, the prince let go of Charles’ and sat back on the younger's thighs to create even more distance between them.
Charles tilted his chin down to look up at him, eyes wide with a mixture of longing and pleading.
He’d put this off long enough, letting his doubts and questions consume him. Max couldn't let it go on any longer.
He had to be sure.
Shoulders curling slightly, Max didn't know what to do with his hands, opting to leave them hovering awkwardly in the air on either side of the Earthling beneath him. “Do you actually want this with me? Tell me the truth, Charlie . . . ” Max swallowed hard, “Have I—have I hurt you in this way?”
The words burned his throat, but he had to know the answer and beg for forgiveness if his fears were true.
“With my tail . . . ” by the goddess he was going to be sick. “Did I hurt you with my tail?”
Shock danced across Charles’ face, momentarily taken aback by the question.
“What? What do you mean? Max, yes—I want you. I want you to touch me, and—and make me feel all tingly inside again. A–And I want you to make me feel good. You always make me feel so good.”
“I make you feel good?” Max must’ve sounded like a complete idiot for the redundant question, but hope started to stir in his chest. He clung to it, wanting to leave no further room for doubt between them.
Charles nodded softly in response.
“Have I done anything you didn’t want, but felt you couldn't tell me? Are you—,” his throat constricted trying to stop the question, but he pressed on. “Are you afraid of me? Afraid to tell me no?”
Still looking completely astonished, Charles shook his head no again and smiled at the prince. That megawatt smile, caged by perfect dimples chased away his queasiness and replaced it with butterflies in his stomach.
“Never Max. I love it when you touch me, when you put your tail around me.” The younger slid his hand up from the floor and ran his delicate fingers through the fur at the tip of Max’s tail like he did in their quarters, sending a shockwave of pleasure up his spine.
A groan ripped from his throat when the Earthling stroked his fingers up through the length of his tail.
“Please, please . . . Touch me—”
Already smelling Charles’ slick dampening his suit, Max felt his last few strands of restraint snap as his Oozaru saw its chance.
Max’s eyes lidded as he leaned down, pressing his chest to Charles’.
Growling, his Oozaru said, “vulgaire verleidster” [vulgar temptress] in the younger’s ear.
Pushing back the mess of sweaty curls on the Eldri’s forehead, the prince sealed their lips together. That sweet taste exploded on his tongue once more, and Max dove inside that wet heaven of the Eldri’s mouth with his tongue, taking command of their long awaited embrace.
Over Max’s shoulder, totally unnoticed by the pair, a small light blinked embedded in a pinpoint recess of the ceiling.
Chapter 16: Show Me
Summary:
The kiss went on, each moment more intense than the last. Charles’ head spun with the intensity of it all, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer presence of Max. He wanted more, needed more, and he could feel Max’s need echoing his own.
When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other. Charles’ lips were swollen and slick with their combined fluids, a testament to their shared desire. Max’s eyes were dark with lust, but there was a softness there too, a vulnerability that Charles had come to cherish.
“You’re incredible,” Max whispered, his voice rough and breathless. “You make me feel alive again.”
Notes:
Charles FINALLY gets laid 🫦
Can't thank my beta, Lady_Something , and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. We still have a long way to go!
Chapter Warnings: None??
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Charles was desperate to feel the prince's skin against his again. Despite his best efforts to draw closer to Max after becoming his assistant, the prince had rebuffed all of his advances, leaving him feeling rejected and unwanted.
Some nights, when Max had failed to return from a late meeting, he'd tossed and turned in their bed, unable to shake the nagging sense of inadequacy that gnawed at his insides, overshadowed by the all-consuming need for the prince while being bathed in his musky scent stored in the blanket.
To make matters worse, the ache between his legs was never satisfied.
No matter how many times he'd buried his fingers inside his sopping hole, desperate for some relief while the prince refused him, it never helped. The last three nights, Max had had late meetings, and he couldn't stop himself from moaning the prince's name into the pillow, biting down hard trying to stay quiet, wrist working overtime in an attempt to replicate Max's heavenly rhythm when inside him.
He’d tried on his knees, on his back, on his side, even in the shower, but still gained no relief from the burning emptiness only the prince could fill.
Nothing he did to try and get the prince's attention worked either, and Charles was slowly going out of his mind with need. He even started to wonder if maybe he was to blame for Max's distance; thoughts of self-doubt and insecurity swirling through his mind, each one a painful reminder of his perceived shortcomings.
Was he not Max's type?
Did Max regret what they did before?
Was he not worthy of Max's affection after so foolishly getting hurt, unable to listen or follow basic instructions?
More feelings similar to that first time with the woman swam in his chest, slicing through like a thousand paper cuts all at once. Maybe Max really did think his tail scar was revolting?
Just like she said it was . . .
The questions echoed endlessly in his mind, each one cutting deeper than the last, fueling his growing sense of unrest over the weeks. No matter how hard he tried to push the doubts aside, they persisted, taunting him with their relentless occurrence after every brush-off from Max.
His most daring attempt yet had also failed.
What was he even thinking?
He was so sure that his plan would work, but after the prince rushed out of the room into the ensuite when he'd, not so subtly, presented himself in Max’s lap, Charles started to lose hope of ever rebuilding an intimate relationship with the prince.
But all his doubts were silent now.
The prince wasn't pushing him away this time and with that resolve, a fire took hold of Charles to prove his worthiness to Max and show him that he could be a good mate.
Mate . . .
That word echoed in the back of his mind.
Since he was a child, he’d had thoughts and emotions that felt different, like they weren't a part of him or belonged to someone else. Those feelings dulled and almost faded completely when his tail was removed. But now, his instincts had only gotten stronger since being on the ship near the prince, that voice chanting the same words in his head over and over.
“This is our mate.”
Before the door to the prince's quarters even fully slid shut, Charles had the prince walking backward, knees hitting the edge of the bed, landing on his back in a huff. Making quick work of his bodysuit, the younger wrenched it off up over his head and straddled the prince's lap.
Max had his eyes trained on him as the younger expertly tugged off the prince's armor, followed by the top of his suit, leaving them both bare chested.
Keeping his hands on the bed, the prince gripped the blanket on either side of him tightly, his knuckles turning white with the force of his hold. The tension in his body was palpable, every muscle taut as if he were bracing himself, waiting for something to happen.
Charles frowned with the lack of contact, the absence of Max's touch leaving him feeling strangely bereft. Even Max's tail, which was flitting lightly behind him in the training room, was now snuggly coiled around his waist, its grip tightening when Charles glanced down at it.
The questions Max had asked him in the training room replayed in Charles' mind, their weight heavy and unexpected. The raw vulnerability in Max's voice and the fear that had laced his words left Charles reeling.
Where was that coming from?
He studied Max's tense form, the way his broad shoulders hunched forward, the sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, his eyes still locked on him, and his breathing shallow and uneven.
The memory of Max's questions haunted him.
Did Max really think he'd done something to hurt him when they'd slept together? The thought was almost incomprehensible to Charles, who had only ever felt cherished by Max in those moments.
This had to do with his horrid treatment from Jos, Charles thought, a surge of anger flaring up within him at the thought of the monster who tormented Max. The abuse and manipulation had left deep scars, both physical and emotional, warping Max's perception of intimacy and trust.
Determined to ensure that Max didn’t think he was anything like that monster, Charles shifted slightly in the prince’s lap, his hand moving to gently touch Max's tail, feeling the soft, smooth fur beneath his fingertips. The tail's grip loosened slightly, responding to his touch, and Charles took it as a small sign of trust.
The prince gasped softly when the younger slowly uncoiled his tail from his waist, abs dipping gently with the exhale. He looked up at Max, azure blue eyes filled with a mix of things the Earthling couldn’t quite place.
“Please—” He whispered breathlessly as he raked his short, blunt nails across the prince's scarred abs.
“Tell me what you want,” Max said, trying to catch his unfocused eyes.
Charles stammered, suddenly nervous himself, and looked away from Max’s piercing blue eyes, heating up slightly under the intense scrutiny. Squirming when he felt Max’s stare rake down his figure, Charles shivered from being exposed without the warm skin-tight battle suit for protection.
“Touch me,” he said, while starting to roll his hips lightly against Max's bulge, earning a groan from underneath him.
Seemingly convinced that Charles did indeed want to continue, the prince's gaze turned smokey and Max removed his gloves slowly, making a show of it.
“Touch you?” Max parroted, bringing a bare hand to Charles' hip, causing him to jolt at the contact. “Where Charlie . . . here?”
He gasped when his hip was squeezed more firmly. “Max—ah—”
God, he hadn't even realized he was so starved for the prince's attention. Even the smallest contact made his stomach turn to molten fire.
“I think . . . I might know,” Max tutted, running his hand over the slope of Charles’ waist and bringing it down to the plush swell of his ass. Charles whined as he felt Max grope him more insistently through the pants of his suit with the prince’s strong fingers, already making him blush from the start of his brown curls down past his collarbone.
Feeling more daring, Charles rolled his hips again, slowly, back and forth over Max's straining length, and the prince squeezed him harder in response, surely leaving finger-shaped bruises on his tender flesh.
“Is this what you wanted? For me to touch you here?” Max asked with a smirk.
Charles gently shook his head no and replied, “I–I would like to try something different, if it would please . . . my prince?”
“What is it?” Max blinked and frowned a bit, fingers tightening their grip.
This might be his only chance to rekindle what they had only a few short weeks ago and Charles was determined to not let the opportunity slip through his fingers.
Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and flushing even further when Max looked at him questioningly, the younger Torossian rushed out, “Can I taste you?”
“What?” Max asked, looking taken aback a bit, eyebrows raising comically high.
Charles averted his eyes as he shifted his hips in Max's lap, slightly uncomfortable with the look the prince was giving him. Was this another invisible boundary he’d crossed by asking?
The thick fingers loosened their borderline painful grip on his hips, and Max rubbed over the marks gently with the pads of his fingers. “You can ask me for anything, Charles. I just want you to be clear about what you want so I understand.”
Glancing back at Max beneath his half-lidded eyes, he whispered, “I want you to teach me.”
He wanted to prove himself a worthy mate. Charles knew he could be; he just needed a little guidance.
Max stared at him for a moment, apparently not sure what he was suggesting, but when the prince realized what he’d asked to do, it made his eyes blow saucer wide.
“You—” Max breathed, hands shaking lightly against his skin as he watched Charles lick his lips, blinking slowly, all spread out on top of the prince and ready to be defiled. “You little fucking tease—”
“Is that a—no?” Charles challenged him, biting his lip, feeling a sudden surge of confidence at the lustful glint in the prince's eye he'd missed so much.
Charles caught a shift in Max that sent a rush of heat to his cock straining against his suit. Having seen glimpses of it before, he could now easily identify when the prince was going to get more aggressive and the prospect excited him.
He loved when Max took control and spoke in their native language, even if he didn’t understand a word of it. That voice in his mind always knew exactly what the prince wanted when he spoke in their language, like he was talking directly to that instinctive part of Charles’ mind.
Snarling, Max ripped the bottom seam of Charles' suit open before throwing pieces of it on the floor carelessly—so different from the love and care Charles had put into taking off the prince’s armor.
Now fully naked in Max's lap, Charles looked down at him with an air of pride at making the prince lose control.
“You were—” Max cleared his throat, placing his hands back on Charles’ hips and rubbing small circles with his thumbs, giving him goosebumps. “You weren’t being serious about—”
“Yes, my prince,” Charles insisted, voice thin and breathy. He felt drunk off of Max’s touch already. “I want to taste you, and I need you to—ah–” He shuddered at the prince's light touch across his chill-fevered skin. “S–show me how to please you. Show me how you like it.”
“Fuuuck,” Max cursed.
Trailing his fingertips up his chest, Charles felt the prince’s cock throb under him with interest at the idea he proposed.
Charles had fantasized about doing this since their first time together in the shower. He’d only caught a few brief glimpses to take in the size of the prince then, but it was glorious all the same. The memory was vivid, etched into his mind: the way Max’s cock had flushed a deep, rich red at the tip, contrasting starkly with the pale, smooth skin of his shaft. It was thicker than three of his fingers, a solid, imposing length that made Charles' mouth water just thinking about it. Pearls of pre-cum wept from the tip, catching the light and sparkling like crystal jewels.
At that moment, he'd wanted nothing more than to take Max into his mouth, to taste him, to feel that hardness against his tongue. But Max had stopped him, a mix of confusion, anger, and hesitation in his eyes.
The rejection had been firm, borderline violent, leaving Charles wondering what had made the prince react like that.
As he knelt on top of Max now, those same thoughts and fantasies swirled through his mind. The idea of bringing pleasure to Max in such an intimate way had only grown more appealing with time. Charles' own arousal throbbed in sync with his heartbeat, his anticipation building with each passing second.
He still wasn’t sure why the prince had stopped him before. Was it fear? Inexperience? Or perhaps some lingering trauma from his past with Jos? Charles' mind soured a little at the thought, a pang of jealousy and protectiveness flaring up inside him. He hated thinking of anyone else having touched Max, especially if it had caused him pain or fear.
But Charles was determined to show Max that this was different.
That he could trust him, that he deserved to feel pleasure without the demons of his past and present creeping in. He turned his attention back to the task at hand, nibbling on the side of Max’s neck right below his ear, focusing on the moment, on the opportunity before him.
“So?” he urged Max softly, sweetly placing his hands over the prince’s on his chest, encouraging Max to squeeze his firm pecs with a moan. “Will you teach me, my prince?”
“Kniel voor mij,” [Kneel for me] Max commanded. Although it was hardly threatening when he looked practically on the brink of going insane.
Charles grinned as he followed the order, dropping down off the edge of the bed between Max’s spread legs and nuzzling his cheek against the prince’s thigh with a content little sigh. He was on complete autopilot, not even understanding what Max had said, simply letting that voice in the back of his mind guide him.
Max brought his hand down gently, grazing the side of Charles’ jaw and running his thumb along his lower lip. Opening his mouth slightly, Charles captured the tip of the prince’s thumb between his lips before Max continued to drag it along to the opposite corner of his mouth without pushing it inside. Max repeated the motion a few times, never pressing in, just grazing along the expanse of his lip.
Desperate for a taste, the prince wasn’t going to give in so easily, it seemed.
Challenge accepted.
Sticking his tongue out slowly, Charles shivered when the prince pressed down on it with his thumb and moved it from side to side with the smooth glide from Charles’ spit. Letting the prince continue to prod around in his mouth, Charles kept his jaw relaxed, allowing a dribble of saliva to run down his chin.
Pushing himself up on his elbows to watch, Max’s eyes never left the younger’s mouth before he pulled his hand back and instructed, “Haal mijn pik eruit.” [Take out my cock]
Reaching up to tug the lower half of Max’s suit down, his dick sprang out, slapping heavily against his abs. Charles practically drooled seeing it up close again, even bigger than he remembered.
Reaching out, the younger's fingers lightly brushed against Max's thighs, feeling the hard muscle beneath. Max’s breath hitched, his body a little tense, and Charles could feel the prince's eyes on him, the intensity of his gaze almost tangible.
With a reassuring smile, Charles leaned in, his lips just inches from Max’s length. He could see the twitch of arousal, the way Max’s cock seemed to pulse with need.
Slowly, deliberately, Charles let his breath ghost over the sensitive skin, watching as Max shivered in response.
“Your Highness,” he whined, leaning in closer and pressing a daring little kiss to the dark tip of Max’s cock, before looking up at him with big green doe eyes that always worked on the prince. “Tell me.”
“Wrap your hand around the base and get a feel for it on your tongue,” Max guided, sounding a little more coherent than his earlier commands.
Intent on following instructions, Charles maintained direct eye contact as he wrapped his hand firmly around the base, almost unable to close his hand around it. He began with gentle kisses, trailing his lips along the shaft, savoring the warmth and the musky scent that was uniquely Max.
His tongue flicked out, tasting the salty tang of pre-cum, and he couldn’t help the satisfied hum that escaped his throat. Charles took a deep breath, his own arousal thrumming through him, and slowly placed small kitten licks at the head and the slit of the prince’s cock before wrapping his lips around the tip.
It was an interesting texture on his tongue, but the initial taste was not at all what he expected.
“Fuck—Now, t–take it into your mouth,” Max hissed breathlessly, running his fingers through Charles’ brown curls and watching him drop his jaw, easing Max’s length into his mouth.
The taste was intoxicating, and he took his time, savoring every inch as he slowly took more of Max into his mouth.
The weight and heat of Max’s cock on his tongue felt perfect, fitting into his mouth in a way that made Charles’ heart race. Hollowing his cheeks to create a delicious suction, he began to move, his head bobbing in a steady, deliberate rhythm. He could feel every twitch and pulse, every reaction of Max’s body, and it only spurred him on.
Slipping more and more past his glistening lips, the Earthling was careful to cover his teeth, remembering some off-handed story from Lando about how bad that felt. A bead of pre-cum dribbled onto his tongue, and Charles moaned at the taste of his prince. It was musky but not sour, and that voice in the back of his head purred deeply in his ears.
Charles got the hang of it quickly.
Max tipped his head back, closing his eyes with a sigh, and Charles was hooked. Moans filled the room as Max let out a symphony of pleasure that made Charles’ own arousal ache with need. He worked diligently, his hands gripping Max’s thighs to steady himself. He took Max deeper, pushing his limits, wanting to show just how much he cared, how much he desired to bring him pleasure.
He needed to hear the prince make more sounds that shot lightning to his tail spot, and he attempted to swallow down all of his girth at once, choking instantly.
Head shooting back up, Max gently put a hand on his cheek while he squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly.
“Easy, no need to rush. You’re doing so well, Charlie.”
The voice inside him keened at the praise, and Charles got right back to it after catching his breath, sliding half of the prince’s length into his mouth before bobbing up and down slowly on it.
With each pass of his mouth, Charles felt Max’s restraint slipping, his control waning. The prince’s hands moved back to his hair, fingers threading through the strands, guiding him gently but more firm this time. Charles’ heart swelled with the knowledge that Max was letting go, trusting him completely.
Pulling off and dragging his tongue from the base to tip, Charles felt heady with the taste of the now constant stream of pre-cum leaking from the prince. He started to pick up more on what the royal liked by the small sighs and shivers of his body when he ran his tongue over certain areas, seemingly more sensitive than others.
“Squeeze harder with your h–hand,” Max instructed when Charles started using his free hand to work at the length he couldn't fit in his mouth. He placed the other hand on the bed next to the prince's hip and picked up speed with his mouth, working his hand in tandem.
Max looked torn between watching him and letting his head fall back in bliss. Opting to keep watching, the prince brought up both hands to brush Charles' hair from his face before fisting them tight in the curls and now more firmly guiding the movements.
Feeling the prince start to raise his hips up and push his head down to have him take more of the length, tears pooled in Charles’ eyes at the thickness crammed down his throat. But he was determined to take all of his prince, driven to the point of desperation to have Max come from his ministrations.
Groaning and flopping his head back, the prince released his hold on him when Charles opened his throat and swallowed down to the root, struggling to shakily inhale through his nose as he pressed himself tightly to the small patch of blonde hair at the prince’s groin.
Charles knew he must look a mess on his knees like this, eyes glazed over with damp lashes, cheeks bulging and hollowing out as he worked up and down, lips slick, tightly wrapped around the prince, and dribbling spit and pre-cum down his chin.
“F-fuck—so good,” Max huffed, breathless, as he began to slide him manually up and down again on his cock with a renewed fisted grip in Charles’ hair.
Giving an appreciative moan at the roughness, Charles was so hard it hurt. He hadn’t been allowed to touch his prince like this the few times they were intimate together, and he was so turned on by Max’s new aggressive treatment of his hair.
“I’m gonna come, Charlie. How do you want it? In your mouth? Down your throat? Or should I just pull out and come all over your beautiful face, hmmm?” Max cooed and cupped the side of his face tightly.
Fuck, Charles might come from the prince's words alone. Where had this attitude been hiding?
“Mmphghh!” Charles garbled as his eyes filled with fresh tears, gagging and slobbering all over Max’s cock as he moved faster up and down the impaling length. He wanted it in his mouth, to taste the essence of his prince on his tongue, but he couldn’t stop slurping the delicious length long enough to tell the prince. Hopefully Max would just know what he wanted, like he always seemed to in these situations.
“Should I decide for you?” Max said, chuckling at the urgent way Charles tried to nod around all the cock stuffed in his mouth, leaning forward on his knees, with his hands holding onto Max’s calves for dear life.
Finally, when he felt Max on the brink, the prince pulled him back slightly, letting his glorious cock slip from his mouth with a wet pop, only leaving the tip within reach. He looked up, his eyes dark with desire, his lips swollen and glistening.
Charles whined, still eager to please and lapping at it like he was addicted to the taste. He let pre-cum drizzle all over the pointed end of his tongue before rushing out in a ragged voice, “Y-Your Highness—inside, inside, c–come in my mouth—I want you to feel good. I want you to trust me.”
Max’s eyes were glazed with pleasure, his chest heaving with each breath. He reached down, cupping Charles' cheek, his thumb brushing over his lips. “Heel mooi,” [So beautiful] he said breathily, rolling his hips up when Charles swallowed him back down in a hurry.
After only a few more bobs of the younger’s head, the prince threw his head back, arching up in a wail.
“Hhhnnghhh—” Charles sputtered, feeling Max’s cock pulse in his mouth before he got exactly what he’d been dreaming about, a scorching hot release scalding down the inner linings of his throat. The sudden rush of warmth spread through him, igniting every nerve ending with a mix of pleasure and satisfaction. His eyes fluttered shut, a shiver running down his spine as he took in the taste and texture, savoring the moment.
Feeling so warm and happy that he could please his prince and that Max trusted him, Charles moaned brokenly when Max pulled himself out, staining the inside of his mouth with the hot release. The thick fluid spattered over Charles' outstretched tongue and lips, even glossing over his Cupid’s bow when Max pulled out all the way. The sensation was overwhelming, each drop a gift that couldn’t be wasted.
Charles’ heart swelled with pride and love, the knowledge that he'd brought Max to this point filling his Eldri with a deep sense of fulfillment. His eyes remained closed, his body trembling with the aftershocks of their shared intimacy.
“Don’t swallow,” Max said roughly, his voice thick with desire and command.
Charles opened his eyes, glazed and unfocused, leaving his tongue out and mouth agape as instructed, mind hazy. Max bent down, leaning over the side of the bed to level his face with the Earthling’s before gently gliding his tongue over his cum on Charles’ upper lip.
Almost swallowing on instinct, Charles resisted, holding still while Max cleaned his seed off the younger's face before crashing their lips together, flooding Charles’ mouth with his eager tongue. The kiss was intense, a blend of raw need and possessiveness, and Charles melted into it, giving himself over completely to the moment.
It was filthy, the messy slide of their tongues mixing with Max’s cum, but Charles loved it. The taste of Max was everywhere, the salty bitterness mingling with the sweetness of their shared breath. The kiss was wild, unrestrained, and Charles could feel the desperation in Max’s touch, the way his hands gripped his shoulders, then the back of his neck, pulling him closer, pushing his tongue deeper.
Charles moaned into the kiss, the sound vibrating between them. He could feel Max’s heart pounding in his chest, a rapid, frantic beat that matched his own. Max’s tongue explored every inch of Charles’ mouth, claiming him in a way that left no room for doubt. Hands roaming over Max’s back, the Earthling felt the flex and the tension in his muscles, the raw power that lay just beneath the surface. He loved every second of it, the way Max made him feel, the sore ache in his chest from having Max like this.
The kiss went on, each moment more intense than the last. Charles’ head spun with the intensity of it all, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer presence of Max. He wanted more, needed more, and he could feel Max’s need echoing his own.
When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other. Charles’ lips were swollen and slick with their combined fluids, a testament to their shared desire. Max’s eyes were dark with lust, but there was a softness there, too, a vulnerability that Charles had come to cherish.
“You’re incredible,” Max whispered, his voice rough and breathless. “You make me feel alive again . . . want to live again.”
Charles smiled, his heart soaring at the words.
After catching his breath and coming down from his dick-drunk stupor, Charles placed a small kiss on the dripping tip of Max’s half-lax cock, grinning lewdly when the prince snapped his eyes back down to him.
“Did I—a-ah—” He wrapped a hand around his still painfully hard cock that dribbled lightly on his toned belly, so turned on from giving Max a fucking blow job. “Have I pleased y–your Highness?”
Charles knew exactly what he was doing with his words. The prince feigned annoyance, but he could tell a part of him secretly loved it when he addressed him by his formal title. The deep instinct part of the prince always responded to him in kind.
Max answered him by snarling so chest-deep he felt it vibrate in his ribs, right over his heart when the prince hauled him up by the arm, one-handed, back into his lap. The sound was primal, a raw expression of the desire coursing through him. Charles' breath hitched at the intensity, his body responding instinctively to the dominant energy radiating from Max.
Closing his eyes, Charles' lips parted as he mewled high-pitched, hips already moving in a steady rhythm against the prince’s. The friction was maddening, each grind sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He could feel Max's hardness return beneath him, the heat of it pressing against his own arousal, creating a delicious tension that made him moan.
“So eager today, aren’t we?” Max cooed, shoving two fingers right into Charles’ pliant open mouth. The intrusion was swift, almost forceful, and Charles' eyes fluttered open in surprise before they slid shut again, surrendering to the sensation. He sucked them just like he had with Max's cock only moments before, moaning the whole time as he kept circling his hips over the rapidly inflating manhood of the prince.
The taste of Max lingered on his tongue, the saltiness mingling with his own saliva as he sucked eagerly, his moans vibrating around the fingers. Max’s other hand was steady on his hip, guiding his movements with a firm yet gentle touch. The combination of control and tenderness sent shivers down Charles' spine.
Charles whined as Max pulled his fingers past his lips, whimpering as he watched a thick string of his own saliva follow them out. The sight was erotic, the string breaking and falling back onto Charles' chin, adding to the raw intimacy of the moment.
“Please, I–I need—” Charles' voice was breathless, tinged with desperation.
“Tell me what you need,” Max murmured, mouthing at the corner of his lips tenderly, making Charles tremble. The gentle kisses contrasted sharply with the roughness of his earlier actions, a blend of passion and care that left Charles reeling.
Shuffling to sit further backward on the bed, Max smirked at the way Charles held on tighter with the startling movement, like he was trying to prevent himself from falling off the prince’s lap. The grip was firm, Charles’ fingers digging into Max’s shoulders, his body pressing closer in a bid for stability and more contact.
Max snuck his moistened fingers down between Charles' quivering legs and ran them over the already soaked, twitching rim of the younger Torossian’s tight entrance. The touch was electrifying, sending a jolt of pleasure through Charles that made his entire body tense. He gasped, his breath hitching as Max’s fingers circled the sensitive area, teasing him mercilessly.
“Say it clearly,” Max muttered into Charles' ear, his voice a low, seductive rumble. The proximity made Charles shiver, the warmth of Max's breath sending goosebumps across his skin. His body went rigid in anticipation, every nerve ending alive with expectation.
Charles' mind was a haze of need and desire, the words caught in his throat as he tried to articulate his longing. The gentle but insistent pressure of Max’s fingers against his entrance was maddening, each touch a promise of the pleasure to come.
“Please, Max,” Charles finally managed, his voice trembling. “I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”
Max’s eyes darkened with lust, his smirk widening as he heard the desperate plea. “So good for me, Charlie,” he murmured, rewarding Charles with a gentle kiss on the lips. The tenderness was fleeting, replaced quickly by the slow, deliberate push of his fingers into Charles' entrance.
“O–oh,” Charles moaned, arching his back when the thick fingers slipped past his hungry rim with just the tips, giving Max a show of his toned abs straining as he tried to sink down on the intrusion, sobbing when he was held in place.
The sensation was intense, the stretch a mix of pleasure and bliss that made him gasp. Max’s other hand remained on his hip, steadying him as he adjusted to the intrusion.
The rhythm of Max’s fingers was slow, deliberate, each movement designed to elicit maximum pleasure. Charles' breaths came in short, ragged gasps, his body moving instinctively to meet each thrust. The connection between them was palpable, an unspoken understanding that transcended words.
Max’s eyes never left Charles' face, watching every reaction, every gasp and moan with a predatory intensity. The Earthing was sure Max could feel the tightness of his entrance around his fingers, the way his body trembled with each movement.
“Ah—hhnnn—please, I w-want it—”
“Vertel het me, anders krijg je alleen mij vinger,” [Tell me or you only get my fingers] Max demanded, throwing Charles’ daring desire back at him, scissoring his pliant hole open, but still not going deep enough for the molten heat burning Charles alive to be sated. “Laat mij je horen, mijn Eldri.” [Let me hear you, my Eldri]
“Prince Max!” Charles mewled, already feeling so wrecked, squeezing his eyes shut as his rock hard cock spit more pre-cum on his abs. He tried grinding down hard on those thick fingers, finding no relief at the shallow depth.
“Please—my p-prince, need your cock inside—need all of you—”
“I have neglected you, haven’t I?” Max relented, plunging his fingers all the way inside, and the sudden stretch made Charles’ eyes fly wide open. “Don’t worry, I'll take care of you.”
Whining loudly in protest, Charles begged, “Non, n–not your fingers.”
Max’s smirk widened, his fingers curling slightly to press against the spot inside Charles that made him see stars. The reaction was immediate, Charles' back arching, a loud cry escaping his lips.
“Are you giving me orders now, Charles?” Max playfully teased him, but the prince obeyed all the same, removing his fingers after a few moments to grip both shapely hips firmly, lining himself up, before driving his hard length upward. Burying himself to the root and pulling Charles down by his hips, Max gave him no choice but to meet him halfway. The prince growled low when the younger man’s voice broke with a loud wail.
“Are you—challenging my authority now, Charlie?” Max said between his clenched teeth and strained breaths with the effort of driving deeply into the younger’s molten core.
Charles couldn’t reply, voice choked off with endless moans and pithy whines from the rough treatment. His hands were firmly pressed flat on the prince's chest for balance. He loved being able to touch Max like this.
The few times they had explored each other after their first time, Max hadn't let him touch, and he was always bent over on his knees facing away from the prince, face buried in the pillow. Not that he hadn't still enjoyed himself, but he’d wanted to see Max, wanted to touch him and lose himself in those blue eyes while he’d touched the heavens in toe curling pleasure. Even after they would lay in bed together, the prince would sometimes flinch at his small caresses and tightly fist his hands in the blanket when Charles’ lips got close to his neck.
Feeling the prince’s muscles strain under his fingertips now made him feel dizzy with the sensation. Charles leaned back in favor of gripping the prince's spread thighs behind him.
The new angle had the prince hitting the sweet spot inside him hard with every thrust, and he let out a particularly loud moan when he was forced to maneuver quicker by Max’s firm grip on his hips, clamping his needy hole tightly around Max’s cock like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
“That’s it,” Max cooed, his voice a soothing contrast to the intensity of his actions. “Let me hear you.”
Charles’ mind was consumed by the intense sensation of the perfect length and his moans filled the room, the sound a symphony of pleasure and desperation. He was lost in the sensation, the world around him fading away as he focused entirely on Max and the incredible pleasure he was giving him.
For a fleeting moment of bliss, he let go of all his fears and insecurities from the past few weeks and surrendered to the prince’s touch, throwing him up and down on Max's lap like he weighed nothing. Max’s hands and mouth were everywhere; on his lips, on his neck, his chest—sucking and biting deep purple marks on his skin. God, this was exactly what he needed and he felt that familiar pressure start to build in his belly after so many nights of not being able to quite get there himself.
“Did you touch yourself?” Max suddenly asked. “Those nights I couldn’t come to our bed, were you fingering your greedy hole like this . . . Thinking of me?”
Charles mewled loudly, his head thrown back in ecstasy as he marveled at how the prince could read him so well. His face flushed a deep crimson as he realized the intensity of his own reactions, and he looked down at Max with a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability, unable to find the words to answer.
“How many did you use Charlie? Two, three? Four . . . ?” Max's voice was a low, seductive growl, his eyes locked onto Charles with a primitive intensity.
Without warning, Max propelled his hips upwards swiftly, sheathing his impaling cock to the hilt and holding the Earthling’s hips tight. The sudden, powerful thrust filled Charles completely, and his eyes rolled back in sync with the drop in his jaw, a scream caught in his throat. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that left him breathless.
“How many did you use in the shower to try and tempt me?”
Charles couldn’t speak, the words trapped in his throat by the sheer intensity of the moment. His body trembled, the muscles in his legs quivering as he tried to process the overwhelming sensation. The prince’s cock stretched him deliciously, filling him in a way that left no room for coherent thought.
Max's grip tightened on Charles' hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with possessive strength. The sensation sent another wave of pleasure through Charles, his skin tingling where Max touched him. He wanted to answer, to give Max what he wanted, but the pleasure was too intense, stealing his breath and leaving him speechless.
“Answer me,” Max demanded, his voice a growl that vibrated through Charles' entire being. His other hand moved to grasp Charles' chin, tilting his head down so their eyes met. The raw intensity in Max’s gaze made Charles' heart race, his pulse pounding in his ears.
Lips parting, a soft whimper escaped as he struggled to find his voice. His mind was a haze of desire and need, every nerve ending alive with sensation. The pressure of Max’s cock inside him, the heat of his hands on his body, the commanding tone of his voice—it was all too much, too perfect .
“Mmmmhmm, y–yes my prince, I—” He admitted brokenly, flushing brilliant red down to his naval, cock slapping hard against his belly with every thrust.
“How many?”
“Th-three,” Charles finally managed to stammer out, his voice a breathless whisper. “I used three . . .”
“Mmm, I thought so,” Max replied, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his lips. “I could smell you on your fingers and in our bed. Fuck, Charles . . . I could barely stand it. I wanted to wake you with my head buried between your thighs—feel you squirming on my tongue. Goddess, I want you to come on my tongue every morning. I want to taste how much you need—need me inside you.”
Charles wasn’t going to last much longer, between the prince’s incredible cock stroking all the right places inside of him and the filthy words tumbling from the prince’s lips, he was teetering on the edge.
”I–I’m gonna c–come—” The younger gasped out during a particularly hard thrust from the prince. Charles' hands clutched at Max’s shoulders, his fingers digging into the hard muscle as he held on for dear life.
“That’s it, come on my cock. So good for me, Charlie. Taking me like you were made for it.”
Charles crashed down on his length a few more times, throwing his head back in mindless bliss, brain whiting out with ringing in his ears, and cock twitching before pearly ropes of white shot all over his stomach and chest, some even reaching his chin.
Milky trails beaded down the ridges between his abs and he went boneless as the prince continued to bounce him up and down, riding out the last throes of his orgasm.
Max drove up one final time just when Charles was to the point of overstimulation and he moaned loudly while being filled. His core turned so scorching hot, it took his breath away and he wanted to stay filled by his prince forever. The warmth permeated up into his chest and bloomed a brilliant flush on his skin.
After, when they were both still and panting in each other's mouths, trading soft kisses that made his skin tingle, Max asked him with a devious grin, fingers ghosting over his tail scar, “Are you satisfied with your lessons?”
Charles didn’t even register the question at first, too lost in the sensation of Max’s tongue gliding along his neck and chest, fingers sending lightning up his spine. He gasped when he realized the prince was greedily licking Charles’ cum from his fevered skin before the prince tilted up and pressed their lips together.
Purring while pulling his softening cock out of Charles’ stretched hole, Max shoved the cum that leaked out of him back inside with two fingers. Charles squealed and his legs opened wider over top of the prince’s lap on instinct.
“N–No,” Charles finally answered, feeling shockingly daring, even when there was a mixture of tears and drying cum all over his chest. Trailing his hands up his own ravaged body and running his hands through his sweaty hair, he still put on the best enticing display for the prince even after being exhausted to Hell and back, having his brains fucked out.
“I—I think I would like to try a few more things, your Highness . . . ”
Chapter 17: Far
Summary:
“So you just let him be taken!” Lando roared, blood starting to pound in his ears. He couldn’t fucking believe what he was hearing. The rage bubbled up, hot and uncontrollable, “Charles wasn't worth the effort to you then? Even after he single-handedly saved all of our asses multiple times!” His voice cracked with the intensity of his emotions.
Hannah placed a calming hand on Lando’s arm, trying to ground him. “Lando, we need to stay focused. Yelling won’t help us find Charles.”
But Lando shrugged her off, the anger too raw to contain. “No, he needs to hear this!” He turned back to Seb, his eyes blazing. “Charles is more than just some collateral damage. He’s our friend, our ally. And you—” he pointed an accusing finger at the older man, “—you just stood by and let this happen!”
Seb's calm gaze met Lando's fury without flinching. "I understand your anger, Lando," he said evenly. "But you must understand that my role as Guardian is to protect the Earth as a whole. Individual lives, no matter how important, sometimes fall outside of that scope."
Lando's hands clenched into fists, the muscles in his arms taut with tension. “That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it!” he spat.
Notes:
Back to check in with the Earth peeps!! Things are happening and Lando struggles with a mountain of new information. This chapter has a lot of source universe locations and references so stop by my tumblr for the images!
Can't thank my beta, Lady_Something , and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. We still have a long way to go!
Chapter Warnings: None??
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
- Back on Earth -
Lando’s mind was distracted while he and Hannah walked briskly through the halls of the Capsule Corp lab, their footsteps echoing against the polished floors. The air hummed with the low thrum of machinery, the scent of oil and metal filling his nostrils as they made their way toward the launch pad.
Hannah led the way, stride confident and purposeful as they navigated the maze of corridors in a hurried pace. Lando followed closely behind, remembering the last time he got lost in the bowels of Capsule Corp labs, consumed with thoughts of Charles and the mysterious man responsible for his disappearance.
“Should we tell Master Vasseur to come with us?” Lando asked, breaking the tense silence.
“I sent him a message to meet us there before we left my office,” Hannah said, briskly turning a sharp corner.
As they reached the launch pad, the sleek silhouette of the jet glittered under the harsh fluorescent light of the hanger, its polished metallic frame adorned with the iconic Capsule Corp logo emblazoned prominently on the fuselage. Lando stood to the side and watched Hannah approach the control panel. With practiced efficiency, her fingers danced over the buttons to power up the aircraft and release the air seal latch for the door.
The jet had a streamlined aerodynamic shape, with swept-back wings and a pointed nose cone. Its windows were tinted and reinforced with energy shields for added protection under the intense speeds it could travel. Hannah had told him not too long ago how excited she was about the new energy source she had developed to fuel the state-of-the-art engines. The new source would ensure long-range capabilities, optimal performance . . . Blah, blah, blah .
He wasn’t really listening anyway.
In addition to its sleek design and advanced propulsion systems, a Capsule Corp jet could take off and land vertically or horizontally.
Lando had barely paid enough attention to remember what the new fuel source did, and he hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about when she used big scientific terms, but he’d listen to her talk about anything as long as they spent time together. Ever since they were kids, Lando had been captivated by Hannah’s brilliance. She had always been the girl with the big ideas and the fearless attitude, and he had admired her from the very beginning.
Hannah’s passion for science and engineering had always fascinated him, even if he didn’t understand half of what she said. He remembered the days when they were children, exploring the vast grounds of Capsule Corp together. She would excitedly explain her latest inventions or discoveries, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. Lando would nod along, more focused on the way her eyes lit up than on the technical details she was sharing.
“Come on, Hannah?” Lando chidded petulantly, his impatience a thin veneer over the affection he felt. “I could have fucking been there by now.”
The door to the jet swung down and she gave him an annoyed look while racing up the gangway. “I’m sorry, not everyone can fly you jerk,” she retorted, her voice tinged with exasperation. But Lando knew her well enough to catch the playful glint in her eye.
“Just open the roof already,” he shot back with a smile and pointed above him. Hannah flipped him off with a smirk before closing the door to the jet.
“Women,” he scoffed with a familiar warmth in his chest. Despite his teasing, he couldn’t help but admire her competence and drive. Shifting his weight side to side on the balls of his feet, itching to get airborne, Lando was ready to see if Seb could indeed help them.
He couldn't imagine that Seb wouldn't, but he'd been wrong before about the old Guardian.
The Guardian’s primary role was to maintain the balance of good and evil, ensure the safety of Earth, and oversee its inhabitants' spiritual and physical well-being. In addition, Seb was also responsible for watching over the ancient wish orbs, mystical stones that could grant any wish when gathered together.
Charles and Lando had first met Seb many years ago when they embarked on a journey to see if they could locate all seven wish orbs. They were young and foolish, seeking adventure, and they didn't even have a particular wish in mind if they found all seven. After months of searching, they decided to make the long trek up the dangerous ladder to the lookout and ask Seb for his help.
If the Guardian was responsible for them, he had to know where they were right?
He'd refused and chastised them both thoroughly for their disrespect. Despite the initial shock of the Guardian’s harsh rebuke, Charles and Lando came to respect Seb for his wisdom and power. The old Guardian subsequently took on the temporary role of their mentor, training the pair to prepare them for future threats. That training under Seb proved to be crucial in their growth as martial artists and Charles’ ability to best Lewis in the World Tournament a few years back.
Lando was in desperate need of that calming guidance now.
The jet's engines came to life with a deafening roar, the sound reverberating through the cavernous hangar as the thrusters ignited in a blaze of fiery energy. Lando felt a surge of adrenaline course him, anticipation mounting as they prepared to take off.
The retractable roof for the hangar cracked open and Lando launched himself up at lightning speed into the air past the jet, long before the roof was even open enough for it to fit through. Deciding not to wait around, he took off in the direction of the Guardian’s Lookout, picturing Hannah rolling her eyes and cursing at him in his mind's eye.
As Lando soared through the sky, wind in his hair, he replayed the mental image of the mysterious man he’d seen in the satellite footage, striding purposefully toward Charles' mountain hut like he’d been there before.
Who was he and what did he want with Charles? Why him in particular? Did they know each other?
That report Hannah showed him detailed the presence of those extraterrestrial ships, but the sightings had been shrouded in secrecy, with no clear explanation for the craft's purpose or origins. The figure in the footage was definitely part of that group, but why did he come back alone? The original landing of the “pods”, or so the report called them, was dated three days prior to Charles’ kidnapping and there had been no sightings of the foreign ships since.
Lando's heart squeezed in his chest as he considered the implications. Charles was his best friend, practically his brother. They grew up and did everything together. The idea of him being abducted by unknown forces made him feel helpless and foolish.
God knows where he was right now or what awful things were happening to him. Was he hurt by that weapon the man fired at him? Was he trapped somewhere injured and afraid.
Was he already dead—
No.
He wasn’t dead. Lando couldn’t even let that thought enter his mind. Hope was all he had at this point to keep pushing forward.
Just ahead Lando saw the base of the Lookout tower approaching fast.
The Guardian’s Lookout was a palace-like structure perched atop an enormous skinny column that extended from the Earth's surface into the sky, seemingly reaching beyond the clouds when trying to see it from the ground. The impossibly tall tower disappeared into the horizon, and was made of smooth, light-colored stone. At the top of the tower stood the main platform, a broad, circular area resembling a giant dish seemingly defying architectural limits, like a half an orange balanced on a toothpick. The surface of the platform was pristine, made of polished white tiles that gleamed in the sunlight. Around the border of the circular lookout were tall skinny trees immaculately groomed and two rows of palm trees that lined either side of the path up to the palace. Along its edge were ornate tiles carved with intricate patterns, but no railing to speak of. One step too far and you could fall right off the edge, an unknown fatal distance to the ground.
His arrival at the lookout was met with an unexpected sight: Seb, standing at the edge, his gaze fixed on the horizon and drifting down to survey the Earth below. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, as if Seb had been waiting for him.
Descending slightly, feet touching down on the white-tiled surface, Lando glanced around, his confusion evident. Why would Seb be waiting for him? His thoughts were interrupted quickly as he caught the sight of a figure standing on the other side of the older guardian, now in full view.
Lewis.
Fucking Lewis was standing next to Seb, looking down over the edge of the platform.
Lando's eyes fell upon his longtime adversary and fellow martial artist with a scowl quickly settling over his features. A surge of agitation coursed through him, memories of their past encounters flooded his mind, each one marked by betrayal and near-death experiences.
Despite Charles' forgiveness, Lando couldn't let go of the resentment he harbored towards the older man for his underhanded tactics in the World Martial Arts Tournament several years ago.
Jaw clenched, Lando addressed Lewis with thinly veiled anger. "What’re you doing here?" he demanded, gaze piercing.
Lewis met Lando's eyes evenly with a composed demeanor, unfazed by the hostility in his voice. "I'm here for the same reason you are," he replied.
He was always so fucking controlled.
The response only fueled Lando's frustration. How dare Lewis stand there so calmly, as if his past grievances meant nothing? Didn't he understand the gravity of the situation they were in? Charles was missing, and they needed to find him!
Suppressing the urge to lash out, Lando turned his attention back to Seb, silently urging him to provide some clarity amidst the tension. Whatever their differences, they needed to focus on finding Charles, and they couldn't afford to let personal grudges get in the way.
The guardian greeted him with his usual calm, stoic demeanor, a stark contrast to the frustration raging within Lando like waves crashing on the shore. The tension thickened as Seb gestured towards Lewis and spoke, “Come join us. We were just discussing the recent dilemma with our friend Charles.”
Lando's frustration boiled over at the casual disposition of the pair, his resentment bubbling to the surface. Swiftly closing the distance between the pair and himself, Lando turned his attention back to Seb, his voice accusatory. “Dilemma? How could you be so careless! Charles was kidnapped and you're just—just standing here with your thumb up your ass doing nothing?”
He tried to take a breath and calm himself, but he was too enraged by the pair’s apparent nonchalance in regard to the whole situation. "Why didn't you do something to stop it?" he demanded, his tone sharp with anger. "You're the Guardian of Earth, aren't you? It's your job to protect people like Charles, especially Charles! "
Seb regarded Lando with a steady gaze, his expression impassive. "I understand your concern, Lando," he replied evenly and authoritatively. "But the situation is more complicated than it seems. We're dealing with parties beyond our control."
Lando's frustration only grew at Seb's measured response. "Complicated or not, Charles was taken," he insisted, starting to feel desperate. "We need answers, and we need them now. What can you tell me?"
Gaze softening slightly, a hint of empathy shone through the old guardian’s eyes. "Rest assured, I will do everything I can to locate Charles and bring him back safely," he said, making an attempt to be reassuring. "But we must proceed with caution. Rushing into this blindly could put Charles and others in even more danger. Let us wait for Hannah to arrive, and we can discuss as a group what we know so far."
Fists clenching at his sides, Lando’s impatience palpable. He loathed that Seb was right. The old Guardian of Earth was always right. But the thought of Charles out there, possibly in harm's way, was unbearable. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down, conceding to himself that panicking wouldn't help their cause.
"Fine," he begrudgingly agreed. "But we can't just sit around and wait. We have to do something."
Hannah arrived at the lookout a short time after their discussion ended, her Capsule Corp jet landing jerky on the platform. Stumbling out of the craft in a rush, Lando smiled as he watched her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear while she rushed over to where he, Seb, and Lewis were already gathered.
The pair recounted what they’d learned from the satellite footage and from the classified report, detailing the description of the craft and the skirmish between Charles and the mystery man. Hannah spoke with an animated fervor, her hands gesticulating as she described the high-energy readings and the unknown technology they had encountered. Lando supplemented her account with observations from the scene itself, struggling to keep the tinge of worry and fear out of his voice.
Seb listened quietly as they took turns speaking, his expression unreadable. When Lando and Hannah finished, the Guardian of Earth simply nodded, a slight furrow in his brow. "I see," he said calmly, almost too calmly for Lando's liking. The lack of visible reaction from Seb was infuriating, given the gravity of the situation.
The Guardian's calm demeanor in the face of such startling revelations didn't sit right with him. He replayed the scene in his head: the satellite footage, the government report, the shock and urgency that he and Hannah felt, the sick burn of dread in his gut as he watched what caused the violent aftermath that he’d seen at Charles’ mountain hut. But Seb had remained composed, almost as if he had been expecting it.
Eyes narrowed, Lando felt a little indignant, shifting his weight on his feet. "You don't seem very surprised," he said, his voice edged with suspicion. "You know something about this. Don't you?" His tone was accusatory, the anger barely held in check.
Gaze shifting to the horizon, the Guardian signed. "I've sensed large disturbances in our sector of the universe for some time now," he admitted. "Powerful energies moving about the planets, strange anomalies." His measured tone did nothing to soothe Lando’s frayed nerves.
Lando studied Seb’s expression, looking for any sign of concern or urgency, but found none. The Guardian's face was serene, betraying no sign of distress or surprise. Too fucking serene, Lando thought. He knew he probably sounded paranoid, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Seb’s composure seemed almost unnatural given the circumstances.
Feeling a surge of frustration, Lando moved his hands animatedly. "Why didn't you say anything?" he demanded. "If you suspected something was wrong, you should’ve warned us. Charles might still be here if we had known. I would've never—" He couldn't bring himself to say it. This whole mess was his fault and he deflated slightly, arms falling down by his sides with a deep sigh. The weight of guilt was crushing, the knowledge that he might have been able to prevent Charles's capture gnawing at him.
Seb's impassive demeanor didn't falter. "There wasn’t enough cause to act on it," he replied. “I can only intervene when the fate of the Earth as a whole is at stake."
“So you just let him be taken!” Lando roared, blood starting to pound in his ears. He couldn’t fucking believe what he was hearing. The rage bubbled up, hot and uncontrollable, “Charles wasn't worth the effort to you then? Even after he single-handedly saved all of our asses multiple times!” His voice cracked with the intensity of his emotions.
Hannah placed a calming hand on Lando’s arm, trying to ground him. “Lando, we need to stay focused. Yelling won’t help us find Charles.”
But Lando shrugged her off, the anger too raw to contain. “No, he needs to hear this!” He turned back to Seb, his eyes blazing. “Charles is more than just some collateral damage. He’s our friend, our ally. And you—” he pointed an accusing finger at the older man, “—you just stood by and let this happen!”
Seb's calm gaze met Lando's fury without flinching. "I understand your anger, Lando," he said evenly. "But you must understand that my role as Guardian is to protect the Earth as a whole. Individual lives, no matter how important, sometimes fall outside of that scope."
Lando's hands clenched into fists, the muscles in his arms taut with tension. “That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it!” he spat.
Hannah stepped between him and the guardian, trying to defuse the tension. "Lando, we need to stay focused,” she said, locking her eyes on his for a few moments in a silent plea. The intensity of her gaze was enough to momentarily break through the storm of his raging anger—a look he was very familiar with. The scientist craned her head back over to look at the guardian, but stayed between the two men. “Seb, if you have information, now is the time to share it. We need your help."
Sighing, the weight of his memories was evident on the guardian’s face. "There is something I think you three should know," he began, looking at each of them in turn. "About Charles and the truth of his past."
The group fell silent, the gravity of Seb's tone pulling them in. The wise figure was a man of few words, and when he decided to speak, they knew to listen. Even Lewis, who had been relatively quiet, seemed to lean in slightly, his curiosity piqued by Seb’s solemn expression.
"Many years ago, Hervé Leclerc, the man you know as Charles’ father, was walking through the woods when he came upon an enormous crater that had been recently made in the ground several miles from his home in the mountains. When he went to examine it more closely, he found what appeared to be some sort of spaceship, badly damaged, with flashing lights and smoldering embers.”
Seb paused, his eyes distant as he recalled the event. The silence was thick, each of them hanging on his words. “And next to it, there Charles was, laying in a small round pod, little more than an infant. Hervé scooped up the boy who miraculously was unharmed in the crash and took him home. He tried to take care of the boy, but he was wild. An uncontrollable, violent child, unusually powerful for a baby and he wanted nothing to do with Hervé's kindness or care.”
Lando's eyes widened in shock. "But Charles was Hervés's son? We've trained together since we were young." The elder’s eye remained unchanged at his question and Lando’s brow furrowed in disbelief, shaking his head. “Charles is the kindest person I've ever met. This can't be true, I know him. He wouldn't harm a fly! Violent child . . . you expect me to believe a damn—”
Lando's breath came in quick, shallow bursts as his mind whirled with suspicion and anger. He was about to lash out again when Hannah placed both palms flat on his chest. The warmth of her touch and the gentle pressure of her hands forced him to refocus. He’d forgotten she was still standing between him and the old guardian, but it was probably for the best right now.
"Hey," she said softly, her voice calming him instantly amidst the storm of his thoughts. "Take a deep breath. We need to hear him out."
Looking down at Hannah, his eyes met hers as he tried to anchor himself in the sensation of her soft hands against his chest, using it to steady his racing heart. Her touch was delicate but firm in her warning.
Inhaling deeply, letting the air fill his lungs and then exhaling slowly, Lando felt some of the tension drain from his body. Hannah gave him a reassuring nod, and he nodded back, signaling that he was ready to listen. She kept her hands on his chest for a moment longer, steadying him, before turning her attention back to Seb and nodded for him to continue.
“One day,” the guardian went on, undeterred, “When Charles was really young, there was a terrible accident. He fell into a deep ravine and badly injured his head. In a panic, Hervé feared that Charles would succumb to his injuries and the old farmer brought Charles to me asking that I give the boy a space to heal here on the Lookout. On top of this tower, my abilities are enhanced with the direct influence of the sun and Charles made a full recovery from his physical injuries, whereas any other child would have died by the time Charles reached me. From that day on, Charles became a happy loving boy, no longer obsessed with violence to the point of madness—a desire to destroy everything in sight—”
“That can’t be true,” Lando rushed out, cutting the guardian off. He’d heard just about enough, and his head felt like it was splitting with all the new information he’d learned that day. The idea of Charles as a violent child was so far removed from the person he knew that it was almost inconceivable.
"It is true Lando.” Seb nodded, gesturing softly with his hand. “Hervé took Charles in and raised him as his own, never telling him the truth about his origins. He wanted to protect him from the reality of being abandoned for an unknown cause."
Still tense, Lando struggled to believe what he was hearing. Hervé harboring that kind of a secret for so many years was unthinkable. He knew the old farmer too, having been to his property dozens of times to help Charles in the field, and he never would have guessed that Hervé wasn't Charles’ real father.
They even looked related for fuck’s sake.
Hannah's soothing touch on his chest returned and helped center him enough to listen as Seb continued with his story. The guardian's calm demeanor contrasted sharply with Lando's agitation, still giving Lando a sense of unease.
Listening intently, Hannah's expression was a mix of curiosity and concern before she interjected, "Why didn't Hervé tell Charles? Didn't he deserve to know?"
"Hervé feared for Charles' safety,” Seb sighed. “There was no way to tell where he’d come from or if whoever abandoned him was still alive somewhere in the cosmos. He was worried about Charles being discovered everyday until he passed, knowing it could put him in danger. The stress of it all surely is what sent him to an early grave and Hervé only wanted to give Charles a chance at a normal happy life."
Lewis, who had been silent, finally spoke up, startling Lando who'd almost forgotten he was there in the first place. "If all of that is true, do you think whoever took Charles could be related to his past?"
"Assuredly so,” Seb nodded, taking a few steps back away from the edge of the platform. “The space pod that Charles arrived in as a baby—it's the same type of craft that the man who took him arrived in last week."
The group fell silent as the weight of Seb's words sank in. Hannah's eyes widened in shock, and Lando felt a cold shiver run down his spine. "You're saying that Charles is from space?" Hannah asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Charles is not from Earth. His origins are from somewhere else in the universe, and the people who took him likely know about his heritage."
Lando's mind practically short circuited as he processed even more new information. Things that had always puzzled him about Charles finally began to click into place. Charles' tail, his incredible strength, and his otherworldly resilience—they all made sense now.
"His tail," Lando muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "The strength . . . "
Hannah looked at Lando, seeing the realization dawn on his face. "Charles' abilities—they're not just exceptional for a human. They're exceptional because he's not human."
Still quiet but clearly engaged, Lewis’ eyes darted around the group before adding, "If Charles is from another world, his captors might be trying to use him for something specific. Something that has to do with his alien origins."
Seb looked over at the man with a stern expression, "Exactly, therefore we must proceed with caution. We have no idea who these people are or what they're capable of. We also don’t know if they will be coming back—"
"Wait,” Lewis said, directing his question to Lando. “What do you mean Charles had a tail ? I've only known him as an adult, and I never saw any tail on him."
Lost in his own thoughts, Lando barely heard the question, simply glaring at the other man. He still didn't know why Lewis was even there to begin with or what any business this all was to him anyway.
Seb nodded instead, acknowledging Lewis' confusion. "Yes, Charles had a tail when he was a child. A unique feature that was both a gift and a curse for the boy."
"So, what really happened to it?” Lando's eyes narrowed, placing his hands on his hips, “Why doesn't he have it now? He told me that he badly broke it in an accident and it had to be removed. Is that not true?"
Glancing at the group before focusing on him, Seb sighed. "Charles felt his tail was a liability. In combat, if someone managed to grab it, it could incapacitate him. He saw it as a weakness. So, he came to me and asked if I could remove it. I obliged, using my abilities to ensure it wouldn't grow back, leaving the root intact but dormant."
Lewis looked stunned, trying to process this new information. "I can't believe he never mentioned it? A tail . . . that's quite something to keep secret."
“Don't act like you wouldn’t've tried to exploit it if you'd known,” Lando chided impatiently.
Sensing the tension still simmering in Lando, Hannah squeezed his hand gently. "Don't do this now. If he's here to help, we need all the assistance we can get right now." She turned and leveled the outsider with an even more fierce glare than Lando had given the man, and his stomach did a funny thing at the sight of her defiance. “Really though, what are you doing here Lewis.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned to meet her glare with one of his own. “I sensed Charles’ energy moving really fast. Before I could fully lock onto his location, it was gone. Completely vanished, like it never existed in the first place. I wasn't able to get away from my racing duties until now that we are on winter break to see if Seb knew any more information about it.” The bastard even had the nerve to smirk at Lando before continuing, “What? Not going to congratulate me on my seventh Championship—”
“Oh, go to hell,” Lando shot back.
He took a deep breath, trying to let go of his attitude for the moment. That wasn’t what was important right now . . . Charles was out there and needed him. "Alright fine, but we need a solid plan. Seb, you've got to tell us everything you know about how we can track Charles down. We can't afford to waste any more time."
"We have a few options,” the guardian said calmly. “Hannah, did you check to see if any personal items or devices Charles might’ve had with him have a GPS tracker?”
“Yes, I checked his phone and it was left in his hut. He wouldn't have had anything else with him that would be traceable.” Lando felt Hannah tense slightly next to him. “It's not like he had time to pack.”
Lando contemplated for a moment, rubbing the hair on his chin with his fingers. “What about that radar thingy you built to locate the wish orbs? Do you think you could . . . I don’t know, mess with that? Use it to find Charles?”
Lewis, now even more invested in the discussion, added, "What wish orbs? What are you—”
“I don't think that would work,” Hannah said to him, ignoring Lewis. “I built the orb radar after I found one and used its biometric signature to try and track the rest. I would need a biological sample from Charles to do something similar.”
“Would his tail serve your purposes?” Seb cut in, shocking the group with his unexpected suggestion.
“You still have it!?” Lando shouted, hopeful but also, a little disturbed. The idea of keeping such a thing seemed both morbid and grotesque.
Seb folded his hands behind his back, his expression as serene as ever. “I do. Would that fulfill your requirements, Hannah?”
The scientist nodded, determination evident. “I think so—Wait!" Hannah said and scrambled back to her jet with a sudden burst of energy, short legs moving as fast as they could. Lando didn't even have enough time to ask her what she was doing before the frantic woman came running back over to them, a small bundle clutched tightly in her arms.
Breathless, she said, “I had it with m–me!” The excitement in her voice was palpable, a flicker of hope in the otherwise dire situation.
Waving the device in Lando's face, making his eyes cross, Hannah proceeded to sit down on the tiled floor of the lookout, pulling out various foreign-looking tools from her bag. The assortment of gadgets and instruments spilled out around her, each one more mysterious to Lando than the last. Her fingers moved with practiced efficiency, her mind already working on the complex calculations needed.
“If you can bring the tail to me, I’ll get to work on recalibrating the sensors,” she said excitedly.
Seb gave a small nod and turned away, heading toward the inner chambers of the lookout. As he disappeared from sight, Lando turned his attention back to Hannah, who was already engrossed in her work. Her fingers moved deftly, assembling and reconfiguring the device with a focus that Lando couldn’t help but admire.
Lewis, who had been silently observing the interaction, finally broke his silence. “Can I ask a Goddamn question now?” he said, frustrated, genuine curiosity mixing in his words. “What exactly is that thing?”
“It’s a radar device designed to track down specific energy signatures,” Hannah explained, not taking her eyes off the radar in her hands. “We’ve used it before to find some powerful artifacts. If I can recalibrate it using Charles’ biological signature, we might be able to track him down.”
Lewis nodded thoughtfully, though a hint of skepticism remained in his eyes. “And you’re sure this will work?”
“It has to,” Lando said firmly. “It’s our best shot right now.”
A few minutes later, Seb returned, carrying a small, carefully sealed container. He handed it to Hannah with a solemn nod, who accepted it carefully with a grateful nod. Without wasting any time, she opened the container, revealing the preserved remains of Charles’ tail.
Lando’s breath hitched in his throat and he glanced at Lewis, who looked as bewildered as he felt. He hadn’t seen the reddish brown tail in many years, and when he thought about it . . . it was actually so fucked up that Seb kept Charles’ tail.
Perhaps the wise Guardian always knew this would happen, and that they were going to need it?
He kept his comments to himself though, since this was the best chance they had to find his friend.
Carefully extracting the tail from the small box, Hannah began the process of scanning the biogenetic signature from it to integrate into the radar device’s sensor array. Lando watched in awe as Hannah worked, holding his breath, feeling a surge of hope; this plan might just work.
Finally, after several tense minutes, Hannah looked up, her face flushed with a mix of exhaustion and triumph. “I think I’ve got it,” she said, holding up the modified radar device.
Lando’s heart skipped a beat. “You sure?”
“As sure as I can be,” Hannah nodded, "This should be able to pick up Charles’ unique energy signature. Now we just need to see if it works.”
She activated the device, and a series of beeps and lights flickered to life. The radar screen displayed a green grid that would point in the direction of the energy if the source was too far out of range for an exact location. The lookout fell silent, every eye fixed on the screen. After a few tense moments, a small arrow appeared, pulsing with a faint but distinct signal.
“There!” Lando exclaimed, pointing at the screen. “That’s got to be him!” Relief washed over him and a hopeful smile spread across his face. He looked at Hannah and faltered since her expression did not match his own.
Frowning, Hannah peered at the screen, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait a second . . . This can’t be right?”
“What do you mean?” Lando asked, a note of impatience in his voice. The sudden shift from hope to uncertainty was jarring, and he didn’t think he could handle any more bad news today.
Hannah shook her head, adjusting the settings and tapping a few buttons. “The signal . . . it’s coming from way out in space, far further than I would've guessed.”
Lando’s excitement fizzled, replaced by concern. “How far are we talking?”
“ Far ,” Hannah replied grimly. “We’ll need to use one of the Capsule Corp warp drive spaceships to reach him. This isn’t just a quick trip across the planet.”
Lewis, who had been growing increasingly agitated, stepped forward. “And you expect us to just drop everything and fly off into space on a whim?”
“What’s your problem, Lewis? Lando shot him a glare, “If you don’t want to come, no one’s forcing you. Who said you were even fucking invited?”
Lewis clenched his fists, struggling to keep his temper in check, jaw tightened, and his eyes blazing. “Oh, I’m coming. Charles is a powerful fighter and an ally. If any more mysterious aliens show up and try to stop you, you’ll need all the muscle you can get. But we need to be prepared. We can’t just rush into this without a plan.”
Sensing the tension, Hannah stepped between them. “Both of you, knock it off. We need to focus. We’ll gather supplies and make preparations tonight. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
Lando muttered under his breath, “Always a pain in the ass . . .”
“What was that?” Hannah shot him a look, her eyes narrowing.
“Nothing,” Lando grumbled, crossing his arms and looking away. He knew better than to argue further with Hannah, especially when she was in mission mode.
Seb intervened, his calm aura cutting through the animosity. “Hannah is right. You’ll need to be fully prepared for a journey of this magnitude. Gather everything you need tonight, and meet back here at dawn.”
Lewis nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Fine. But let’s make sure we’re ready for anything. We have no idea what we’ll face out there.”
“Agreed,” Hannah said with a short nod. “We’ll need food, medical supplies, and any equipment we might need for a rescue attempt.”
Though still irritated, Lando nodded as well. “Alright, let’s get moving. The sooner we’re ready, the sooner we can get Charles back.”
As they wrapped up their discussion, a sudden presence made itself known. Lando turned to see an elderly man with a bald head, thick sunglasses, and a distinctive squinting smile approach them. He wore a tropical shirt, khaki shorts, and sandals, carrying a turtle shell on his back.
"Master Vasseur!" Lando exclaimed, surprise evident in his voice.
"Well, well, looks like I arrived just in time. What did I miss?" the man said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
Chapter 18: Straying
Summary:
"Commander George," Jos began tersely, voice echoing in the cavernous room. “I require your assistance.” Shifting in his throne, Jos raked his claw-like nails against the arm, serpentine tail flitting in irritation against the cold tiles. “I’ve noticed a troubling shift in Prince Max's demeanor as of late, and I want you to keep closer tabs on him."
"I will look into it immediately, my lord," George replied, his tone betraying no hint of hesitation or displeasure despite his true feelings. He knew that any sign of reluctance would be seen as weakness or, worse, disloyalty.
Leaning back in his throne, Jos’ eyes narrowed with deep thought. The artificial lighting cast ominous shadows across his face, highlighting the smooth rounded angles and the cold glint in his red eyes. "I want you to observe his every move. Look for anything out of the ordinary in his routine, any signs of disloyalty or insubordination. I will not tolerate any . . . straying. Least of all from the prince."
Notes:
Things are going to heat up from here, all the way until the end of part 1.
Stop by my tumblr for the images!
Can't thank my beta, Lady_Something , and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. We still have a long way to go!
Chapter Warnings: referenced past assault, mentioned death
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
- PTO base ship -
In the soft glow of the Torossian quarters, Max stood before a sleeping, sated Charles, his expression somber as he prepared to deliver the news. The room was bathed in a gentle, ambient light that highlighted the peaceful contours of Charles' sleeping face, his features relaxed in the afterglow of their shared intimacy. Max's heart ached at the thought of disrupting this tranquility, but he'd waited as long as he could.
He'd gotten the message on his new scouter an hour ago, long before morning duty hours, and he didn't want to wake the young Torossian after their late night.
Max's mind wandered back to the events, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Charles had been relentless, his drive insatiable. The Eldri wasn't lying when he said he wanted to try a few more things, and they all involved touching the prince in some way. Grabbing his hips to pull him closer, scratching his nails across Max's scarred back, even pulling hard on the nape of the prince’s hair when he’d lost himself in his fourth orgasm. Or perhaps it was his sixth . . . Max had long since lost count at that point.
The memories were vivid, each touch and gasp etched into his mind. He could still feel the phantom touch of Charles' nails on his deepest whipping scar on his back, the possessive grip on his hair, the way Charles' body had arched against his, seeking more.
Always more .
Max had given in completely, losing himself in their shared passion, in the way Charles' body responded to his every move. It was electric, unimaginable pleasure, and Max hadn't even realized how out of control he felt without Charles to calm him. The contrast of being inside of Charles, to his normal state of being was startling, and he'd never been so at peace with his Oozaru in his life—fully bonded as one entity in those heated moments.
Alonso did warn him though.
The elder Torossian mentioned that once Max awakened the younger’s instinctual Eldri desires, he would be insatiable and start to require more of his time.
The old bastard was always fucking right.
Remorseful of the distance he’d made between them now, Max regretted forcing the Earthling away from him at every opportunity, no matter how much he wanted nothing more than to get lost in their shared need for each other.
He'd thought he was protecting Charles, keeping him safe from his own fears and insecurities, but he'd only made things worse by denying Charles what his body wanted—what it needed .
The prince had never felt more like a selfish fool in his life.
But last night was a revelation.
The prince enjoyed correcting his mistake for hours, indulging in the sweet taste of their desire, feeling the bond between them strengthen with each touch, each whispered word and Max had never felt closer to Charles. There was still a lot they needed to talk about, and even more that the Eldri didn't know about him, but that would come in time when Max was ready.
Max didn't want to rush into things, making sure all the proper precautions were in place. Charles’ safety on the ship was paramount, and he would take every step to ensure they were not discovered.
How was he going to survive the forced separation of this assignment, now that he and Charles were well on their road to reconciliation?
And just when he was starting to think the goddess finally took pity on him . . .
Sneaking out of bed, Max got ready for deployment quietly and reviewed all the data sent over with the message at his desk. After showering quickly and putting on his full battle armor, he gently sat on the edge of the bed and watched the Earthling sleep before brushing a curl out of his face.
The Eldri stirred and blinked sleep filled eyes, “Max?” he asked, looking up confused.
"Charles," he whispered, voice a gentle murmur in the quiet room. "I've been called for an assignment. I have to leave."
Brow knitting with concern, Charles’ wide, shocked eyes searched Max's and the prince made sure there was no sign of hesitation or doubt to try and reassure the Earthling.
Still quite groggy, Charles quickly sat up in the bed and threw his arms around the prince's neck, squeezing hard, startling him. “What? W–What time is it? Where’re you going?”
The vibrations rumbling against Max’s throat made his chest tighten. “I can't tell you.” He couldn't even begin to explain to the Earthling what he was called to do, nor did he ever want Charles to witness this part of his duties. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
"How long will you be gone? Can I come with you?" Charles asked worriedly, pulling back to look into Max’s eyes. "I don't like the idea of you going out there alone. You said they only send you out now if lesser teams are overwhelmed, or the local population is too strong . . . a–and they send you alone ."
Max reached out, gently cupping Charles' cheek in his hand, keeping his touch soft and as calming as he could.
"Don’t worry about me. I'll be fine," he insisted, trying to project confidence despite the uncertainty churning in the pit of his stomach. "I've been through worse before, and besides," he added, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'll have you waiting for me when I get back."
Charles' expression softened slightly at Max's words, a flicker of something Max hadn’t seen before kindled in the younger’s eyes.
Reaching down, Charles took off one of the bands on his arm, a simple but intricately woven piece that he always wore. The band was half made of a red woven threadlike material that blended into a golden-linked metal for the other half, giving it a subtle yet oddly familiar sparkle. The Eldri held it for a moment, fingers brushing over the texture before gently slipping it onto Max’s wrist.
Looking at the new adornment on his arm, Max smiled softly. “What is this?” he asked, running a thumb over it.
The red and gold of it reminded him oddly of the House of Toro colors his father always wore. His livery chain strung ornately across his chest during formal ceremonies in the palace.
“It's a bracelet,” Charles began softly, his voice filled with a mix of hope and worry, “This one in particular . . . is supposed to keep the wearer safe. It’s something my father gave me before he passed away. He said it had been in the family for generations, always protecting those who wore it from harm.”
Max looked down at the bracelet, his heart swelling uncomfortably. Wearing it felt like carrying a piece of the Eldri on the assignment with him and a foreign feeling swam in his chest. The object meant something to the Earthling and Max couldn’t guarantee its safe return with the nature of his assignment.
“No, Charlie I—I don't . . .” he whispered, voice strained. “It will get damaged with me,” he added and quickly started to pull it back off his arm.
Charles' eyes were misty as he gazed up at Max and rested his small hands over Max's fumbling fingers. “Please. I want you to have it with you.”
The prince’s next breath was damp, and Max coughed quietly in an attempt to spare his dignity. “Thank you,” he said and stopped trying to pull the delicate bracelet off his wrist, entangling his fingers with Charles’ for a moment.
“Just promise me you won’t get hurt,” he whispered, his arms tightly coiling back around Max’s neck in a desperate hug.
"I will come back in one piece," Max replied, his gaze locked with Charles', a silent vow passing between them. It was the best he could assure Charles with.
Truthfully, he didn’t know what he was walking into when he got there.
He never did.
A knock on the door drew Max's attention, breaking the intimate moment much too soon for his liking. “That will be Carlos,” he said, his tone shifting to a more practical one.
“But I thought you didn't go with a team?” The Earthling said, arms reluctantly pulling away from Max’s neck.
“I'm not. Carlos is just launching and nav monitoring for me. He will stay on the ship and look after you.”
The Eldri made a face and Max started to ask what it was about before he heard another knock at the door.
Pausing for a moment, the prince wanted to tell Charles something more to reassure him, wanted to tell him about his feelings, and how he wished he didn't have to go. But the words just wouldn't form on his tongue.
“Charles, I—”
“My prince,” the knock came a third time, more insistent. “We have launch in ten minutes.”
Leaning in quickly, Max pulled Charles into a heated kiss that shot fire into his belly and had the fur of his tail bristling on the end. A whine spilled out of the Eldri and Max deepened the kiss, squeezing the younger’s waist. The dazed look in those green eyes filled Max with a smug satisfaction before he stood up to head for the door.
He was stopped by none other than his unruly tail, firmly coiled around the younger’s middle, clearly not willing to let go just yet.
Giving him a soft smile, Charles pulled it away from his waist before slowly lifting it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to the furry tip. Max gasped with a full body shudder as the Earthling slowly let it slip from his delicate fingers and Max wrapped it back around his own waist.
Don't gloat , he chided his Oozaru in his mind.
“Wat heb ik je gezegd” , [ I told you so ] came the rumbling internal reply and a satisfied purr.
First Alonso, and now his own fucking instincts were more than happy to tell him what an idiot he’d been.
Sighing, Max said, “I will return.”
With that, he quickly exited the suite and walked silently with Carlos to the launch deck. He could feel the stern Torossian wanted to say something, but Max was not in the mood to deal with any more unnecessary shit this morning.
As they made their way down the narrow, metal-plated corridor toward the launch bay, the harsh lights casted a cold glow on their faces. The air was thick with tension, and Max could sense Carlos’ irritation simmering just beneath the surface.
A confrontation was inevitable; the Torossian had been snippy and on edge for days.
The corridor seemed to drag on, the rhythmic echo of their footsteps adding to the heavy silence. Max’s mind was still back in the suite with Charles, the promise he made echoing in his ears. He needed to force himself to focus on his assignment, but the weight of the impending separation was a constant, nagging presence.
He softly thumbed over the bracelet on his left wrist with his right hand, idly playing with the gold chained part while they walked.
Rounding a corner, the entrance to the launch bay was still a long way off, and Carlos finally broke the silence, speaking in Torossian. "I hope it's at least worth it, and you can justify your lack of focus to yourself,” he said, voice tight with frustration. “But you could at least be less obvious about it.”
Max glanced at him, dropping his hands to his sides, already feeling the headache from the impending argument. "What the fuck are you talking about, Carlos?" he responded in Torossian, keeping his voice low since they were not in private.
The dark-haired Torossian stopped walking and turned to face Max directly, his eyes flashing with pent-up anger. Max halted his gait as well, his expression hardening in response.
"Don’t pretend like you don’t know. You've been overly distracted lately, and people are starting to notice," Carlos said, his tone accusatory, posture tense and shoulders squared.
Stiffening, the prince felt his defenses instantly rise. "I'm fine, Carlos. Just focus on yourself," he snapped back, tone cold and dismissive.
The strain of the morning and the weight of his responsibilities were making him less patient than usual—he didn't really have much to begin with.
Carlos shook his head, eyes questioning, clearly not letting it go any time soon. Jaw clenched, he took a step closer to Max, "No, it's more than that. You're not present, you're not focused. Now that you're so preoccupied getting your dick wet in that—that . . ."
Eyes narrowing, Max felt a spark of anger igniting. “In that what? " he spat, crossing his arms over his chest, his posture radiating tension and barely contained fury.
Crossing his arms in response, Carlos’ eyes zeroed in on the new embellishment adorning the prince’s arm before he went on, tone accusatory and bitter. "That whore , that's what! Ever since he slithered his way into your bed, undoubtedly jumping on your cock at the first opportunity, you've been off your game in some kind of pussy-whipped stupor. Why can't you see him for the manipulative fucking slut—"
“Watch your mouth! You don't know what you're talking about.” Max cut the man’s tirade short, his temper flaring, eyes blazing with an intensity that made Carlos take a slight step back.
The hallway seemed to close in around them, the air thick with the tension of their confrontation.
Carlos’ frustration boiled over, his voice rising. "He's using you! The tailless freak can't even speak Torossian. How can you be so blind to his obvious games?"
Taking a step closer, Max’s voice was low and dangerous as he backed the dark-haired Torossian against the wall of the corridor. "One more fucking word about Charles, and I’ll have your tongue for it," he growled, fists clenched at his sides, the muscles in his arms bulging with the effort to restrain himself.
Carlos' eyes widened in shock and hurt, but he quickly masked it with an angry sneer. "I bet you'd like that wouldn't you. The things I do with it were always your favorite." He threw his head back, rocking up into the prince with his hips, mocking the intimacy they once shared. “Oh Carlos—again, do that again ,” the man rasped, imitating Max’s prior words.
Clenching his fists, Max struggled to keep his voice steady. "Don't be ridiculous. We haven’t shared a bed together in almost a year.”
"Not for my lack of willingness,” Carlos hissed, then took a deep breath, clearly trying to rein in his emotions.
The man reached out his palm, snaking it down Max’s chest plate, just shy of the prince's groin before Max seized Carlos’ wrist and yanked it away with a crushing grip, his eyes flashing with a warning.
Carlos’ frustration reached a breaking point, and in that moment of apparent impulsive desperation, he stepped closer to Max, eyes burning with a mix of anger and yearning, his wrist still trapped by the prince.
“Max,” he pleaded, voice trembling slightly, “I have served you faithfully our whole lives. Why is that still not enough?”
Max’s grip on Carlos' wrist tightened for a moment before he forced himself to let go, stepping back to create a deliberate distance between them. Shock and confusion flashed across his features, his mind reeling from the intensity of the Torossian's sudden, but all too familiar declaration.
“Carlos, we’ve been over this,” Max said. “I don’t have those feelings for you. I never did, and you told me you understood that. I would’ve never taken you to bed otherwise.”
Carlos’ expression hardened, the pain in his eyes quickly morphing into bitterness. “Then why him, your Highness ? What does he have that I don’t? He's third-class, just like me. He—he's even worse than that . . . a fucking purge infant! A bastard. A symbol of shame on my house and family.”
The spitefulness in Carlos’ words struck Max like a physical blow. His jaw tightened as he stared at Carlos, struggling to find the right words to resolve this situation without causing more harm. He couldn’t reveal the truth about Charles’ heritage, the fact that he was an Eldri, and not just an ordinary Torossian—that information needed to stay in as few hands as possible.
“This isn’t about comparing you two. My choices are none of your concern.”
Carlos let out a derisive laugh, voice dripping with venom. “So that’s it? You can’t even tell me? After everything we’ve been through?”
The pain in Carlos’ words twisted ugly in his chest.
Max never wanted to hurt the man. They were brothers in all but blood. But openly questioning the state of mind of his prince was behavior Max couldn't tolerate from the dark-haired Torossian.
Eyes flashing with anger, Max turned to head back down the hall. “As your prince, I don’t owe you an explanation. I have nothing I need to justify to you.”
“How will you justify it to Charles then?” The dark haired Torossian spat, unable to mask his disdain speaking the Eldri’s name. “After he’s burnt to a crisp like Daniel—”
A deep growl ripped from the prince’s throat, a primal sound that echoed through the corridor. Without thinking, Max charged at Carlos, his vision narrowing with rage. He pinned the man against the wall by the throat, his grip tightening as he lifted Carlos slightly off the ground.
“How fucking dare you . . . I should kill you where you stand.”
Carlos’ eyes fluttered for a brief moment, a flicker of fear crossing his face before he masked it with defiance. “If that's what you want, my prince,” Carlos choked against the hand on his throat, voice strained but steady. He closed his eyes in mock acceptance of his fate. “I've given you everything you've asked of me. Take my life if it will ease your conscience.”
Silence hung between them for a few moments. The desperation in Carlos’ ragged breathing, the pain and betrayal, cut through his rage like a knife. Slowly, his grip loosened, and he let go of the other man, stepping back.
Carlos slumped against the wall, gasping for breath, his hand rubbing his bruised throat. He looked at Max with a mix of sadness and hurt, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Turning on his heels, the prince's movements were stiff and mechanical as he stomped down the corridor, his boots echoing loudly against the metallic floor. The mixture of rage and hurt he saw in Carlos’ eyes saddened him, their argument left hanging in the charged air. Max never wanted to hurt the man, but he didn't have time to try and fix the dark-haired Torossian’s bruised ego right now.
He had a job to do.
Max received his assignment details with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t been sent for a purge in several months, and the last time he went out, he didn't return to the base ship for almost a month.
He was set to travel to a planet designated as ‘P-127’, where the scouting team reported primitive life forms upon initial scoping and determined the atmosphere was ideal for their latest buyer.
However, recent intelligence revealed that the original assessment was grossly inaccurate.
Something that has been happening a lot recently.
The first two purge teams sent to P-127 met with unexpected resistance from the local population, who proved to be anything but primitive. Instead, they were a far more advanced civilization than originally estimated, fiercely protective of their home planet and strongly resistant to any outside intrusion.
Max couldn't really fault them for that if he was honest.
The familiar cramped space pod came into view when he rounded the corner for the launch deck.
Max despised the small crafts. They were perfectly round white metal spheres made to fit one person, or two if they sat practically on top of each other. There was a small hatch with a red tinted window that was the only viewport outside the spacecraft. The pods used incredible technology and were purely for transportation purposes only. Even though they were one and a half meters in diameter, the pod housed an advanced environmental system, and an incredibly fuel-efficient faster-than-light warp drive.
Those traveling inside the balls were kept in a state of suspended animation that minimized the resources needed to keep them alive. Because of this, the pods were not outfitted with any particularly comfortable features, but were designed to not cause any strain on the body.
Although relatively slow when in final approach or during launch, they could travel at speeds which enabled them to cross interstellar distances within days, or even hours, and to travel through a galaxy within a few years, making them some of the fastest spacecraft in the universe. The ships had no landing gear to speak of, but had exceptionally strong armor. This allowed them to not be crushed or outright destroyed upon landing, often having consequences for the destination point, as the extreme speed often caused massive explosions upon impact, wiping out everything within a certain radius and leaving nothing but a massive crater in its place, ideal for invasions.
Specialized landing pads could reduce the damage to non-existent, but were only found on worlds controlled by Jos, in order to prevent damage caused by his force's craft whenever they return to base.
Max sighed and crawled into his assigned pod, settling himself down on the quilted cushioned seat. Crossing his arms over his chest and leaving his legs spread wide, he made himself as comfortable as he could in the cramped space. He eyed the other Torossian cautiously when he entered the pad and approached, but he looked like he wouldn't try and broach the previous topic again.
The door, that also served as a ramp up into the ship, closed with a hiss and Carlos gave him a questioning gesture to confirm he was all set. Max responded affirmatively and the pod started a countdown from ten to launch.
Closing his eyes, the prince tried to empty his mind. The vapor bath used to put him in stasis sleep would start immediately after the pod left the pad, and he wouldn't wake up until re-entry in the planet's atmosphere.
Being in the wrong mindset in that situation could be a fatal error.
On one hand, he knew he had a duty to fulfill—an assignment that required him to be the ruthless, unyielding warrior he was renowned for.
On the other hand, his thoughts kept drifting back to Charles, the one person who had managed to pierce the walls he had built around himself over two decades, and made him want to be different—to be better.
He tried to focus, but try as he might, he couldn't shake the nagging worry that lingered in the back of his mind—the fear of leaving Charles vulnerable and unprotected for the duration of his assignment.
Clenching his fists after yanking on his white gloves, Max knew Alonso would keep Charles from harm and discovery to the best of the elder’s ability.
And that would have to be enough. He prayed to the goddess it would be enough.
Thumbing over the bracelet on his wrist with a final, resolute breath before tucking it under his glove, Max forced himself to push aside his personal concerns and embrace the cold, detached, well learned mindset of a warrior. He needed to finish his purge mission quickly, so he could return to ensure Charles' safety once more.
Rocketing up into vast darkness, Max breathed deep when he smelled the familiar chemical scent of the vapor and his eyes fluttered closed after a few more breaths.
– five days later –
Max's body ached with every step as he staggered back to his pod, completely numb and limbs heavy. His muscles protested with every movement, each step sending jolts of pain through his exhausted frame. His arms hung limp, scrapes and cuts exposed under the torn and singed fabric of his bodysuit. Pieces of his armor were missing and broken off, leaving sharp edges that scratched at his skin with each labored movement.
The battlefield was a distant blur behind him, the stench of smoke and blood still clinging to his hair. His vision wavered, dark spots dancing at the edges as he fought to stay upright. The weight of his fatigue threatened to send him crumpling to the ground with every step.
With a weary sigh, Max collapsed into the cramped confines of the pod, his breaths coming in labored gasps as he tried to push aside the overwhelming exhaustion. The cold metal of the pod offered a small measure of relief to his battered body and soothed a few burns on his back.
Closing his eyes, the memory of his brutal slaughter raged fresh in his mind, each blow and every explosion replaying behind his closed eyelids like a haunting echo. The faces of those he had killed, the screams of the dying, all mingled together in a cacophony of torment that refused to be silenced.
With each ragged breath, Max's heart yearned for Charles, his thoughts mercifully consumed by memories of their shared moments together. The warmth of Charles’ smile, the gentle touch of his hand, and the soft murmur of his voice in the night all served to chase away the images of the atrocities he’d just committed. He could almost feel the weight of Charles' gaze upon him, his voice echoing softly in the recesses of his mind like a soothing melody.
The trip back would only be another 72 hours, a mere fraction of time compared to the eternity he had just endured. The thought of resting with the Eldri in his arms, feeling the steady rise and fall of Charles' breath against him, was the only thing that kept him going.
That and the presence of the cool metal on his wrist.
Max kept the bracelet under his glove for the duration of his assignment and miraculously, the delicate threading was unharmed. He himself was also surprisingly in better shape than normal after an assignment of this size, so maybe there really was something to this lucky charm from the Earthling.
The console in the pod fired up and began its countdown for launch, but the tracking data for estimated arrival didn’t load. That was odd, but the prince was too exhausted to fix the display, desperate to get off the ground.
As the pod began its ascent, carrying him away from the desolate surface of Planet 127, the weight of his actions seemed to lift, if only slightly. The rumble of the engine was a comforting presence, a promise of distance from the horrors he had wrought. The stars outside the pod's viewport blurred into streaks of light as he entered hyperspace speed, a mesmerizing display that lulled him into a state of semi-consciousness until the gas forced his eyes to close.
_____
George entered the throne room, a sense of trepidation pitting in his gut. The air was thick with the scent of old blood and incense, a heady mix that did little to calm his nerves. Urgent early morning summons were never a good sign, especially right after Lord Jos had just returned from a planet negotiation, resulting in the warlord killing the other party in a fit of rage.
Yes, the price they were offering was insulting, but George had already warned the emperor about killing potential buyers. Obviously having no impact and for the sake of his own neck, the commander wasn't going to bring it up again.
He knew better than to question Jos' decisions, especially when the frost demon’s temper was as volatile as a supernova.
As he approached the throne, George bowed respectfully at the foot of it, his gaze carefully neutral. Jos lounged with an air of casual dominance, his piercing red eyes fixed on George with an unsettling intensity.
"Commander George," Jos began tersely, voice echoing in the cavernous room. “I require your assistance.” Shifting in his throne, Jos raked his claw-like nails against the arm, serpentine tail flitting in irritation against the cold tiles. “I’ve noticed a troubling shift in Prince Max's demeanor as of late, and I want you to keep closer tabs on him."
"I will look into it immediately, my lord," George replied, his tone betraying no hint of hesitation or displeasure despite his true feelings. He knew that any sign of reluctance would be seen as weakness or, worse, disloyalty .
Leaning back in his throne, Jos’ eyes narrowed with deep thought. The artificial lighting cast ominous shadows across his face, highlighting the smooth rounded angles and the cold glint in his red eyes. "I want you to observe his every move. Look for anything out of the ordinary in his routine, any signs of disloyalty or insubordination. I will not tolerate any . . . straying . Least of all from the prince."
George nodded once more, his mind already dreading it as he accepted the abhorrent task of keeping tabs on Jos’ toy .
"You have my word, my lord. I will start right away,” George affirmed, his voice steady.
Jos' lips curled into a thin, humorless smile. "I trust that I don't need to remind you I expect complete loyalty from all who serve me.”
“No such reminder is needed, my lord.”
George bowed once more before rising to his feet, his mind already formulating a plan—refusal not an option.
The prince's behavior had been more aggressive lately, and he couldn't help but notice Max's increased level of brazen disrespect in the war room, but George had chalked it up to nothing more than his beastly nature as a primitive species.
Jos' trusted no one, and George knew he couldn't afford to disappoint his lord, but there was nothing more he hated than looking after his master’s pet.
With a curt nod of dismissal, Jos signaled for George to leave, and he made his exit cursing under his breath. For the sake of Jos’ stability and his own sense of self preservation, he'd better get to the truth—fast.
Striding down the hall to the security office, this tedious chore served only to highlight the utter insignificance of his role in the grand scheme of things, even as Jos’ second-in-command. Such a task was beneath him, and he couldn’t stand having to babysit the unruly prince. But Lord Jos was very protective of his favorite plaything and George knew to follow orders, even if they were a bit paranoid.
Arriving at the door, George entered the small security room and begrudgingly sat down in one of the chairs.
The console in front of him took up most of the space in the center of the room. A hollowed square with interactive holographic panels on the tops and outside edges letting a user interact with it, and monitor all the sensors and security cameras on the ship.
He set down his new favorite drink that he couldn’t remember the name of on one of the flat top panels and after taking a sip, the system flickered to life. At least they’d gained something of use while scouting that primitive Earth planet. Ever since, he couldn’t stop drinking it. Enjoying the cold, smooth bitter flavor on his tongue, and the extra kick of energy it gave him, he would definitely need that boost for this monotonous task.
In his opposite hand, George had his tablet with the prince’s daily schedule pulled up on it. He scrolled back a few months, and rested his chin on his palm leaning forward in the chair while pressing play.
The footage rolled real time starting in the morning and he caught the prince leaving the Torossian suite. He rolled his eyes at his perfect posture, and the measured pace at which Max walked to the war room.
He gritted his teeth as he watched Max move with an air of regality that seemed almost delusional in their current circumstances. Max still carried himself like a prince, even though that distinction meant nothing here.
“Pathetic,” George muttered under his breath. “Still clinging to that title as if it protects you.”
For safety precautions, the war room didn’t have a camera, so George swiped his fingers across the hologram's surface to fast forward.
Prince Max was shorter than him and always wore a frown, perpetually in a foul mood. With stubble on his face and sharp angular features, George would’ve even considered the prince handsome, if he wasn’t a member of that filthy monkey race. Far too quick to throw a punch and sporting that mangy furry tail, Torosians were aggressive dirty beasts that should’ve been fully wiped out long ago.
He would never understand what Lord Jos saw in the Torossian prince.
He was more partial to the new members of the human species on board if he was being honest. They had picked up a few with reasonable battle power readings and George had already personally . . . introduced himself to most of them.
Continuing to fast forward until the prince emerged from the war room, George followed the sequence of cameras all the way back to the Torossian quarters and watched Max disappear inside. The same hall that led to their quarters housed several other suites of mostly high ranking war officials and other related staff, all on different shifts with little interaction between them.
Scrolling further forward, there was nothing unusual. Maids and laundry crew in and out, the other two Torossians, and some additional cleaning people.
“Disgusting,” the commander mused.
As the hours of footage dragged on, George's bitterness only grew, each frame adding to a growing headache behind his eyes. The monotonous task of surveillance gnawed at his patience, his resentment simmering beneath the surface. He couldn't understand why he, a man of his intelligence, ambition, and such good looks, was relegated to menial tasks like this. The endless stream of images and data felt like a cruel mockery of his capabilities, a harsh reminder of his subservience.
He himself was a prince after all, though he thought it futile to maintain that title after beginning his service under Lord Jos. The fact that the Prince of Torossians had the gall to still make everyone call him “Prince” was laughable, and Max’s insistence on clinging to his title grated on George’s nerves.
The Commander’s mind wandered back to his own past, to Elysia. He remembered the day he was taken, the brutal realization that his royal blood offered no shield against Jos’ power. He'd accepted his fate, adapted, and risen through the ranks by shedding his former identity and embracing the bitter reality of his new life. He'd become indispensable to the warlord, feared and respected, because he let go of his past and focused on the now.
His former life on the dead planet of Elysia was nothing more than a fairytale; a life gone by that was never meant to be.
Prince George of Elysia: a prince to no one.
The once vibrant world of Elysia, with its lush landscapes and thriving cities, was now a desolate wasteland. Strip mined completely bare, the planet's surface was left completely unstable and crumbling. The images of his homeland were bittersweet memories, overshadowed by the truth of his current life.
The sooner Prince Max accepted the same, the better off he would be. But after twenty years, George knew it was just a matter of time before Max's arrogance got him killed when Jos grew bored of him. The young prince's stubborn refusal to abandon his royal pretensions was a source of constant frustration for George.
Max’s pride was a ticking time bomb, one that would inevitably explode with dire consequences.
Over his half a century with the frost demon, George had seen toys come and go. Jos’ capricious nature meant that even the most favored could fall out of grace in an instant. But this one . . . despite its prickly exterior, Emperor Jos just seemed like he couldn’t let go. Max had an allure, a resilience that intrigued the warlord in a way that few others had.
It was as if Jos saw a challenge in Max, a puzzle he was determined to solve.
He hadn’t seen the warlord this transfixed in many decades, and he was doubtful that he would see this level of obsession from Jos again. Being Elysian, George aged much slower than other species and was only just now coming into the prime of his life at the age of 112. He looked on the outside like a man in his late twenties, but only the emperor knew his true number of years. It was a deciding factor when he was made second-in-command, or so George guessed. No one ever knew what Jos was really thinking, but George would outlive most others on the ship, and remain by Jos’ side for many more centuries to come.
George's eyes flickered back to the screen, watching Max’s every move with a mix of resentment and fascination. Despite his bitterness, he couldn't deny the prince's strength and charisma. There was something about Max that commanded attention, a presence that was hard to ignore.
Skimming through several days of the same comings and goings, George rubbed his eyelids hard with a sigh, until . . .
He paused and backed the footage up a few clicks.
There was a small group of cleaning staff and maids walking into the Torossian suite, then not emerging for well over an hour. After recounting, he noticed they were missing one member of the party when they re-emerged.
Rewinding again, George scanned the small group to see which one hadn’t come out of the quarters with the rest.
There .
An average height male with brown curls, wearing a cleaning crew outfit, didn’t leave with the group. George couldn’t get a good look at the man’s face with the angle of the camera, and he frowned at the out of place interaction on the display.
Making a note on his tablet, George scrolled forward again.
While it wasn’t unusual for a bedmate of Carlos or Alonso to take up temporary residence in the suite, it never lasted long and he expected not to see them in the footage for the coming days.
Even though the prince was a little mouthy, no one could say he wasn’t disciplined. He didn't have any friends to speak of, and only went to his post in the war room, and the other usual places right on time with his schedule.
George felt a sense of contemptuous amusement at the prince’s demeanor. His petty displays of arrogance and entitlement only served to reinforce George’s low opinion of him.
Skipping through a larger chunk of footage, George didn’t see anything amiss in the prince’s schedule so far, and he totally skipped over his audiences with Jos since he already knew what went on there . . .
George shuddered at the thought. He’d learned early on to avoid watching those particular segments, the memories of what transpired etched indelibly into his mind.
Oddly curious after the first few times Jos dismissed him for a private audience with the prince, George had decided to review the footage to understand what sort of favor Jos was giving Prince Max over him. He’d expected to uncover some sort of political maneuvering or strategic discussions, something that would justify the preferential treatment. Instead, he was greeted with a sight that nearly made him lose his lunch all over the security room console.
The scene unfolded in brutal high definition imagery, the evidence of Jos’ twisted control over Max laid bare. George watched in horrified fascination as the warlord's cruelty manifested in ways he hadn’t anticipated, each moment more disturbing than the last. The young prince’s stoic endurance only made it worse, his silent suffering a testament to the iron grip Jos had on all of them. The raw, unfiltered savagery of those encounters had left George feeling sick to his core, the taste of bile rising in his throat as he quickly shut off the feed.
Since that day, he never questioned the emperor again when he ordered him to leave them alone. The memory of those sessions stayed with him, the true nature of Jos’ obsession and the dark secrets that lurked beneath the surface of their empire. In some small measure, he supposed he felt bad for the young prince. Despite his arrogance and superiority complex, Max was still a victim in his own right, trapped in a nightmare from which there was no escape.
But George’s sympathy was short-lived.
As much as he could empathize with Max's suffering, it also served as a cruel reminder of the prince's own hubris. It served the prick right for thinking so highly of himself, for believing he was untouchable and blessed by some imaginary goddess with untold potential. That was just a rumor anyway. There was no such thing as the legendary Torossian warrior capable of destroying someone of the emperor’s power level.
Simply ridiculous .
In George's eyes, Max's torment was a fitting punishment for his arrogance, a just consequence for daring to see himself as superior.
If “Prince” Max thought himself so deserving of the attention, he got exactly what he was asking for.
Convinced he was correct, and there was nothing out of the ordinary, George was ready to chock up this whole exercise to a wild goose chase, nothing more than the paranoid delusions of the old rambling warlord until he almost missed another odd interaction, stopping the footage again.
The same man from before kept appearing, going in and out of the Torossian suite. There was also a period of days where the prince didn’t emerge from the suite at all, and the man with curls went back and forth from the kitchens and the clinic, then back to the room bringing arms full of food and supplies to the suite.
Seeing him in that context, George recognized the man as the new crew member he'd run into in the clinic a short time ago. Tapping rapidly on his tablet, he located the man’s file he started that day:
Service Record :
Service No. - 16701
Name - Charles
Place of origin - Earth/Human
Age - unknown
Duty assignment - Clinic Staff
Suite assignment - unknown
Date of entry into active service - unknown
Date of death - unknown
Last rank earned - unknown
Dates and list of injuries incurred - unknown
George frowned and continued to watch the man move to and from the suite after their run in, clearly having an assigned post schedule based on the times. Noting Charles' bright eyes and strong facial features with appreciation, he’d thought the man quite attractive, even more than the average human.
The boy definitely looked like Alonso's type and he couldn't help but grimace at the mental image. The brutish Torossian was a perfect example that all Torossians were nothing but mongrel dogs looking for a bone in George’s eyes. Alonso’s predilections were well-known, and the idea of him sharing the bed of such a young, vulnerable, gorgeous boy made George’s stomach turn.
Jumping ahead yet again, George stopped the footage dead when he saw the prince and the clinic boy emerge from the suite together. The sight was like a spark to dry tinder in his mind, igniting a flurry of suspicion and curiosity.
Now that . . . was interesting.
The timestamp indicated it was evening meal time, a period when most of the ship’s crew would be heading to the commissary. George’s fingers flew over the controls as he switched the video to the commissary corridor and waited, his eyes narrowing.
When he didn't see them pass through, his frustration mounted. Quickly flipping through the other feeds, he searched for any sign of their movements, finally locating them walking quickly through another part of the ship, their movements hurried and practiced. They turned down a much older wing of the ship, one that was rarely used, and disappeared inside an obsolete training room. George’s frown deepened as he switched over the camera feed to the room they'd entered, only to be met with a blank screen.
NO RECORDING AVAILABLE displayed over the frozen image of the pair disappearing from the hallway.
Odd .
The ship's surveillance system wasn't the greatest, often plagued by glitches and technical issues, but this gap in footage was a glaring omission that stood out amidst the regular problems. The training room, even if unused, was a critical area, one that should have been monitored closely. The absence of any recording raised a red flag in George’s mind, suggesting deliberate tampering or something equally suspicious.
Letting the footage play again, George waited to see how long they were in the room when suddenly, alarm bells went off in his mind. Only a few short minutes later, he saw Alonso enter the same room.
What were two Torossians and a human doing in a training room with a broken camera?
A deep frown crease appeared in his brow as he replayed the hallway footage, mind racing with questions and suspicion. What could’ve possibly transpired within those walls, and what secret was the prince hiding that he felt compelled to conceal from prying eyes?
George's thoughts wandered back to Jos’ warnings about Max. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised; Jos was never wrong when it came to his suspicions about the prince. If he said there was something wrong, there always was. The emperor's instincts in regards to the Torossian were infallible, and George had learned to trust them implicitly. The prince’s clandestine activities were a clear indication that he was up to something, and George intended to find out what.
George scrolled the feed ahead and noted the time the trio left, with a timestamp of right before meal time was over and the halls would fill with crew returning to posts or their quarters. The timing was deliberate, calculated to avoid drawing attention. Max was nothing if not strategic, always thinking several steps ahead, so this was no coincidence.
Tapping on the console in a couple of places, George pulled up a blueprint for that corridor along with a few maintenance reports. The camera had been broken for several weeks, but looked like it was replaced two days ago by someone on night duty without a formal maintenance request. The repair had been done quietly, under the radar, and without the usual bureaucratic red tape.
At least someone on this damn ship had initiative.
He checked the date on the hallway rendezvous and noticed it was on the day prior to the camera being fixed. Quickly queuing up the footage from the only day the new camera had captured, he scrolled through it hoping he would catch them.
When he saw the prince and the human enter the training room at the same time as the previous recording, George leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest watching the pair turn to face each other. Taking defensive positions, the duo let their energies flare in brilliant color and charged at each other.
Scoffing at the display, George clicked his tongue before muttering to himself, “Filthy Torossian.” How uncivilized he mused, but really he wasn't surpri—
His thoughts cut short and George sat up perfectly straight in his chair when the realization hit him.
The ‘mighty’ Prince of Torossians sparring with a—a human ?
It seemed incongruous, absurd even, for someone of the prince's self proclaimed stature to be engaging in combat with someone so seemingly insignificant.
George obviously knew how to fight and was extremely well-trained. One couldn't become the tyrant of the universe’s second-in-command without being just as bloodthirsty and ruthless as Jos was, but George didn’t feel the need to engage in such animalistic behavior while not on a mission. This type of roughhousing was plainly beneath him. He prided himself on his control, his ability to wield his power with precision rather than brute force.
As he observed the surveillance footage of Prince Max and the human sparring, a sense of disquiet washed over him. The prince's demeanor during the training session stood in complete contrast to the brutal, merciless warrior George had witnessed on countless battlefields, a restraint that puzzled him.
Memories of Prince Max's prowess in combat flooded George's mind—of the prince's ferocious strikes, scorching ki beams, and his utter disregard for the lives of his enemies.
In battle, Prince Max was a force to be reckoned with, his every move calculated to inflict maximum damage and destruction. He was extremely well practiced in ending life, single handedly stripping countless planets bare of their populace before returning to the ship bathed in red with a wicked grin.
He was everything their lord had made him to be and more. Max embodied the ruthless efficiency that Jos demanded, a living weapon forged in the fires of countless conflicts. His reputation as a harbinger of death was well-earned, and even George had to admit a grudging respect for the prince's combat capabilities.
And yet, here he was, engaging in what appeared to be a lighthearted almost playful exchange, with a mere human no less. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would’ve thought it inconceivable.
The human moved with surprising agility, his attacks lacking the raw power of Max's but executed with a finesse that hinted at extensive training. Max, on the other hand, seemed to be holding back, his strikes deliberately pulled, his movements measured.
Was the prince intentionally holding back his strength? And if so, why ?
That couldn’t be right.
The idea of Max restraining himself was almost laughable. Max was known for his relentless ferocity, his unyielding drive to dominate and destroy. The notion that he would temper his power for anyone, let alone a human, was absurd.
George continued to watch in silence as the skirmish took a most baffling turn. The human turned his back to the prince in a blatant display of inexperience, a move that should have been a fatal mistake. Instead of capitalizing on the opening, Max hesitated, his expression softening as he followed the human’s movements with an almost protective gaze.
Then the human rubbed his . . .
Oh.
Oh.
Taking him to the ground by sweeping his legs, George watched the prince intensely as he saw the clinic boy rocking up underneath him in a lewd display, before raising up to chase Max’s lips. The prince put his hands firmly on the man's chest and slammed him down to the floor stopping him. And George smiled.
“As I thought,” he said to himself knowing full well the prince rebuffed all advances from those who dared approach him. At least he always had since Jos found out about his last bed partner and that boy met his unfortunate fiery end . . .
Just when he’d thought he’d seen it all, George shot up out of his chair, toppling it over behind him. Looking down with mouth agape, he looked on in amazement as the prince leaned down and sealed his lips over the human’s. Shock reverberated through him as he processed the implications of what he’d just witnessed.
Prince Max was bound by strict protocols, his bed partners limited to only the emperor, their lord and master. To see the prince engaging in such intimate behavior with anyone else, let alone a fucking worthless slave . . .
George leaned heavily on the console, eyes locked on the pair hungrily sucking at each other's mouths, rocking their bodies rhythmically together. Why was the prince risking everything for the sake of this slave? Worse yet, the prince's indiscretion could have far-reaching consequences, not only for himself, but for all those onboard the ship if Jos found out about this.
Jos could kill him for this. The emperor could kill them all for this.
He watched as the pair stood up, running from the room and George’s fingertips flew over the console to track them all the way back to the Torossian quarters where they disappeared behind the door.
Pausing the feed and sighing, George suddenly smiled with a wide menacing grin. Maybe . . . he could use this to his advantage. The thought filled him with a dark satisfaction, a sense of control that he had long craved.
He finally had something on that fucking arrogant asshole of a prince.
Picking up his tablet, George looked at the mostly empty service file for this human and decided he wouldn’t report this to Jos, not just yet. There was potential here, an opportunity to exploit this information for his own gain. He was going to savor this, milk it for all it was worth.
He would like to pay this Charles a visit first.
The idea of confronting the human, of seeing the fear and confusion in his eyes, sent a thrill through the commander. The way he would squirm under George's scrutiny, those big doe green eyes begging . . . It was almost too delicious to resist.
Checking Max’s schedule again, he remembered the prince was deployed to P-127 right now, but due to return today.
If he was going to get some alone time with this human, he’d better do it fast. The window of opportunity was narrow, and George had no intention of missing it.
He scrolled the footage to a point where Charles was walking alone in the corridor outside of the Torossian suite, smiling to himself, and George paused, zooming in.
The young Earthling's almost carefree demeanor, the unguarded joy on his face, was misplaced on this ship of horrors. George’s eyes narrowed as he studied the image, committing every detail to memory. The softness in those green eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the lightness in his step—it was all so . . . human. So fragile.
The prince’s attachment to the boy was obvious, a glaring weakness that George could exploit. If he played his cards right, he could turn this to his advantage in ways that would leave Max devastated and Jos none the wiser.
With this new leverage, the tables were turning in his favor, and George could finally put the prince in his place, show him that no one was beyond his reach as second-in-command.
Setting the tablet down, George stretched his back, a sense of purpose infusing his every movement. He straightened his uniform, smoothing down the fabric with meticulous care. Today was the day he would start to unravel the prince’s infallible resolve.
And it would begin with Charles.
Chapter 19: An Empty Silence
Summary:
Lost in his thoughts, Charles was taken aback when his name was called from a distance behind. The voice was commanding, yet somehow familiar, scratching at the recesses of his memory. He turned slowly, heart skipping a beat when he recognized the man.
George was briskly walking toward him from the end of the corridor, his expression unreadable. The purple jewel on his forehead glinted ominously in the harsh light of the corridor, casting a faint glow on his stern features and his cape billowed lightly, licking at his boots. Charles momentarily thought to run, but the man caught up with him before he could make his feet move.
“My dear Charles, I've been looking everywhere for you,” George said, crowding into his space, his voice oozing with an unsettling mix of familiarity and cunning. “Would you please accompany me to my office? I'd like to have a little chat.”
The friendliness in George's voice snapped Charles out of his reverie and had his instincts on high alert. There was something off, something dangerous about the way George spoke to him.
Notes:
George puts his plan in motion. **Viewer discretion advised**
Stop by my tumblr for the images if George's office.
Can't thank my beta, Lady_Something , and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. We still have a long way to go!
Chapter Warnings: Graphic non-con, sexual assault, graphic violence, panic attack, bodily harm, blood, injury
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As Charles made his way to the kitchen, his steps were lightened by the remnants of the other night's bliss still lingering on his mind. The memory of the warmth of Max’s hands as they traced lazy patterns on his skin kept him in bed this morning longer than usual, and now, he found himself rushing to catch up on his duties.
The corridors of the ship bustled with the usual morning activity, crew members moving purposefully to-and-fro. The metallic clang of boots on the mystery metal floor and the hum of machinery provided a familiar backdrop as Charles hurried along. He needed to get the day's rations and pick up some other items from the clinic before Max returned from his assignment later in the afternoon.
Charles had missed him terribly and hoped Max would be unharmed, but he’d rather be prepared if he wasn’t. The thought of the prince returning injured sent a shiver down his spine to his tail scar and his hindbrain whined loudly in his ears, but he quickly pushed it aside.
Their prince was strong, resilient , he reminded himself. Max would be okay.
Lost in his thoughts, Charles was taken aback when his name was called from a distance behind. The voice was commanding, yet somehow familiar, scratching at the recesses of his memory. He turned slowly, heart skipping a beat when he recognized the man.
George was briskly walking toward him from the end of the corridor, his expression unreadable. The purple jewel on his forehead glinted ominously in the harsh light of the corridor, casting a faint glow on his stern features and his cape billowed lightly, licking at his boots. Charles momentarily thought to run, but the man caught up with him before he could make his feet move.
“My dear Charles, I've been looking everywhere for you,” George said, crowding into his space, his voice oozing with an unsettling mix of familiarity and cunning. “Would you please accompany me to my office? I'd like to have a little chat.”
The friendliness in George's voice snapped Charles out of his reverie and had his instincts on high alert. There was something off, something dangerous about the way George spoke to him. The Earthling took a step away from him, toward the kitchen, heart pounding in his chest.
“I–I have to get rations for Prince Max—”
“Oh, we won't be long. You can fetch them after,” George said dismissively with a sly grin as he closed the distance between them again. “Come along now.”
He grabbed Charles' upper arm and led him around the corner in the apparent direction of his office.
Stumbling down the hallway, Charles tried to stay calm and keep up with the hurried pace of the much taller man, but the further they got away from the kitchens and the less people they crossed paths with in the halls made a sense of overwhelming unease settle in the pit of his stomach.
What could George possibly want with him?
Charles’ tail scar tingled uncomfortably, like it was trying to tell him something he didn't understand.
Practically dragging him inside his small office, the tall man motioned to one of the plush chairs, “Please, have a seat.” His words were echoed by the thud of the door sliding down shut behind them.
Charles hesitantly looked back at the door for a moment before slowly sitting down in the chair George had pointed at. He needed to maintain his composure and not give away just how nervous he was.
The office was relatively small compared to the other rooms Charles had been in on the ship. There were two chairs with tan leather-like material pleated over the sitting surface and a smooth one piece metal frame that sat on a rounded base.
A console rested on top of a small foldout table displaying a planet's scouting data, along with a tablet and a scouter resting mounted on the tabletop. The large oval window behind the commander gazed out to the stars whizzing past and only a few dim lights lit the space.
Sitting down smoothly in the chair opposite him, George took a sip from a tall dark colored container and Charles swore he knew that smell . . . a latte?
They drank coffee in space?
“You seem tense, Charles,” George began, his voice deceptively calm. “Is there something on your mind?”
Swallowing hard, the Earthling’s mouth was suddenly dry. “N-no, sir,” he stammered, forcing himself to meet George’s gaze. “Just concerned about Prince Max’s scheduled return today.”
George’s eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of something creeping into his expression. “Of course,” he said slowly, tone carrying an undercurrent of sarcasm. “We’re all concerned about the prince’s well-being.”
The taller man set the cup down and cleared his throat before continuing, “That reminds me . . . I went to the clinic this morning during your scheduled stocking shift, and can you imagine my surprise when I learned you’d been reassigned?” George folded his hands together on the table top, “An assistant to the Prince of Torossians no less.”
Despite his confusion and apprehension, Charles knew he couldn't afford to show any sign of weakness here. He had to be strong, for himself and for the prince.
“Yes, I was instructed to attend to Prince Max and make sure all of his daily needs are met.”
“Who gave you such an instruction?”
“General Alonso.”
Leaning back in his chair, George put his foot up on the desk beside him. “I was unaware that his ‘ Highness’ was in need of such a luxury? But, I suppose his responsibilities do grant him the right to his own personal manservant.”
Charles fiddled with his hands in his lap, picking at the skin around his thumb, not sure what to say, so he stayed silent and didn’t meet the man's gaze. The contempt in his voice when George spoke about Max made him anxious, and the worried expressions on both Alonso’s and Max’s face when they’d talked about him stuck in his mind.
The burning in his tail scar started to radiate deeper into his back, making him shift in the plush chair.
Humming at his silence, George went on. “Tell me, do you enjoy running errands and answering every beck and call for the monkey prince, hmm?”
Charles stopped his nervous musings and snapped his eyes up at the derogatory term George used to refer to the prince. A surge of indignation had his brows furrowing in disbelief and anger as he met those appraising eyes. Having his prince reduced to such a demeaning epithet struck a chord deep within him, and he barely stifled a growl before it slipped past his lips.
Suppressing a simmering anger, Charles forced his expression to stay neutral, though his now clenched fists and tense upright posture in the chair betrayed his true feelings.
That voice in the back of his mind continued to warn him of danger here. It was screaming at him to run and find Max—their mate, that they needed to get away from this man—something was wrong. But the prince wasn't on the ship right now, and Charles couldn't draw attention to himself by making a scene. His pulse quickened, and he could feel a cold sweat forming at the nape of his neck.
George smirked at his reaction, clearly seeing right through him. His eyes glittered with a malicious amusement, enjoying the discomfort he was causing.
“I assist his Highness with whatever tasks are required of me to lighten his overburdened duties,” Charles flatly repeated the practiced statement Alonso gave him in case he was ever asked about his work with the prince.
Smirking, the commander added, “I see. And do you find the work alone rewarding? Or do you simply tolerate what must be an unbelievably high level of annoyance in exchange for warming his bed at night.” George's tone was smacked with condescension, words cutting through Charles like a blade.
Charles’ heart skipped a beat at George’s question, and his mind raced to find a suitable response. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The Earthling feigned an air of innocence, voice wavering slightly, betraying the fear that was beginning to take hold.
“Now Charles . . . You seem like a relatively smart boy.” George paused for a moment, taking another sip from his cup. The pause was deliberate, designed to unnerve. “Do you think lying to me about this is a good idea?” The tone sent a cold rush down Charles’ spine, his panic mounting with each passing second.
He was caught off guard by George’s directness and implications of his words and he struggled to maintain his composure. His mind raced as he frantically weighed options, realizing the gravity of the situation he was now in.
The voice was right. He should've run.
But where would he have gone?
“No, I—” Charles began, his voice shaking.
“I haven’t decided if or when I will tell Lord Jos about your little indiscretion with his pet,” George interrupted, his eyes narrowing with predatory satisfaction.
The commander put his other foot up on the desk, crossing his ankles over each other and made a show of contemplating. The casual posture only added to the menace of his words.
“ Technically , I should put this discovery in my daily briefing,” the commander said and pushed a tablet across the console top towards the Earthing. Charles' heart sank as he saw the video footage playing on the screen—Max leaning down to kiss him in the training room. His eyes pricked with unshed tears, aching for his prince.
“But Master Jos has been under so much stress lately. I fear what might happen to Prince Max if Jos found out that he was . . . sharing him. And with a human servant boy?” George tisked, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Well, I think even you can imagine—”
“P–please,” Charles whispered, eyes shining with desperation. “Please don’t tell him. Please I . . .”
Giving him a malicious grin, the satisfaction of his power play was evident in George's eyes. “And why shouldn’t I go to my lord right now? Tell him about your rendezvous in the old training wing?”
Shakily standing from his chair, Charles’ legs trembled as he quickly stepped closer to George around the console. “No, please. You know what he’d do to him! I–I’ll do anything you want, just please . . . don’t tell Lord Jos.”
George looked up at him from his still-seated position, his gaze cold and calculating. “What do you have to offer me, boy? What could you possibly have that I would want?”
As Charles grappled with the horrifying prospect of Jos discovering his affair with the prince, his mind raced with a flurry of desperate thoughts. The vivid images of the prince's potential suffering at Jos' hand made him sick, filling him with a profound sense of dread and guilt.
All of this was his fault.
He'd begged the prince to spar with him that night and pursued Max relentlessly. Fuck, Charles felt so stupid and foolish to have come onto Max outside of their quarters after being warned so many times. The memory of Max’s hesitant agreement, his initial resistance, now felt like a sharp knife of guilt twisting in his stomach.
How could he have been so reckless?
Frantically searching for a way to avert disaster, Charles racked his brain for any possible bargaining chip he could offer George to dissuade him from divulging the truth to Jos. He thought of every favor, every scrap of information he might have, but try as he might, his mind drew a blank. His desperation grew with each passing second, the silence between them filled with the sound of his own ragged breathing.
His thoughts were cut short when he felt the man’s hand on his wet cheek.
When had he gotten so close?
Charles looked up through damp lashes at George who was towering over him with half lidded eyes.
“I can think of a few things you have to offer,” he said, and Charles felt George trail his fingers down from his cheek to his chest before pulling up the top half of his bodysuit, exposing his stomach. The touch was invasive, sending a ripple of unease through Charles' body.
Humming appreciatively, George let fingers linger on the exposed skin of his abs. He rested his other hand on Charles' neck, the grip firm but not yet painful, and continued to pull up his bodysuit, exposing his chest. Charles' hadn't bothered putting on his chest plate and his heart raced, the cold air of the room contrasting with the heat of his humiliation. He could feel George's gaze burning into him, each second stretching by.
Running his thumb playfully over Charles' right nipple and pinching it between his slim fingers, the gesture felt cruel and mocking. “Since you can’t seem to offer much else,” the commander's voice was a mix of amusement and disdain, each word a calculated dagger to Charles' dignity.
The marks Max had left on his skin were still visible, though greatly faded yellow shadows of their former brilliant purples and reds. Having someone else see them twisted a knot deep in his gut and panic surged through his limbs.
The commander’s gaze scrutinized Charles with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “You’re quite the devoted little servant, aren’t you?” he said, a mocking lilt to his voice while he thumbed over a bruise.
The young Earthling froze, breath caught in his throat in fear, staring at the man's green-toned teal eyes. With each passing moment, Charles' panic intensified, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he struggled to suppress the rising tide of fear and revulsion threatening to overwhelm him with George touching his body so intimately.
It felt wrong, dirty . Nothing like what he felt when the prince touched him.
His mind finally snapped out of it when George let his hand wander down and dip under the tight waistband of his bodysuit, ghosting over the dark patch of hair there.
Charles' hands moved quickly to the man’s chest plate and shoved him hard before stumbling back, running for the door. His feet felt like lead, struggling to cooperate with his desperate attempt to escape.
So close, he was so close to the door. Only a few more steps, but his legs felt like he was walking through honey.
“If you go out that door, Prince Max will be in the throne room within the hour!” George yelled angrily from behind him and Charles stopped, motionless just in front of the control panel, hand hovering over the button.
The realization dawned on him that he'd completely underestimated the seriousness of someone like George finding out about him and the prince. He searched desperately for a way to extricate himself from this situation, but he couldn’t see a way out.
Not without harming Max.
Shaking hand returning to his side, Charles turned back around slowly with tears now freely flowing down his cheeks and fixed his gaze on the floor just in front of his feet. He heard George round the chair he’d been sitting in and flicked his eyes up for a moment to see the man stand tall in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest.
“On. Your. Knees .” He spat harshly and pointed to the floor.
Sinking down slowly, Charles kept his eyes low, but could still see any motions George made with his hands.
Pointing at the floor right in front of his feet, George barked, “Crawl.”
Consumed by the magnitude of this situation and the dire consequences that loomed ominously on the horizon, Charles had no choice but to follow his order and crawl forward on his hands and knees, stopping in front of George's booted feet, while still looking down at the floor. He didn’t want to see that horrid grin plastered on the commander’s face.
“There now, that wasn’t so hard was it?” George cooed at him, using his pointer finger to tilt his chin up.
Charles’ hands lunged forward and squeezed the commander’s thighs for balance when he was directed up on his shins. A thumb ran over his full bottom lip and Charles couldn’t hold in his whimper of fear, lip quivering with more tears spilling from his eyes.
“Very nice. I can see how you charmed that filthy beast,” George said, lips parting while he gazed down at him. “That was quite the show you gave Prince Max in the training room. What kind of show will a slut like you put on for me?”
“Please, don’t do this. Don’t—”
“Jos’ chambers are just down the hall.” George offered, deceptively calm. “Should we continue this conversation there?” Charles quickly shook his head no with a sob, fingers tightening on the man's thighs. “Be quiet then. Open your mouth.”
The Earthling told himself he would do anything to protect his prince, and that included taking these abuses if it meant Max wouldn’t be hurt. The voice whined so high pitched in his head at the thought of what the Emperor would do to Max, his ears rang and he squeezed his eyes shut in response.
What choice did he really have?
Slowly parting his lips, Charles felt a fresh hot flush of humiliation bloom down his neck onto his still exposed chest. Blood roared in his ears, and there was a desperate kind of confusion in his heart—why was the commander doing this?
He felt strange, hot, and couldn’t stop himself from crying, although he tried. His knees were already burning, cold tile intruding onto his skin through the thin suit material.
While he hadn’t experienced intimacy before Max, he knew their connection was destined, with a brilliant fire that burned between them. He felt joy, warmth, and comfort when he was with the prince. Feeling this, with George now, was the complete opposite of what that felt like. He was sick at the touch of someone else's hands on him and nauseating guilt churned in his gut.
What would happen if the prince saw him like this?
What would their mate think? That voice shouted so loud in his mind pain shot down his spine directly to his tail scar, and Charles fought to steady himself on trembling knees.
George pushed two inhumanly long fingers past his lips and Charles gagged at how far down his throat they went. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed his mind to take him anywhere other than this moment, willed his mind to take him home. Back to his mountain hut and back to his papa .
He hadn't longed to see him this much in several years and the feeling left his heart cracking from the inside out.
“If you bite me, I will kill you,” George commanded in a cold, detached voice.
Charles didn’t open his eyes when the fingers left his throat. The momentary freedom felt like a cruel tease, his lungs burning for air. He took in a hurried gasp, his chest heaving with the desperate intake, but it was cut off abruptly by a much larger obstruction entering his mouth. The shock of the intrusion forced his eyes open, a look of panic and disbelief flashing across his face.
He choked at the sheer length of it, the thick girth pressing against his tongue and down his throat, cutting off his air supply once again. His hands flew up instinctively, gripping onto the man's legs in a futile attempt to steady himself and maybe find some leverage. The texture of George’s uniform under his fingers felt rough and unyielding, a taunting contrast to the softness he was used to with Max.
George was big .
Not as long as the prince, but girthy with veins crisscrossing along the length of it, each one adding to the intensity of the sensation. The veins bulged out prominently, creating ridges that scraped against the sensitive tissue inside Charles’ mouth. His jaw ached with the effort to accommodate the thick girth, and his throat convulsed around the invasive length, tears springing to his eyes from the lack of air and the sheer discomfort. It was so dark, almost purple at the tip and an odd shade of pale skin for the rest of the shaft.
The taste was different too, more bitter and musky, adding to the overwhelming sensory assault. Charles’ gag reflex kicked in, but George held him firmly in place, his grip on Charles’ head unyielding.
Hands pushing frantically to try and get away, Charles pulled back against the commander’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling harshly as he forced himself deeper, eliciting a strangled whimper from the young Earthling’s already stuffed throat.
The humiliation and fear drowned out the memory of Max’s touch, always firm but gentle, so different from George’s painfully rough handling. Max had been careful, mindful of his reactions, never pushing him too far. But George . . . George was taking what he wanted with a ruthless determination, caring little for Charles’ discomfort.
“My God,” George said, breathy and raw. “The monkey has trained you well. I’m impressed.”
The sounds of their bodies, the wet slurping and the occasional gag, filled the space, echoing in the confined quarters. Charles’ fingers dug into George’s thighs, his nails scraping against the fabric in a desperate bid for relief. But George only chuckled darkly, his grip tightening as he thrust deeper, enjoying the way Charles’ throat convulsed around him. The commander’s hips moved with a brutal rhythm, each thrust sending shockwaves of pain and degradation through Charles’ spine.
“What a beautiful sight. I get it now, why my lord cherishes his favorite pet so much.” Running his free hand along Charles' stretched jaw, “Maybe I’ll take you for myself? Make you my pet from now on.”
Charles sobbed around George’s cock, continuing to struggle to pull away for a while, until he refocused his efforts on controlling his gag reflex to not be sick. Bile was rising higher and higher in his throat, and Charles couldn’t breathe, nose clogged and throat stretched past its limits. Reflexively bringing his jaw closer together, fighting a wave of nausea, Charles didn't fully bite down, but enough to make the other man hiss in discomfort.
Growling low in his throat, George pulled Charles roughly off his cock with the hand tightly fisted in his brown curls. Sweet air filled his burning lungs until scorching fire erupted on his cheek as George slapped him hard across the face, and Charles saw stars dance behind his eyelids. The force of the blow was staggering, sending a shockwave of sparks through his entire body and Charles went tumbling over, landing hard on his side gasping for breath.
“Fucking bitch! Do that again, and it'll be the last thing you ever do,” the commander snarled.
Breathing ragged, Charles was yanked off the floor in a rush of blinding speed, back up onto his knees and over to the tip of George’s dick by a painful grip tearing at his hair. The sharp tug on his locks was excruciating, his scalp burning from the rough handling.
Charles wailed, crying out from his weight being held by nothing but his short hair, and his hands grabbed onto George's wrists involuntarily to relieve some of the pressure.
“Hands behind your back,” George growled, blazing stare threatening untold harm if he didn't comply.
The Earthling did as the commander said and steadied himself on his bruised knees, locking his wrists together over his tail scar. The added pressure lightly soothed the burning mark, but the litany of screams from the voice in the back of his mind didn't stop.
An even worse thought was whispered in his mind. What if it didn’t stop here? If George took off his suit and saw his tail scar . . .
“Open.”
The whole left side of his face was burning as he opened his mouth again, his bottom lip split, blood trickling. That slap had been unbelievably hard, the sting radiating through his skull and down his neck. So much so, Charles thought the commander’s power level must be close to that of the prince’s. Max had never openly struck him when he wasn’t braced for it like that. Even in his outbursts, it was clear Max’s instincts had pulled his blasts to not seriously hurt him.
“Stick out your tongue,” George ordered, his grip tightening painfully in Charles’ hair, making it clear that disobedience was not an option.
Complying, the Earthing’s mind was consumed by a whirl of pain and humiliation. He extended his tongue, the taste of blood and the acrid tang of George’s skin mixing unpleasantly in his mouth. His body trembled with fear and loathing, every fiber of his being screaming to flee, but he was trapped, forced to endure the degrading command.
If he stopped fighting, maybe George wouldn't go farther. Wouldn't see his scar.
He couldn't let the commander find out he was Torossian. There was no telling what would happen then.
George’s expression was one of cruel satisfaction, his eyes glinting with perverse pleasure at Charles’ compliance. He leaned forward slightly, his breath hot and bitter, the scent of coffee wafting against Charles’ face. “That's a good boy,” he murmured mockingly, his fingers digging further into Charles’ scalp as he pushed his cock back into Charles’ mouth.
His vision blurred with more tears, the edges of his sight tinged with darkness as the lack of oxygen began to take its toll. The room swayed around him, the oppressive heat from the commander's body making it hard to focus. The taste of George’s pre-cum was sharp on his tongue, mingling with the salty tang of his own tears and blood. Every instinct screamed at him to pull away, to fight, but his body was too weak, too overwhelmed to obey that voice in his head.
George’s grip on his hair was unrelenting, his fingers digging into Charles’ scalp with bruising force. The commander’s cruel laughter echoed in his ears, a chilling reminder of the power imbalance between them. Charles’ chest heaved with the effort to breathe, each gasp a desperate attempt to draw in air around the thick obstruction.
In the dimly lit room, the walls seemed to move, the shadows creeping into the corners of his mind. The cold, metallic surface of the floor beneath him felt like a prison, confining him to a nightmare he couldn’t escape. George’s harsh, unrelenting grip was frightening as opposed to Max’s gentle touch, the brutality of his actions a far cry from the tenderness Charles had come to cherish.
As the commander used him, Charles’ mind tried to detach, to focus on anything but the present. The room started to fade away, the lights, the oppressive air, all becoming a distant blur.
He thought of the quiet moments with Max, the stolen glances, the whispered words of affection. Those memories were his lifeline, the anchor keeping him from spiraling into despair and Charles’ mind clung desperately to the fragments of his happier days with Max.
He remembered the warmth of the prince’s embrace, the way his strong arms enveloped him in a cocoon of safety. The prince’s soft, low voice speaking sweet nothings in his ear, the way he would brush a stray hair from his face with such care while he thought the Earthling was asleep, as if Charles were something precious and fragile.
He thought of the mornings they’d spent together, waking up to the soft glow of the ship's lights and twinkling stars through the port window. Max’s sleepy smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at Charles with an expression of pure affection. They would share those quiet moments, just lying there, basking in each other’s presence. Those were the times Charles felt truly at peace, the chaos of their world momentarily forgotten.
The stolen glances during training sessions, the playful banter that often followed, filled Charles’ mind. He remembered how Max would sometimes catch his eye across the room, a mischievous glint in his gaze, and how it would make his heart race. They communicated so much in those silent exchanges, an unspoken understanding that spoke volumes about their bond. The way Max’s cerulean eyes would soften when he looked at him, as if he were the most important person in the universe.
The whispered words of affection that Max would murmur to him in the quiet moments they stole away together. “ You make me feel alive again”, he’d said, voice filled with sincerity. “ You make me want to live again .” Those words were Charles’ sanctuary, a safe haven from this hell.
He held onto them now, letting them wash over him, trying to drown out the pain in his throat and humiliation of the present.
Cruel laughter echoed in his ears as George pulled back slightly, allowing the Earthling a brief moment to breathe. He gasped in air, chest heaving with the effort, but the reprieve was short-lived. Still lodged deep in his mouth, the weight of George’s thick cock pressed down on his tongue. Hips moving slowly now, the commander’s thrusts were more measured, savoring the moment.
Charles refocused, forced himself to remember the way Max’s lips felt against his skin, the gentle caresses that made him feel cherished and loved. He imagined the warmth of Max’s body next to his, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a comforting lullaby that could chase away this nightmare.
The memories were vivid, almost tangible, and he grasped at them with all his might.
Charles focused on the way Max made him feel—safe, wanted, and loved. He tried to let those feelings envelop him, to create a barrier against the violation he was enduring. Max’s presence was a shield, protecting him from the full impact of George’s cruelty. It gave him strength, a reason to hold on, to endure.
Even as his body ached and his spirit felt crushed, Charles refused to let go of those memories. The frigid air of the room, the sharp, biting pain of George’s grip, all became distant sensations. Charles’ mind was far away, lost in the warmth and safety of his memories with Max.
After what felt like an eternity, George’s pace quickened, his grip on Charles’ hair tightening to the point of agony. The commander’s breaths came in harsh, ragged puffs, each one emphasizing the power he held over Charles in this moment. The degradation, the helplessness—all threatened to break him, but Charles clung to the thought of the prince, the promise of their bond.
Finally, with a shuddering groan, George pulled back and shot thick ropes of white across his face, and in his open mouth, startling him into closing his eyes while they burned from stinging liquid.
The tall man panted heavily in the quiet room, still holding onto Charles' hair while the Earthling prayed it was over. George looked down at him then, with that sickening malicious grin, and he smacked his softening cock firmly on his face, smearing the tears and his cum all over.
“Don’t think this is over. You belong to me now. You will do as I say, give me everything I want, or Lord Jos will learn of your little affair with the prince. Do you understand, boy?”
Charles nodded weakly, too exhausted and broken to respond verbally. The room spun around him, his vision blurred with tears and cum. Finally, his hair was released and Charles scurried back away from the commander as fast as he could with a whine, eyes still pouring salty jewels down his sticky face.
Tucking his softening cock away, George sat down lazily in the chair Charles had sat in when they’d first arrived.
“Leaving so soon?” George’s voice was cold and detached from the degrading act he’d just forced upon Charles. “You’ve saved your precious prince for today, but I’m afraid I will require more from you in the future, for me to continue keeping this secret between us.”
Opening a compartment in his desk, Jos’ second-in-command pulled out a square of cloth before throwing it at Charles, who was still shaking in the corner of the office by the door. The cloth landed at his feet, a final insult in this horrific encounter.
“Say thank you, and you may go.”
Barely above a whisper, Charles rasped, “Th–thank you,” from his ruined throat and quickly stood, sprinting from the room, his legs almost giving way beneath him. The rawness of his throat and the humiliation were overwhelming, but the need to escape was stronger.
Back in the ship's corridors, Charles ran as fast as he could for a while until he didn’t know which direction to go. All the walls looked the same, a disorienting maze of metallic gray that offered no sense of direction. Panic surged through him as he realized he had no idea where he was.
No idea where to go.
He couldn’t go back to the suite—couldn’t let Max see him like this.
He’d not been paying that much attention to the many turns George had dragged him through to get to this wing of the ship, and he suddenly realized he was a mess, exposed, and out of control. The sterile, unyielding environment of the ship felt like a cold cage, trapping him in his spiral of panic.
Even being drugged and stolen from home, leaving behind everything he’d ever known, hadn’t made him feel this lost. The rawness of his current situation was unbearable, a far cry from the calm life he’d once known.
Charles pulled the top of his bodysuit back down, straightening it as much as he could with his hands that wouldn't stop shaking. The fabric was a flimsy barrier against the violation he had endured, doing little to shield him from the cold truth of his fate.
George would do this again. He said himself he would require more . . .
Ahead of him was a little nook along the outer edge of the hall, and he stepped into it quickly before turning around, sliding down the wall in a broken fit of sobs.
Alone with his thoughts, he curled into himself, unable to quiet the wracking whimpers spilling from his still bleeding lips. The weight of his actions, the betrayal he felt he'd committed against Max, crushed him from the inside. He couldn’t make sense of the chaotic swirl of emotions within him—fear, guilt, shame, and a deep, aching sorrow.
The image of Prince Max’s face, filled with rage and betrayal, haunted Charles' mind. He could see Max’s eyes, usually so warm and protective, now burning with that golden molten fury directed at him. The thought tore at his heart, leaving him feeling hollow and forsaken.
Max would be so angry with him. Just like he was when the prince found out about Charles' first run-in with George. The memory of Max's anger, the hurt in his eyes, was a dagger to the fragments of Charles' already shattered heart.
How could the prince ever forgive him?
Fear rolled through his chest like thick smoke, clinging to his lungs as he thought about the repercussions of his actions this time, dreading the moment Max would ultimately cast him aside.
If that's what it came to, Charles would accept it.
Lost in a labyrinth of anguish and self-loathing, Charles wondered if he even deserved forgiveness. Too crushed by guilt and shame to think of anything else.
Charles’ sobs grew louder, his body shaking with the force of his grief. The corridor was empty, the cold, sterile walls echoing his cries. He felt so small, so insignificant in the vastness of the ship, his suffering ignored and his surroundings indifferent.
His inner voice was oddly silent, soft whimpers and cries tingling in the base of his skull before fading into nothing. It was like his instincts were already grieving the loss of the prince, concluding they were no longer worthy, tainted and broken. The silence of his usually active thoughts was unsettling, a void where there used to be hope and longing since he’d met the prince.
The absence of that primal voice left him feeling more alone than ever, as if a vital part of his soul had been severed.
His instincts had always been a guiding force, a constant whisper in his ear urging him to be strong, to fight, to survive. But now, that voice was a mere echo, a distant, fading reminder of what he once was. It hadn’t been this quiet since his tail was removed, a brutal reminder of the mistakes he had made.
The young Torossian had never breathed a word to anyone about how adrift he felt after his tail was gone. Unable to even breathe for several days after it was forcibly torn away.
The pain of that loss resurfaced, intertwining with the fresh wounds inflicted by George’s cruelty.
Charles’ mind replayed the moment his tail was removed by Seb, the sharp agony, the feeling of something essential being ripped away. Looking back on it now, it was the worst decision he'd ever made. A turning point, a moment that was supposed to free him from a perceived weakness, but instead marked the loss of a piece of his identity. He'd struggled to adapt, to find a new balance, but the void left by his tail had never truly healed.
Now, with his instincts silenced, fleeing to its cage in his mind with intent to never resurface, it was like he was losing that part of himself all over again.
He should've fought him.
Done more to stop it.
The prince deserved a strong partner, a good mate, not whatever pathetic excuse of a Torossian he was. The self-recrimination was relentless, each thought a blow to his already wounded soul.
The silence in his mind mirrored the emptiness he felt inside, a gnawing void that seemed to consume everything in its path. His thoughts, usually a chaotic whirlwind of emotions and ideas, were now eerily still, like the calm before a storm. He felt like a ghost, drifting through the corridors of his own mind, searching for something— anything —to hold onto.
Eyes still burning from the combination of cum and tears, Charles used the only still dry part of the small cloth to try and wipe them more thoroughly. The cloth was rough against his skin, but he was desperate to clean away the evidence of his degradation and betrayal.
He stopped dead when he heard footsteps approaching, and Charles quickly buried his face in his knees, choking back his whimpers, hoping, praying that whoever was approaching would just walk by, too preoccupied to notice the broken figure huddled in the shadows.
Really, he hoped that he could just fade into the wall itself. Be swallowed whole and never face the truth of what just happened. The raw, aching shame and terror gnawed at him, making his chest feel tight and his breath come in shallow, panicked gasps. The cold, hard surface of the wall against his back was the only thing grounding him to reality, but even that felt like a cruel reminder of his new role on the ship.
The footsteps got closer, the sound echoing ominously in the corridor.
Each step was a thunderclap in his ears, the rhythm relentless and foreboding. He backed up as far as he could from the corridor, wedging himself into the corner. The shadow of the small space surrounded him, the dim light barely penetrating the alcove where he hid. The metallic scent of the ship mingled with the sharp tang of his fear, filling his senses and making his stomach churn.
His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drumbeat that seemed to mock his attempts to stay hidden, surely loud enough for the whole ship to hear. The footsteps grew louder, and he could almost feel the vibrations through the floor, each one sending a jolt of fear through his already trembling body. Charles hugged his knees tightly to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible, his mind racing with desperate thoughts of escape.
Sweat trickled down his forehead, mixing with the tears that still streamed down his cheeks. His body was a tangled mess of tension and pain, every muscle coiled tight as a spring. The bruises and welts left by George’s brutal slap throbbed with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of his vulnerability. He could barely keep his sobs silent, his throat raw from the effort of holding them back.
He didn't dare to move, didn't dare to breathe too loudly, or even breathe at all. The fear of being discovered was crushing, paralyzing him in his hiding place. The footsteps were almost upon him now, each one a clap of dread plunging deeper into his subconscious.
The sound of the footsteps was all-consuming, drowning out everything else. He could hear the soft rustle of clothing, the faintest hint of a whisper carried on the still air. His mind conjured images of George’s predatory grin, the cold malice in his eyes as he approached, ready to unleash more torment.
Charles squeezed his eyes shut tighter, wishing he could disappear, wishing he could be anywhere but here. His body shook with suppressed sobs, the terror and humiliation too much to bear. The ache in his chest grew sharper, a knife twisting in his heart as he fought to remain silent. He could almost feel the cold gaze of his tormentor, searching for him, ready to drag him back into the nightmare.
Just as the heavy footsteps seemed to pause right outside his hiding place, a familiar voice called out, “Charles!?”
Looking up through blurry eyes, Charles choked out a loud cry, relieved to see the elder Torossian.
Alonso quickly took off his scouter before bending down and scooping him up in his large arms, pulling him out of the alcove. The Earthling squeezed his eyes shut tight when the elder Torossian took off at breakneck speed, running down the corridor. The motion was a blur, the cold air of the ship whipping past him as they moved.
Alonso didn’t stop running until Charles’ lungs filled with the familiar scent of his prince.
Chapter 20: Be Still Eldri
Summary:
“I'll be right back okay?” He told the shaking form and quickly stepped into the ensuite before returning to the bed with a warm damp towel. “Here,” he offered the rag with his arm stretched far away from him.
Looking at the offering and then down to the soiled cloth still clutched tightly in his hands, the young Torossian angrily chucked the scrap of fabric across the bed, before hurriedly taking the damp one to continue scrubbing hard at his face. His movements were frantic, almost desperate—like he could erase the evidence and pain along with the blood and tears. The Eldri's skin was already raw from the rough treatment, but he clearly didn't care, the need to cleanse—to wash away the taint of whatever happened—was too great.
Alonso reached out for the soiled square and held it up to examine it. In bold embedded font were the letters G.R. on one of the corners of the square.The sight of those initials sent a jolt of anger through him, his usually composed demeanor cracking under the weight of his outrage.
Notes:
Alonso is left to pick up the pieces of Charles while Max is still traveling.
Stop by my tumblr for some Alonso & Charles comfort images!
Can't thank my beta, Lady_Something , and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. Part 1 is ending at ch 23 while I take a break to write part 2!
Chapter Warnings: Panic attack, blood, injury aftermath
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Alonso found Charles tucked away in the alcove outside the war room, he’d immediately sensed the overwhelming distress radiating from the Eldri. The air was thick with the sharp, sour scent of fear and anguish, unmistakable even in the sterile corridors of the ship. He’d identified Charles' scent right away when he left his morning brief, and had quickly found him just around the corner, shaking uncontrollably.
The poor boy looked horrible.
His face was blotchy and red, tears streaking down his cheeks while his hair was rumpled in all directions, a chaotic mess that matched his distress. Huge, finger-shaped welts stretched across his tear-stained cheek and the Earthling was gasping for breath, teetering on the edge of a catatonic state.
Without hesitation, Alonso scooped Charles up into his arms, cradling him gently. The Eldri felt so light, so fragile, and Alonso’s chest ached with the need to protect him. He rushed them back to the safety of the prince's empty room before anyone could see, his pace swift yet careful to avoid jostling the traumatized young man too much.
As he laid Charles down on the familiar bed, the young Torossian opened his bloodshot eyes, frantically searching the room. Visible panic surged through him, and he scrambled back on the cut out bed, only to hit the wall hard with his back, looking like a cornered animal desperate to escape.
“Charles, hey—It’s alright, it’s okay—Max isn’t here, it’s just us—It’s alright, Charles—Easy, easy.”
By the goddess, he’d never seen the poor boy so shaken. Not on his first day on the ship or even after the prince almost nearly killed him in a fit of rage and blind fury. The memory of Charles huddled on the dirty floor of the med bay was seared into Alonso’s mind—the sheer sadness in Charles’ eyes, the way his body had trembled slightly when he approached him with only thoughts of concern.
But this was different.
This fear was deeper, more visceral. It tore at Alonso’s heart to see Charles in such a state, so utterly broken.
Alonso repeated his words over and over in his best calming voice, as he knelt down in front of the bed, trying to calm the frantic boy. Bewildered at the frightened look Charles gave him, the elder kept his distance with palms turned up and waited for him to try and get a hold of himself.
Charles’ breathing began to steady after several long, tense minutes, the panicked gasps slowly giving way to more controlled breaths. The elder’s soothing words and gentle presence helped pull him back from the brink of hysteria, and the Earthling's hands, which had been trembling violently, started to still as he clutched the bed linens on either side of him.
Alonso had to be careful. The Eldri was like a wounded animal right now, fragile and unpredictable. Any sudden movements could send him spiraling again.
“Is it alright if I sit on the bed with you? I promise I will stay on the edge and I won’t touch you,” Alonso asked softly, his voice full of compassion.
Rubbing tears from his eyes with shaky hands before nodding, the Eldri's gaze was wary but trusting. Standing up slowly from the floor, Alonso moved with deliberate care to avoid startling him. He then sat on the edge of the bed, careful to not get too close, maintaining a respectful distance.
“Take your time,” He whispered softly. “We’re not in a rush. Just breathe. You’re safe here.”
He didn’t even have to ask Charles what happened; he knew. The evidence was written all over Charles’ traumatized expression.
The elder Torossian had seen this familiar sight more times than he cared to remember, and when he gazed upon that terrified curled form of Charles, his gut twisted with a pang of sorrow and empathy.
The fear etched into Charles' features triggered a flood of memories from years past, memories Alonso had long tried to bury deep within the recesses of his subconscious.
In the hazy corridors of his memory, he recalled the first few times Prince Max had an audience with Lord Jos. The young prince, barely more than nineteen at the time, would emerge from those meetings battered and broken, his spirit shattered by the cruel machinations of the ruthless warlord.
Alonso vividly remembered those soul crushing moments, the sight of the prince's bruised and bloodied form haunting his dreams for years. Each time he’d had to clean up the young prince's wounds, Alonso felt a profound sense of helplessness and shame wash over him, a gnawing ache in his chest as he grappled with the bitter reality of his inability to protect his charge from harm.
Now, as he watched Charles, trembling and vulnerable on the bed, Alonso was reminded of those painful memories, the weight of his failures sitting heavily upon his shoulders.
Despite his best efforts, he couldn't shield Prince Max from the cruelty of their existence, couldn't spare him from the pain and suffering inflicted by Jos, who sought to break his spirit.
He couldn’t bear the thought that he had now failed Charles as well.
The boy was still wiping aggressively at his face with a small balled up cloth that Alonso had never seen before.
“I'll be right back okay?” He told the shaking form and quickly stepped into the ensuite before returning to the bed with a warm damp towel. “Here,” he offered the rag with his arm stretched far away from him.
Looking at the offering and then down to the soiled cloth still clutched tightly in his hands, the young Torossian angrily chucked the scrap of fabric across the bed, before hurriedly taking the damp one to continue scrubbing hard at his face. His movements were frantic, almost desperate—like he could erase the evidence and pain along with the blood and tears. The Eldri's skin was already raw from the rough treatment, but he clearly didn't care, the need to cleanse—to wash away the taint of whatever happened—was too great.
Alonso reached out for the soiled square and held it up to examine it. In bold embedded font were the letters G.R. on one of the corners of the square. The sight of those initials sent a jolt of anger through him, his usually composed demeanor cracking under the weight of his outrage.
The cloth, a symbol of George's twisted power play, felt like a branding iron in his hand.
Rage welled up within him, a simmering fury that threatened to boil over at the revelation of George's involvement in Charles' current torment. He knew something was wrong when the commander didn't show up for the morning briefing. The signs had been there, subtle but unmistakable, and now the confirmation was staring him in the face.
His grip tightened on the cloth, knuckles turning white. The thought of what Charles must've endured, the fear he must have felt . . .
Alonso's protective instincts flared, a fierce roar of his Oozaru demanding to right this wrong and shield the young Torossian from further harm. “ Deze overtreding moet met de dood worden beantwoord ,” [ This offense must be answered with death ] came the growling judgment that the elder whole-heartedly agreed with.
Glancing over at Charles, still vigorously scrubbing his face, eyes squeezed shut against the occasional stray tear that fell, made him sick and deepened his resolve.
The Earthling didn’t deserve this.
If he was being completely honest with himself, Charles didn’t deserve any of this. Any of the things that had happened to him so far on the elder’s watch.
He'd had his reservations about bringing the wayward Torossian on board. But Carlos was insistent that he had found his lost brother and Max barely gave it more than a moment's thought before ordering Carlos to retrieve him.
Fuck, he should’ve stopped this then. Stopped the prince from making a huge mistake due to an outdated agreement from years ago.
Charles deserved to feel safe, to be treated with the kindness and respect that Alonso had seen the Eldri give them time and time again. The rage within him was a dangerous, a barely controlled force. The elder Torossian had always prided himself on his calm and measured approach, but this— this was personal.
George using his position to exploit and hurt someone so vulnerable filled him with a righteous anger.
The sick fuck was just as twisted as the emperor and Alonso resolved to make him pay for this.
“Charles,” he said gently, trying to keep his voice steady. “Look at me.” But the younger Torossian continued his frantic scrubbing like he couldn’t hear him. Alonso moved closer, carefully taking Charles’ wrist to stop him. “Charles, please. It’s over. You’re safe now.”
Finally meeting his gaze, eyes wide, filled with a mixture of fear and despair, Charles’ face was now very clearly red and raw due to his desperate attempts to cleanse himself. A heart-wrenching sight, but it also steeled his resolve.
He needed to be strong, for Charles' sake. May the goddess strike him down if he couldn’t be.
Holding up the cloth, the elder showed Charles the initials. “This is George’s, isn’t it?” he asked, voice low and controlled, though barely concealing the simmering fury beneath.
Charles nodded shakily, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.
“Where did this happen?” He asked, keeping his voice as even as he could.
Charles made a face and hissed at the pull from the wet rag on his abused cheek, the welts still angry and red. “I—I . . .” was all the Eldri could get out before his voice gave out and he had to cough and clear his throat.
“Take your time, Charles.”
“In his office,” Charles said, sounding much more steady, but voice still hoarse. “I—I was late getting rations and supplies. He stopped me outside the kitchen.” Sniffing and wiping at his nose with the back of his hand, the Eldri turned his eyes away.
“Can you tell me what he said to you?” Alonso pressed gently.
“He—he said he would tell Jos about Max and me . . . unless I . . . g–gave him what he wanted.” His voice trailed off, choked by a sob. Charles' shoulders shook with the effort of holding back more tears, his whole body trembling as he seemed to relive the horror of the encounter in his mind.
A deep, primal growl rose in Alonso’s throat, a sound filled with the raw, unbridled urge to destroy. The echo filled the small space between them, and Charles hesitated, looking at him worriedly.
Alonso took a deep breath to control himself, dreading the answer to his next question, but it had to be asked.
“Are you . . . are you hurt anywhere else other than your face? Did he see your scar?” His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for the response, fearing the worst. The thought of further harm coming to the young Torossian had his blood running cold.
Startled, Charles’ eyes flickered with uncertainty. His hand instinctively went to his chest, where the elder assumed George must’ve touched him based on the wince Charles gave. The silence stretched on, each passing second adding to Alonso's dread.
Finally, Charles shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “No . . . he didn’t see my scar or hurt me . . . I mean, not like that . Not like—”
Alonso let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a wave of relief washing over him. It could’ve been worse.
It could've been so much worse .
But bruises and welts on Charles’ face were bad enough.
His relief was short-lived, replaced by guilt. The physical damage was not extensive, but the elder loathed the evident horror and the emotional trauma Charles was enduring.
To make matters worse, the Eldri didn’t look relieved in the slightest.
Charles’ eyes were still downcast, his body language conveying a profound sense of defeat. Reaching out, Alonso went to gently tilt Charles’ chin up to meet his gaze, but the Earthling lurched back at the touch, whimpering.
Withdrawing his hand, Alonso sighed, “Charles, listen to me. You’re alright now. George won’t hurt you again. I promise you that. I need you to stay with me now—stay strong.”
He searched Charles’ eyes for any sign of belief, any flicker of hope. On the contrary, he looked like he was still really worried about something, eyes darting nervously around the room.
Charles’ lip trembled, his eyes welling with fresh tears. “But what if he tells Jos anyway?” The fear in his voice was palpable, a raw, unfiltered expression of his deepest anxieties.
“We won’t let that happen,” Alonso said firmly, his grip on the blanket tightening. As much as he wished that statement were true, it just wasn't something the elder Torossian could guarantee.
There was a palpable tension in the air as Charles wrestled with himself, his words hesitant and halting as he finally opened up to Alonso.
Charles met his gaze before whispering brokenly, “I . . . I want to go h–home. Please, just l–let me go home . . . ”
Alonso felt his own eyes lightly sting, his heart breaking for the young man before him. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on Charles’ shoulder. “I know, Charles. But you are Torossian, and you are stronger than this. You have the will to fight. I've seen it. Don’t let George beat you.”
Voice trembling with apprehension, Charles whimpered out, "Max will be . . . f–furious with me."
"No, Charles, how could you think that?" Alonso asked softly, voice a shell of its usual gruff tone.
The elder would have words with Max the next time he saw him if the prince gave the Eldri any reason to fear him in this way. He may be their prince, but Alonso wasn't afraid to discipline him when he needed it.
The damn overgrown brat .
Gently pulling him into a comforting embrace, the Eldri went willingly and Alonso held Charles tightly, tucking his chin on top of the boy’s brown curls.
Charles only hesitated for a moment, before quickly melting into the embrace, breathing ragged against Alonso’s neck, visibly struggling to articulate his thoughts. "Because of what . . . what happened ," he finally managed to mumble into the elder’s neck. "Because of what I . . . what I did. I couldn't–I didn't–I couldn't stop h—”
"Charles, listen to me," Alonso said urgently, tone stern, hand rubbing softly on the younger’s back. "Max cares about you deeply. He would never be upset at you about something like this. He might get upset, that is true . . . but not at you.” Taking a breath, Alonso paused for a moment to debate if he should tell Charles the truth, but he couldn't think of any reason not to. “Prince Max has a head of stone, but the heart of a lion. He may not know how to show it or how to tell you, but I know he loves you."
Stilling at his words, Charles froze for a moment before shaking his head softly against Alonso’s chest.
“Not anymore. Not after this.” he whispered.
Now, what was Alonso supposed to say to that?
The elder opened his mouth to reassure him, when Charles suddenly let out a loud, gut-wrenching whine, clutching at the back of his head tightly with both hands, burrowing further into the elder’s chest. Alonso looked down at the Earthling, worried by Charles’ pained expression and his tensed body posture, as if trying to ward off an invisible assault from within.
Chest aching at the sight, Alonso recognized the distress in Charles' hindbrain and the telltale signs of his Eldri in pain, struggling against its tether. It was unclear if it was trying to burst forth and take over, or if it was trying to burrow further inside, too overwhelmed by the ordeal.
A chill ran down Alonso's spine at that thought.
He knew Eldris were more sensitive with their hindbrain connection to the goddess, but he also knew that it came at a cost. Their dual tethered relationship was fragile, more susceptible to being thrown out of balance, and without his tail . . . Alonso had to do something fast to prevent permanent separation of Charles’ instincts. He'd only heard of it in theory, about when an Eldri suffers extreme trauma or abuse, and he didn't want to find out if those stories were true.
That was the reason behind their rarity and increased protection after all. They required a higher level of care and security, their designation a delicate balance easily disturbed.
Without hesitation, Alonso released his tail from around his waist. The smooth, furry appendage unfurled and gently wrapped around Charles’ middle, offering comfort and a sense of security. He pressed Charles closer, encompassing him, speaking softly in a gentle hum.
"Wees rustig Eldri. Je bent veilig," [ Be still Eldri. You are safe ] Alonso murmured, the words a calming mantra meant to soothe the young man's hindbrain. "Adem met mij mee. Focus op mijn stem.” [ Breathe with me. Focus on my voice ]
Repeating himself, Alonso continued with his efforts, desperate to keep Charles’ mind from tearing itself apart while silently praying to the goddess for mercy.
Charles' breathing was ragged, his chest heaving with each gasp. The whine in his throat slowly turned into soft sobs, and Alonso's tail tightened slightly, a firm yet tender embrace. Letting out a rumbling purr, the elder waited a few moments, letting his own eyes close to focus on the sounds deep in his chest.
There were different types of purrs an Oozaru could produce, and this one now was meant to soothe frightened pups. Childless himself, Alonso rarely had the opportunity to use this part of his voice and he was out of practice, but his Oozaru guided him, the feeling in his throat coming back to him quickly.
The pair stayed in their embrace for a long time, Alonso gently rocking back and forth with the Eldri in his arms. Charles’ pulse began to slow, his breathing gradually steadied. As the tremors in his limbs subsided, Charles finally released the back of his head and leaned away to look into the elder’s eyes, a mixture of confusion and something—something else—burning in his gaze.
Anger. There was anger in his gaze.
“What did you just do to me?”
“Now’s not the time Charles—”
Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say.
Sitting up straighter, the Earthling set his jaw, his voice growing more forceful. “No. Stop—Stop lying to me. Everyone keeps telling me not to worry about things or ignoring me when I ask questions. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“Charles, it's not that simple—”
“I’m Torossian, right? Deserving of respect and dignity as you like to so often remind me,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “If that’s true, then fucking tell me what you said to me!”
Sighing, the elder relented. The least he could do was answer the boy's questions after his ordeal today. He owed him that much. “I spoke to your Eldri.”
“My what?” Charles asked, now looking more confused than upset.
“The voice, Charles. The voice that speaks to you in your mind.” Bloodshot eyes widened, and Alonso swore the young Torossian wasn’t even breathing now. “Your hand,” he pointed at where Charles had been clutching at the base of his skull, “That’s where your hindbrain is. Where those foreign thoughts come from. Those urges and those desires that feel like they aren't part of you.”
“How do you know about that . . . ?" Charles said, staring at Alonso, mind obviously reeling.
The elder's expression softened, and he smirked, understanding the weight of Charles' confusion. The poor boy probably had gone his whole life without proper education on his Eldri anatomy and designation.
He was kicking himself for not realizing it sooner.
Drawing him closer again, Alonso gently tightened his tail around the younger man's waist. "Charles," he began, tone tender and patient, "Not only are you a Torossian, but you are an Eldri, a rare and blessed part of our race.”
"What does that mean? What does that have to do with the voice in my head?"
Taking a deep breath, Alonso gathered his thoughts. It had been a long time since he’d had to give this talk to someone, explaining Carlos’ and Max’s designations to them at a very young age. That had been before Toro was even destroyed and before Max was taken.
"It means that what you're experiencing isn’t unique. Those intrusive thoughts, those primal urges, they aren’t just manifestations or a part of you that you can’t control. The voice you hear is the voice of your raw instinct and connection to the goddess, our godin van de maan . It's a guiding presence, meant to help you, protect you, and give you strength when you need it most.”
Shaking his head, the Earthling tried to wrap his mind around the concept. “You spoke to it? How? What did you say?”
Alonso sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for the right words. “I used our mother tongue from Toro. It’s a stronger form of communication for Torossians. It’s not common anymore, and it requires a deep connection to the individual. I needed to calm you down, to reach the part of you that was in a state of panic.”
Charles’ eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping back into his gaze. “So, you can just . . . talk to my mind? Control it?”
“No, Charles. It’s not about control. It’s about understanding. Your Eldri, that voice, it’s a part of you, but it’s also distinct. It has its own instincts, its own desires. By speaking to it, I was able to help calm you, to ease its attempts to pull too far.”
He watched as Charles’ fingers unconsciously brushed the base of his skull, “I’ve always thought the voice was just . . . my own madness. I never knew it was something more.”
“It’s not madness,” Alonso said gently. “It’s a part of your heritage, your biology. It’s a survival mechanism, a way for us to stay connected to our instincts, to our primal nature. All Torossians have it to some extent, but for those with Eldri blood, it’s more pronounced.”
The younger’s brow furrowed in response. "Are you not an Eldri? Am I different?"
Alonso nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yes, Charles, you are different. Not all Torossians are Eldri; it's a rare gift. It's not just a difference—it's a blessing. The goddess chose you for a reason."
Charles looked down, processing the information. "What about Max? Is he an Eldri like me?"
Expression growing more serious, "No,” he answered. “Max has an instinct called an Oozaru like myself and Carlos. The Oozaru is the other aspect of our race and make up the bulk of our population. We’re the warriors, the ones who embody the raw power and ferocity of our people, the ones who protect and conquer. Unlike an Eldri, Oozaru are more common, and we rely on our brute strength and combat skills, while the Eldri are blessed with the goddess' wisdom and connection.”
Pausing for a moment, Alonso waited to see if Charles had a question.
“So the voice is actually part of me . . . I’m not crazy? And it has a name? An El—Eldri?”
“You’re not crazy, Charles. You’re just different from the people you grew up around on Earth, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. There has to be balance, and the counterpart of your Eldri is the Oozaru. Together, you and Max are two halves of a whole.”
Face growing more contemplative, Charles absorbed this new understanding of his heritage and Alonso pressed on, his voice low and reverent. He’d talk about this forever if it kept the Earthling in this calm state—worlds different from how he found him a few short hours ago in the corridor.
"You also possess the unique ability to calm and soothe his Oozaru when overstimulated and would’ve served more as a caretaker on our home planet Toro. You, Charles, are rare . An Eldri, chosen by the goddess herself. It's a great responsibility, but also a great honor. Your connection to the goddess means you have access to wisdom and power beyond what most can comprehend."
Charles met Alonso's eyes again, his own filled with awe. "But why me? I don't feel special. Quite the opposite actually."
Alonso's tail tightened reassuringly. "The goddess sees what we often cannot. She saw something in you, Charles, something pure and strong. Trust in her wisdom, and trust in yourself. You’re meant for great things."
A stray tear slipped down Charles' cheek as he nodded slowly, the weight of Alonso's words settling over him like a mantle. The elder unwound his tail from around the Earthling, but let his hand remain on his shoulder.
They continued to talk more about the Earthling’s instincts and why he responded strongly to their native language until Charles started to look nervous again.
“Your relationship with Max is special. As a compatible match for him, each of you are the missing half to the other, fulfilling a vital role and need.”
“A compatible match? What does that mean?”
“It means that your energy frequency is on the same plane as the prince's. Another part of being an Eldri is that you can give part of your energy to your mate when they are in duress. I, myself, am unfamiliar with the process, but I’ve heard of it being done.”
“Mate?” Charles said looking hopeful for the first time since they'd arrived. “The voice—my Eldri, it uses that word when talking about Max.”
Alonso couldn't help his knowing smile, “That's because your instincts have recognized Max as compatible and strong. I can only speculate that it has chosen the prince for its life partner.”
That flicker of hope quickly disappeared. “He’s coming back today,” the younger said, face grim, “I can’t face him.”
“He returned before I found you and is in a meeting now to report on his assignment. If you need time to yourself, I can find somewhere for you to stay that will be safe.”
Charles didn’t respond, visibly lost in his thoughts.
“I swear to you Charles. If I can find a way to send you to Earth, and that is what you truly want . . . I will.”
As they sat together in the suffocating silence, Alonso wordlessly stood up from the bed and left the room.
His mind was reeling from the revelation that Charles would rather leave the ship than face Max after his ordeal. That was the complete opposite of how he would’ve guessed Charles felt. If his Eldri really has chosen Max as its mate, then his desire to be around Max should be stronger than ever right now.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, the elder dug his fingers into the skin. Charles’ missing tail was all he could think of to explain the Earthling's disconnect from his instinct’s desires.
He thought more about it while he fished through the locker by his bunk, finding some spare medical supplies Charles had brought for him, and quickly went back to sit by the young Torossian who remained unmoved. The sight of Charles, so still and withdrawn, tugged at his heart. Even with the relative lack of physical damage, the elder knew the emotional healing process would take time, and he was determined to help in any way he could.
“Let me see your cheek?” he asked, voice soft but insistent, trying to break through the fog that seemed to envelop Charles.
Nodded slowly, the Earthling's movements were lethargic and mechanical. Alonso tenderly turned the Earthling’s head to the side, exposing the angry finger marks that marred his skin and his split bottom lip. The sight filled him with a renewed surge of anger towards George, but he forced himself to remain calm.
He may not have had the will to enforce the Torossian law requiring death on all those that harmed an Eldri for the prince, but he wouldn't be providing the same leniency to the commander.
Rumbling snarls rattled his Oozaru’s cage as it begged to be let loose on Jos' right hand, and his mind was filled with images of snapping bones, tearing flesh, and ripping that ridiculous cape off his shoulders to stuff it down George's throat.
Uncapping a tube of cooling stem nanite gel, Alonso gently applied a generous amount to the red skin, keeping his touch light and soothing. Charles relaxed his shoulders slightly, a small sigh escaping his lips.
“Thank you,” he murmured, the words barely audible but filled with genuine gratitude.
“This will take care of it in a few minutes,” Alonso reassured him, his voice steady and comforting. “Your eyes are slightly irritated, but I have something for them as well.”
He handed Charles a bottle of drops, watching as the young Torossian took them with steadied hands. Charles’ eyes were still red and puffy from crying, but pain and fear evident in his gaze before, had started to subside. Alonso wished he could do more, wished he could take away the hurt and make everything better.
It felt like a cruel joke that someone chosen by the goddess to receive her greatest blessing, would be abandoned and forsaken by her in this way.
As Charles applied the eye drops, Alonso remained by his side, rubbing small circles on his back. The minutes stretched on, filled with the quiet sounds of their breathing and the soft rustle of clothing.
Keeping a watchful eye on Charles, the elder’s heart ached at the sight of the young man’s vulnerability. Prince Max entrusted him with Charles’ care while he was away, and Max was going to fucking lose it when he found out about this.
After nearly an hour, Charles finally seemed to relax a bit more, the tension in his body easing as the cooling gel worked its magic. His eyes, though still red, looked greatly less irritated, and the angry marks on his cheek had started to fade almost completely, much to the elder’s relief. They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer, the oppressive weight of the earlier events slowly lifting. Alonso's presence seemed to offer Charles some comfort, but the prince was what he really needed, even if Charles didn't know that himself.
Just as Alonso was about to speak, to offer more words of comfort, he heard his scouter across the room beep for an incoming message. With a sigh, he stood up, glancing back at Charles to ensure he was alright.
“Stay here,” Alonso said gently, giving Charles a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
As Alonso crossed the room to retrieve his scouter, he could feel Charles' gaze following him, filled with anxiety and curiosity. Affixing the device over his ear, he pressed the relay button for the incoming message, hoping it wasn’t more bad news, but he steeled himself for whatever might come.
“ All four occupants of the Torossian suite must report to the throne room immediately.”
Four . . . ?
Four.
Alonso's mind raced with worry and his expression grew serious as the implications sank in. They included Charles . No one else could’ve been meant for the fourth member of their suite, and the sudden summons to the throne room, especially including the Earthling, felt ominous.
It had to be George’s doing. The fucking bastard told Jos anyway.
Fearing the worst, Alonso knew their fragile dynamic was about to be shattered by some new crisis. The delicate balance they’d maintained over the last few months was on the brink of collapse, and Alonso felt a surge of protectiveness towards Charles. He had to be strong for him, for Max, for all of them.
Turning back to Charles, Alonso saw the young Torossian’s wide eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “What's wrong? Is it Max?” Charles asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Alonso hesitated for a moment, considering how much to reveal. He didn’t want to alarm Charles more than necessary, but he needed to tell him the truth. Returning to Charles' side, the elder managed to maintain a calm façade despite his own mounting apprehension. The young Torossian was already on edge, and any sign of panic from Alonso would only make things worse.
"Charles," he said carefully, watching Charles’ reaction, "We’ve been summoned to the throne room."
The Eldri looked up at him, eyes wide with fear. "Summoned? Why? What does that mean?” Charles’ voice was tinged with panic, and he gripped the edge of the bed tightly.
Kneeling down in front of him, Alonso took Charles’ hands in his own, trying to offer some comfort. “I don’t know what it means. It could be about anything.”
“But me? I–I have to go too?" he asked, his voice trembling with anxiety. “Max is . . . ”
"Yes, you must come with me," Alonso admitted. He hated not having answers, especially when it came to the safety of those he cared about. "But we can't afford to hesitate. Here, can you stand?”
The elder held out his hand to help the Earthling from the bed. Charles’ hand was cold and clammy as he gripped Alonso’s, his legs trembling with the effort to stand. Alonso could feel the fear radiating off the young Torossian, but there was also a resolve in his grip that gave Alonso a small measure of pride.
Gently, Alonso refixed the Earthling’s uniform with careful precision, smoothing out the material and adjusting it so it looked as presentable as possible. He could barely see the remnants of welts on Charles’ face, and unless you knew where to look, the marks were almost imperceptible now. Handing Charles his chest plate to put on, he watched as the young Torossian fumbled with the clasps for a moment before securing it in place. The pair then headed for the door, their footsteps echoing softly in the quiet room.
Time was of the essence, and they had to report swiftly or face harsh consequences. Hopefully, the prince could meet them on the way.
Before leaving the room, Alonso turned back to Charles with a warning. "Stay close to me," he instructed, his voice firm but gentle. “Listen, whatever happens in there, keep your head down and do not stare at Emperor Jos. Only speak if spoken to, and do not under any circumstances, show concern or care for anyone in the room, no matter what is happening. We don’t know you, and you only serve the prince in an official capacity. Understood?”
Charles nodded affirmatively and took a deep breath. The elder wished he could offer more reassurance, but the truth was, they were walking into the domain of the most powerful being in the known universe.
“I need you to be strong, Charles. This is an all-hands call, and I’m not sure what will happen when we get down there.”
“I’m fine, Alonso,” the Eldri said in a strangely detached voice, eerily similar to how the prince sounded after his audiences with Jos. The sound of it twisted in Alonso’s gut, but they didn’t have the time to dwell on it.
Notes:
Alonso might be my favorite character, so soft and gentle with Charles while simultaneously ready to burn the whole ship down to get to George 🫠
Now . . . what could that summons mean for not only Charles, but all of them? And did George really tell Jos anyway . . . 👀
Comments are always welcome. Come say hi on Tumblr and check out the source images for this chapter.
Chapter 21: Approach
Summary:
Jos turned from the map he'd been studying over to Max, his eyes gleaming with a sinister curiosity before smiling widely and asking in a booming voice, “Where is your human?”
“Sire?” the prince questioned, and Charles was unsure if the prince was pretending to not know what Jos meant, or if he was too distracted by the data console he was working on. Max’s voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of tension that only those who knew him well could detect.
Charles shuddered when the emperor’s red eyes scanned the crowd again, the cold gaze sweeping over the assembled soldiers before locking on him between Carlos and Alonso. The intensity of Jos' stare made Charles feel exposed, like a rabbit caught in a predator’s sights.
“Approach.”
Notes:
Jos reveal 🫣
Stop by my tumblr for the photos of Jos' character. You words just don't do him justice!
Can't thank my beta, Lady_Something , and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. Part 1 is ending at ch 23 while I take a break to write part 2!
Chapter Warnings: Death, blood, referenced past SA, referenced past abuse
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Returning from his exhausting purge mission, Max stepped out of his pod onto the lower launch deck, thoughts consumed by a singular desire: to see Charles.
“ Om onze Eldri te zien ,” [ To see our Eldri ] Max’s Oozaru rumbled in correction. Its need for a calming touch, all-consuming. He was always so overstimulated after a purge, the light and sounds of the base ship irritating to his burning headache, and he didn't realize until after being with Charles that his calming presence was what he’d needed all along.
Alonso had told him about this phenomenon, and the elder’s explanation for the need for balance and support between them weighed on his mind. The prince didn’t like having to rely on other people, opting to always only count on himself in important situations. Time and time again, Jos had made sure Max received no assistance and no special treatment, burning in a mentality of ferocious resilience. All part of his training —the prince was actively sabotaged by the emperor at every opportunity to make him an unbreakable asset.
To make him what he was now.
Feared .
But the elder had insisted that once he started something with Charles, his needs would change. They’d become in tune with each other’s energy, and increasingly feel a strong pull to be with the other as they got more involved.
It was a frightening thought at the time, but now, Max couldn’t see living any other way.
As he exited the launch deck, he could feel his desire to be close to Charles growing stronger with every step he took; longing to run his fingers through those lush brown curls, to feel the Earthling's warm skin on his and wash away the horrors he'd committed on P-127, losing himself in those green depths.
Making his way through the harshly lit corridors of the ship, the familiar hum of the machinery and the sterile scent of metal surrounded him. Adrenaline from the mission still coursed through his veins, making his steps feel both heavy and purposeful, boots clicking across the corridor. His muscles ached from the relentless combat, and his mind was flooded with images from the purge, each more gruesome than the last.
Fuck, he really needed to find Charles.
Max’s Oozaru instincts roared in agreement, urging him to find their mate and seek solace. The beast within him craved the soothing touch of Charles, the only thing that could calm the raging inferno inside. He remembered the first time he had felt truly at peace, lying beside Charles as he slept, the Earthling's gentle breaths quelling the rift between him and his hindbrain. Alonso’s words echoed in his mind, the elder’s wisdom about the bond they shared, a connection deeper than he had ever experienced before.
The prince had always prided himself on his independence, his ability to face any challenge alone. But now, he realized that true strength came from acknowledging his needs, from understanding that relying on Charles didn’t make him weak; it made him whole. Each step brought him closer to their quarters, closer to the one person who could ease his torment.
However, fate had other plans for him.
As he stepped into his empty quarters, his body weary and his mind on the brink of collapse, he was immediately summoned to an emergency war room meeting via his scouter.
Frustration bubbled up within him, and Max threw his scouter across the room to the bed, growling in his throat.
No rest for the weary it seemed, but at least he didn’t break the scouter this time.
Charles wasn’t in the room and it looked like he hadn’t been in quite some time, but Max was grateful he could clean the blood and grime off his skin before the Earthling saw him in that state. He could only imagine the look of horror on Charles’ face if he'd seen him covered in the evidence of his brutality.
Carelessly, Max removed his broken and crumbling armor, scorched gloves, and his tattered, bloodstained body suit that he put right in the incinerator shoot. Damn thing was barely holding together anyway.
Running a thumb over the intact red twine and gold chain on his wrist, the prince delicately pulled the bracelet off and set it on his desk, not wanting to get it wet or stained while he cleaned his soiled body. The sight of it brought a smile to his face and it still felt too good to be true.
Max had never been given a gift like that.
Making his way to the ensuite shower, the water ran hot, scalding his skin, but it was a welcome sensation. The prince could tell there were several severe burns on his back and his hair had so much dried blood in it that the water swirled pink down the drain for several minutes as he washed it. Scrubbing away the grime and gore—the physical remnants of the purge—Max didn't stop till his skin was raw.
With a sigh, he stepped out of the shower, droplets of water trailing down his chiseled, scarred form as he grabbed a towel. Drying off quickly, he dressed in a fresh uniform and re-afixed the bracelet to his wrist under his glove, mind already shifting to the meeting ahead.
If this was going to be another long grueling debrief with the same repetitive questions about his assignment’s outcome, Max felt like he might headbutt someone.
Pausing in the doorway of his private quarters, Max hesitated for a second before quickly turning back to the bed and burying his face in the pillow. The strong smell of the Eldri made his brain go fuzzy at the edges, and Max stayed like that for a few moments, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. He’d spent countless hours trying to decide what Charles smelled like, but he didn’t have any points of reference for the scent. It was completely foreign to him—woody and sweet, with an underlying note that reminded him of something warm and comforting.
He supposed it was similar to the smell of some vegetation from a few planets he’d been on, but he couldn’t quite nail it down. There was a hint of something earthy, like the mossy forests of Targon IV, combined with the delicate sweetness of the rare flowers on Toro. Yet, it was more than that. It was uniquely Charles, a scent that was deeply imprinted in Max’s mind and one that brought an inexplicable sense of peace and belonging.
Opening his eyes, he felt a faint blush rise in his cheeks when Max realized he was purring softly in the quiet room. The deep rumble vibrated through his chest, a subconscious reaction to the comfort and security he felt from Charles’ lingering scent. It was embarrassing how much he was affected by it, but he couldn’t help himself. The prince quickly set the pillow down, taking one last lingering inhale, and straightened up.
Stepping away from the bed, Max felt the weight of his responsibilities crash back down on him. He had to focus. There was no time for these distractions, no matter how much he longed to stay enveloped in Charles’ scent. He smoothed down his uniform, trying to will away the slight throbbing in his groin as he made his way to the war room.
His feet were killing him and his old back injury was acting up along with his left arm. That one had been broken so many times, he couldn’t even remember the true number. Being curled up in the cramped travel space always did a number on his persistent aches, and the hot shower only slightly eased the tightness of his muscles.
Entering the war room, Max found himself surrounded by high-ranking officials and the rest of the generals, all eager to hear his report on the status of P-127. He rolled his eyes internally at the tense looks on their faces.
Like there was ever any doubt he couldn't complete his assignments.
Despite his exhaustion, Max remained stoic as he delivered his mission report. “All life forms on P-127 have been extinguished. Scans in all sectors confirm the planet is ready for sale and we can complete the transaction by the end of the week. Atmospheric pressure is stable and radiation levels were well within acceptable ranges.” A low pleased murmur spread over the group and Max all but collapsed down into his chair while another of the group took over the discussion.
“About fucking time,” one of the generals barked angrily. “We should’ve never lost the second regiment.”
Another general angrily stood from his seat and quickly offered a rebuttal. “The original scouting data was accurate! My men know how to do their jobs.”
“If they did, we wouldn’t be three weeks late on this purge!” The first general shot back, also standing from his seat.
The generals argued on, but Max wasn't even listening, thoughts drifting back to Charles, his chest aching. He'd had an overwhelming feeling of emptiness that plagued him in the absence of the Earthling's presence, every fiber of his being yearning to be with Charles.
Most importantly, above all else, Max just needed to know that Charles was okay. The eight days he’d been gone were the most time they’d spent separated since Charles first arrived several months ago, and Max just wanted visual confirmation, with his own eyes, that the Eldri was alright.
But duty called, and failing to report after an assignment would be foolish and risky. Pushing aside his own desires in favor of keeping the status quo, he tuned back into the conversation just in time to catch the group moving forward.
As the meeting dragged on, the atmosphere of the war room was tense—discussions of strategy and monotonous reports filling the air until a sudden interruption shattered the focus. Simultaneous beeps echoed throughout the room as every scouter in the vicinity came to life, signaling an incoming message.
Max felt a shiver run down his spine as he glanced around the room, noticing the hushed whispers and apprehensive looks exchanged between the officials and military advisors. With a sense of foreboding, he reached for his own scouter and activated the message, nervousness twisting in his gut.
As the message played, a hushed silence enveloped the room, broken only by the sound of the robotic female voice relaying the message's transmission.
“ All members of the war council report to the throne room immediately. ”
The tension in the room was palpable, each member of the war room gripped by a sense of anticipation and anxiety. Eyes darted back and forth, searching for answers in the urgent silence, while murmurs of concern rippled through the assembled group.
For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still as the realization settled in, significance hanging heavy in the air. There hadn’t been an all hands call into the throne room in years. The last time there was, the PTO entered an all out war against a competing group for region seventeen, and Max slept for two weeks straight after carrying the brunt of that battle.
He didn't have another campaign like that in him. Not now . Not with Charles to worry about.
Max exchanged a serious look with his fellow generals, thoughts swirling with the implications of the message they’d just received. Whatever it was, he knew it wouldn't be good.
Filing out of the room, the group headed to the throne room. This was the last thing he needed. Yet another delay from seeing Charles and getting to decompress.
Standing outside the throne room, Max was flanked by members of the war council who spoke in hushed tones about strategies and logistics.
As Max stared straight ahead, lost in thought amongst the crowd, he felt a familiar presence approach down the corridor until Carlos stepped up beside him. They hadn't seen each other since Max returned from his solo assignment, and the tension between them was still present, a mixture of unresolved emotions and the weight of their fight before he left.
Carlos didn't immediately speak. Instead, he reached out and gently brushed the side of Max's thigh, ostensibly to straighten a wrinkle in his body suit. The touch was light but lingering, a subtle reminder of the complex history they shared. Max stiffened slightly, but didn't pull away, his eyes still fixed on the throne room doors, distracted.
"You look well, my prince," Carlos said softly, his voice carrying a note of formality mixed with something more personal. "I was glad to hear of the success of your assignment."
Max turned his head to look at Carlos, his expression unreadable. "Thank you, Carlos," he replied, his tone measured. "It was hardly challenging."
Carlos nodded, his eyes searching Max's face for something. "I can imagine. You've always been formidable in the field."
Max felt a pang of something—regret, perhaps, or a longing for simpler times—within Carlos' words. "Do you know what this is about?," he said quietly, his gaze shifting back to the doors. "Anything happen while I was off base?"
The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken words and the dark-haired Torossian’s unresolved feelings. Max could feel Carlos' eyes still on him, could sense the questions that still simmered beneath the surface. But this wasn't the time or place for personal matters. They had a job to do, and an emperor to face.
Carlos, thankfully, seemed to understand this, and after a moment, he straightened, adopting a more formal posture. "No, I don’t have any more details," he said, his voice firm. "And if you are wondering about your precious ‘ assistant ’," Carlos crossed his arms over his chest, “he managed to stay out of trouble, at least that I’m aware of.”
Max nodded, a determined look settling on his features masking his overwhelming relief. "Let's hope this summons isn’t as bad as the last all hands call," he mused, more to himself than to Carlos. "I’m pleased you’re also well, Carlos."
Turning to Max again, Carlos’ expression couldn’t hide the mixture of relief and lingering worry as he whispered, "I have to admit, I was concerned when the tracking system in your pod didn’t load to the nav deck. For a moment, I thought you might’ve finally decided to run off."
Max scoffed at the notion, shaking his head. "Run off? Don’t be ridiculous. I would never abandon our people in such a cowardly fashion."
Carlos' snorted a laugh, almost too loud for the heavy atmosphere of the corridor, and he gave a small nod of understanding. "Our people. What, all four of us?"
Choosing to ignore the dark-haired Torossian’s comment, Max's brow furrowed in thought, a memory surfacing. "The tracking information screen in my pod didn't load when I was leaving P-127," he said, piecing together the events. "I assumed it was a minor glitch, but now that I think about it, the landing was harsher than usual. That must have been what broke the system."
Carlos openly showed concern etched into his features. "A malfunctioning pod is dangerous, my prince. You could’ve been stranded or worse."
Max shrugged off the concern with a nonchalant wave. "I've faced worse. A bumpy landing is the least of my worries. Besides, my pod took out their biggest defense system when I landed."
Carlos shook his head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Like you even needed the help."
"I didn’t," Max replied, his tone serious.
Cutting off his train of thought, Max's head whipped to the end of the corridor as he caught sight of Alonso approaching, with none other than Charles in tow. Panic surged inside the prince, his heart pounding in his chest.
What was Alonso thinking? Bringing Charles here? Was he out of his fucking mind!
The panic was quickly replaced by a seething rage, his eyes narrowing as he watched the elder and the young Torossian make their way towards the group. Max's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He could feel Carlos’ eyes on him, sensing the shift in his demeanor. He knew he couldn’t do this, show favor, but the sight of Charles here, in the heart of the ship, where the emperor’s eyes and ears were everywhere, made his Oozaru crack the bars of its cage with the need to get the Eldri away from here.
As Alonso and Charles drew closer, Max could see the anxiety etched on the elder's face, mingled with regret. Charles, on the other hand, looked slightly bewildered but resolute, his green eyes flicking nervously between Alonso and the war council members as they approached.
He stood corrected. This was the last thing he needed.
_____
Hurrying through the corridors, Charles and Alonso’s steps echoed in the tense silence of the ship. As they approached the throne room, a dull roar of a crowd muffled their steps and Charles spotted Prince Max with Carlos in full battle armor standing outside, flanked by a contingent of soldiers.
He looked tired, but more or less in one piece from his assignment and Charles was momentarily grateful for it. In fact, he didn’t even have a mark on him, which the Earthling thought was odd . . . Armor perfectly intact, suit freshly laundered, and a darker gray pair of gloves that were different to the white ones he normally wore. The prince must’ve returned to the ship before and changed, but wasn't in the room when Alonso brought him there.
Was the prince avoiding him?
No, Charles argued with his instincts. Max was in a meeting . . . That’s what Alonso had said, and Charles took a deep breath trying to calm his frayed nerves. The prince wasn’t avoiding him on purpose.
Charles could feel the tension emanating from Max, who was visibly agitated at the sight of him. The prince's face flashed with concern, only for a moment, as he noticed Charles and Alonso's arrival before a mask of neutral indifference settled again.
The young Torossian could see right through Max's attempts to hide his unease, and his hindbrain whined in his ears.
Eyes darting briefly to Charles before quickly averting his gaze, Max's jaw clenched. Alonso maneuvered the two of them through the crowd closer to the other Torossian men. Leaning over to the elder’s ear, Charles heard Max whisper angrily, “Hoe durf je hem hierheen te brengen." [ How dare you bring him here ]
Charles nervously looked around and wished he knew what they were saying, picking at the skin around his thumb. Cold air wafted from the crack between the doors, sending a shiver through the Earthling.
"Op de dagvaarding stonden alle vier de bewoners van onze suite,” [ The summons said all four occupants of our suite ] Alonso replied calmly, not looking at the prince. “Stay calm. Do we know what this is about?” The elder added when Max's mask started to crack, but his vacant stare quickly returned.
“No, I only got the message to report immediately while in the war room.”
Charles could tell Max was struggling with himself, torn between shielding Charles from danger and his duty to keep up the pretense. His attention remained fixed on Max, who stood beside him with an air of strained resolve. The prince’s usually confident demeanor was marred by the flicker of inner turmoil visible in the clench of his jaw and the stiffness of his posture.
The voice—his Eldri—fluttered to the surface again, urging Charles to take a step closer to the prince. The primal instinct within him craved the safety and reassurance that Max’s presence provided. After his ordeal with George, the need for comfort was overwhelming. Charles wanted nothing more than to curl up in Max's arms and cry, to bury his face in the prince’s chest and breathe in his calming scent, letting it wash away the horror and shame he felt.
Involuntarily, Charles moved closer to the prince, his body acting on the desperate yearning for affirming their bond. But he stopped dead in his tracks when Max recoiled away slightly. The sudden movement was like a slap to the face, reminiscent of the one he’d received that morning from the commander and the action caused Charles to freeze in place, his heart pounding in his chest.
Piercing blue eyes met his, conveying a silent warning that sent a twinge through his tail spot. Max’s gaze was hard, almost unreadable, but the message was clear: Keep your distance. The rejection was like a knife to Charles’ already fragile heart.
Did he know? Oh god, did the prince know what he had done . . . ?
Fear tore a hole through his stomach, burning like acid. The guilt and shame from George’s violation resurfaced with a vengeance, threatening to drown him. His hindbrain whimpered quietly, seeming to take Max's rejection as confirmation that they were no longer worthy of the prince’s affection. The primal voice inside him echoed with despair, the feeling of unworthiness gnawing at his insides.
But Charles knew better.
He forced himself to take a steadying breath, fighting the urge to crumble under the weight of his emotions. He had to stay strong, for Max, for Alonso, and for himself. The prince was dealing with his own struggles, and adding his burden would only make things worse.
The young Torossian understood the gravity of the situation—they were entering unknown, dangerous territory here, and Max needed him to play his part flawlessly. Suppressing his own needs, and those of his Eldri, Charles steeled himself with a sigh, resigned to his role as the prince's "dumb human assistant," and was prepared to do whatever was necessary to keep up that charade.
To prove he was worthy.
Swallowing hard, Charles straightened his shoulders, trying to regain his composure. He couldn’t afford to fall apart now. There was too much at stake. Too much at risk when it came to Max and Jos, and he needed to be resilient. Taking a step back behind the prince, Charles turned his eyes to the floor.
Heart still racing, he stood amidst the crowd of soldiers, between Max and Alonso, outside the imposing doors of the throne room. Hands trembling slightly at his sides, Charles willed himself to stay calm, clenching his fists, nails digging into his palms.
Don't panic. We have no idea what this is about. Don't panic. It all could be nothing.
Glancing around, he observed the diverse array of alien soldiers surrounding them. Each one bore the unmistakable mark of a battle-hardened warrior. Their imposing stature and steely expressions gave the illusion of formidable strength.
Odd, Charles thought. That didn't hold true by his estimations.
He scanned the power levels of the hall with his mind and quickly determined the highest level was that of Prince Max. In fact, all of these other soldiers weren't even close to him in terms of energy reading alone.
On the other side of the doors, however, was a different story.
Charles couldn't feel past the overwhelming presence of Jos' malevolent ki. It loomed over them like a dark cloud, suffocating and all-encompassing. The sheer intensity of it made his hackles rise, and his primal instincts were screaming out that he needed to be closer to Max with the danger that lurked within the throne room.
Jos' energy was like nothing he’d ever encountered before, a twisted force that seemed to seep into every fiber of his being, filling him with a profound sense of foreboding.
Pushing away those thoughts, the Earthling refocused his efforts on detecting who else was in the room. After a moment, he was able to pick out a few more beings that had power levels higher than the prince and some additional ones that could be considered the same level as Max.
Well . . . His base level that is.
The prince had a baseline that was somewhat misleading. His true energy reading and potential came in those few moments of high stress Charles witnessed. Brilliant flashes of unimaginable golden strength and prowess.
Keeping that information in mind, Charles decided the only other ki signature stronger than the prince's, in the immediate vicinity, was that of the emperor, and it wasn’t a small difference. The emperor’s power was unfathomable.
His senses heightened as he focused on scanning the rest of the room, attuned to the slightest fluctuations around him, double checking his estimations. Part of him was grateful he kept this ability a secret and he could gain a slight advantage in this situation.
There were around a dozen . . . maybe fifteen people in the throne room at most? Some of the signatures had started to bleed together and he couldn’t—
His thoughts were cut short when one of the ki’s in the throne room pulsed wildly, before quickly fading, disappearing into nothing. Charles gulped knowing what that meant.
Judging his own power level against the crowd inside the room, it was even worse than bringing a knife to a gun fight—he was a fucking spoon.
Amidst his concentration, another sudden disturbance caught his attention, a familiar ki signature approaching rapidly down the hall. His heart skipped a beat as he detected George's ki, unmistakable in its intensity and malice. Fear surged through Charles, his body tensing involuntarily as he struggled to contain the tremors from his Eldri coursing through him.
Before he could fully process his fear, Alonso moved with a protective instinct, subtly stepping in front of Charles and placing a reassuring hand on his lower back. The gesture was small but meaningful, a silent promise of support.
Caught off guard by Alonso's defensive stance, Charles glanced up to meet the elder’s gaze, gratitude pricking behind his sore eyes. As their gazes met, a strange look passed over the prince's face just beyond, a subtle shift in his expression that didn't go unnoticed by Charles. It was a fleeting moment, but it left Charles with a nagging sense of unease. He desperately wanted to tell the prince what had happened, but he was still fearful of what he might do.
What Max might think.
Slowing his casual stride, George stopped right in front of their group, messing with the scouter on the side of his head. Pulling his hand away, the commander reached out past Alonso, like he wasn’t even there, and closed his hand around Charles' jaw, pulling him forward and away from the other Torossians.
The sensation had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, skin crawling at the touch of the man who had treated him with such disregard only hours before. He winced as George's fingers traced over the now imperceptible marks on his cheek, a humiliating reminder of their previous encounter.
With a sneer, George's lips curled into a mocking smile as he assessed the skin, his grip tightening slightly.
"And what do we have here?” He shifted his gaze from Charles to Max. “Look at you," he taunted, voice dripping with disdain. "Can't handle the workload, your Highness ? Need a little human assistant to hold your hand?"
The words cut through Charles like a knife, each syllable laden with contempt and derision. It was a clear reminder of his role in this twisted game.
The Earthing was just a pawn.
Despite the humiliation, Charles refused to show weakness, meeting George's gaze with a defiant stony glare when the commander turned his eyes back to him. Beside him, Charles felt the prince’s ki flare brilliantly, causing George’s scouter to beep wildly and distract the tall man from the Earthling.
With a scowl, Max shot back, “Your lack of productivity is hardly a reflection of my capabilities, George. I have no doubt that we’ve all been called here to discuss how to fix your latest fuck-up, have we not?"
George's expression twisted into a mask of offense, feigning a wounded sense of pride at the prince's biting words. “Perhaps you’re right, prince. Maybe I’ll just have to take the human as an assistant for myself then if he’s that . . . helpful .” George said, tightening his grip on Charles' sore jaw.
Charles heard a low, menacing growl from behind him, the sound reverberating through the corridor. Before he could fully process what was happening, Alonso stepped forward and ripped George's hand away from his jaw with a swift, practiced motion. The commander balked, clearly taken aback by the elder Torossian's sudden aggression.
Alonso wrenched George's hand down to his waist, his grip like iron, and placed a small, crumpled pile into George's open palm. Charles blinked in disbelief, recognizing the object instantly—it was the cloth with the commander's initials embroidered on it, the very one he’d carelessly thrown at him earlier in his office.
"You dropped this," Alonso ground out, his voice permeated with spite and malice. His eyes burned with a fierce, protective intensity as he glared at George, silently daring him to make a move.
George's eyes flicked down to the cloth in his hand, then back up to Alonso's face before sliding his gaze over easily to Charles. The commander’s expression was a mix of amusement and confidence, his head cocked to the side. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, Alonso," he drawled, eyes fixed on the Earthling and posture completely relaxed.
Taking a step in front of Charles, Max spoke to Alonso in a low tone Charles hadn't heard before from the prince. “Probeer je hem te vermoorden? Denk een na met je verdomde hoofd.” [Are you trying to get him killed? Think with your fucking head]
The elder Torossian didn't flinch or look away from the second-in-command, his grip on George's wrist tightening just enough to make the commander’s cocky grin slide down into a frown. "I know exactly what I'm doing," he replied coldly to Max.
Charles felt a surge of gratitude and relief wash over him, but the tension in his body skyrocketed as he watched the exchange. He knew Alonso was fiercely protective, but seeing it in action was something else entirely. The elder Torossian was like a force of nature, unyielding and unwavering in his resolve, just like the prince.
Intensely watching the exchange, Max took another step in front of him, shielding Charles from George's view completely, before the commander yanked his hand free from Alonso's grasp, face contorted back into sadistic glee. "You’ll regret this, both of you," he spat, shoving the cloth into his chest plate.
Before the exchange could escalate further, the massive doors to the throne room swung open with a resounding thud, drawing everyone's attention. Ice cold air blasted into the corridor and Charles' breath caught in his throat with its intensity against his face.
Without another word, the group filed into the room two at a time led by Commander George, a smell of blood and death heavy in the frigid air.
Charles tried his best to keep a blank expression, but he felt his eyes grow wider and wider the more he took in the throne room. It was enormous, with off-white tiles covering every surface, large stone columns with rounded cut-outs added an architectural grandeur behind a floating throne that looked like some kind of mechanical, hollowed out egg with the top half missing. The stairs leading up to it seemed completely unnecessary, purely there to emphasize dominance and authority.
Stopping behind Max and the other Torossians after the whole group finished filing in, the heavy double doors slammed shut with a resounding thud that echoed through the chamber. The sound reverberated in Charles' bones, making him feel even smaller in the grandiose space.
There was screaming, and Charles looked up with mouth agape. A soldier with their head pinned underneath a gray claw-like foot was begging and blubbering for something.
Forgiveness maybe?
The man's words were lost in his desperate cries, barely comprehensible. Three black talons drew blood from where they pierced the side of the man's face, and Charles snapped his eyes to the floor when the yelling stopped, followed by a sickening crunch that echoed in the cavernous room. The sound was so visceral that it made his stomach churn.
Carlos on his left side elbowed him hard in the arm before hissing, “Stand at attention.” The jab was sharp and painful, but it brought Charles back to the present, jolting him out of his shock.
He stole a quick look at Alonso to his right and copied his stance. The elder stood with his shoulders back, feet shoulder-width apart, and hands clasped behind his back. Swallowing thickly, Charles mimicked the posture, feeling the tension in his muscles as he straightened up. He hadn't even realized he’d hunched forward in on himself, his body instinctively trying to make itself smaller.
Bringing his eyes back up, he finally took in the full sight of their sovereign: Emperor Jos.
The warlord looked nothing like what Charles had imagined and it was a chilling sight to behold. The embodiment of sheer terror and malevolence. Standing tall and slender, Jos exuded an aura of icy supremacy that chilled the very air around him—the source of the arctic air bathing the throne room. His form sleek and streamlined, with smooth, sickly lavender gray-hued skin that shimmered with an otherworldly glow.
Jos’ facial features were softer, almost feminine, but his mask of calculating cruelty enhanced every line and contour etched with a lifetime of ruthless command. The rest of his hard, toned body spoke of an unchallenged might coiled away in sculpted muscles. With piercing crimson eyes, gleaming with an unsettling intensity, his stare betrayed a cold intelligence that bordered on madness.
His face was framed by two shallow openings for ears and an absence of hair anywhere on his body. Instead, his head had a deep purple coloration on the skull sitting low on his forehead and reaching back in an oblong oval shape to its base, giving him an unnatural, inhuman bone structure.
His body was adorned with sleek, metallic armor that hugged his form like a second skin. Its polished surface reflected the dim light of the throne room with an eerie sheen. Jos’ shoulders, forearms, and sternum were capped by deep purple plating similar to the coloring on his skull, while his long, sinewy, lizard tail snaked menacingly behind him, poised to strike at a moment's notice.
Now that Charles was in the throne room, Jos’ ki put off an aura of palpable malice that truly set him apart, a dark energy that seemed to radiate from his very being like a chilling miasma. In his presence, the air felt thick with universal fear and unease, as though the very fabric of reality recoiled in horror at his existence.
“Does anyone else have an idiotic suggestion they would like to offer?” Jos asked the room, tone eerily calm for someone who just crushed another man’s skull. His tail, however, told a different story. While his face remained lifeless, his tail lashed angrily behind him, smacking the tile of the top throne step hard with a crunching echo.
Scanning the room, his red eyes landed on their group and Charles held his breath, but managed to not look away this time. The corners of Jos’ lips pulled up into an unpleasant smile when he spotted the prince.
“Approach, Prince Max.”
Without hesitation, Max stepped forward and away from the crowd with confident steps, all the way to the bottom of the stairs of the throne. He knelt down smoothly before casting his head down and said, “My Lord.”
Charles felt like he couldn't breathe, instincts throbbing with worry in the base of his skull.
The warlord floated a few inches from the floor, traveling down the steps until he was just in front of the prince, grabbing a hold of his neck and lifting him off the floor to his feet. From this angle, Charles couldn't tell if he was hurting Max, and he struggled to suppress the silent snarl building within him until Alonso put a hand on his arm in warning.
Bringing his face down close to Max’s, the emperor whispered something to him with a smile before retracting his hand and floating back.
Charles was speechless at the bizarre behavior.
“It seems you’re going to get a second chance you don’t deserve,” Jos said loudly.
The emperor gestured to the small pile of bodies beside his throne, the source of the blood trickling down the steps and the overwhelming iron stench.
“These scouts have informed me that Merc is still in open revolt after two interventions. My esteemed generals also tell me that we should abandon our pursuits—cut our losses on the investment of a strategic base and mine there.”
Max crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed, before answering. “That would be foolish, my lord. The investment that's been spent already is too great to pull out now and would send the wrong message, encouraging future defiance elsewhere.”
Smiling at the prince's comments, the emperor descended until his three toed feet touched the floor, stepping to the side.
“What would you suggest then, since both your original plan and now Commander George’s failed?” The emperor asked in a more genuine tone.
Among the group of generals, Charles saw the commander place his hands on his hips, but didn't offer a rebuttal. As the corners of his mouth pulled up into a smirk, Charles continued to listen in.
“Where’s the latest scouting map?” Max asked, and Jos led the prince over to a large console displaying dozens of data screens and terrain map options. Max waved his hand over the unit that was maybe the size of a dinner table, and a projected 3-D holographic display of the planet's surface materialized.
As Max and the warlord continued to discuss the situation on planet Merc, Charles struggled to keep up. From what he was able to piece together, Max proposed a multifaceted strategy to quell the uprising once and for all. He outlined a plan that involved a combination of military force, strategic surprise, and overwhelming firepower to crush their rebellion to demonstrate the futility of resistance and deter any further uprising.
Throughout the discussion, the emperor appeared to listen intently to Max's ideas, asking probing questions and expressing genuine interest and pleasure in his strategic insights. He nodded in agreement when the prince spoke with suggestions and they conversed freely as though there weren't almost a hundred other people in the room with them, all terrified.
As Charles observed the discussion between Max and Jos from a distance, he couldn't help but notice the dynamics at play. Jos, despite his previous demeanor of dominance and aggression, seemed to relax somewhat in Max's presence. His tense posture easing as they delved further into the strategy for dealing with the rebellion.
What struck Charles the most was Jos' body language—a subtle yet unmistakable possessiveness that emanated from him whenever he interacted with Max. There was a protective aura surrounding the prince. A sense that Jos viewed him not just as a mere slave, but as a prized possession, invaluable to his own ambitions and desires.
He watched the movements of the emperor's tail turn from agitated lashing, to pleased swishing, and even grazing against the prince's back and thighs at points in their conversation.
He thought back to all the damage and injuries he'd seen on the prince from the emperor—the deep scars littering his chest and back—that photo of Max from the scouter he'd desperately tried to forget, and that they never talked about. Being banned from the clinic, the long hours the prince worked, the night terrors, the screams, the horrors he'd endured . . . the pain. Taken from his home as just a child, warped and twisted, bent but not broken. Feared in the eyes of the universe.
Suddenly . . . all the puzzle pieces clicked into place.
Jos didn’t do those things because he hated Max.
The prince was his protege . . . his successor . . . his perfect soldier, molded in his image to be everything he wanted him to be. The emperor did those things because he would use any means necessary to get the best out of Max, to drive him to his full potential, even if that meant destroying him in the process. Max was his weapon to wield, a shiny new toy to be broken, a new challenge to conquer, and he enjoyed it.
Continuing to watch that monstrous tail brush happily at Max's back, Charles bit his tongue bloody when it started to snake down, rubbing firmly against the prince's ass. The tip of off-white object slid casually between Max’ legs, forcing a wider stance from the prince and Max's hand bent the side of the console with how hard he gripped it. No one else in the room seemed to be paying attention to the not-so-subtle signs, enraging the Earthling further.
This was it, wasn't it? The secret Max didn’t want him to see.
A jolt of recollection smacked Charles like a punch in the gut as he'd realized he'd seen that tail before . . . from the scouter photo. That fucking tail was the object coiled tightly around the prince's manhood, and Charles was going to fucking lose it at this public display of his crimes.
How dare he .
“When should we act on this?” One of the generals cut in when it seemed like Jos and Max had agreed on their next course of action.
“We need at least two hours to ready all the pods for our full assault. All crew should be ready to launch by then,” Max said authoritatively.
The group of soldiers with similar ki levels to Max, who Charles surmised were the war generals, all nodded and agreed to ready their troops within the allotted time. It looked like everyone was going to be dismissed, and Charles let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Alonso discreetly gave a soft pat to his low back, a small gesture of reassurance that Charles deeply appreciated.
The Eldri hoped he had made the old Torossian proud. He had tried to remain composed and unassuming throughout the meeting, blending into the background and the crowd of faceless soldiers as much as possible. The fear of drawing unwanted attention had been gnawing at him the entire time, but Alonso’s silent support helped him stay grounded.
Jos turned from the map he'd been studying over to Max, his eyes gleaming with a sinister curiosity before smiling widely and asking in a booming voice, “Where is your human?”
“Sire?” Max questioned, and Charles was unsure if the prince was pretending to not know what Jos meant, or if he was too distracted by the data console he was working on. Max’s voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of tension that only those who knew him well could detect.
No doubt the emperor noticed it too.
Charles shuddered when the emperor’s red eyes scanned the crowd again, the cold gaze sweeping over the assembled soldiers before locking on him between Carlos and Alonso. The intensity of Jos' stare made Charles feel exposed, like a rabbit caught in a predator’s sights.
“Approach.” Jos commanded, his voice carrying a chilling authority that sent a shiver down Charles' spine.
The Earthing’s feet were rooted to the floor, his brain not cooperating when he tried to follow the instruction. Panic surged through him, freezing him in place with a tightness in his chest.
Max turned from the console, his expression transforming into one of intense anger. The burning fury in the prince's eyes was enough to make Charles' knees feel that familiar pressure to buckle. The silent command in Max’s gaze was unmistakable: Move .
“Come now, don't be shy,” Jos said with a cruel smile, his voice dripping with mockery as he crooked his bony, clawed, finger in a beckoning gesture. The emperor’s amusement at Charles' discomfort was evident, and it only served to heighten the young Torossian’s fear.
Carlos roughly shoved him forward, and Charles barely managed to catch himself before falling flat on his face. The sudden push jolted him into motion, and he stumbled forward, desperately trying to regain his balance.
Gait slow, he approached the group of generals, the prince, and Emperor Jos, doing his best not to stare anywhere in particular remembering Alonso’s words. His heart pounded in his chest as he walked, Jos’ imposing figure commanding the attention of everyone in the room.
Halting a few paces shy of the prince, Charles tried his best to stand tall and not show any type of recognition of Max’s anger or fear until he felt a rumbling growl from the prince. Jos had an expectant look, and Charles remembered how Max approached when summoned.
Kneeling slowly with deliberate and respectful movements, Charles cast his gaze down and took a shallow breath, swallowing hard, momentarily unable to find his voice, before speaking steadily.
“My Lord.”
The tension in the air was palpable as Charles waited for Jos to speak, mind racing with thoughts of the consequences of this unexpected summons.
Even the floor near the emperor was freezing cold, burning Charles’ knees lightly as he knelt in silence.
He heard Jos chuckle delightedly before saying, “ Very nice, Prince Max. May I?”
Charles' eyes didn’t leave the floor, but he saw Max's booted feet take a step to the side, away from him and Jos. He glanced at Max, hoping for some sign of support, but the prince’s expression was unreadable, a mask of control that gave nothing away.
“What’s mine is yours, my Lord.”
Breath hitching in his throat, Charles could sense Jos' gaze upon him, feeling the weight of the warlord's scrutiny as he circled him like a predator assessing its prey. Leaning closer, the emperor inspected Charles as if he were a specimen under a microscope.
A fleeting sense of betrayal gnawed at him as he stole another glance at Max.
The prince's indifference cut deep, a sharp reminder of the harsh reality of their situation. He knew Max was only keeping up a facade, as though Charles meant nothing to him more than a momentary distraction, but it still stung, especially after what he’d been through today, and how desperately he needed comfort.
For Charles, the tension in the air was almost suffocating, each moment stretching out for an eternity as he waited for whatever kind of judgment this was. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, pulse pounding in his ears like a drumbeat as he held himself rigid, a pillar of strength in the face of uncertainty, burying any emotions deep beneath a mask of stoicism.
Jos’ feet stopped in front of him and he felt pressure under his chin to look up. The emperor was even more terrifying up close. Those red eyes burned through his soul and the cold skin of the warlord's finger touching his face sent a shiver down his spine.
“Pretty . . . for an Earthling. What is your name?”
Charles opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His mind raced, trying to find the answer to the emperor’s question but his mind was paralyzed with fear. The silence stretched on, and the pressure mounted.
“Speak, boy,” Jos demanded, his patience wearing thin. “Or have you lost your tongue?”
Charles took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage he had left. “Ch–Charles. My name is Charles.”
Jos’ smile widened, and he straightened up, clearly amused by Charles’ response. “My latest briefing informed me you've been training with our Torossian prince. That's quite an impressive feat for your species, Charles .”
Charles was taken aback for a moment, but he guessed this proved his theory about George correct. The commander clearly had no intention of keeping his discovery a secret from the emperor.
“Do you agree, Prince Max?” The warlord called out, but didn’t take his eyes off Charles.
“The boy is adequate,” Max responded, voice dead and empty.
Jos patted the top of Charles' head before saying, “He will join us tomorrow,” ominously, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light.
Charles saw it then, only for a moment, but it was there, clear as day. Max looked at him and he caught sight of the prince's tail around his waist lightly bristling before he said, “His inexperience would be a burden on any squad my Lord—”
“Nonsense,” Jos cooed and clasped a firm cold hand on Charles’ shoulder, speaking to him as if there was no one else in the room.
“I trust the Prince of Torossian’s judgment. If you are . . . ‘adequate’ like he says, then I’m sure your ki control is as good as any of our diversion teams. I would be remiss to let you languish as a simple assistant, now wouldn't I?”
The Earthling felt like there was an insult woven in Jos’ words, but he kept his breathing steady and didn't avert his gaze.
“Shall I assign him to second wave diversion then?” Max spoke, looking at a tablet and Charles thought he was doing a damn good job of appearing to not give a fuck about the wellbeing of his assistant. “It's impossible to keep the numbers for that squad at level with the casualties.”
Jos' gaze flickered briefly to Max, a glint of something in his eyes, but the warlord’s expression remained unreadable. The emperor stared at Max for several moments that would’ve made anyone else uncomfortable, but the prince held his gaze, a flurry of unspoken words passing between their eyes.
"Is that your official recommendation, Prince Max?" Jos asked, his voice deceptively calm. “You wouldn't want him on your team? He is your personal assistant after all.”
Even Charles could tell this was a test.
Jos was looking for something, but he couldn’t tell what it was or what answer the emperor wanted to hear.
Max squared his shoulders and met Jos' gaze head-on. "No, my Lord," he replied, voice steady. "He would be a liability. I stand by my assessment that he would hinder any squad he would be assigned.”
While Jos considered the prince's words, Charles saw George quickly approaching from the small group of generals out of the corner of his eye.
“My team happens to be short a member, my Lord. Let me take the boy, and I can give him some . . . fundamentals training before launch.”
“That won't be necessary, Commander George. I have decided to accept Prince Max’s recommendation.”
Charles wanted to feel relieved at not being assigned with George, but this alternative seemed like it could be much worse. The pit in his stomach deepened, and the dread coiled tighter around his heart. He stole another glance at Max, who didn't hide his distaste for the second-in-command. The prince’s jaw was set, his eyes blazing with fury.
He looked ready to offer a rebuttal of his own, but Jos spoke again, cutting off any chance of protest.
“The human will launch with the Torossian squad, which as it just so happens, has been reassigned as diversion team one. Let the human be their corpse to clean up when the dust settles,” Jos sneered, his black lips curling into a malevolent smile.
Max looked like he'd been punched in the face, his expression a mix of shock and anger. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, Charles feared the prince might actually defy the emperor openly. The tension in the room reached a fever pitch, the air thick with unspoken rage and frustration, but Charles couldn’t see anything other than Commander George still approaching.
As he took a few steps closer to Charles with an outstretched arm, the Eldri held his breath, praying the commander wouldn't touch him. The sight of George’s hand getting closer and closer was like a nightmare unfolding in slow motion. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like a drum in his ears. The room seemed to blur around him, his focus narrowing to that approaching hand.
The commander’s fingers were inches away when he stopped just short of Charles at the emperor's command. “But my Lord, I—” George began, his voice dripping with false concern and barely concealed ambition.
“That is final!” Jos bellowed, his thundering voice bouncing off the smooth walls, amplifying his authority. The sheer power in his tone left no room for argument. “Let us see how adequate the human really is.”
Chapter 22: Goodbye
Summary:
After a few tense moments, Emperor Jos broke their staring contest, his lips curling into a small, sinister smile. “I hope I have not displeased you in assigning your assistant elsewhere?” he began, his tone deceptively casual.
“No, Lord Jos. As I said, what's mine is yours—”
“Have you lost your edge, Prince of Torossians? Training with a human . . . A pitiful species not even worth scraping off the heel of your boot. Now, what am I supposed to think of that?”
“Training aptitude isn't measured on strength alone, sire. A fresh perspective is always beneficial.”
“Perspective,” Jos said, tapping a claw against his jaw, feigning deep thought. “And just what kind of perspective does the boy provide you?”
Notes:
Please stop by my Tumblr and check out the artwork for this chapter!!! It's breathtaking and I sobbed for an hour. Sweetcorn-Zhou Did an amazing job and I can't thank her enough for putting my vision into reality ❤️
Can't thank my beta, Lady_Something , and everyone enough for their continued support for this work. Part 1 is ending at ch 23 while I take a break to write part 2!
Chapter Warnings: Violence
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As soon as they were dismissed, Charles turned away from Jos’ blazing red stare as calmly as he could, striding back to Alonso, body numb. His mind raced, trying to process everything that had just transpired. He had no idea what would happen now, but the remorseful look on the elder’s face told him all he needed to know.
This was bad . . .
The corridor outside the throne room was still uncomfortably cold, highlighting the heavy silence between the trio, laden with unspoken dread. Alonso led him and Carlos to their quarters for preparations, not uttering a single word.
Charles glanced at Carlos, whose face was a mask of barely contained fury, his eyes avoiding the Earthling entirely. The tension between them was unbearable, a silent accusation hanging in the air.
The elder then, shockingly calm, explained to Charles what the assignment they'd just received would entail.
And he was correct. Very, very bad.
When the door to the Torossian suite came into view, Charles’ body finally came back to him, the numbness giving way to a surge of adrenaline. He sprinted down the remaining stretch of the hall, bolting right for the prince's bed, his heart pounding in his chest.
The pillow on their bed smelled like Max and soap from the shower. He needed to feel something familiar, something that anchored him.
Carlos stormed into the suite right after, fury like a seething energy radiating off him in waves of heat. His movements were erratic, the sound of his boots thudding heavily against the metallic floor echoing through the room. He paced back and forth in front of the door to Max's quarters, hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tightly set.
Following close behind, Alonso’s expression was tense with concern as he tried to placate the enraged Torossian. The air crackled with energy, the oppressive atmosphere suffocating. Charles could hear the elder’s calming voice just beyond view from the doorway, though the words seemed distant and muffled, overshadowed by Carlos’ heated mutterings.
Charles watched everything from the prince’s bed, eyes locked on Carlos as he observed the volatile scene unfolding before him. He could feel the weight of Carlos' anger wafting into the room like a brewing storm, and he instinctively curled in on himself, tucking his face behind his knees, body tense with apprehension and a desperate desire to be close to Max. Every muscle in his body ached with the need for the calming presence of the prince.
The realization that Carlos, Alonso, and himself had been reassigned to the diversion team hit Charles like a punch to the gut. He didn’t fully understand the implications until Alonso had explained it to him on the way back from the throne room—it was essentially a death sentence for the average soldier. A suicide mission designed to draw enemy fire away from the main assault force in Max's strategic plan. The cold, clinical manner in which Alonso had described their new role had left Charles feeling hollow.
Charles' breath came in short, panicked gasps, the reality of his situation sinking in. The emperor’s decision had sealed his fate—being sent on a dangerous mission with little chance of survival, a mere pawn in a deadly game. The thought of being a diversion, a sacrificial piece to be discarded when no longer useful, brought back those feelings of inadequacy.
It was full circle wasn't it? A purge infant, useless and discarded, miraculously being spared by his adopted father, only to be right back where he started. The irony burned in his throat.
“I’ll fucking kill him myself!” Carlos screamed, his voice a raw manifestation of his rage, and charged at Charles from across the main room to the private suite, rage reaching a fever pitch. His eyes were wild, filled with intent to destroy.
Alonso moved quickly to intervene, stepping between the advancing force and Charles with outstretched arms. “Carlos, calm down,” he urged, his voice a soothing counterpart to the other man's fury. But Carlos was beyond reason, blinded by anger and desperation.
“After how hard we’ve worked for our rank? Years of barely putting ourselves back together on the diversion team, only to be shredded again in a matter of days. How can you still defend him!?” Carlos roared, his voice cracking with the intensity of his emotions. Alonso yanked the man back out of Max's quarters and tackled him onto their bunk, using his weight to pin the enraged Torossian down and hold him in place.
Charles watched frozen, soul aching with guilt. He knew he was to blame for their reassignment and the cause of their probable imminent demise. The knowledge was like a knife twisting in his gut.
As much as Charles wanted to defend himself, to plead his innocence, and argue that he never meant for any of this to happen, it would've been a lie.
It was all his fault in the eyes of his brother, and there was nothing he could say to assuage Carlos' rage.
Feeling utterly helpless, Charles wrapped his arms around himself, seeking comfort in the embrace of his own body, much like he did that first night on the ship. The cold, stale air of the room seemed to seep into his bones, amplifying his sense of isolation as he listened to the heated exchange between Carlos and Alonso, words blending together into a blur of anger and frustration.
“Carlos, listen to me!” Alonso said firmly, using his body to restrain the other man. “This isn’t Charles’ fault. You know how the emperor operates. He’s using Charles to get to Max, to get to all of us.”
Carlos thrashed harder beneath Alonso, his breaths turning into raging snarls. His muscles strained against the elder's hold, eyes smoldering deep brown, red ki flickering to life. “I don’t care! He’s the reason for this whole fucking mess! We’ve sacrificed everything, and for what? For him to ruin it all!? Every step forward, every drop of blood shed—wasted!” His voice cracked with the weight of his frustration and despair, echoing off the metal walls of the suite. Charles could feel the heat of Carlos' anger from across the room, billowing through the open door.
Confusing for the Earthling, the prince wasn’t dismissed with the rest of the room, and Charles didn’t know if he'd ever see him again with launch quickly approaching. Alonso had mentioned that Max was on the reserve team, scheduled to launch in an entirely different wave of the assault on Merc. The thought of Max being sent into battle without him there to watch his back filled Charles with a cold dread, a gnawing fear that he might never see the prince again if things went badly.
He couldn't let that happen. The prince had been through enough.
All he could do now was wait; wait for the inevitable moment when he was called to join the diversion team, wait for the moment when he was forced into battle for an army he shared no cause with, and wait for the moment he would meet his gruesome demise. The hopelessness of his situation wrapped around him like chains, each second ticking by with a heavy finality.
He tried to focus on the small comforts—the feel of the soft bedding beneath him, the lingering scent of Max on the sheets—but it did little to ease his anxiety.
“STOP!” Alonso’s voice cut through his thoughts like a blade, sharp and commanding. Charles looked up at the tussling pair, heartbeat rising in his chest. Alonso’s eyes were fierce, a contemplative look etched into every line of his face. “We can send him home . . . We’ll send him back to Earth with the launch, and then we'll complete this assignment. Everything will go back to how things were. Come on Carlos, we’ve survived diversion squad plenty of times, and this one will be no different.”
Carlos froze, his rage momentarily halted by Alonso's words. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly as he processed what the elder had said. Alonso's grip on him loosened, though he remained ready to restrain the younger man if necessary. The suite was filled with a tense silence, the air still crackling with Carlos’ flared ki and the weight of their collective fate.
For a moment, Carlos seemed to waver, his anger giving way to a raw, vulnerable confusion. “Send him home?” he repeated, his voice hoarse and uncertain. “And how the fuck are we supposed to send him back?”
“Just think with me for a second.” Alonso grunted as he adjusted his hold on the man’s arms. “You said you’d lost tracking data on the prince’s pod returning from P-127 . . . Did you report it?”
Long since ceasing his attempts to free himself, Carlos looked confused, his brow furrowing as he said, “No . . . I didn’t? I assumed the nav tracking system was damaged on his harsh landing, and—and I wouldn’t have reported it until he was at least two hours past due for return.”
“And you are sure the whole system is dead? Not just a momentary glitch?” Alonso pressed.
“I’m sure,” Carlos answered, tone firm. “Prince Max even confirmed to me that the nav screen in his pod didn’t load when he left P-127. The control deck received no data after he left the planet.”
Alonso let the younger man go and sat up beside him on the bunk, looking deep in thought for a few moments. The room was still charged with the tension of their confrontation, but Charles saw a flicker of hope in Alonso's eyes, a glimmer of a plan forming in his mind.
“That means it still doesn't work. Everyone was called to the throne room right after he got back. No one would've had time to check it before launch in an hour.” Alonso’s voice was low and contemplative, as he pieced together the implications.
“What’re you saying?” Carlos asked, sitting up as well. He looked tired, his anger still simmering but not as volatile as before. He glanced over at Charles, the resentment in his gaze now mixed with a hint of curiosity.
At least he wasn't trying to kill him anymore.
“Can you get down to the nav deck while everyone is distracted and set that pod's coordinates for planet Hassan? You have the clearance.” Alonso proposed, his voice steady and purposeful. “The damaged pod won’t be able to make it all the way to Earth, but he could acquire passage to Earth from there.”
Standing from the bunk, Carlos crossed the room to retrieve a tablet from the counter. His fingers flew over the screen as he muttered to himself, “I need to run some calculations first.”
“Be quick about it. Once the mass launch sequence starts, we won’t have time.” the elder chided, his voice edged with urgency. Alonso then stood from the bunk, crossing the main room with determined strides before sitting down next to Charles on Max's bed, expression grave but determined.
He took a deep breath before going on in a hushed tone. “Listen Charles, I said if I could find a way to send you home, I would. This is our best option. Max’s latest pod ship from his assignment has a damaged navigation tracking unit. That means it will be nearly impossible for Jos or anyone to track your whereabouts once you’re enroute.”
For the first time since he’d heard George call his name in the corridor outside the kitchen that morning, the Earthing felt like he could actually breathe. Charles looked up from his knees and whispered, “You’re serious? I–I can . . . go home?”
Alonso glanced over to Carlos, whose fingers were still furiously tapping on the tablet. “Can you do it or not? We won’t have much time.”
The agitated man looked over from the screen with a wiry grin, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and something else. “I can. The pod is on the lower launch deck in sector G. I’ll have it ready, but he better not fuck this up for us too.”
Carlos left the suite without another word, the tablet clutched tightly in his hand as he disappeared down the corridor.
Charles felt a lump form in his throat, tears stinging his eyes as he listened to the exchange. The elder’s unwavering resolve, his commitment to his safety filled Charles with a profound sense of gratitude and guilt.
He didn’t deserve the elder's loyalty, his sacrifices, but he couldn’t deny the glimmer of hope that Alonso’s plan had sparked within him.
Looking back at Alonso with wet eyes, Charles felt he could ask his real questions now that they had privacy. “I’ll have to go alone, won't I. Can’t you come with me? What's on planet Hassan? What . . . What about Max ?” The thought was unbearable. “No . . . NO! I’m not going. I won’t leave him here.”
Alonso’s expression softened, a mixture of sadness and understanding in his eyes. He reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Charles, I wish it could be another way, but my and Prince Max’s place is here. I have to stay to look after Max and Carlos. But you, you can be free Charles. You can go back to your home. Hassan is on the very edge of PTO territory. It's the last resource hub before exiting Jos’ empire in the sector closest to Earth. There are friendly people there, and you'll be able to find ships going in the direction of Earth.”
The Eldri’s brain was racing trying to comprehend what was happening, a burning in his nose.
He tried to listen intently as Alonso continued to talk and outline his plan, but he just couldn't focus with his heart sinking at each word. The idea of being sent away from the prince, alone and vulnerable . . .
“What if I can’t find a ship? What if something goes wrong?” Charles’ voice trembled, his eyes wide with anxiety.
Alonso tightened his grip on Charles’ shoulder, his voice steady and reassuring. “You’re resourceful and strong. Remember that. Once you’re on Hassan, lay low and look for the merchants. They travel frequently between planets and can help you get to Earth. Trust your instincts and stay vigilant. I know you can do this, Charles.”
The Elder reached into his chest plate and held out a few small stamped metal plates that fit in the palm of his hand. Charles took them tentatively, shaky fingers running over the grooves in the metal.
“These are PTO credits. You can use them to buy passage and get home.”
Charles didn’t know what to think, brow furrowing in concentration. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea of being sent to a distant planet, but Alonso's relatively calm demeanor helped to ease some of his anxiety.
It was flimsy, but this plan might actually work, and may be his only chance to escape Jos' clutches and return home.
Still, the thought of leaving Max behind was like stabbing a hundred daggers into his back. The prince had become his everything, the one person he trusted above all others in this hellscape. The idea of being separated from him caused a chasm of loneliness and despair to form in his chest, and his tail spot burned like it never had before.
" . . . the key to this plan is timing," Alonso's voice came back into focus, tone becoming more animated as he outlined the details. “During the chaos of mass launch on the ship, no one will notice tracking details for one pod not loading and we will use this to buy as much time as we can. Once you're in the air, a vapor bath will start to put you to sleep, and you won't wake up until your craft is one parsec away from Hassan. When it starts, just try and breathe as deep and steady as you can."
He had no idea what any of that meant.
The words were going in one ear and right out the other with the stress of the situation, so he asked the only question he could. "But, Max?" Charles whispered, not bothering to hide the tinge of worry in his voice. "What’ll happen to him once I'm gone? What’ll happen to all of you?"
The Elder’s eyes sparked with fondness. “We’ll survive like we always have. Don’t worry about us. The priority is to get you to safety.”
Charles nodded, heart heavy with the weight of their plan. “I don’t want to leave Max behind,” he admitted, voice wobbly and trembling.
"I know," Alonso replied softly, placing a large hand on Charles' shoulder. The warmth of the elder’s touch was grounding, but his whole body started to burn, raging heat emanating from his tail spot up higher on his back. "But this is your best chance to get out of here alive. Come now, let's finish getting you ready. I can message Max to see if he can slip away to meet us at the launch pad to say goodbye.”
The Earthling hoped he would.
He couldn't stand the thought that his last memory of Max's face would be the angry grimace he'd given him in the throne room, the hurt and disappointment evident in those piercing blue eyes. He needed to see the prince one last time, to hold him close and feel his steady heartbeat against his chest.
With Alonso’s help, he stood tentatively from the cot completely numb. Charles let the Elder adjust his armor tight over his chest, steeling himself for this plan. Each click and snap of the fastenings felt like a countdown, bringing him closer to the moment he’d have to leave.
Glancing back down at the prince’s bed, Charles felt a tear slip down his face. It felt like a lifetime ago that he longed for nothing more than to go back to Earth. Now . . . Now he was sick at the idea of returning to that life.
Swallowing hard, he tucked the credits into his boot and followed the Elder to the door.
The corridor outside was eerily quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of the ship reduced to a low hum as preparations for the mass launch continued. Charles walked beside Alonso, his mind waring with itself. His Eldri was actively fighting him, making his footsteps heavy and his arms weak in its attempts to stop their escape.
The chance to see his friends again and visit his father's grave filled his chest with hope. But deep down, he also felt that leaving Max behind would be the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.
As the elder picked up his pace, Charles had to race to keep up as they continued down to the secluded lower-level sector G launch pad, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The corridors this far to the side of the ship were empty and dimly lit, with all the other crew getting ready on the upper decks.
Leading the way, Alonso's pace was swift and determined, while Charles followed close behind, blood roaring in his ears, steps unsteady. The elder navigated the maze-like corridors with practiced ease. All the new sights and smells heightened Charles’ senses while they moved with purpose.
Finally, they reached the entrance to the launch pad.
A massive steel door loomed before them, looking old and dilapidated compared to the rest of the ship. With a swift motion, Alonso pressed a few buttons on a panel to the side, and the door slid open with a low hum, revealing a few small round spaceships, only one with its hatch open. It was pretty banged up and clearly had seen better days, but he supposed that is why the system was broken in the first place.
The launch pad was poorly lighted, the only illumination coming from the flickering overhead lights and the faint glow of the pod’s cracked control panel.
Walking into the room, Alonso said, “Good. It looks like Carlos was able to load your flight plan and open it for you. Go ahead up the steps and get settled. Remember, once you’re on Hassan, find the merchants. They’ll help you get to Earth. Stay low, stay alert, and trust your instincts, Charles.”
Charles stopped walking just inside the door, his feet feeling like lead. He hesitated, staring at the open hatch of the spaceship, the reality of his impending departure hitting him hard. His Eldri was pleading in his ears now, begging him to go back, not to take another step. The elder turned back over his shoulder with a questioning look, his brow furrowed.
“Is Max c–coming? Please , can I wait for him?” Charles could feel the tears starting to gather in the corner of his eyes again. “I have to see him and tell him I'm sorry. Alonso, please—”
Alonso frowned, but his resolve remained firm. “I didn’t hear back from my message and we are running out of time, Charles.” He quickly grabbed hold of the Earthling’s arm without hesitation, and pulled his reluctant feet toward the pod.
The interior of the pod was bland and utilitarian, every surface designed for functionality rather than comfort. Alonso stepped to the side, his fingers dancing over the control panel as he double-checked the pod's systems and made final preparations for launch, the hum of the pod’s propulsion system filling the room.
Charles’ pulse thundered in his neck as he dragged his feet forward, each step feeling like a monumental effort. His heart ached with the thought of leaving without seeing Max one last time, the prince’s face a constant presence in his mind. He started to step up the ramp, his body moving mechanically, when a voice stopped him.
“Charles!”
_____
In the opulent throne room, amidst the sea of generals and advisors, Max stood rigid, his stomach churning. The weight of his recent decisions hung heavily on his mind, their repercussions now unfolding before him in real-time.
“ We kunnen hem niet daar heen laten gaan . . . Hij is er niet klaar voor ,” his Oozaru rumbled chest deep. [ We can’t let him go out there . . . He isn’t ready ]
Max didn’t have an answer, only angering his hindbrain further.
As they waited for Emperor Jos to deliver his final remarks, Max's thoughts raced, his mind replaying the events of the last five minutes over and over again. He cursed himself for suggesting that Charles would be a liability—a choice that had seemingly backfired in the worst possible way.
He'd thought perhaps Jos would be deterred from insisting Charles join the assault, but he was foolish for not seeing the clear threat in the test he'd been given.
But really . . . it was an impossible question to answer.
Either he didn't want Charles on his team, and the Eldri would be sent into harm's way where Max couldn't protect him. Or he recommended Charles should be on his team, and further fuel Jos’ evident suspicions.
Max's eyes scanned the room, noting the stoic faces of the other generals, their expressions unreadable. The air was thick with unspoken fears and simmering rivalries, the stench of gore making the prince’s Oozaru bristle in its overstimulated state. The unassuming throne at the far end of the room, where Jos sat with his intimidating presence, seemed to mock Max with its impossible simplicity.
Beside him, George's presence only added to Max's quickly developing headache.
The commander’s disdainful glances served as a constant reminder of his snap decision. George's smug satisfaction was evident in the way he stood, arms crossed, a slight smirk playing on his lips. Max clenched his jaw, nails digging into his palms, fighting against his rising urge to knock that smug grin off the asshole’s face.
How did Jos even know about Charles? Max wondered as his mind raced to piece together the puzzle. Chiding himself mentally for such a foolish question, Max fumed. It was obvious how he knew . . . George fucking told him.
The real question was, how did George find out?
Yes, the commander knew Charles was on the ship when they’d had their run in at the clinic, but that didn’t explain how he knew Charles was his assistant, or that he and Charles sparred together.
The way George had looked at Charles in the corridor outside the throne room made Max’s blood boil. His muscles tensed, and his fists clenched harder at his sides, nails leaving crescent shapes.
How dare that cretin touch his mate .
Shaking his head lightly, Max knew those thoughts weren’t his. They were his Oozaru’s, and he couldn’t even begin to deal with that right now. The primal side of him roared for dominance, desperate to protect what it saw as its own, but Max pushed it back, easily maintaining control.
When George had cut in saying he wanted the Earthling on his team, Max's thoughts drifted back to the corridor outside the throne room and Charles' apparent fear of George. The image of Charles’ pale face, wide eyes filled with hatred, haunting him.
Had something happened when the commander had found him in the clinic? Did Charles not tell him everything the man said to him? The question spun in his mind like a poisonous whisper.
Thinking back on it, Max bit his lip. That was right after his outburst and Charles had bared his neck to him when telling him about the encounter in the face of Max’s anger. He remembered the way Charles had trembled, not just from fear but from a deeper, more primal submission. The Earthling had exposed his most vulnerable side, trusting Max not to harm him, even after the prince had broken that trust.
Stupid.
He was so fucking stupid .
How could he have been so blind, so consumed by his own anger and frustration that he missed the signs? Charles had been trying to tell him something important, something that could've protected him. Instead, Max had let his rage overshadow his judgment, leaving Charles vulnerable to whatever cruelties George might have inflicted.
The memory of Charles’ neck bared to him, the silent plea in his eyes, cut through Max like a blade. His chest tightened with a mix of guilt and fury, directed as much at himself as at George. He had to find out what had really happened—had to make sure Charles was safe.
Alonso also, not-so-subtly, stepped in front of the Earthling when the commander approached. That was odd, and it would be extremely unusual for the elder to know something and not tell him. Alonso was always straightforward with Max, especially when it came to matters of safety and loyalty. The elder’s protective stance was a clear signal that something was wrong, and Max couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being kept in the dark about something crucial.
Minutes stretched into an eternity as the anticipation in the room reached an unbearable level. Max's heart hammered in his chest as he braced himself for whatever pronouncement the emperor was about to make. Any sign of weakness, and the emperor would pounce on him, using such weakness against him and those he cared about.
He forced himself to stand taller, to project an air of confidence he didn't feel, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. His spine straightened, and he lifted his chin. The stakes had never been higher, and the slightest misstep could spell disaster for them all.
He was better than that. Made for this. Forged in a fire of pain and suffering.
As the throne room emptied of the crowd, Emperor Jos' demeanor shifted, his expression hardening, letting that indifferent mask slide off freely in front of the war council. Jos stepped directly in front of Max and locked him in place with his cold red stare, the intensity of his gaze rooting Max to the spot.
“Ready your men,” Jos announced, his voice echoing through the throne room.
The command ignited a whirlwind of activity as soldiers began to move, following the warlord’s orders with practiced efficiency. The generals barked commands, their voices blending into a cacophony of disciplined chaos, air filling with the sounds of preparations for the impending launch: the clatter of weapons being readied, the shuffle of armored boots, and the low hum of strategic orders being relayed.
Within moments, the throne room had cleared, leaving Max alone with the emperor.
They stared at each other for a long time in oppressive silence. Max fought to keep his expression neutral, not letting how unsettled he was show, while Jos' eyes bore into him, unblinking and piercing. Locked in this silent battle, it was just a matter of who would blink first.
Max had too much at stake to let it be him.
After a few tense moments, Emperor Jos broke their staring contest, his black lips curling into a small, sinister smile. “I hope I have not displeased you in assigning your assistant elsewhere?” he began, his tone deceptively casual.
“No, Lord Jos. As I said, what's mine is yours—”
“Have you lost your edge, Prince of Torossians? Training with a human . . . A pitiful species not even worth scraping off the heel of your boot. Now, what am I supposed to think of that?”
“Training aptitude isn't measured on strength alone, sire. A fresh perspective is always beneficial.”
“Perspective,” Jos said, tapping a claw against his jaw, feigning deep thought. “And just what kind of perspective does the boy provide you?”
Max felt that pit in his stomach grow, burning deep toward his back. His tail, thank the goddess, had decided to listen to him and remain perfectly still. He didn't respond, opting to not say anything over opening his mouth and failing another test.
“He’s a pretty one, isn’t he?” Jos continued, cocking his head to the side slightly, a small barely there smile playing on his lips. The way he said it, with that hint of mocking amusement, sent a surge of anger through Max.
Max kept his face neutral and his hands loose at his sides, fighting the urge to clench his fists. “I hadn’t noticed,” he replied, devoid of emotion.
The Emperor hummed, his eyes narrowing slightly as if considering Max's response. “Is that so?” he mused, the words hanging in the air between them.
“Am I dismissed? I have a war to prepare for,” the prince said, unable to hold in his contempt any longer. The words came out sharper than he intended, but he couldn't find it in him to care. He was done playing Jos’ games.
The frost demon hardened his stare, voice tinged with a hint of mock offense. “I’m merely trying to gauge if my prolonged absence from this ship may have had unforeseen consequences on your . . . undying loyalty .”
“Never, my Lord,” Max swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat at his next words. “I am yours.”
Jos smiled fully at that, his earlier tension easing as he visibly relaxed. “I missed you while you were away,” he said, tail sliding along Max’s left thigh in a serpentine motion. The contact made Max’s skin crawl, but he stood still, determined to not show any reaction. “I heard P-127 was a success?”
“Yes. Hardly a struggle,” Max replied, feeling an unbearable itch crawl over his skin with every passing second of that tail rubbing against him.
Jos’ face turned more serious again before continuing, "Do not forget," he hissed, voice dropping to a dangerous low. "The lessons from your last display of inadequacy." His gaze lingered on Max, a silent warning implicit in his words. The emperor’s tail slithered around his wrist and yanked him forward. “Do not fail me on Merc again.”
“I won't, my Lord,” Max said through gritted teeth.
The memory of that ‘lesson’ was a burning scar in his mind, a constant reminder of Jos’ cruelty and the high price of failure. Bowing low, that tail slid across the bulge on his arm where Charles’ bracelet rested hidden under his glove as Max ground his teeth, glaring at the floor.
“I want you to launch in the third wave. Let the diversion team do their work, and the second wave will approach from the west to clean up what's left. Besides, you must be exhausted from your journey. No need to get involved in the thick of things.”
Max tightened his jaw and kept his head bowed. “Your concern for my well being is unfounded, my Lord.”
The prince loathed that no matter how hard he tried—no matter what sacrifices he made—he was ultimately at the mercy of a ruler whose motivations were as enigmatic as they were ruthless. Every word Jos spoke felt like a trap, a test he was horribly failing.
“Dismissed.”
Straightening, Max gave a final nod of acknowledgment before turning on his heel and striding out of the throne room. His steps echoed hollowly against the polished floors of the corridor as he made his way out of the throne room.
With each step, Max's mind raced, the meaning of Jos' orders sinking in with chilling clarity. He understood all too well the underlying motive behind the warlord's decision in delaying his launch—to keep him away from Charles and the other Torossians—to exert complete control without interference.
A shiver ran down Max's spine as he considered the implications of being sent out so far away from the Eldri. The thought of being separated from Charles filled him with a deep sense of unease, a gnawing fear that twisted in the pit of his stomach.
“ Hij is kwetsbaar zonder ons! ,” [He is vulnerable without us] his hindbrain roared, rattling his skull.
“I know!” the prince shouted, voice carrying down the corridor.
He stopped walking and took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He needed a plan and fast.
Tightly pulling up the fabric of his glove covering the bracelet, Max squared his shoulders and forced himself to adopt a mask of cold indifference as he walked, skin still crawling with the memory of the touch of Jos' tail. He couldn't let Jos see how much his orders affected him—not when he needed to project an air of detachment.
As he reached the end of the throne room corridor and stepped out into the bustling activity of the ship, Max felt like the distance between himself and Charles grew wider. Charles could hold his own in a fight, but he was completely inexperienced in battle, and Max racked his brain to think of how to get the Eldri out of this.
He couldn’t let him go out on the diversion team. If it came to it, he would rather die than see Charles be hurt or worse.
Thoughts interrupted by a ping in his ear, Max turned his unfocused attention to his red scouter screen over his eye. The translucent display lit up with an incoming message from Alonso.
Max stopped in his tracks and quickly accepted to read the message the elder had sent.
P-127 pod confirmed damaged track unit. Meet in L-Deck G if you can. Launching Perceval in 5.
Heart thundering in his chest, the prince read Alonso's urgent message twice more, mind reeling with a mixture of shock and desperation. The message was cryptic, but he figured it out almost immediately. Carlos had already mentioned his pod had a damaged tracking unit, which meant . . .
It could be sent out right now, and be completely untraceable.
They could get Charles home , send him away from this goddess forsaken prison of death and despair. Save him from the unfortunate fate Max was doomed to.
The weight of his guilt burned in his gut, the pain of his past mistakes gnawing at him relentlessly.
He should’ve never brought Charles here. He should’ve told Carlos to leave him in peace. How did he ever justify to himself that he was keeping him safe, when the most dangerous place for the Eldri to be was on this ship with him?
Jos suspected something, and it was only a matter of time before the emperor took Charles away from him, destroying his last remaining ounce of will to live.
Max's mind flashed back to all the moments he had shared with Charles—the laughter, the quiet conversations and spirited debates, the heated nights of unbelievable passion, the stolen glances filled with unspoken feelings. The thought of losing him now, of never seeing his gentle smile again, was unbearable.
He was in love with an angel, made a believer with the touch of the Eldri’s skin. He’d go to hell and back for Charles, to stay lost in what they’d found. Worlds apart, they were the same—two halves of a whole, until their reality came crashing down in the raging hell fire of red eyes.
Maybe Max was crazy. Maybe he was weak. Maybe he was completely blinded by the joy he’d felt over the last few months. But Charles needed a protector, someone who could keep him safe.
And that wasn't Max. He would never be able to keep him safe.
So it was time . . . Time to let Charles go.
But he had to see him, to tell Charles he was sorry and beg his forgiveness. There were a million things he needed to tell him, and he didn’t know if he would have the courage. The prince knew what he needed to do, but didn’t know if he had the strength to do it.
Five minutes .
That was all the time he had to reach Charles before he was sent away, forever . He was going to lose his whole world again and that old festering wound tore open, draining him from within. The thought of never seeing Charles again, never hearing his laugh or feeling the warmth of his embrace, filled Max with a desperation he hadn’t felt in years.
Without a second thought, the prince quickly gathered his bearings and broke into a run, his footsteps echoing loudly in the corridor as he raced back the way he had come. His legs pumped furiously, muscles straining with the effort, but he didn’t care. Every second ticked down as he pushed himself to move faster, driven by the need to see Charles one last time, to tell him the words that had been weighing heavily on his heart.
That he loved him.
As he reached the end of the hall, Max skidded to a halt, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to compose himself. The urgency of the situation hung heavy in the air as he turned the corner sharply, his eyes scanning the faces of the staff and crew filling the corridor. His vision tunneled, the surroundings blurring as he focused solely on his destination.
Ignoring the questioning looks directed his way, Max lifted into the air above the masses in the corridor and flew quickly for the stairs to the lower level, his mind singularly focused on one thing: reaching Charles before it was too late. He shot down the stairwell, heart pounding in his ears, the sound mingling with the rush of blood and adrenaline coursing through his veins. With each passing moment, the weight of Alonso's message bore down on him, driving him forward, air whipping through his blonde hair and he picked up speed.
The soul crushing agreement from his Oozaru entered his mind as he saw the launchpad’s door ahead. His instincts, for once, were in agreement with his conclusion. Maybe . . . Maybe this was for the best. Charles would be better off without them, safe from harm and free of worries.
He could do that. He loved the Eldri enough to let him go.
As he reached the launchpad where Charles was to be sent off, Max's heart hammered in his chest, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts and emotions. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, the overwhelming mixture of thoughts from his Oozaru and words he needed to say.
He had to find the words, had to tell Charles how he felt before it was too late.
With trembling hands, Max set his feet back on the group and keyed in the access code. Stepping onto the platform, his eyes frantically searching the deck. And then he saw him, stepping up the ramp into the pod, his expression a mix of fear and sadness.
“Charles!”
_____
Max’s voice was heavy in the air, the sound like a lifeline, cutting through the fog of his despair. Charles turned sharply, his shining eyes widening in disbelief as he saw Max sprinting into the room. The prince’s usually restrained demeanor was replaced by a frantic urgency, his blue eyes blazing with sadness and worry.
“Max!” Charles cried, his voice cracking with relief and overwhelming emotion. He stumbled down the ramp, Alonso quickly stepping aside as the Earthling closed the distance between them in a few desperate strides. The prince caught him in a tight embrace, burying his nose in Charles’ neck, holding him close. The familiar warmth of the prince’s body, a balm to Charles’ frayed nerves.
It felt like Max was trying to convey all of his unspoken feelings through the simple act of touch.
“I’m here,” Max whispered, his voice rough with exhaustion. “I’m here, Charles.”
Clinging to him, the Eldri's fingers dug into the fabric of Max’s uniform as if letting go would mean losing him forever. “I can’t,” he choked out, his tears finally spilling over, trickling down his face and breath caught in his throat, knowing this would be the last time he would ever see the prince.
“Alonso told me the plan,” Max whispered and squeezed him tighter. “In the throne room, I didn’t mean—I should’ve never—I didn’t intend—” Max took an unsteady breath before trying again. “I–I should’ve never asked Carlos to bring you here, Charles. I’m sorry . . . Forgive me. Forgive me for—for everything .”
In that fleeting moment, the Earthling felt a sense of peace wash over him, the weight of his emotions lifting ever so slightly in the presence of the one he knew he'd never be able to let go.
“I–I can't leave you here,” Charles pleaded, hands gripping the bottom of the prince’s chest plate. “I can’t lose you. Remember? I–I told you, and you promised. You promised me that you wouldn't l–let me lose you too.”
“Shhh, it's okay,” Max whispered, coiling his tail tightly around his waist as more tears spilled onto his cheeks from the familiar feeling. “You need to get to safety. That’s all that matters now. Be free from here. Forget about this place, its horrors, and live in peace under the warmth of your sun.”
A wave of sadness washed over him, overwhelming him with a sense of loneliness and fear. A sob slipped past his lips as he realized just how much he needed Max. Not his Eldri, but him.
Charles needed Max.
“And me . . . Charles. Forget about me.”
Shaking his head, Charles’ heart ached with the weight of their impending separation. He couldn't help but think about what life would be like without Max by his side. Earth, once a place of comfort and familiarity, now felt like an empty promise, devoid of meaning without the prince. Max had become his anchor, his guiding light in a world filled with uncertainty and danger, but he wouldn't trade it for anything in the universe.
He was Charles' everything, his reason for fighting and surviving in a world that seemed determined to tear them apart.
“You need to let me go, Charles,” Max said and attempted to pull back.
Refusing to budge, even an inch, the Earthling held onto Max for dear life. The tears flowed freely down Charles' cheeks as he grappled with the idea of being separated from the prince. The thought of facing the unknown without him filled him with a profound sense of loss and pain in his chest.
Despite his efforts to compose himself, Charles couldn't suppress the overwhelming flood of emotions that threatened to consume him. He buried his face in Max's neck, body trembling with silent sobs as he clung to the blonde, burning this moment into his memory, Max’s comforting presence. The warm woody scent of the prince filled his lungs and he mourned the thought of never smelling it again.
His Eldri had skipped past being distraught and was now outright begging, pleading to not be sent away from their mate.
“It's alright Charles, you have to go,” Max whispered and rubbed his back gently.
It was now or never for Charles, and he forced the words out of his mouth that he hadn’t uttered since his father passed away.
“I love you,” he whispered, voice trembling.
Max pulled back slightly, his hands framing Charles’ face as he looked into his eyes, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. Max's voice was the most broken Charles had ever heard when he spoke, expression soft, a rare vulnerability shining through.
“You brought me peace, in a lifetime of war, and I— Charlie I . . . ”
Mouth opening and closing several times with no further words coming out, Max's voice wavered with the evident weight of everything he couldn't say. The emotions were too raw, too powerful to be expressed in mere words alone.
Opting instead to rest his forehead against Charles’, Max held their mouths a breath apart with his eyes closed. The proximity was intoxicating, and Charles begged mentally for Max to kiss him. He needed to feel the prince's lips one last time as a physical reminder that what they had was real, that this wasn't a dream he would wake up from alone.
Instead of moving closer like the Earthling thought he would, Max craned his head back and looked deeply into his eyes. The prince stared at him so intensely, eyes darting across his face like he was trying to memorize every line and curve, like he wanted to burn the image of him into his brain.
The intensity of Max’s gaze sent sparks of fire down to Charles’ tail spot, making him feel both cherished and heartbroken at the same time.
Gazing back into those ocean blue depths, Charles opened his mouth, searching for the courage to speak and tell Max goodbye, ripping his heart out in the process. The weight of the moment made it hard to breathe, but he knew he had to say something, anything , to ease the pain and get some form of closure.
Just as the words formed on his tongue, the moment was shattered by a sudden impact.
Alonso quickly stepped behind the prince and brought his elbow down fiercely in a swift, brutal, twelve-to-six motion, striking Max in the back of the head. The force of the blow sent Max lurching forward, his eyes widening in shock before they rolled back as he crashed down towards the floor, the sound of the impact echoing through the launch deck.
“Max!” Charles cried out, horror and confusion mingling in his voice. He instinctively reached out to catch Max as he fell, and cradled the prince’s unconscious form, tail limply sliding down the back of his legs from its snug position around his waist.
The air crackled with tension as Charles looked up with wide, tear-filled eyes at the elder Torossian standing over them, expression hardened with resolve. Alonso's stern gaze bore into him, a silent command emanating from his very presence.
“Give him to me and get in the pod,” Alonso said, his voice hard and unwavering.
Charles numbly shook his head no, mind swirling to process what was happening. Every fiber of his being screamed to not let go of the prince, to fight against the inevitability of his fate, but he knew, deep down, that Alonso was right.
This was his only chance.
Releasing Max from his hold, peeling one finger back at a time, he then turned and climbed into the interior of the pod, bathed in soft ambient light. Charles settled into the seat, his heart pounding in his chest.
He watched through blurry eyes as Alonso moved to secure Max’s unconscious body. The elder Torossian’s movements were gentle, almost reverent, as he, to the Earthling’s surprise, lowered the prince onto Charles’ lap, clutching him with care before letting him go. Quickly pulling Max back to him, the Earthling’s fingers tracing the familiar contours of the prince’s relaxed face on instinct.
Kneeling in front of the open pod, Alonso reached into his chest plate and pulled out a flat round object, handing it to Charles. The elder’s voice shook, cutting through the silence when he spoke. “Give that to him when you land . . . and take care of him.”
A sob passed his lips before he could stop it, his heart breaking at the enormity of the situation. “A–Alonso?” Charles mumbled.
Stepping back, the hatch to the ship shut with a hiss, sealing Charles and Max inside. Alonso put his hand on the red-tinted glass for a moment, his expression filled with the same look Charles had seen in the med bay—the look of a man bound by an unbreakable oath to protect his prince with his life.
That was what he was doing, wasn't he?
Alonso would surely be killed for this. But he was doing it anyway to protect his prince, his charge, his adopted son.
The ultimate display of loyalty.
The realization hit Charles like a slap to the face, making his sobs come harder and faster. The weight of Alonso's sacrifice felt like a crushing burden of guilt and gratitude.
Through the glass, the elder’s eyes softened for a moment, filled with a mixture of sorrow and love. He slowly stepped away from the pod, his figure growing smaller as the pod began to hum, a low rumbling starting under his seat. Feeling crowded in the small space, Charles clung to Max instinctively, burying his face in the prince’s shoulder, holding Max as close as possible, his tears soaking into the fabric of Max’s uniform.
Remembering Alonso gave him something, Charles looked down at the object, turning it over in his hand. It was a small, intricately carved medallion of some kind with a symbol etched into its surface. He had no idea what it was for, but it was clearly important if the elder made the time to give it to him.
Tucking the round disk under his chest plate, the Eldri looked down to the unconscious form in his lap. The sight of Max, so vulnerable and still, tugged at his heartstrings. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the side of Max's head, feeling the warmth of the prince's skin against his lips.
Carefully, Charles repositioned the dead weight to rest between his legs on the seat, cradling Max's head against his chest. He leaned back, allowing the prince’s back to rest against him, and his fingers found their way to Max's hair, stroking it softly.
The pod lifted off the launchpad not a moment later, and rocketed up into the endless expanse of darkness. The sudden acceleration pressed them back into the single seat, but Charles held onto Max, ensuring the prince remained secure in his arms. As the stars streaked past the viewport, creating a mesmerizing display of light, Charles felt a glimmer of hope.
A strange smell filled the ship and Charles realized it must’ve been the sleep gas Alonso told him about. The faint, sweet scent was almost pleasant, but there was an underlying bitterness that caught in his throat. He tried to breathe deeply as he’d been instructed, but choked a bit at the aftertaste lingering on the back of his tongue. His eyes watered slightly, completely muddled by his already tear streaked face, but he forced himself to take slow, deliberate breaths.
As the gas took effect, Charles felt his limbs grow heavy, a drowsy warmth spreading through his body. His vision blurred, the stars outside the viewport fading into a hazy swirl of light and darkness. He tightened his hold on Max, unwilling to let go even as sleep claimed him. The steady sound of Max’s heartbeat was the last thing he focused on, a comforting lullaby that eased him into unconsciousness.
They were on their way to safety—to a new beginning—together.
Notes:
🥹 They got away, but at what cost? One chapter left before the end of part 1!
Please stop by my Tumblr and check out the artwork for this chapter!!! It's breathtaking and I sobbed for an hour. Sweetcorn-Zhou Did an amazing job and I can't thank her enough for putting my vision into reality ❤️
Comments are always welcome. Come say hi on Tumblr and check out the source images for this chapter.
Chapter 23: Find My Prince
Summary:
Emperor Jos' voice cut through the din, sharp and commanding. "Report."
A technician hurried forward, his face pale from the proximity to the warlord, “The rebel stronghold is on the verge of collapse, my lord. Our forces are closing in on their last defenses. Victory is imminent."
Coward, George thought to himself.
Jos nodded, a cold smile curling at the corners of his lips. "Good. Ensure no one escapes. I want this rebellion eradicated completely."
George's eyes flicked to the technician, noting the man's visible relief at having delivered favorable news. He envied the technician's fleeting sense of accomplishment, a rare commodity in their brutal world. His own sense of achievement had long since been eroded by the endless demands and ruthless expectations placed upon him.
“Has there not been a field report from Prince Max? What is the status of the rebel leader? He should've disposed of that mongrel by now,” Jos spoke, directing his questions to George. The emperor's voice carried an edge of impatience that seemed to reverberate across the control deck, causing everyone to pause momentarily.
Notes:
A nice little wrap-up for part 1 and setting the stage for part 2, enjoy!
Can't thank my beta, Lady_Something , and everyone enough for their continued support for this work.
Chapter Warnings: Violence, blood, injury, death, and genocide.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Alonso stood on lower launch deck G, bathed in the artificial glow of the overhead lights, casting long shadows across the metallic surface of the floor. His heart pounded with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation as he watched the pod rocket into the darkness of space. The hum of the propulsion system reverberated off the walls, drowning out any other sound as the pod disappeared out of sight at warp speed.
The elder Torossian’s mind remained razor-focused to ensure the success of his desperate plan. Holding the prince's scouter in his hand, Alonso meticulously worked to remove the transponder. Max had hastily taken it off as he entered the launch pad and handed it to him just before embracing the Eldri in their heart-wrenching goodbye.
After a few short moments, Alonso pulled the tracking unit free from the earpiece and tucked it securely into his chest plate. With a forceful flick of his wrist, he chucked the rest of the scouter behind the empty launch bay where Charles' pod had been.
Hands trembling slightly, he reached out to steady himself against the cracked control panel, knuckles white with the effort. A surge of relief washed over him, mingling with a profound sense of grief. For so long, he'd carried the weight of his oath to King Christian, the solemn promise to protect his son at all costs.
And now, finally , he'd fulfilled that promise.
Regretfully, he’d had to knock Max unconscious, knowing full well the prince would never leave him and Carlos behind. His sense of obligation to his makeshift family was too strong, and unwavering loyalty would've been his undoing.
Max was not afraid to die; he’d faced death countless times without flinching. But the prince was too scared to live, to face a future without the familiar torment of Jos’ regime, too comfortable living with the pain. And Alonso couldn’t stand it, letting the prince be consumed by his agony. Watching the young prince’s self-esteem go up in flames as he acted like he didn’t care what anyone else thought.
Truthfully, the elder knew that was the furthest thing from the truth as Max was too proud to open up and ask for help, needing to be pulled out of the hole he was trapped in.
Always obsessing on and stressing over all the little things, driven to seek perfection when he should’ve been living life and soaking up the memories. Max deserved to be selfish, and Alonso had no excuse for his failures to ensure it. Every day of the prince’s life had been hanging by a thread and it had been like that for way too long.
The elder was saddened by his complacency, noting that Max felt off when he wasn’t depressed with his untold issues and baggage—demons that needed put to rest, traumas the prince would surely never forget. Max was a lonely soul, the last to admit he needed a hand to hold, and headed down a dangerous road.
Alonso’s eyes stung as he thought about the life Max had lived under the tyrant’s rule. The sacrifices they had made, the innocence lost, and the burdens he bore in silence.
The truth was: Max needed help, and all Alonso ever wanted was to see the prince be happy.
Along with the relief came uncertainty and he glanced at the empty launchpad one last time. He'd made a snap decision to send Max away with Charles, fully aware of the dire consequences that awaited him once Jos discovered the truth.
Did he make the right choice?
Yes.
Yes, he did, and he would do it again.
The decision had been solidified when Max had wrapped his tail around Charles, his eyes brimming with tears as he struggled to say goodbye to the young Eldri. The elder’s heart broke as he realized that the prince was trying to memorize Charles' face, knowing that it was the last time he would ever see him.
Many years ago, Prince Max had confided in him about the agony of not being able to remember the faces of family and friends from Toro. Their memories had faded into nothingness over the years, and Max was tortured by not being able to remember the face of his mother.
Watching the prince try to spare himself that heartbreak again, twisted a knife deep in Alonso’s chest. He had seen the prince broken and mourning many times, but that sight before him was too much.
They had lost too much.
Now, he'd done everything in his power to save Max from the clutches of Lord Jos, from a fate worse than death. And for that, Alonso would be forever grateful to the goddess who gave him the strength to make the hardest decision of his life.
The room was quiet after the pod disappeared into the void, airlock creaking as it re-engaged. Alonso bowed his head in silent prayer, hoping Max would find safety and sanctuary in the vast unknown of the cosmos with Charles by his side. At least they had a fighting chance, away from the reach of the warlord.
His silent reverie was abruptly interrupted by the launchpad door hissing open again, signaling the arrival of the rest of the diversion team. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the otherwise quiet launchpad, ending the moment of solitude Alonso had just experienced. He straightened up, forcing himself to push aside his lingering heartache, and turned to face the approaching group.
Carlos came in after the small crowd, expression unreadable as he wordlessly stood by Alonso's side.
“Hoe ging het?” [ How'd it go ] The elder asked, his voice low and cautious.
Glancing at him briefly, Carlos whispered in their native tongue. “I was able to cancel all the launch alarms and confirmed the tracking data wasn’t recording. I deleted all destination coordinates and there was no one in the main launch control room with the all hands call. How'd it go down here?”
“Fine, no issues,” Alonso replied in Torossian, looking straight ahead at the small group preparing for launch, stoic demeanor betraying nothing.
“Good riddance,” Carlos quipped spitefully, waving his hand in a dismissive motion. There was a sharp edge to his voice, a bitterness that Alonso couldn’t afford to address right now.
Grinding his teeth, Alonso stayed silent. It was better if no one knew what he’d just done for as long as possible, and right now, Carlos didn’t suspect anything. As far as the dark-haired Torossian knew, Max was back in the war room for last minute map checks and Charles was enroute to Hassan.
The other unfortunate soldiers on the diversion team moved about, making final preparations for their launch. The atmosphere was tense, each of them acutely aware they were being sent to their death. Alonso watched them with a discerning eye, his thoughts still partially on the pod that had just disappeared into the void of space.
There was no turning back now. The decisions he’d made had set them all on an irreversible path.
“Gather around,” Alonso commanded, his voice steady and authoritative. The group immediately complied, forming a tight circle around him. “We have our orders. This is a diversion mission. Our goal is to draw the rebellion's attention away from the main assault that will approach from the west. Stay focused, and stay sharp.”
One soldier, a scrawny Renaultcian with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward. "Who was in the pod you just launched, Alonso?"
Alonso hesitated for a moment, before meeting the man's gaze head-on. "The Earthling," he replied simply, voice steady.
“You sent him first!?” The soldier's voice was incredulous, and a ripple of murmurs spread through the group, accompanied by exchanged glances and furrowed brows.
Sensing the confusion and unease in the air, Alonso smiled, a calculated grin that masked his true intentions. “You heard Jos,” he shot back full of sarcasm. “He was our corpse to clean up, and maybe this way, by the time we get there . . . There won't be anything left.”
A few soldiers chuckled nervously, the tension easing slightly. “Torossians are so brutal ,” another member of the group muttered, shaking his head with a look of something between admiration and disbelief.
Alonso cracked his neck and turned away from the stunned group before ordering, “Get to your pods. We launch in two.”
Soon after the pods made devastating craters on the surface of planet Merc, chaos erupted around Alonso and the diversion team as their ship hatches started to open. The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke and the deafening roar of various weapon types mingling with the anguished cries of wounded soldiers.
The ground trembled beneath their feet as explosions rocked the planet's lush surface, sending plumes of dirt, plant life, and debris into the air.
Alonso's pulse was steady as he surveyed the familiar scene before him. The Torossians were no strangers to this assignment, and his mind quickly assessed the land for weak spots in rebel lines.
The enemy's defenses were formidable, and the diversion team had landed right in the thick of it. Casualties mounted rapidly, and Alonso knew every second counted if they were to have any hope of sticking this out until the main assault flanked them from the side.
With grim resolve, the elder looked around for Carlos among the smoke, his voice ringing out above the din of battle.
"Carlos!" He shouted, barely audible over the cacophony of war, but the younger man spotted him and nodded in acknowledgment. “You take the left side of the tree line and I'll take the right!"
Nodding in agreement, the pair moved in unison with well practiced ease to the clear weak points in the rebel line.
It was going almost too well, the elder thought. All they needed to do was buy Max and Charles enough time to get out of scan range and they were free.
As Alonso and Carlos advanced through the smoke and chaos, Alonso's thoughts turned inward. He felt a nagging sense of guilt spread in his chest, knowing that he'd betrayed Max's trust in order to protect him from harm. But in the heat of battle, there was no time for second-guessing or regrets. All he could do now was focus on staying alive and pray that their distraction mission would not be in vain.
Pressing forward through the dense foliage, Alonso and Carlos had their senses on high alert for any sign of enemy activity. The tension was thick in the air, every step accompanied by the unnerving silence that stretched on far longer than it should have. The distant sounds of battle echoed through the alien forest, but in their area, it was eerily quiet, as if the jungle itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Alonso's eyes darted between the towering trees and dense underbrush, his fingers itching under his gloves with ki energy primed to strike. The Mercarian foliage crunched under his boots with every step, the sound seeming unnaturally loud in the stillness. Even the strange, foreign creatures that inhabited the forest seemed to sense the impending danger, their small, rustling movements betraying their attempts to flee the area.
Controlled puffs, each exhale from the elder fogged slightly in the humid air. The only other sound was the faint thrum of Carlos' steady breathing beside him as they pressed on in paired formation.
It was always like this. The two of them needed to rely on each other to get through missions, while Prince Max was more than capable of taking care of himself.
There was no path to speak of. Just the dense jungle thickening around them, the light filtering through the canopy becoming more muted with each step. Shadows danced, and Alonso found himself hyper-aware of every rustle, every creak of the trees as they swayed gently in the breeze. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, the anticipation coiling tighter and tighter as they ventured deeper into enemy territory.
And then, as if the very air had been sliced open, the silence shattered. A fierce ambush descended from the shadows of the trees. The quiet exploded into chaos as Mercarian warriors leaped from the foliage, their war cries cutting through the air like knives. Blades flashed, and energy blasts crackled in the darkened underbrush, the peaceful jungle erupting into a deadly battlefield in an instant.
Alonso's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Carlos disappear into the fray, surrounded by a swarm of enemy fighters. Without hesitation, Alonso sprang into action, rushing to his aid. The elder chased after the small hoard when a sudden searing pain tore through his side, and he stumbled, vision swimming with dizziness.
He flattened his palm against his right side and pulled it back painted in red. Fighting to stay upright, clinging to consciousness with every ounce of his being, Alonso put pressure on the wound and pushed forward steadily, crunching on a branch.
Another group descended on him and Alonso fought fiercely against the onslaught of enemy soldiers, his senses heightened to a fever pitch, Oozaru instincts kicking in and taking over.
Taking down two rebels in a flash, not having even a second to breathe, he felt a heavy weight slam into his back, knocking him off balance. Another surge of pain shot through him as the enemy combatant plunged some kind of blade into his lower back under his chest plate, the sharp instrument piercing his flesh with brutal force.
Gritting his teeth against the agony, Alonso refused to let these cowards overwhelm him. With a rush of adrenaline, he twisted and turned, grappling with his assailant in a desperate bid to gain the upper hand, knocking his scouter off in the process. The two warriors wrestled furiously, locked in a deadly dance of life and death.
As they struggled, Alonso's fingers closed around the hilt of the weapon, his hands slick with blood and sweat. With a primal roar, he wrenched the blade free from his attacker's grasp, movements fueled by survival instinct.
With a swift, fluid motion, Alonso swung the weapon around, aiming for his adversary's throat. But in the chaos of battle, his aim faltered, and the blade sliced through the air with lethal intent, missing its mark by mere milliseconds. Before he could correct his trajectory, the enemy soldier's head jerked back, a look of shock and disbelief crossing his face.
In that split second, Alonso's instincts took over like they had in several life and death situations over his many years. The gift of the Oozaru really was the greatest blessing bestowed on their people and he was grateful for it now.
With a surge of ki energy, he unleashed a blinding beam of light, aiming for the source of the threat with deadly precision. The searing energy tore through the air, slicing through flesh and bone with unstoppable force as it incinerated the man's head from his body and spread out like a shockwave all around him.
For a moment, there was silence again, broken only by the crackle of energy in his palm and the thud of bodies hitting the ground. As the smoke cleared, Alonso found himself standing alone amidst the carnage, his chest heaving with exertion and pain.
If his time estimations were correct, the main assault was overdue by a good margin, and he hoped there would be at least a few soldiers left from this botched distraction mission by the time they arrived.
Darkness encroached at the edge of his vision as he sank to the muddy ground, his strength ebbing away with each passing moment.
“Carlos!” He yelled but didn't receive any reply.
Without his scouter, lost to the underbrush, he had no way of knowing if the dark-haired Torossian was even still alive.
“CARLOS!” Alonso bellowed, but only the silence of the trees answered.
Through the haze of pain and confusion, Alonso heard the distant sounds of reinforcements arriving, the main assault force drawing the enemy's attention away from their position. Relief flooded through him as he realized that help was at hand and the prince’s strategy was working.
But, they should’ve been there sooner. No doubt delayed on the emperor's direct order. Sick fuck was determined for them to die in a brutal fashion.
As the battle raged on in the distance, Alonso struggled to remain conscious, his world spinning out of control. The sounds of combat faded into the trees as darkness closed in, and he surrendered himself to oblivion, sinking further into the mud.
_____
Commander George stood at attention on the control deck, his eyes fixed on the array of monitors displaying real-time battle data from the planet below. Beside him, Emperor Jos sat upon his throne, expression inscrutable as he surveyed the unfolding siege with a calculated gaze. Jos exuded an aura of unyielding authority from his seated position above everyone in the room, an unnecessary reminder to George of his own flimsy position of power.
The control deck buzzed with activity as technicians and council members moved about, their voices hushed as they analyzed the incoming reports and relayed orders to the fleet of soldiers below on the planet. Every detail was meticulously recorded and scrutinized, each piece of information vital to the success of the operation.
George turned his attention toward the central monitor, where a holographic projection displayed the battlefield in vivid detail. Explosions dotted the landscape, and plumes of smoke rose like dark specters against the scorched green surface of Merc. The rebel forces, though tenacious, were no match for the full might of Jos' army, and their resistance was steadily being crushed under the relentless assault.
All teams had launched successfully, and the battle had been raging strong for a few hours. Any minute, George was expecting to hear that the last of the rebellion had fallen. His fingers wrapped against the console with impatience as he awaited the final confirmation of their victory.
His back was sore, and he knew just the remedy to soothe his aching muscles. A nice hot shower and a massage from that Earthling would fix him right up—if he’d even managed to get out alive.
Gazing into the flickering data screens, George felt bored as he watched each blip dance around, representing a soldier's life hanging in the balance as they fought relentlessly. Amidst the chaos of battle, a sense of bitter resignation washed over him, mingling with the frustration that gnawed at his conscience. The endless cycle of violence and bloodshed had long since lost its luster, leaving him with a hollow ache that no amount of power could fill.
He shifted his stance slightly, trying to dispel the growing sense of ennui, the taste of prior failure turning bitter on his tongue.
His mind replayed the events of his previous intervention on Merc, each misstep and miscalculation fueling his anger. The plan had been flawless in theory, meticulously crafted to dismantle the rebel leadership and quash any hope of resistance. Yet, fate had intervened with cruel precision, leading him to mistakenly target a decoy instead of the elusive rebellion leader.
George had jumped at the opportunity to correct the prince's failure and in his haste, he'd fucked the whole thing up as well, much to the great displeasure of the emperor. Jos had also been in such a foul mood lately, he was surprised he didn't get a bigger tongue lashing than what he'd gotten, but in hindsight, the emperor had much bigger concerns.
As the battle raged on below, the tension in the room left a silent undercurrent of anticipation pulsing in the air. The fate of their newest strategic base planet hung in the balance, and every decision made on the control deck could mean the difference between successful capture for resource mining and a total loss of investment.
Exchanging a brief glance with Jos, George kept his expression blank as he turned back to the screens.
Emperor Jos' voice cut through the din, sharp and commanding. "Report."
A technician hurried forward, his face pale from the proximity to the warlord, “The rebel stronghold is on the verge of collapse, my lord. Our forces are closing in on their last defenses. Victory is imminent."
Coward , George thought to himself.
Jos nodded, a cold smile curling at the corners of his lips. "Good. Ensure no one escapes. I want this rebellion eradicated completely."
George's eyes flicked to the technician, noting the man's visible relief at having delivered favorable news. He envied the technician's fleeting sense of accomplishment, a rare commodity in their brutal world. His own sense of achievement had long since been eroded by the endless demands and ruthless expectations placed upon him.
“Has there not been a field report from Prince Max? What is the status of the rebel leader? He should've disposed of that fucking mongrel by now,” Jos spoke, directing his questions to George. The emperor's voice carried an edge of impatience that seemed to reverberate across the control deck, causing everyone to pause momentarily.
Voice carrying across the deck, the commander pressed the side of his scouter and spoke, “Prince Max. Report your position and confirm if the Mercarian rebel leader has been disposed of.” He awaited a response, noticing the tension in Jos’ shoulders and in the room seemed to thicken as moments passed without any acknowledgment from the prince.
Emperor Jos watched him intently from the throne, his expression unreadable as he waited for news from the prince. His gaze flickered to the monitors displaying the battlefield below, where most of their regiments had already completed clearing their sectors. The emperor's fingers drummed rhythmically on the armrest, a subtle sign of his growing impatience.
The silence stretched on, and George's brow furrowed in confusion. He repeated his command into the scouter, voice tinged with urgency. “Prince Max. Report your position immediately, and confirm the Mercarian leader has been eliminated.” His eyes darted to the technicians, who glanced at each other with uneasy expressions. The room's usual hum of activity seemed to dull as everyone waited for a response.
Again, there was nothing from the prince, and George was left with only silence ringing in his scouter ear. The lack of communication was not only unusual but deeply concerning. Max was known for his punctuality in reporting back, especially during critical missions. The absence of his voice now clearly set the emperor on high alert.
George raised his voice again, more insistent this time, as he called out to Max, tone laced with a hint of frustration. “Prince of Torossians, report your position!”
Despite his efforts, there was still no answer, leaving now an ominous silence hanging over the control deck. Jos' jaw tightened imperceptibly, his gaze narrowing as he glared at George, visibly processing the implications of the prince's lack of response.
George's frustration simmered beneath his composed exterior as he turned his attention to another general, seeking answers amidst the mounting hostility on the control deck. Feeling the emperor’s patience wearing thin, George would have words with that self-righteous prick for failing to report.
"What's taking so long?" one of the council members whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the control deck.
Another technician, eyes wide with concern, added, "We haven't received any signals from the prince since the last engagement report. Should we attempt to reestablish contact through alternate channels?"
Nodding curtly, George signaled for the technician to proceed. "Do it. And monitor all frequencies. I want any and all communication attempts logged and reported immediately."
The technician set to work, fingers flying over the console as he tried to reestablish contact. Meanwhile, George's thoughts churned with the implications of Max's silence.
Pressing his scouter relay button again with annoyance, George's voice carried authority as he addressed the next highest-ranking officer nearby the prince's assigned deployment position. "General Wolff," he called out, tone sharp and demanding. "Report on the current status of the rebel leader and the whereabouts of the Torossian prince."
General Wolff, a seasoned veteran with a steely demeanor, immediately responded in his ear. "Commander George," he said crisply, "the assault on the rebel stronghold is underway. We've made headway with the success of the distraction team splitting their front line, and we have encountered little resistance."
A ripple of dissatisfaction spread through him at the general's words. George secretly wanted this plan to be a miserable failure but, alas, the prince had put together a sound strategic maneuver, it seemed. This mission’s success would only further endear the Torossian to the emperor.
"And Prince Max?" The Commander pressed, tone demanding.
General Wolff hesitated for a moment, uncertainty laced in his voice as he audibly consulted his own scouter for the prince's location. George rolled his eyes as he listened to the few beeps of the other man's scouter and and felt the impatience claw at him. "I'm afraid the prince’s whereabouts are currently unknown," he admitted.
“What do you mean currently unknown ? What was his last position?” George barked angrily, patience wearing thin. The sheer incompetence of everyone around him was infuriating.
“He was last seen on the ship prior to wave three launch according to my men. I've lost contact with him since then," Wolff reported, his tone defensive. The general clearly understood the gravity of the situation, and George's anger fueled a burning headache behind his eyes.
Jaw clenching at the news, George's frustration mounted at the prince's apparent disregard for protocol in the heat of battle. "Keep me informed," he ordered tersely, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I need to know his status and ensure he's not jeopardizing the mission with his reckless behavior."
“Affirmative,” he heard General Wolff’s grating reply in his ear.
George flicked his gaze over to the emperor who was staring daggers into the side of his face. “Well?” Jos drawled, looking expectantly.
“His last contact with General Wolff was on the ship prior to wave three launch.”
Jos slowly stood from the throne and floated over to the data console next to George. “Something's wrong. Show me the location of Prince Max’s transponder.”
Quickly, George worked his fingers across the console and pulled up the tracking data for Prince Max's scouter. The readout displayed a map of the battlefield, with various dots indicating the positions of the troops. “That can't be right—”
“Where is he?” Jos snapped, setting his taloned feet on the floor with a thud that echoed in the control deck.
George double-checked the readings and cross-referenced the coordinates with the troop wave designated landing areas, just to be sure, before responding to the irritated emperor. “His transponder is pinging back in sector one. The same location for the wave one diversion team.”
Black lips split into a large, menacing smile on the frost demon’s face. “How predictable,” Jos said, his voice brimming with satisfaction, tail flicking lightly behind him.
“How did he get over there? Sector one is four clicks off course,” George asked, more to himself as he scrutinized the data.
Jos tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question. “He went after him, commander.” The emperor even chuckled softly from the back of his throat, a sound George had not heard the frost demon make in a very long time. It was just as unsettling as the last time he’d heard it, but he kept his face neutral, hiding his unease behind a mask of professionalism.
“It seems our dear prince just couldn’t help himself.” Taking a few steps closer to the console, Jos manipulated the data streams for a moment. “Looks like almost all of the first wave diversion team was killed based on our tracking.” The frost demon tisked softly. “What a shame . Send General Wolff over to sector one to retrieve him. The Prince of Torossians might be in need of some comfort . ”
“Yes, my lord,” George responded before activating his scouter again. “General Wolff, report over to sector one and locate Prince Max. Report once you’ve found him.”
George heard crackling in his ear again, followed by the general’s prompt response. “Yes, commander, right away.”
Walking back over to his throne, Jos sat down heavily, clearly bored of this game of cat and mouse. His expression shifted to one of mild disdain as he reclined, tail smacking the floor. “I will retire to my quarters once Wolff has located Prince Max. Tell the general to send him back immediately and that he is to report directly to my chambers.”
“Yes, sire,” George said and leaned on the console to stretch his back. He’d been standing mostly stationary through the whole battle, and was looking forward to returning to his own quarters after confirmation of their complete control of Merc.
As George waited, his thoughts wandered. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy mixed with satisfaction. The prince’s insubordination had finally caught up with him, and the consequences would be severe. The deep-seated resentment George harbored towards Max—a product of years spent in the shadow of the prince’s favor with Jos—burned in his gut. This moment, seeing Max brought low, was a twisted form of vindication for all the slights he had endured.
Arrogant pride . . . the prince’s ultimate downfall.
Corner of his mouth turning up in a disappointed smirk, George sighed. It was a shame about the human. He was really looking forward to trying the boy out again to see exactly how he’d managed to enrapture the Torossian prince. Enough to make him abandon his own mission assignment, no less. The boy’s mouth was heaven, George wouldn’t deny that, and he couldn't imagine what the rest of his holes must feel like—
“Commander George,” Wolff’s voice cut off his thoughts.
George quickly straightened back up to attention. “Report. Have you located Prince Max?” He asked brusquely, masking his internal glee.
“Negative. Prince Max is not here.”
“What the fuck do you mean he is not there!?” George yelled into his scouter, fury rising. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jos stand from his throne once again, fire raging in his eyes as he pressed his lips into a fine line, staring at him. All traces of his previous nonchalance were long gone.
“The Torossian prince is not in sector one. I've located General Alonso, badly wounded and unconscious in the location pinging out for Prince Max’s transponder. I checked his armor and found the prince’s transponder inside his chest plate.”
A cold chill ran down George's spine as he held his breath for a moment, a cool draft hitting his back. The emperor was waiting for him to speak and relay Wolff’s findings, but his throat was suddenly dry. The frost demon noticed his stalling and spoke slowly, voice straining with his effort to stay composed.
“ Where is Prince Max?”
George swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the emperor’s red gaze on him. Fingers trembling as they returned to his sides, he relayed the message. “Wolff found his scouter transponder in Alonso’s chest plate. There is no sign of the Torossian prince.”
The cool draft turned into an arctic blast, air shimmering around the frost demon, and the whole control room developed a layer of light frost on every surface. George saw his shallow breaths puffing in front of his face, each exhale visible in the freezing air. The temperature continued to drop, frost creeping along the consoles and forming delicate, icy patterns on the metal surfaces.
“Is Alonso alive?” Jos ground between his teeth.
“Badly wounded, but alive, sire.” George responded, trying to fight the shiver building in his tense muscles at the sudden drop in room temperature. His words came out more clipped than he intended, betraying his growing unease.
Levitating over his throne, skin radiating a deep indigo aura, Jos commanded, “Bring him to me.”
____
Alonso's senses slowly returned as he was jostled along the brightly lighted corridors of the ship, body protesting with each painful jolt. The throbbing ache in his side and lower back served as a relentless reminder of the brutal ambush that had left him battered and bloodied, clinging to life.
Struggling to stay conscious, Alonso forced his heavy eyelids open, squinting against the harsh glare of the overhead lights. Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, he made out the familiar figure of General Wolff, his stern countenance illuminated in the dimness as he marched ahead with purposeful strides, dragging the elder Torossian behind him.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Alonso realized they were heading towards the control deck, where Lord Jos undoubtedly awaited their arrival. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him, but his mind was at peace as he braced himself for the inevitable.
Despite the searing agony that radiated through his body with each step of the general, Alonso grit his teeth and summoned every ounce of resolve he could muster. He was in for a reckoning with the emperor, but he refused to let even a shred of fear enter him. For decades he'd begged the goddess to let him trade places with Prince Max. To let him take away his charge’s suffering and pain.
Today, his prayers were finally heard and he was ready.
With a rough shove, General Wolff deposited Alonso in a crumpled heap on the cold, unforgiving floor in front of the imposing throne. Gasping for breath and fighting back waves of dizziness, Alonso struggled to gather his scattered wits and summon the strength to rise.
Every movement sent a fresh wave of agony coursing through his battered body, but he refused to yield to the pain. Clenching his jaw with grim determination, he planted his hands on the ground and slowly pushed himself upright, his muscles protesting with every inch gained.
Finally, with a steadying breath, Alonso stood tall before the warlord, his gaze unwavering despite the ache that pulsed through every fiber of his being. Though his body may have been battered and bruised, his spirit remained unyielding, fueled by an unshakable resolve to see his plan through to its end.
Alonso's keen eyes didn't miss the subtle signs of agitation that flickered across Jos' usually composed demeanor as he stood in front of his throne. There was a tightening of the jaw, a faint twitch in his left eye, and a restless energy radiating from his tail, swaying in jerking motions. Despite Jos' attempts to maintain an air of authority, Alonso could sense the undercurrent of tension that thrummed beneath the surface.
That was not to mention the room was covered in ice. Thickening patches creeping up the walls, emanating out from the throne. The control deck was freezing, further evidence of the warlord's slipping restraint.
“General Alonso. I’m glad you could join us.”
The elder Torossian held his jaw firmly shut and kept his ragged breathing as steady as he could through his nose.
“I'm sure you are well aware why you’ve been summoned here, so let's not waste what precious time you have left on pleasantries,” the frost demon said, voice icy with tone clipped. Stepping directly in front of Alonso, Jos met him eye to eye before continuing. “Where is he, Torossian? What game are you playing with me?”
As Jos addressed him, voice edged with impatience and thinly veiled hostility, Alonso remained silent, his expression a mask of stoic resolve.
“General Wolff was sent to the location of the prince’s transponder, only to discover it tucked neatly away in your armor. What possible explanation could you have for this, General Alonso?”
With each passing moment of silence from him, Jos' agitation seemed to escalate, patience wearing thin as the warlord awaited a response. Yet, Alonso held his tongue, refusing to offer any insight into the whereabouts of the missing prince.
Jos' voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and commanding as he addressed the elder again, starting to come undone.
"Where is Max!?"
Their one-sided exchange was punctuated by tense silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Alonso met Jos' piercing gaze with a firm, unwavering stare, his silence a pledge of infallible loyalty to his prince and his determination to see this through, consequences be damned.
He wasn't afraid of the tyrant . . . Not anymore. And there was nothing Jos could do to make him reveal where Max and Charles went.
Jos' eyes narrowed slightly, air shimmering with frozen crystals between them. " Do not test my patience, general," he warned, voice tinged with a hint of menace.
Standing exhausted but resolute, Alonso didn’t see the blow coming when Jos snapped his head to the side with a lightning fast strike from his tail.
“Where is he! Speak !” The frost demon’s voice bellowed in the control deck.
“My lord,” George’s voice called out, distracting Jos’ gaze away from him for a moment. “I found something you should see.”
Alonso and Jos both turned to the control deck display that the commander had indicated, and the Torossian swallowed hard at the paused image of him on lower launch deck G with Charles. The security footage rolled and Alonso watched in real time as the emperor discovered not only the prince’s torrid affair, but also, the elder’s role in Max’s disappearance.
The footage tore at his heartstrings, seeing Max rush into frame, enveloping Charles in an embrace. He hadn't noticed it then, but the Earthling was shaking, clutching onto the back of Max's chest plate for dear life as Max told him he had to go. The scene was devastating, but the emperor seemed to have the opposite reaction.
Jos was the most unhinged the elder Torossian had ever seen him, puffing frigid air from his gaping mouth, ki shooting up, causing a scouter over a poor technician's face to spark and smoke.
Fighting off a smirk threatening to rise on his lips, Alonso watched the footage as Max put his tail around the secret Eldri. He thought the warlord was going to burst into flames by the way he practically vibrated with rage when the camera made it look like Max had leaned in and kissed Charles as he put their foreheads together.
The security footage then showed Alonso stepping quickly behind Max, knocking the prince unconscious and sending the pod away with both Charles and the royal onboard before the commander paused the recording.
“What was the programmed flight path for that pod?” Jos seethed.
Fumbling, Alonso did smirk that time at the sight of George checking and rechecking what he already knew to be true. “There’s no navigation tracking data, nor any log of a ship leaving at the time that pod left. I–I don’t have coordinates for its destination.”
“Scan the area. They couldn't have gotten far.”
Furiously working at the control console, George followed the command.
This was it, and the elder held his breath. This was the moment Alonso would know if it had all been for nothing. If he'd bought the pair enough time.
The scanning screen blinked with data at lightning speed until it stopped and flashed with red letters, ‘ no targets acquired’.
A laugh spilled past his lips before he could stop it, sending the warlord charging at him, tail wrapping around his throat and cutting his amusement short.
“Very funny, monkey. Now . . . where did you send him? What the fuck did you think you were doing?”
Deciding to answer this time, Alonso rasped over the tightness on his throat. “I simply followed your orders, sire.”
Rage alighting in Jos’ eyes at his words, the emperor shot back, “And what orders were those?”
“D–Diversion team, my Lord,” Alonso said with a pained smile.
Alonso's admission hung heavily in the air, the weight of his words echoing through the silent control room like a death knell. Emperor Jos' expression fell into a mask of cold vengeance, concealing any hint of emotion as he absorbed the gravity of Alonso's revelation.
Turning his piercing gaze towards the commander, Alonso felt the atmosphere in the room grow impossibly colder, tense with anticipation. The emperor's voice was low and dangerous as he addressed his second hand, tone laced with accusation.
"Did you know about this?" Jos demanded, eyes narrowing with suspicion. He pointed his black taloned finger at the monitor that still had the prince and Charles frozen on the screen, locked in an embrace. "And did you purposefully omit that information from your report this morning?"
The startled look on the commander's face as he met Jos’ intense stare made Alonso's heart soar. He knew the answer to that question and the truth would only serve to further enrage the already volatile emperor. With a careful measure of diplomacy, George chose his words with caution.
"My Lord, I assure you, I had no knowledge of any such affair—"
“DID YOU KNOW!” Jos bellowed, shimmering gray skin darkening with licks of indigo flame extending up his neck and down his outstretched arm as his tail firmly held the elder in place.
So the little shit thought he could get away with this?
No fucking way.
George held Jos’ gaze firm, shoulders squared and jaw set despite the clear weight of his deceit, masking his fear with a veneer of composure. Alonso was mildly impressed knowing full well that any crack in George's facade could spell his end.
Jos was merciless with those who betrayed him, and if the frost demon discovered that George had been concealing his knowledge of Max’s relationship with Charles, the consequences would be beyond brutal. Whatever fate awaited Alonso for his transgressions would seem like a mercy compared to what Jos would do to George.
The frost demon would carry out the goddess’ justice for harming the Eldri.
Drawing a breath, the commander offered, "No, my Lord. My brief this morning contained all the pertinent information regarding the status of our operations and what I had discovered about the prince's daily schedule to date. I did not know about his . . . indiscretions with the human. Only about their sparring—"
“Lies!” Alonso rasped, his voice thick with pain and rage, drawing the warlord's eyes back on him. The elder Torossian, despite his injuries, managed to stand even straighter, his eyes blazing with a mix of fury and defiance. The emperor's tail loosened slightly, allowing him to speak further. “He knew about Charles. He knew, and threatened him with telling you if he didn't sexually satisfy him.”
Jos hardened his gaze on Alonso, his expression darkening with suspicion. The frost demon’s lips curled into a cold sneer as he regarded the wounded elder, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. “Is that so, Torossian? What proof do you have of this claim?” he asked, his voice dangerously low, like a blade hovering just above the skin.
Alonso’s breath came in ragged gasps, but he forced himself to speak, knowing that he had nothing left to lose. Max and Charles were safe, and Carlos met his demise on the battlefield. “Check his chest plate,” Alonso said, his voice a strained whisper, yet filled with a fierce resolve. “He carries a cloth . . . embossed with his initials . . . with Charles' blood on it.”
For a moment, there was a tense silence in the room, the only sound the faint hum of the ship's systems and Alonso's labored breathing. Jos’ eyes narrowed, suspicion deepening into something far more dangerous as he turned his gaze back to George.
“Commander George,” he drawled, each word dripping with menace. “Care to explain why you would have such an item in your possession?”
Alonso smiled when, for the first time, the commander's carefully constructed mask faltered. The cold, calculating part of his mind clearly raced for a plausible explanation, but evidently, nothing came that wouldn’t sound like a feeble excuse.
“My Lord, I—I . . .” George stammered, unable to find the words.
The frost demon’s gaze turned icy, the temperature in the room dropping precipitously as a thick layer of deep blue ice began to creep along the walls, the cold seeping into Alonso’s bones.
“Bring it to me,” Jos commanded, his voice like the crack of a whip, cutting through the tense atmosphere with deadly intent.
“I don't—”
Lightning fast, Jos’ tail let go of Alonso completely, before smacking hard against his throne, breaking it in half. “Give. It. To. Me.”
With trembling hands, George reached up to his chest plate, fumbling for the compartment that held the damning evidence. Face a shade of white the elder didn't know was possible, George's fingers shook as he pulled out the blood-stained cloth. The initials "G.R." were embossed in the corner, perfectly clear from where the elder Torossian was standing and stark against the crimson stains. The sight of it sent a jolt of fear through George, the prick knowing he was cornered with no escape.
As Jos took the cloth from George’s trembling hands, the frost demon’s expression twisted into one of contempt and dark dissatisfaction. He held the cloth up to the light, examining the bloodstains with a cold, calculating eye before sniffing it lightly.
“So,” he said, his voice a deadly whisper, “ this is what you’ve been hiding from me.”
George fell to his knees, his composure finally shattering under the weight of his fear. “My Lord, please . . . I can explain—”
“Enough,” Jos snarled, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. The frost demon’s tail whipped out, striking George across the face with enough force to send him sprawling on the floor before his back cracked the control room console. “You dared to deceive me?” The warlord said, and chucked the cloth at the commander. “This reeks of the human's scent and your . . . excretions. How fitting, betrayed by your own calling card.”
George scrambled to his feet, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth where Jos had struck him. “I only—”
“I will deal with you later,” Jos hissed, his voice filled with venom. He glanced back at Alonso, who was watching the scene with a mixture of pain and satisfaction.
Alonso’s body sagged with relief and exhaustion as Jos’ gaze returned to him. He knew his time was running out, but at least now, the truth was out in the open. He had done his part, for Max and for Charles. Whatever happened next, he could face it with a clear conscience.
For a moment, silence reigned supreme, broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the soft shuffle of feet as crew scurried about their duties, checking the remaining data streams still coming in from the planet below. Then, with an eerie calm that sent shivers down Alonso's spine, Jos spoke.
"Your impressive gamesmanship will not save you. If you won’t tell me where they've gone, then say what you want to say. Those words will be your last, general," he commanded, voice carrying an ominous weight that seemed to fill the room with an oppressive tension. There was no hint of mercy in his tone, no trace of any feeling at all as he stared down at Alonso with cold, unyielding red eyes.
Alonso felt the serpentine tail return to his neck, squeezing harder, almost completely cutting off his air supply, heart hammering against his chest as he searched for the right words to say. Summoning every ounce of courage he possessed, Alonso met Jos' gaze with a steely resolve.
Jos' expression remained impassive, his silence speaking volumes as he regarded Alonso with a chilling detachment.
As Alonso thought about his words, bracing himself for the inevitable, a sense of resignation washed over him, mingling with pride in his ability to face his fate with dignity and honor. In the end, he knew he had done what was right, regardless of the consequences that awaited him.
Jos' lip curled into a cruel sneer at Alonso's defiance and lack of fear. Without a word, the elder watched as the warlord’s hand gestured in the air, materializing dozens of frozen spears encircling him in preparation for his execution. In an instant, Alonso was surrounded by the imposing glacial weapons ready to strike. There was no trial, no room for defense—only swift and ruthless retribution.
Alonso stood tall on the cold floor of the throne room, body battered and bloody from the previous battle, hard fought. Despite the pain that wracked his body, there was a strange sense of calm that settled over him, like the calm before a storm.
As he awaited the final strike, Alonso's mind drifted to the events that had led him to this moment.
He thought of Prince Max, the young heir whose freedom he had fought to secure. His mind wandered back to the day he first met Prince Max, a shy and uncertain young man holding onto the hem of his mother’s garment, thrust into a world of power and politics. Alonso remembered the determination in his own heart as he took on the role of the prince's guardian, swearing an oath to defend him with his life.
Over the years, Alonso had watched Prince Max grow and evolve, transforming from a timid youth into a strong and capable leader. He had stood by the prince's side through every trial and tribulation, offering guidance, support, and unwavering loyalty.
There were moments of triumph, like when Max had turned away from the mind warping lies Jos had told him, and moments of despair, like when he had faced the loss and treachery from those he trusted most. Through it all, Alonso had remained steadfast in his commitment to the prince, always ready to put his own life on the line to ensure Max's safety and well-being.
As he reflected on his life of service, Alonso felt a swell of pride and gratitude wash over him. Despite the pain and suffering he now endured, he knew that he had fulfilled his duty to the prince to the best of his ability. And even as darkness threatened to consume him, he found solace in the knowledge that he had honored his oath.
There was a flicker of pride in Alonso's heart, knowing that he had played a part in orchestrating Max's escape from the clutches of Emperor Jos. In that moment, he found peace in the knowledge that he had chosen loyalty to his prince over fear of a tyrant.
It wasn’t a mistake to choose this life. Time didn’t heal all wounds, but he’d killed himself a little more every day to prove he was the right man for this job, to ensure the succession of the Torossian throne.
Even as he embraced the peace that came with acceptance of his fate, Alonso couldn't shake the weight of uncertainty that lingered in the depths of his soul. He knew that his actions would have far-reaching consequences, not just for himself, but for those he left behind. Would his sacrifice be enough to ensure Max's safety? Would the prince find the freedom and happiness he so desperately deserved?
His only regret was that he’d never know.
"I have fulfilled my duty to my true king and to my prince," he said, voice steady despite the crushing grip on his windpipe. "Long live the house of Toro, and long live Prince Max."
Alonso closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer to the godin van de maan . He sought her guidance and forgiveness, knowing that his actions had defied the will of the all powerful frost demon, but had also upheld the principles of justice and duty. Unwrapping his tail from around his waist, the elder Torossian stood tall and proud of his form. Oozaru roaring in defiance in his ears.
With a single swift motion, the emperor's hand closed, sending the shards of ice plunging into his body, their jagged surfaces glinting in the harsh light of the control deck.
In that fleeting moment of clarity, Alonso found a sense of peace that transcended the pain and fear that gripped his body. He was ready to face whatever judgment from the goddess that awaited him, knowing that he’d fought for what he believed was right, until the very end.
_____
Alonso's lifeless body crumpled to the floor, and George watched the emperor look on with cold satisfaction, his thirst for vengeance momentarily sated. The message was clear: betray the emperor, and face a fate as swift and merciless as General Alonso's demise. As Jos’ second-in-command, George was no stranger to the sight.
But until now, the gaze had never been directed at him.
The blood-red eyes of Emperor Jos, cold and calculating, had always been a weapon used against others—never against his right hand. George had always managed to stay in the frost demon’s good graces, navigating the perilous politics of the empire with careful precision, spending decades learning the warlord's many moods and intricacies.
Trying to steady his breathing, George quickly ascertained his attempts were futile. This level of hostility was different. This was personal . The emperor’s gaze felt like a noose tightening around his neck, and George could almost feel the phantom pressure, as if Jos was testing just how far he could push before he snapped.
As he watched Alonso take his last breath, a chilling fear settled over him. He felt no pity for the elder Torossian, having long seen him only as an obstacle on his path to power. His body, a lifeless husk, discarded like a broken toy that no longer served its purpose, was a reminder of the emperor’s zero tolerance for betrayal. The frost demon was a master of control. Saw through every lie, every manipulation.
Controlled everyone.
Owned everything .
With a fearful expression, George turned his attention back to the emperor as Jos ordered a few guards to remove Alonso's lifeless body from the control deck. Their faces remained emotionless as they lifted the elder Torossian’s corpse, dragging it away without a second glance, erasing years of service in an instant.
Once the grim task was underway, Jos turned to General Wolff, his gaze sharp and focused. "What of the third one?" he asked, voice betraying no emotion.
General Wolff stood at attention, his demeanor respectful but guarded. "Carlos is alive but unresponsive, my lord. My men located him deep in the tree line after an apparent ambush," he replied, tone measured. "But his injuries are severe. He will require extensive medical attention to recover."
Nodding thoughtfully, Jos’ mind visibly already moved on to the next order of business. "Tank him immediately,” he commanded. "See to it that he receives the best care available. Alonso was loyal to the Torossian prince, but the other one might be persuaded to our cause. Carlos must know something about this."
With a curt nod, General Wolff signaled to a few of his men, who quickly departed to attend to their new orders. As the control deck resumed its operations, George was snapped out of his panicked thoughts by the warlord.
Jos' expression remained inscrutable, his eyes boring into George with unwavering intensity. The tension was thick as the emperor assessed him, prior rage returning at the evidence of his deceit.
“Keep me updated on Carlos' state, and withdraw all troops from Merc at once."
“Withdraw? But—But we have successfully squashed the rebellion and secured Merc for a strategic base—”
The emperor turned back to him with a blazing glare at his rebuttal.
Nodding sharply, George acknowledged the emperor's command and relayed the all retreat signal.
It didn't make any sense.
They'd spent months, countless lives to secure this source of rare metals. Was the emperor really just going to walk away?
As he watched the monitor tracking data feed in, a sense of urgency gripped him, heart beating in his chest as he watched the pods one by one begin ascending from the planet’s surface in formation.
His mind raced with the weight of his decision to keep the secret about Max and Charles from Jos, knowing full well the consequences of his silence that now awaited him. He'd never even considered the Torossian prince would have the balls to pull a stunt like this. The human was a nice piece of ass, but not worth the wrath that Jos would surely bring upon them when the warlord found him.
And Jos was going to find him.
That was one thing George was sure of. If the emperor had to burn down half the known universe to find his favorite pet, he would do so without a moment's hesitation.
As more of the pods disappeared into the planet's atmosphere, George let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The icy tension radiating from Jos in the control deck was suffocating, the air thick with the smell of death.
“Come with me, commander,” Jos said suddenly, not waiting for a reply before floating out the door of the control deck.
George followed close behind Jos, his mind abuzz with what the distressed warlord could've possibly been thinking next. Continuing to follow behind silently, George recognized the lower launch deck G entrance quickly approaching. The corridor was barren of all activity, with pods returning from the surface of Merc docking in the main hangar launch bay, and all of the diversion team being casualties.
Once inside, without a word, Jos floated purposefully toward the airlock, his expression focused, movements sharp and decisive. George hurried to keep up, his mind racing with questions and concerns about what Jos had in mind.
Did he intend to kill him too? Was he going to throw him out into the frigid vacuum of space to suffocate as punishment?
Stopping in the middle of the room next to one of the empty pod launch housings, George gasped in shock when Jos slammed his hand down on the emergency open button, the sound reverberating through the metal walls of the launchpad. The airlock hissed open with a pneumatic sigh, revealing the darkness beyond.
George scrambled to grab ahold of the pod housing with a death grip as he felt the intense rush of air leave the room and out the airlock door, dragging any and all loose items that weren't bolted down into the depths of space.
Shielding his eyes from the force of the rushing air, George mouth fell agape, eyes widening in disbelief as Jos effortlessly floated out into the void of space. The warlord seemed completely unperturbed by the absence of oxygen and freezing temperature, his demeanor calm as he moved with an eerie practiced grace. The stars, cold and distant, cast a pale light on his figure, making him seem even more otherworldly—an unstoppable force against the infinite darkness of the cosmos.
Impossible, George thought, his mind racing to reconcile what he was witnessing. No species could survive exposure to deep space . . . No species that breathed, that is. The thought reverberated in his skull, intensifying the pounding in his head until it felt as though his brain might split in two.
He hurriedly sucked in as much air as he could in the rapidly depressurizing space, and his chest tightened with a growing sense of dread.
Every rise and fall of Jos’ gray-toned chest, every icy puff of air that appeared to escape his lips, now took on a new, terrifying significance.
He was pretending .
The frost demon was faking the need to breathe, manipulating his own body in a grotesque mimicry of life.
George’s stomach churned at the realization, nausea rising as the implications sank in. If Jos was faking something as fundamental as breathing, what else was the frost demon hiding?
The undeniable truth burned in his gut at him, twisting his insides into knots. How much of Jos' power, his very existence, was an elaborate deception? The emperor’s calm composure, his effortless dominance over everyone in his presence—it was all starting to look like a carefully constructed illusion.
George’s dizziness grew, the vortex of space around him blending with the whirling thoughts in his mind. What else was a lie? How much of what Jos had shown them—shown him—was a facade?
Turning back slightly, the warlord’s red eyes caught the light of a distant star, and for a moment, George swore those eyes held a knowing glint, as if the frost demon was fully aware of his musings. A shiver ran down the commander’s spine, a cold sweat breaking out across his brow despite the chill of space seeping through the open hull of the ship.
Jos was more than just a warlord; he was a predator, a master of manipulation who had been toying with them all along. The frost demon was not just a ruler by force but by deception, by the art of crafting fear and controlling the very air his subjects breathed. And George was just another tool, a small piece in a much larger game that Jos had been playing for far longer than anyone could have imagined.
He'd been on the ship for fifty years. God knows how long all of this was going before he arrived.
With a flick of his wrist, Jos conjured a pea-sized ball of deep purple energy, the ominous glow casting sinister shadows across his features. The emperor craned his neck back, gazing with a wicked grin at the commander through the reinforced glass, floor-to-ceiling window. George watched in awe and trepidation, a hole forming in the pit of his stomach as he took in the magnitude of Jos' power to withstand deep space.
The tiny ball of ki hovered effortlessly above Jos' outstretched finger, pulsating with malevolent energy. Unable to tear his gaze away, George was transfixed by the raw power emanating from the warlord's form. In that moment, George understood the true extent of Jos' abilities, and the terrifying realization dawned on him that they were all at the mercy of a being far beyond their comprehension.
Lungs starting to burn from holding his breath, George watched on as the warlord turned his maniacal stare back to the planet below, pods not even halfway finished retreating, before hurling the beam down to its distant surface.
Loud beeps, followed by jumbled screaming and mayday signals being relayed in the ear of his scouter made him rip the device off his head, it being sucked out the airlock not even a moment later.
All those men, half of their army, were in the line of fire. Desperately trying to let the command center know they needed more time for retreat.
Time slowed to a crawl as Jos’ energy hurtled through the vacuum, descending upon the war-torn planet below. In the blink of an eye, the tranquil silence of the cosmos was engulfed in a blinding explosion of unimaginable magnitude, a supernova of heat and blinding color rocketing outward in all directions.
The shockwave rippled with terrifying force, consuming everything in its path with relentless fury, engulfing the remaining pods and even the emperor outside the base ship in a wave of flame. Lurching back violently, George almost lost his grip on the housing from the ship jerking in place when the shockwave knocked the ship back, fire forcing its way inside the launch deck.
Rolling like a boat tossed by an angry sea, the whole PTO base ship turned on its side while being forced away from the blast. Dozens of alarms and blaring sirens sounded, bathing the launch bay in red with emergency lights and back up power systems engaging.
George couldn't stop the yell of terror that ripped from his throat, even though he couldn't afford to lose the breath he'd been holding, fingers almost bloody from his grip on the housing. His legs lifted off the floor over his head, and his arms burned with the effort to hang on.
After a moment, the ship's stabilization systems righted the ship and the cacophony of mechanical screams ceased.
Turning back to look out the window, George couldn't believe his eyes.
The once serene planet was torn asunder, its surface engulfed in flames and debris hurtling through the void as it broke into pieces, collapsing into its molten core.
George recoiled in horror, a wave of paralyzing fear washing over him as he beheld the sheer devastation wrought by Emperor Jos' unfathomable power. The magnitude of the destruction was beyond anything he had ever witnessed, leaving him trembling with disbelief and dread, while he clung onto the pod housing with all his might.
As the echoes of the explosion reverberated through the cosmos, George could only watch in stunned silence, haunted by the terrifying display of Jos' strength. His pulse quickened, terror gnawing at the edges of his sanity as he realized the full extent of the emperor's power and the depths of his own helplessness. Jos was not just a monster; he was a creature of unimaginable cunning and deceit, and George was only beginning to understand just how outmatched he truly was.
How outmatched they all were. Not even the combined energies of the thousands of crew on board would be enough to do what Jos had just done.
They would never have the ability to best the frost demon.
The airlock sealed shut with a resounding thud, breaking George out of his reverie and he was thrown to the floor when the rush of air stopped, body trembling from the sheer force of the impact. He struggled to get his breathing under control, mind reeling from the cataclysmic event that had just unfolded and lack of oxygen affecting his vision.
Months of work . . . Wasted. Their singular goal for the better part of the their time spent in this region, blown to fucking smithereens in a matter of seconds. Half of their men, obliterated.
And for what? For what . . . ?
For that fucking prince !
Blood roaring in his ears, George pushed himself up from the floor, his muscles protesting with every movement. Halfway to standing, his eyes met the intense gaze of the emperor, who stood before him with an air of authority that sent shivers down George's spine.
He—He was completely unharmed. Not even the colossal explosion that had obliterated the planet in a fiery hell had left a mark on his flawless, gray skin. Residual energy sparks crackled and danced along the contours of Jos’ slender form, like a reminder of the devastation he had so casually unleashed.
“Find him,” Jos commanded, his tone brooking no argument. The words were simple, yet the weight of the threat behind them was crushing. Jos’ gaze bored into George, the unspoken promise of pain and suffering hanging in the air like a guillotine blade.
With a deep, shaking breath, George nodded in terrified acquiescence, his mind failing to form words to respond. The image of Emperor Jos floating unharmed in the void where Merc once stood was burned into his mind, a grotesque painting of the frost demon’s unimaginable power.
Cracking his neck, the warlord added, “Or you will take his place as my new favorite pet . . . And I won't be so gentle with you.”
Rising the rest of the way to his feet, George fought off the wave of nausea that washed over him at the implications of Jos’ threat, mind flooded with everything he had just witnessed.
Merc was gone.
Half of their army, annihilated in the blink of an eye, all the rebels, soldiers, and innocents alike, reduced to cosmic dust. An entire world, erased from existence as if it had never been.
All with the flick of a wrist.
How could anything stand against such power? How could he? The sheer scale of what had just occurred left George's stomach churning, a rising tide of bile threatening to spill as he fought against it.
With pure terror-driven determination, George turned on his heel and fled the launch deck, sprinting down the corridors like a man possessed. His boots echoed loudly against the metal floor, the sound of his desperate flight drowned out only by the pounding of his heart. The warlord’s enraged voice followed him, a harbinger of the doom that awaited him if he did not succeed.
“FIND . . . MY . . . PRINCE!”
Notes:
This marks the end of part 1! Such a bitter sweet moment really. I've been working on this piece since the start of the year and I'm taking this opportunity for a much needed break. I might put out a one shot here or there, but I will return to this work for part 2! Part 2 will be added as chapters to this work and not posted as a separate fic if you want to bookmark or sub to keep up to date on it's release. I'll be sure to post updates on my tumblr as well.
Comments are always welcome. Come say hi on Tumblr and check out the source images for this chapter.
Chapter 24: Part 2: Or Die Trying
Summary:
Alonso had shaped him into the man he was, instilling in him the courage and knowledge to lead and protect. He knew that the best way to honor Alonso’s memory was to live up to the ideals and values the elder had imparted.
He could never repay the debt he now owed the man, but he could start by not failing Charles. The Eldri was his responsibility now, and he would take up the same oath the elder had taken for him.
To protect Charles from all harm and keep him safe—or die trying.
Notes:
Aaaaaaaaand we are back ❤️ Thanks for all the support during my break!
This jumps right back into where Part 1 left off so buckle back in for the 'rough' landing 😉
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max slowly blinked his eyes open, lids heavy with a dull ache in the back of his head.
Pressing the heel of his palm to his right eye, the prince took a few deep breaths to fully wake up. Attempting to will his splitting headache away—to no avail, he turned his head forward from where it had lulled to the side.
That was a bit strange. Normally the restraints held his head up while he was in flight—
His eyes widened in alarm as he took in his surroundings.
A soft surface beneath him felt strangely comforting against his back, but the sight of the stars whizzing by outside the familiar red-tinted glass disoriented him. The robotic feminine voice of the scouting pod continued to drone on in the background, its words barely registering as Max struggled to make sense of the situation.
“ . . . initiating vapor bath reversal protocol. You are now one parsec away from your destination . . . ”
Limbs moving slowly, body trying to regain control, Max felt the seat surface behind him gently rise, before lowering again. His heart skipped a beat as he realized he was in the scouting pod meant for Charles to flee Jos’ base ship.
His defective pod from P-127.
Stunned, Max whipped around to discover that the soft surface his back had been resting against was Charles’ chest, still moving gently with each slow breath.
Relief flooded through him when he spotted the Eldri behind him, still unconscious, but seemingly unharmed.
His relief was short-lived when the memories of the launch deck came rushing back.
The last thing he remembered was his throat full of cotton, completely seized up with the inability to tell the young Torossian how he felt about him, before it was too late. He had so much he wanted to say, but nothing felt good enough, strong enough, to capture the depths of his feelings for Charles.
The words “I love you” had sounded like they were spoken by the goddess herself. Three words he hadn't heard directed at him in nearly eight years.
Addictive sugared lips whispering brokenly the desperate plea, reminding him that he’d promised not to let Charles lose their connection like they’d lost so much else.
But, what other choice did he have?
The emperor knew Charles was on the ship and obviously meant something to Max.
There was no other choice but to send him away?
Confused, Max didn't remember how he’d gotten in the pod, but he pushed those thoughts aside for now to focus on Charles. With a firm hand and worry in his eyes, he turned around as much as he could in the small space, and attempted to shake Charles awake gently, muttering his name in frantic whisper.
"Charles—Charles, wake up," Max urged, firm and full of concern.
Max's hands trembled slightly as he tried again to gently shake Charles awake, but the Earthling remained still, breathing steady but shallow.
Panic surged through Max when Charles didn't respond to his efforts.
"Charles, wake up," Max urged again, voice now bordering on desperate. He shook him a little harder this time, heart tightening in his chest with each passing moment of Charles' unconsciousness.
But the Eldri remained unresponsive, his features relaxed in sleep despite the absurdity of their situation. Max's mind raced as he struggled to come up with a plan. They were hurtling towards an unknown planet for landing, and he couldn't afford to waste any time.
With a frustrated sigh, Max leaned back a little and placed two fingers on the side of the younger man's limp neck, just below the jaw to check his pulse. It was slowed, but steady, a side effect of the suspension vapor bath.
Running a hand through his hair, Max tried to calm his rising worry with little success. He checked the onboard tracking system, before remembering the unit was damaged—the whole reason Charles was taking the pod in the first place.
Fucking great.
He had absolutely no idea what planet was quickly getting bigger through the viewport, and the headache behind his eyes was getting worse with every passing second.
The prince turned his attention back to the sleeping man nestled in the single seat, and ran his fingers through his soft brown curls with a sigh.
Manually judging the distance from the window, they’d be landing in a few minutes, and Max felt a small amount of relief that the planet definitely didn't look like Merc.
Charles was in no state to participate in their full assault with rebel forces.
After discovering the Eldri wasn't even properly secured in the seat, Max's hands moved with practiced urgency as he fastened Charles' safety restraints, fingers deftly adjusting the straps to ensure they were snug against the Earthling's body.
With each click of a buckle, Max's anxiety—momentarily quelled—started to build again.
While he worked, Max couldn’t help but steal worried glances at Charles’ peaceful, yet unnervingly still face. His anxiety for the young Torossian grew with each passing moment that Charles remained unconscious.
This was the Earthling's first time under extended stasis sleep, and the longer he was under after the reversal protocol, the more risk he would have of serious side-effects.
Mind running wild, Max mentally ran through the list of things to watch out for.
First, there was the risk of neural disorientation where the brain struggled to recalibrate its connection with the body, leaving the individual confused or unable to perform basic motor functions for hours, sometimes even days. Max had seen soldiers experience this, staggering around like newborns, unable to recall who or where they were.
Then there was the possibility of memory fragmentation, where large chunks of short-term memory might be lost or distorted. Charles might wake up not remembering the last few hours or even days before he went into stasis.
In the worst cases, long-term memories were affected, leaving people with gaps in their recollections or, worst of all, completely rewriting their emotional associations with past events or people.
Max’s hand faltered for a moment as he thought about that more. Charles could not even remember who he was? Could have no memory of their time so far together?
The prince supposed in some ways that could be a blessing, even if that meant the love Charles had for him would disappear . . .
Physically shaking his head to get his mind back on task, Max reviewed the most severe side effect: organ failure. Stasis was supposed to preserve the body, but prolonged exposure could weaken internal systems. The Earthling might wake up only to face internal bleeding or sudden, catastrophic failure of one of his vital organs.
And finally, the most common side effect of all: stasis sickness, a brutal combination of nausea, vertigo, and migraines so intense that even strong men had collapsed from the pain. Max had experienced it after his first extended stasis, and he had barely been able to stand.
Once he'd fastened all the belts securely around Charles, Max moved to the side and wedged himself between the curved outer pod shell and Charles in the single seat.
“Shit,” he said to himself, lamenting that the position was not secure enough for landing. The younger also wouldn't be able to properly brace himself for the inevitable harsh impact the pods always made.
This was a phenomenon he was intimately familiar with. When he was a teen and traveling on his first few solo purge missions, the warlord had ordered all of the restraints removed from his pod. He’d had to learn the hard way how to brace himself for landings, and being positioned wrong meant the difference between serious injury and just a mildly sore back.
The only way—he’d discovered—was to wedge yourself backwards in the seat and press your back against the outer shell, so all your forward momentum was transferred through to your back and not your head and neck.
Even building up strong neck muscles like the prince had would only help so much during abrupt landings like that.
But, for Max to properly brace himself, he'd have to practically mount the Earthling in the single seat.
“Forgive me, Charlie,” he then said, moving back in front of the younger.
Positioning one knee on the outside of Charles’ right leg, and then doing the same with the other, Max ended up straddling the Eldri's lap. Facing him, he wrapped his arms around the younger man's neck, and underneath the shoulder restraints for leverage to keep his arms stable.
Pink dusted the prince's cheeks as he adjusted himself overtop of Charles’ thighs, and his tail wound itself tightly around the younger's waist for extra stability. Holding on tighter, Max buried his face in the Earthling's neck after giving it a soft kiss just as the landing alarm sounded in the tiny space.
Fiercely protective of the smaller man, Max did his best to support Charles' limp neck as he braced for impact, shielding the unconscious form with his body.
The female robot's voice grated in his ears.
“ . . . Three . . . Two . . . One . . . ”
This was going to fucking hurt.
The pod landed violently not even a moment later, smashing into the ground with a deafening impact. Max’s back slammed against the side of the curved hull, the force knocking the air out of him. Gritting his teeth, the prince groaned in pain as he tried to regain his bearings and shake the spots out of his eyes.
His knees had ground into the edge of the seat after rising up on impact, and his shins were killing him, surely bruised.
The entire pod hissed, creaking ominously as it settled into the impact crater.
Blinking through the pain, choking to get air back into his lungs, Max immediately turned his attention back to Charles. The Earthling's body remained limp, head lolling slightly to one side when he withdrew the support of his arms. Max’s heart clenched, but he could see that Charles’ safety restraints had held him securely in place and the prince's back had stopped the younger from coming out of his seat.
"Charles," Max rasped, voice rough and strained.
Reaching out, he gently brushed his fingers against Charles' cheek, hoping for any sign of consciousness. But Charles remained still, his chest rising and falling steadily with each breath.
Max forced himself to sit up straighter, ignoring the throbbing pain in his spine. He needed to get them both out of the pod and assess their surroundings. He didn’t know where they landed and there could be just about anything outside the relative safety of the scouting pod.
With a hiss, Max leaned back as much as he could, wincing as he shifted his weight. Carefully, he reached for Charles' buckles, and disconnected them in a hurry to get the hatch open and the Earthling fresh air.
Air . . . That's what Charles needed.
He just needed some air.
The robotic feminine pod voice startled him as it spoke again. “Planet atmospheric conditions will sustain Torossian life forms. Confirm for hatch engagement.”
“Confirm, open the hatch,” Max said to the computer, working his arms underneath Charles’ torso.
Thank the goddess the air was compatible.
He'd not even thought about it before now, but the rebreathers from each ship needed to be restocked after every scouting trip and this pod's surely hadn't been with the short turnaround from P-127.
The latch engaged with a pneumatic hiss and the prince cradled Charles' body, lifting him gently in his arms from the ship.
Stepping out, a harsh, arid environment greeted him. The ground was sandy, and the sun beat down mercilessly, casting long shadows. In the distance, a rugged cliff face loomed, pocketed with what looked like a few dark caves.
Shelter. He needed shelter to protect Charles until he regained consciousness.
With every step, pain radiated through Max's back and knees, but he pushed through it, driven by his concern for the still unconscious man. The Earthling's weight was a significant burden with the ache in his back, but Max held on tightly, refusing to let him slip. His breathing was labored, each step an exertion as he moved toward the nearest cave to escape the scorching temperature.
It was so hot .
Almost unbearably dry, sweat quickly beaded on his brow under the effort of moving the younger man. Not wanting to draw attention by using his ki to fly, Max kept his head on a swivel, looking for any potential threat coming towards them.
The landscape was barren, with only the occasional scraggly bush or rock to break the monotony of swirling beige. Sweat now dripped from Max's forehead, stinging his eyes, but he didn't slow his pace.
Every now and then, he glanced down at Charles' head, limply flung back and legs bent at the knee over Max's right arm, checking for any sign of awakening. But his eyes remained closed, his face pale and lifeless as it rested against the royal's chestplate.
As they neared the cliff face, the promise of shade and shelter offered a small comfort. The closest cave entrance was narrow, but just wide enough for Max to squeeze through while carrying Charles. He paused at the entrance, taking a moment to adjust his grip and gather his strength for the final push.
Raising the Earthling up in his grip, Max tucked Charles’ face into his neck to squeeze the two of them into the recessed space with a grunt.
Inside, the cave was cool and dark, a stark contrast to the blazing heat outside. Max gently laid Charles down on the flat rocky surface of the floor, checking him over once more to ensure he was uninjured from the landing or the rough atmospheric entry.
Checking his pulse again, it was unchanged and Max wasn’t sure what else to do.
Satisfied that Charles was physically intact, Max sank to his knees beside him, allowing himself a brief moment of rest.
Breathing heavily, Max leaned back against the cave wall, wincing as his back throbbed in protest, but the cool dampness felt good on his bruised muscles. Despite the discomfort, a sense of relief washed over him.
They'd made it out of the pod, and now they had a moment to regroup and assess things further.
The cave wasn't much deeper than where they were positioned and he couldn’t smell any predators or beings in the cool haven with them.
Good . . . That was good.
A rumble came from the back of his mind, Oozaru on alert in the unfamiliar landscape.
He wasn’t sure what planet this was, nor did he have his scouter to scan the rest of the area for lifeforms and assess potential threats. There could’ve been a whole group of wild alien carnivores roaming the landscape, and he'd have no idea if they were dangerous or if he could handle them with his tweaked back.
Alonso hadn't told him where Charles was headed, but if he had to guess, this wasn't Earth, if the scouting maps he'd reviewed were anything to go by. Earth was lush, blue and green—the same green of Charles’ eyes.
This planet had an orangish hue that he saw from the viewport on entry.
The prince was deep in thought, weight of their predicament on his mind, when a faint movement caught his attention. The Eldri stirred, a slight twitch of his fingers followed by a shallow breath.
The sight brought a rush of relief and exhaustion to Max’s heart.
Pushing off the cave wall and scooting forward on his sore knees, Max leaned over Charles to the side of him, his hands gently grasping the Earthling's face.
"Charles—Charles, are you with me?" He called softly, voice a mixture of urgency and tenderness. "Come on, open your eyes."
Running the pads of his thumbs across Charles' high cheekbones, Max prayed he wasn't just seeing things. Charles’ eyes fluttered, and a faint groan escaped his dry lips. Grip tightened slightly, the prince was careful not to hurt him, but firm enough to convey his presence.
"Charles, it’s me— Max . Can you hear me? Wake up, Charlie."
Another groan, deeper this time, as Charles' eyelids slowly cracked open. His eyes were unfocused at first, blinking against the dim light of the cave. Max could see the confusion and disorientation in them as they struggled to make sense of their surroundings.
"Max?" Charles’ voice was weak, barely a whisper, but it was enough to make his heart leap.
"Thank the goddess," Max replied, voice steady but filled with emotion. "You’re okay. Keep your eyes open, and take a few deep breaths for me. Can you do that?"
Charles’ gaze finally settled on Max, recognition dawning in his eyes. He remembered those times he woke up from a nightmare on the ship and Charles had helped him calm his erratic breathing.
Maybe he could do that for him now?
Taking hold of Charles’ hand, Max put it to his chest, resting the limp palm over his sternum under his chestplate.
“Like this Charles. In and out, just like this.”
Charles took a few shaky breaths. Not as deep as Max would’ve wanted, but deep enough to know the Earthling had understood what he'd asked of him. The stasis vapor lingered in the lungs after the reversal protocol due to being denser than oxygen, and you had to breathe it out to wake up fully.
Trying to sit up, Charles struggled with his body, still weak from the gas. Max slid an arm around his low back, supporting him as he struggled into a sitting position.
"Easy there," he said in his best soothing tone. "Take it slow. You’ve been out for a while."
Pausing, Max didn’t actually know if that was true. He actually had no idea how long they'd been in stasis sleep or how far they’d traveled from the last location of the base ship.
They could be anywhere . . .
Charles looked around, taking in the cave's interior, the harsh orangish light from outside making him squint. “Où . . . Où sommes-nous?” [ Where . . . Where are we? ] he asked shakily.
What—?
A cold tinge started up Max's spine.
Oh no , he thought. Did Charles suffer some memory damage even though he recognized Max? Was Charles in pain? Was the Earthling aware that he wasn’t speaking galactic standard?
Did the Eldri not understand what Max had said to him?
Max’s frenetic thoughts all fought for his attention.
"I don’t understand," Max explained tentatively, earning a confused look from the Earthing. “Are you alright, Charles? Does something hurt? Anything at all? Your head? How’s your head?”
Charles shook his head slowly with great difficulty, clearly struggling to absorb the questions. He glanced down at himself, like he was looking for something, and smiled softly when he saw the prince's tail around him.
Okay, he could work with that. That Max understood.
Giving the younger a gentle squeeze with it, Max was pleased that his tail was an object of comfort for the Eldri, and his fears about it before were seemingly unfounded. That didn't change the fact that he still couldn't stop himself from blushing like a teenager when Charles smiled at it.
The prince leaned in and placed a delicate kiss on Charles’ temple, eliciting a sigh from the man, before the moment was ruined.
Face turning an unnatural shade of green, a sudden and apparent wave of nausea overtook Charles. He turned away from Max's supportive hold, body convulsing violently. The Earthling barely had time to brace himself before he vomited against the cave wall, and the sound of retching filled the confined space, echoing off the stone surfaces.
Max’s eyes softened with understanding and he reached out, hand hovering near Charles' back. This was classic stasis sickness, and the prince was unsure whether he should touch the younger or give him space.
"You're okay," he said softly, unsure of what else to say.
Body heaving with each retch, the Eldri gasped for breath between bouts of vomiting. The acrid smell of bile filled the air, mixing with the musty scent of the cave. His eyes were squeezed shut, small tears streaming down his face from the sheer force of the convulsions.
Max felt a pang of helplessness, worried that the Earthing was possibly hurt or worse. "It's okay, Charles," he said, trying to offer comfort. "Just breathe."
Agonizing seconds ticked by for the prince before the retching subsided. Charles slumped against the cave wall, panting heavily. His skin was pale, and sweat glistened on his forehead in the orange light. He wiped his mouth with the back of a trembling hand, spitting lightly, trying to clear his mouth.
Max shifted to kneel in front of him and avoided the pile of sick, eyes filled with concern.
"Are you alright?" he asked gently, his hand finally coming to rest on Charles' shoulder, offering a steadying presence. His tail was idly stroking against Charles’ low back with slow small circles. “Do you understand me?”
Nodding weakly, Charles was still catching his breath.
"Oui—donne-moi juste une minute,” [Yeah—just give me a minute] he managed to say between gasps. Voice hoarse, the Earthling swallowed hard, visibly trying to rid himself of the lingering nausea.
Minute? That was the only thing Max understood from that. He needed a moment maybe?
Okay. Max could do that, hoping he understood.
If they weren't in this stressful situation, Max would feel some kind of way about Charles speaking in his Earth language that was buttery sounding when it rolled off his tongue, but he couldn’t focus on that now.
Staying close, Max hoped his presence was reassuring in the midst of Charles' discomfort and that the Earthling hadn’t just told him to leave or something.
"Take your time," he said softly. "We're not going anywhere until you're ready."
Charles' breathing gradually steadied, and he leaned back against the cool stone, closing his eyes for a moment.
Sitting with him quietly, Max waited before asking, "Are you—does anything hurt? I tried to shield you the best I could during landing."
Charles shook his head slightly, wincing at the movement. "Just . . . a bit sore. But I think I’m okay. Nothing is broken at least."
Relief crashed through Max at the Earthing back to speaking standard. He wasn't sure if Charles knew he wasn't before, but he didn't want to concern the Eldri unnecessarily. "We’ll rest here for a bit, and then we’ll figure out where we are. Just focus on getting your strength back."
“Water,” the Eldri rasped. “I need water.”
Glancing around, there was no condensation or source of water in the cave, and from what he’d seen outside, there wasn’t any other source close by.
“I—I don’t have any, but we'll find some. Don’t worry.”
Barely nodding in agreement, Charles sagged further against the wall and focused on his breathing, reaching for Max's hand, threading their fingers together much to Max's surprise.
The regal Torossian let him.
They sat for a while in the cave's dim light, the dry air around them still and silent except for their breaths. After sitting in the oppressive quiet for so long, curled close to the Eldri, Max's leg had fallen asleep, and his mind wandered back to the question he knew he needed to ask, but he dreaded hearing the answer.
It was obvious.
There was only one way he could've ended up in that pod with Charles, and the thought made his heart feel like it was tearing in two. Max struggled to bring up the topic, but he had to be sure.
The Earthing was starting to get his bearings and normalized his breathing, so the prince felt like they could start to deal with their situation.
Finally breaking the silence, the prince spoke, voice hesitant. "How—how did I end up in the pod with you?" he asked, eyes fixed on the Eldri with a mix of curiosity and dread.
Charles, still pale from his recent ordeal, met Max's gaze, finger's still laced with his squeezing tight. His eyes misted with fresh tears, and he took an unsteady breath before speaking.
"It was Alonso," he said, voice trembling. "He—he knocked you out."
Max's eyes squeezed shut in disbelief, breath coming in wet puffs. It was the answer he'd expected, but he'd begged so desperately to be wrong. That old fool had no idea what he'd done.
"What happened? What did he say?"
Charles set his other hand on Max's chestplate, a lone tear spilling down his cheek.
"He . . . he took you from me when I–I caught you, and then told me to get into the p–pod. He brought you over and put you in my lap, and c–closed the door." His voice broke, and he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I didn't even get to say goodbye properly—I didn't . . . "
Max leaned back, taking a few deep breaths to try and pull himself together. It was obvious Charles was telling the truth, and it didn’t do anything to ease his pain. The prince felt Charles’ hand pull away from him to instead feel around on his own chestplate, seeming to remember something before reaching inside in a hurry.
Charles pulled out a flat, rounded object from inside, hands trembling as he handed it to Max, eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and remorse.
"Alonso told me to give this to you," the Eldri said quietly, "And he told me to take care of you."
Max's breath hitched as he saw the familiar Torossian seal on the object. His eyes widened, and a surge of anger welled up inside him.
He quickly stood, legs feeling unsteady having forgotten they were asleep, and stumble-walked to the edge of the cave, round disk in hand. The weight of the seal felt immense, as if the entire legacy of their forgotten people was now sat in his hand.
As he stared out at the barren, sandy landscape, the harsh environment reflected the turmoil inside him. The seal, a symbol of his home and his people, seemed to burn in his palm. A realization of Alonso's sacrifice, his unwavering loyalty, and the lengths he'd gone to to ensure Max's safety hit him like a tidal wave.
And Jos had surely disposed of the elder by now for his treason.
Even if Max wanted to go back and try to undo the whole unplanned escape, Alonso was undoubtedly already a victim of the warlord's unyielding rage. Carlos was also surely in the hands of the goddess as well for his involvement.
At least Max prayed that they were.
Fear licked at the back of his mind. If the emperor decided to prolong their suffering or torture them for information, he knew they would never give in.
Opening his hand and taking a good look at the object, the prince's heart felt like it stopped beating when he realized exactly what it was, and a vivid flashback surged through his mind.
He was back in that horrible, dark, cold prison cell, the dampness of the metal walls seeping into his bones. The faint glow from a flickering fluid filled tank just outside casting eerie shadows that danced menacingly around him.
He remembered standing defiantly as Jos, with his cruel smirk, approached. The emperor's presence was suffocating, his energy all-consuming in the confined space, but Max didn't know the extent of the warlord's true power then.
At least not yet.
He was foolish and brash. A head strong seven-year-old who had never known suffering like the adult man he’d grown into.
The prince's crimson royal mantle, a symbol of his heritage and status, still draped over his small shoulders, provided a sense of comfort. The intricate golden seal clasp, now in his trembling hand, was then a proud emblem affixing it to his shoulder, holding the red fabric in place.
That same red now made him sick, only associating the house of Toro’s idyllic red with the blazing hellfire of the warlord’s red gaze.
Reaching out, Jos' horrid eyes glinted with malice, glacial fingers curling around the seal. With a sharp tug, he ripped the mantle from Max's back, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the cell. The cold wall bit into the prince's skin where the mantle once lay between, a clear reminder of his new vulnerability and confinement.
Leaning in close, the emperor's frigid, rancid breath grated against Max's ear.
"You won't need this anymore," he whispered, voice dripping with contempt. "A Torossian prince means nothing here. You are now a prince of nothing."
Heart beating in his chest, a mix of rage and helplessness coursed through him. He'd wanted to fight back, to reclaim his dignity, but the chains binding him were unyielding and made him feel weak with some kind of energy draining technology.
He was only a small boy at the time, so naive and stupid.
Stepping back, the emperor held the seal up to the dim light, his black-lipped smile widening as he admired his cruel handiwork.
Memory fading, Max was back in the present, standing at the edge of the cave, his back to Charles.
The seal in his hand now felt heavier, not just a piece of metal but a weight of memories and pain. His fingers tightened around it, smooth edges pressing into his skin, grounding him in the moment.
Alonso had kept it . . . All this time. Kept it safe for twenty years, holding out hope that one day Max would be in need of it again.
Tears of rage began to blur his vision, and he could no longer hold back the fire that had been building inside him while he relived the memory.
He fell to his knees, clutching the seal to his chest, as silent tears streamed down his face, bathed in the roaring blue flame of his immense uncontrolled ki, finally able to let it loose.
No scouters or prying eyes to hide his emotions from, Max let it go.
The grief and guilt were overwhelming, and he let out a choked, anguished shout across the barren sand.
Charles didn’t come to his side, weak with lingering stasis symptoms, surely dealing with his own heartbreak at the painful truth between them and how they ended up there together. Max wanted to comfort the Eldri, to share in his sorrow, but he needed this moment to process on his own.
He needed to mourn his mentor in the very state Alonso never let him be . . . Alone .
Max's ragged breathing echoed through the cave, the sound of his raw, unfiltered sadness filling the air. He grieved for Alonso, for the sacrifices made, for Carlos, and for the uncertain future that lay ahead.
The weight of leadership, the responsibility of his people—all of the two that were left, and the loss of a loyal friend, converged in this moment of despair. Alonso was the only father he'd had to guide him through his formative years.
The realization that he'd never thanked the elder properly burned behind his eyes.
He hated that the last few words he’d shared with him were to question his loyalty, to question him bringing Charles to the throne room, and to question his protective behavior against Jos’ second-in-command.
Oh, how he wished he could take those words back now.
Max found some small measure of comfort in the fact that their discussion before that went much better. Despite Alonso scolding him for his treatment of Charles during his episode—harming an Eldri for goddess’ sake—the elder had told him his father would've been proud of him.
Told him that he was proud of him too.
Max felt so undeserving of the elder’s loyalty.
Remembering the first time Alonso shielded him from his father's wrath, Max felt a sad smile pull at his lips. Still so young and naive, barely understanding the full extent of his royal lineage or the responsibilities it entailed, the prince got himself into all kinds of mischief.
King Christian had been furious over a minor mistake Max made during training, ready to unleash his anger on the young prince in exasperation. But Alonso stepped in, his stern yet gentle presence calming the king just enough to prevent the worst.
From that moment on, Alonso had become more than a mentor; he'd been a protector, a guide, and a constant source of strength. Even after Max was taken, the elder, by sense of duty alone, negotiated with the warlord to join Max in that prison and leave Toro behind.
The prince recalled the countless nights Alonso had spent teaching him and Carlos about their Torossian heritage. Stories of their homeworld, its rich history, and the royal lineage that Max was a part of. Without Alonso, he would've known nothing of the traditions, the values, and the pride that came with being a Torossian.
The pride that swelled in his spirit now.
Max’s mind drifted to the many battles they had fought side by side. Alonso had always placed himself in harm’s way to shield young Max, taking blows and making sacrifices that had allowed Max to grow stronger and more skilled.
Alonso was also instrumental in turning Max away from the dark path he'd been on. His early teen years were some he'd like to forget, completely filled with hatred and spite, lashing out over the smallest things.
War was brutal, but the things he'd done were beyond that. Beyond the savagery of combat. Max had committed heinous acts, much to the displeasure of the elder Torossian. Alonso had even tried to stop him on several occasions, trying his best to break through the fog of bloodlust that clung to Max like an insidious vine.
And he never gave up on him. Never stopped believing in him.
Alonso had stood by him even after everything he'd done, and welcomed him with open arms when the prince was ready to change, helping him see the error of his ways and the role Jos played in it all.
The elder Torossian’s wisdom and battle strategies had saved Max’s life more times than he could count, and it seemed the old man’s quick thinking had spared his life again.
He thought about Alonso’s quiet acts of kindness, the way he would offer a comforting word or a reassuring pat on the shoulder when the weight of his new PTO responsibilities felt too heavy. Alonso had been there during Max’s darkest moments, reminding him of his strength and potential, urging him to keep fighting, not just for himself but for their people.
He'd saved him from the pits of his despair when Jos killed Daniel. Ready to throw it all away, Max thought his life had finally had meaning when he'd met the older, tanned boy from the engine room.
The anguish of that time felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.
Max remembered the sheer devastation he had felt, the soul-crushing grief that had consumed him. Daniel had been his light, a beacon of hope and love in the midst of the chaos and brutality that defined their lives under Jos’ rule.
When the warlord had mercilessly taken Daniel's life to punish Max, it had felt like a part of his soul had been ripped away.
But, Max was given the choice.
Beg for Daniel's life and Jos would spare him, or continue the vow he’d made at the age of ten to never beg the emperor for anything ever again.
It was a farce anyway.
Max knew that. Even if he had begged, the frost demon was going to kill Daniel either way. He’d already learned that begging got him nowhere when he begged to go home.
So, the prince made his choice.
Nothing could've possibly been a worse punishment than watching his lover burn to death in a blazing inferno while Max knew he was the cause. He'd thought wrong when the warlord then proceeded to take him against his will for the first time there in the throne room.
“ This hobby of yours is clearly to blame for your poor performance in your last purge. You were sloppy, and took nearly twice as long as you should've for a planet of pathetic weaklings!” Jos roared at him.
But he wasn't really listening, eyes firmly fixed on the still smoking corpse in front of his feet.
He was frozen, heart bleeding, and unable to imagine what the warlord would do next to further his complete control over Max.
After the assault, he’d spiraled into a deep despair, teetering on the edge of hopelessness. He’d wanted to give up, to end his suffering and end the cruel reality that Jos had crafted for him.
The memory of those endless tears, the overwhelming sense of loss made it hard to breathe.
In the midst of that darkness, it was Alonso who had reached out to him, pulling him back from the brink. Max remembered the night Alonso had found him in his quarters, a broken shell of the proud young prince he once was.
Alonso had sat with him, after many attempts to convince him to open the door, too ashamed to let the elder see the blood.
" Max ," Alonso had said, his voice calm and steady, "I know your pain feels unbearable right now, but every warrior must learn a simple truth. That pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. Don't let this break you. Don't let him win ."
Max’s grip on the seal tightened as he remembered the elder’s last act of loyalty: sending Charles and him away to safety and dooming himself in the process. Alonso had given his life to ensure that Max could escape Jos’ tyranny, to give him a chance at a future free from the warlord’s oppressive rule.
As he knelt there, crushed by grief, his thoughts were interwoven with a profound sense of gratitude.
Alonso had shaped him into the man he was, instilling in him the courage and knowledge to lead and protect. He knew that the best way to honor Alonso’s memory was to live up to the ideals and values the elder had imparted.
He could never repay the debt he now owed the man, but he could start by not failing Charles. The Eldri was his responsibility now, and he would take up the same oath the elder had taken for him.
To protect Charles from all harm and keep him safe—or die trying.
As his anguish eventually subsided, Max remained on his knees, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his sorrow, ki flickering out. The seal, once a symbol of his shame and Jos' cruelty, was now a reminder of his resilience and the lives lost for his freedom.
There was always a heavy cost with freedom, and Max didn’t know how much more he could pay.
Slowly, he rose to his feet, wiping the stray tears from his face with the back of his hand.
He turned back to Charles, eyes red and swollen but filled with a new determination. "I will not let his sacrifice be in vain," he said, voice steady but thick. “I will get you somewhere safe.”
Charles shook his head no, and Max walked back to the pale man confused.
Did the Earthling not want to return to Earth? Was he afraid of what awaited him back home?
“I don't want to go anywhere you're not. We'll find somewhere safe for the both of us.” The Earthing said, and looked at him with a strong but weary gaze.
Max wanted to laugh.
The situation itself was just absurd. Such unwavering loyalty from the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. He knew he was completely undeserving of it, but he would selfishly hold on to the Eldri until his last breath.
His Oozaru puffed up its figurative chest and rumbled in satisfaction that Charles felt safe with them, tail itching to be back in touching distance of the Earthling.
Max stared at Charles, his words still echoing in his mind as he tried to process what Charles meant. But as Max mulled over the possibilities, a realization struck him with the force of a comet.
Charles didn’t just mean he wanted to stay by Max’s side on their journey—he meant he didn’t want to be separated from Max at all.
A surge of warmth filled Max's chest, momentarily pushing aside the cold, calculated warrior within him trying to figure out what to do next. But that warmth was quickly replaced by a growing sense of dread.
He was so tired of the death and destruction he left in his wake everywhere he went. Everything and everyone he touched turned to ash and he refused to let that happen to Charles.
Max’s mind quickly settled on a plan, one that he knew was the only way to protect the Eldri he’d grown so attached to. He would take Charles back to Earth, back to the safety of his home. Ensure that Charles was surrounded by his friends and the peace of his homeland.
And then . . . Max would leave.
He would go on alone to face whatever lay ahead, to confront his destiny, to take on the dangers that came with his bloodline and past.
He was a threat to Charles, not by intention, but by the very nature of who he was and the enemies he carried with him. As long as Emperor Jos was out there, hunting him, manipulating entire worlds for his gain, Max could never truly be at peace—and neither could Charles.
The thought of Jos getting his hands on Charles and using him as leverage sent a chill down Max’s spine.
He couldn’t allow it.
He wouldn’t allow it.
He refused to let his feelings for Charles, the warmth and light the Eldri brought into his life, cloud his strategic judgment. The prince’s life had been forged in darkness, and it was a darkness he could not share with someone as pure-hearted as Charles.
His resolve solidified—he would get Charles home, make sure he was safe, and then he would continue his journey alone.
Forcing a smile, masking the sorrow that gnawed at him, Max stepped closer. He couldn’t tell Charles about his plan, not yet. For now, he would let the Eldri believe whatever he wanted. Once Charles was safe, he would disappear from his life—no goodbyes, no explanations.
It was the only way to keep Charles out of harm’s way.
Kneeling down in front of the younger, wrapping his arms around him tightly, the prince still had the seal still in hand. Charles leaned into his touch and they stayed like that for a while, clinging to each other in the dim light of the cave, silently acknowledging that it very likely was now just the two of them against the universe.
Max would enjoy these moments with Charles while he could.
With a sigh, the Earthing was the first to move away from the embrace, clearing his throat.
“I remember more now. Alonso said he was sending me to a place called Hassan I think?” Charles whispered. “He mentioned there would be people here who could help me get to Earth, and he gave me these.” Reaching down into his boot, Max watched him pull out a small stack of PTO credits.
Frowning, Max looked out at the desolate surroundings beyond the mouth of the cave. “This definitely isn’t Hassan,” he said, shaking his head. “Hassan is a tropical planet with a lavender sky. It’s lush and full of vegetation, nothing like this.”
Charles’ eyes widened in alarm. “But Alonso was sure. He said—” The Eldri took a shaky breath. “If we’re not on Hassan, then . . . where are we? Have you been here before?”
Gaze sweeping over the rocky terrain outside the cave, the oppressive heat waves shimmered in the distance. “I don’t know,” Max admitted, voice tinged with frustration. “I've been to so many, they all start to bleed together. But I'll figure it out. We definitely can’t stay in here.”
Pulling his knees up to his chest, a look of worry washed over the Earthling’s face. “Did something go wrong with the pod? Are we stranded?”
The prince’s frustration mounted as he looked around the barren landscape, almost willing it to change every time he looked out at it. “I never thought I would say this, but I wish I had my scouter,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I could scan for bio readings and get region data to figure out where the hell we are.”
“There’s nothing in the immediate area to worry—” the younger man mumbled before trailing off. Charles, still leaning against the cave wall for support, glanced at Max nervously, his expression tense like he’d said something he shouldn’t’ve.
Max noticed the change and narrowed his eyes.
“Nothing in the area? What?”
Charles gulped and the prince started to panic.
“Do you have a scouter with you?” Max said and twisted his head around to look the Eldri over. “Give it to me, I have to disable the tracking unit inside—”
“I don’t have a scouter,” Charles said sheepishly, confusing Max even more.
“Then what did you mean? Is there something you’re not telling me? Did Alonso say anything else?”
Hesitating, the Eldri bit his lip before finally speaking up. “There’s something I didn't tell you about my training with my father.”
“Your training . . . with Herve?” Max asked, raising his brows high on his forehead. The young Torossian nodded his head softly to indicate yes, and Max went on before Charles could speak.
“What does your Earth father have to do with planet Hassan? You said he trained with you until you were old enough to see Master Vasseur,” the prince said, racking his brain to remember the details from Charles’ Earth upbringing that he shared with him.
“Yeah, he taught me a lot of things. But the most useful thing was how to sense energy levels with my mind,” the younger said, voice timid. “Without using that device or anything.”
Max stared at him, unable to keep the evident shock off his face. “You can do what?”
Taking a deep breath and visibly struggling to gather his thoughts, Charles started again. “It’s something I’ve been able to do for a while now, but I didn’t know how to explain it.”
“How does—what do you feel?” Max asked.
“It's just like how you all seemed to use the scouter to scan for ki signatures and power levels, I can do that in my mind. It’s how I knew you weren't lying about Jos’ power when we first met, and how I could always tell when your council meetings weren’t going well.”
Charles practically giggled at that admission, and Max's shock quickly turned into a mixture of amazement and curiosity.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
Looking away, guilt flickered across the Earthling's features. “I didn’t fully trust you or the others at first and it just never seemed to be a good time to talk about it. I thought maybe you’d think I was lying or something.”
Placing a hand on Charles’ shoulder, Max tried to convey his understanding. “Charles, this is incredible. If you can sense ki, then maybe we’re not as fucked as I thought. Can you try to see if there’s anyone or anything around us right now? How far can you . . . sense things?”
Nodding, Charles closed his eyes and focused. Max watched him intently, his own curiosity giving way into a bloom of hope and he tried to keep his mind from spinning, to no avail.
If Charles could feel energy then . . . did that mean he could feel him? Could he feel everyone on the ship the whole time?
What did he feel like to Charles? Did he just get a reading for a level like the scouter? Or did he get the essence of a person or any other details?
Dear goddess, he prayed it wasn't the latter.
It couldn't be the second, he thought. If Charles could feel someone's essence, who they were at their core, the Earthling would've run away from Max the moment they'd met like everyone else.
Max wouldn't have even had to tell him that he was a bad person like he had that night in his private quarters, the Earthling quietly restitching his hip and tending to his injuries in the med bay. Charles would've been able to feel it.
After a few moments, Charles’ eyes squeezed together tighter, long lashes bunching up, a mixture of apprehensive relief on his face. “I can feel some kind of city not that far from here,” Charles said, pointing toward the horizon outside the cave. “There’s a cluster of energy signatures that way. They’re faint, but they’re definitely there.”
“Can you tell how many?”
“Maybe . . . a few hundred?”
Max’s heart lifted at the news. A settlement of that size meant they would have a better chance of blending in and finding a way off this planet. “Then that’s where we’ll go—”
“Wait,” the Earthling said. Grabbing his arm before Max could stand up. “There’s a group coming toward us. They feel strong and very unfriendly. Fuck, there are a lot of them too.”
Chapter 25: What He Made You
Summary:
"You didn't even speak to them, didn't offer them a moment to surrender. You just . . . you just killed them. You’re covered in blood, Max!"
Regal eyes darkened, shoulders tensing at Charles’ words. “They were a threat, Charles. I couldn’t risk—”
"You didn’t know that," Charles' cut in, voice rising. "What if they were just scared? What if they were running from something, just like us?"
Jaw tightening, the prince's face twisted, and Charles thought he saw a flicker of something. But it was gone just as quickly as it had come, replaced by a cold, unyielding facade the prince always wore when he faced something he didn’t want to confront, expression more guarded, posture more defensive like when he returned from long war council meetings.
"Or they could've killed us and fed on our corpses. Don’t be so fucking naive," Max said flatly.
Notes:
Charles gets to "see" Max in action and he's not so sure he likes that he sees.
Chapter warnings: graphic depictions of blood and violence
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Charles' senses tingled with the sudden awareness of approaching ki signatures.
The presence was unmistakable—a group of unknown beings, moving swiftly toward their location. He closed his eyes and focused harder, trying to gauge their strength and numbers. There were at least five, maybe more, and their energy levels were considerable, enough to pose a real threat.
He still felt like shit from the ‘stasis sickness’ or whatever Max had called it, and he didn't think he could handle more than one of the approaching hostiles.
Trying to stand was unthinkable when just the simple act of breathing made him nauseous. Not to mention he was so, so thirsty.
His anxiety rose as he turned back to Max, grabbing onto his arm. “There’s a group coming toward us. They feel strong and very unfriendly. Fuck, there are a lot of them too.”
Max's eyes snapped to the cave entrance, immediately alert. The prince didn't even ask for details; the urgency on his face said it all. He watched Max push himself to his feet, wincing slightly like he was in pain.
Was Max hurt?
He'd said he shielded him from the impact of landing . . . did that mean Max was unsafe when they crashed down? Dear God, he hadn’t even thought to ask? And now, he didn't get the opportunity to ask the prince before Max spoke.
"How far?" He asked, voice steady but tense, wrapping his tail firmly around his waist.
Charles concentrated, feeling the ki signatures growing stronger with each passing moment. "Not far. They're moving fast, so maybe only a few minutes away. They're coming straight for us from the horizon—"
“Stay here, Charles,” the prince said sharply, back turned to him. The words were clipped, cold—completely devoid of the warmth or concern he’d had only a few minutes ago.
Watching in helpless desperation, Charles could do nothing as Max surged out of the cave in a blinding flash of light, his body leaving a faint afterimage in the air while moving at superhuman speed.
“Wait!” he yelled, but the prince's speed was incredible. Before Charles could even react, Max was already a distant speck against the arid landscape.
“Shit,” Charles grumbled and forced his heavy limbs to obey his commands.
He struggled to get up, barely making it onto his knees, before a wave of dizziness made him pause for a breath, hands digging into his thighs for balance. His mind was working overtime to track Max’s rapidly moving ki in tandem with the group of incoming lifeforms.
Who were they?
Were they from Jos’ forces, sent to capture or kill them? Or were they even worse?
While Charles couldn’t imagine anyone worse at the moment, that didn’t mean they weren’t out there.
Trying to get up again, the Earthling's muscles strained against the lingering nausea and weakness, but his body betrayed him. He got one foot underneath him and made it halfway to standing, leaning heavily on the wall before he collapsed back onto the cave floor with a whimper, hands catching him before his face hit the ground.
Raging mentally at himself, his Eldri begged him to get up. This was not the time to fall apart, Max needed him right now.
As the ki signatures grew even closer, Charles felt a knot of fear tighten in his chest.
His mind continued to track them, panic setting in as he struggled to control his labored breathing to stand. Closing his eyes again to focus, Charles picked out Max's ki more precisely. It was a familiar presence, strong and resolute, moving rapidly toward the approaching group.
The collision was sudden, air outside the cave erupting with raw power.
Max's ki flared brilliantly, an intense burst of energy that lit up the already blinding landscape like a supernova, terrifying against the backdrop of the approaching threat. The sheer force of his power was overwhelming to the Eldri's foremind, a beacon of fury and strength that Charles could feel vibrating through the very rock of the cave.
Even from his position safely hidden from view, Charles could feel the intensity of the fight unfolding just beyond his reach. The approaching ki signatures—once so threatening and menacing—now began to flicker and dim under the relentless force of Max’s assault.
What had once felt like stacked odds now felt like child’s play for the prince, each life a candle’s flame being steadily snuffed out, one by one.
Charles concentrated harder, pushing his senses outward, trying to grasp the full scope of what was happening. He could feel the clash of energies, the violent exchange of blows, and the royal Torossian’s energy so fierce, it seemed to bend the planet's inherent energy field around it, warping everything in its path.
It wasn't uncontrolled, volatile like it had been that one time on the PTO ship, but no less menacing in its strength.
Suddenly, one of the ki signatures blinked out, extinguished so abruptly that Charles flinched like he'd been struck. The emptiness left behind was jarring, like a void where something vital had once been.
His mind filled in the blanks—he could almost see Max delivering a devastating fatal strike, his enemy crumpling beneath the force of it, life snuffed out like dust in the wind.
Another one followed moments later.
Then another.
The second and third ki signatures vanished almost simultaneously, their energy winking out of existence and Charles felt a cold shiver run through him.
He’d known Max was powerful—he’d seen glimpses of it before—but to feel it so viscerally, to sense the lives being extinguished by Max’s hand made his stomach churn uncomfortably. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the result of Max’s brutal training, the conditioning that had turned him into a relentless weapon of destruction.
Max was dispatching the group with ruthless efficiency, each extinguished ki a testament to his lifetime of practiced savagery. A sense of unease started to settle in Charles’ chest.
There was no hesitation, no quarter given, no mercy.
Clearly not having even spoken to them or given them any chance to surrender, the prince's heartlessness was a compliment to the barren landscape outside.
Charles’ thoughts raced, each one tumbling into the next, but they all circled back to a single, central question: was this necessary?
Shouldn’t they have tried to reason with the approaching group first? Ascertain if they really meant harm, or if they posed no threat at all?
The nagging doubt twisted his insides as he tried to make sense of what was happening beyond the cave, while simultaneously trying not to throw up again. His chest felt tight, the rapid beat of his heart loud in his ears.
As the fourth ki signature dimmed and disappeared, Charles' anxiety spiked, feeling Max's ki burning brighter and hotter than before, but the prince wasn’t struggling at all—almost toying with the last one now.
The ease at which he did so only deepened Charles' worry.
Max had been relentless, and though the prince was more than capable of handling it himself, Charles still felt like he should be out there, helping. Doing something .
Max's ki flickered again, and Charles’ Eldri fluttered in response, feeling distressed.
Was Max thinking clearly, or was he blinded by something else?
He hoped it was the grief for Alonso driving him, pushing him too far, clouding his judgment. Charles could understand that. Losing Alonso had shattered Max in ways he hadn’t yet fully processed, and maybe the prince had lost himself to that grief, to the pain and rage.
The Earthing could relate to that after the death of his adoptive father.
Charles felt the last of the encroaching group's ki signatures flare in a brief, desperate struggle before being snuffed out. The suddenness of the extinguished life force sent a wave of nausea rolling through him, his stomach twisting in knots. Swallowing against his dry, scratchy throat, the Earthling tried to steady his breathing, but the silence that followed—the abrupt absence of life, of energy—was telling.
Making a final, determined effort, Charles managed to push himself to his feet, his legs weak and trembling beneath him. He stumbled toward the mouth of the cave, clutching the jagged rock face for support.
Every step felt heavy, his limbs leaden with exhaustion, but he forced himself onward. He had to see Max, had to confirm with his own eyes that the prince was still . . . himself . Images of those golden eyes—fire and hell—flashed in his mind and the Earthling felt that voice in the back of his mind trying to tell him something.
This had happened a few times now since he was abducted, and Charles was desperate to understand it. Alonso had tried to explain his disconnect with his hindbrain, but most of the terms the Elder used were foreign to him.
He didn’t even have time to focus on that worry anyway. With much bigger immediate problems, Charles ignored his hindbrain.
Staying low, he crouched behind the rocks of the cave mouth that provided the only cover from the blazing sun. He strained his eyes, squinting hard against the glare, searching the sandy landscape for any sign of the prince or the battle. But they were too far away and he couldn’t see them.
Frustration boiled beneath his skin, and he clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.
The last remnants of the enemy ki faded into nothing, leaving only Max’s powerful presence, a blazing inferno of resolute authority. Relief washed over Charles, but it was tinged with a bitter edge of exhaustion and lingering stress.
Max had won, but at what cost?
His throat felt tight, and he struggled to swallow, still in desperate need of water. The relief was fleeting, overtaken by a dull ache of concern that refused to leave him. Max’s presence was still there, still strong, but tinged with something else—something Charles couldn’t quite place. There was an intensity in Max’s energy, a fire that burned too hot, too uncontrolled, barely recognizable against the prince’s base state.
Moreover, he didn’t know if it was really over. Were there more on their way? How dangerous was this planet if they’d already encountered such resistance to their presence so soon after arrival?
Max's ki began to move back toward the cave, and Charles let out a shaky breath. He’d had no doubt that Max would return victorious, but the thought of his prince facing such odds alone had been almost unbearable with his weakened state.
He should've helped, instead of being useless like a damsel in distress all the fucking time.
As he waited for Max to return, watching the horizon where the prince had disappeared, Charles’ heart was heavy with a mix of worry and guilt. He should be capable of standing beside Max, helping him—not just sitting here, feeling useless.
The prince’s physical prowess was undeniable, but did it always have to come down to that? To violence?
Max was already ready to defend, always on the offensive, but that couldn’t be what the prince really wanted. Charles had seen it in moments when Max was at peace, guard down, and that haunted look crept into his eyes. The endless violence weighed on him, even if he didn’t know it.
Alonso had told him that Torossians valued strength in their partners, that they admired those who could hold their own in a fight, but Charles wasn’t anywhere close to that. The gap between him and Max felt insurmountable, like he was staring at a mountain he’d never be able to climb.
But maybe strength wasn’t just about fighting. Maybe it was also about being able to talk Max down, to show him that there were other ways. Charles had seen the way the prince struggled, how he wrestled with his own violent nature, how the scars of his past had shaped him into the warrior he was now. And if anyone could help Max find a different path, shouldn’t it be him?
His mate, made to keep balance and provide Max with what his instincts needed?
The Earthling scrubbed a dry palm over his face, fighting off any more of his intrusive thoughts and tried to refocus on what was important.
Which was . . . what the fuck was that?
Max's ki got closer, its intensity and irregularity undiminished and Charles straightened, pushing himself up, using the cave wall for support. His earlier relief, now overshadowed by a growing disquiet.
By the time Max re-entered the cave, Charles was ready to confront him, having spent the past few minutes trying to piece together what just happened outside, and reconcile the brutality he’d felt from Max with the man he knew and loved.
Entering the cave silently, the prince’s expression was hard and unreadable, icy blue eyes usually so full of intensity, distant, almost glazed over. As his gaze landed on Charles standing—albeit unsteadily—near the cave wall, a flicker of something softer passed through them.
Concern, maybe. Relief, even. But it was fleeting, emotions disappearing, blank expression returning quickly.
The prince’s armor was battered, scuffed and streaked with dirt, bodysuit torn in several places, small slashes revealing pale skin underneath. But none of that was as striking as the—the red.
Vivid and everywhere.
At first, Charles had only noticed the splatters on Max’s white gloves and face, but the more he looked, the more he saw.
Dark red coated Max’s hands, smears and streaks staining his knuckles and fingertips over his gloves. It dotted his neck, splattered across his chest, and dripped down his thighs.
“Charles,” Max’s voice broke through the haze of Charles’ thoughts, suddenly looking more aware than he had a moment ago. “Are you alright? You shouldn’t be standing—you need to rest.”
Green eyes snapping to Max’s, the softness in the prince’s tone did nothing to quell the developing anger rising inside him. He took a deep breath, though it came out more as an angry huff, his frustration boiling over.
“What the fuck was that?” Charles shouted, his voice sharp with disbelief as he jabbed his finger toward the barren wasteland beyond the cave, words echoing in the small space.
Brows furrowing slightly, Max blinked, clearly not expecting the outburst. "What was what?" he asked, body stiffening.
The prince’s nonchalance only fanned the flames of Charles’ frustration.
Taking an unsteady step forward, his eyes locked onto Max's. "Those people you just fought . . . I felt everything. You didn't even give them a chance. You didn't even speak to them, didn't offer them a moment to surrender. You just . . . you just killed them. You’re covered in blood, Max!"
Glancing down at his arms and chest like he'd only just now noticed that fact, his regal eyes darkened, shoulders tensing at Charles’ words. “They were a threat, Charles. I couldn’t risk—”
"You didn’t know that," Charles' cut in, voice rising. "What if they were just scared? What if they were running from something, just like us? What if they didn’t even know we were here?"
Jaw tightening, the prince's face twisted, and Charles thought he saw a flicker of something. But it was gone just as quickly as it had come, replaced by the cold, unyielding facade the prince always wore when he faced something he didn’t want to confront, expression more guarded, posture more defensive. It’s the same expression he wore when he returned from long war council meetings.
"Or they could've killed us and fed on our corpses. Don’t be so fucking naive," Max said flatly.
Charles shook his head, seeing spots for a second, and then took another step forward. "Maybe. But we'll never know now, will we? You didn't even give them a chance to explain themselves.” Moving his hand away from the wall, Charles mustered all of his strength to stand under his own power, wanting to make a point.
“Is this how it's going to be every time we go somewhere? Kill first, ask questions never?"
Eyes flashing with a mix of anger and defensiveness, Max argued, "Look, we don't have time for your petty morals. I've trained my whole life to eliminate threats, Charles, and I will continue to do so with anything that compromises your safety."
Charles took a step back to look at Max—at the blood still splattered across his skin, the way his hands trembled slightly even as he tried to appear calm. He didn’t know what to say—didn’t know how to reach Max in that moment, how to make sense of this version of the Max he thought he knew.
It was very similar to the Max he’d met in the med bay, who didn’t have time for his questions or confusion.
The silence stretched between them, thick and stifling. Charles wanted to scream, to shake Max, to make him see that there had been another way without the needless violence.
"I don't need you to kill for me, Max. We could've talked to them, found out where we are or why they were here. Instead, you just slaughtered them like some kind of animal."
Crossing his arms, tone growing colder, Max snapped back, "And what if talking got us killed? What then, Charles? Would you rather I risked our lives on the off chance they weren't hostile? How many planets have you actually been on, hmm? If Earth is that peaceful, then it’s an exception, not the rule. Most search parties are not fucking sent to offer warm greetings or bring gifts. You said so yourself, they felt unfriendly.”
Charles’ hands clenched into fists, his eyes blazing. He couldn’t believe Max was twisting his words like that. "I'd rather you didn't act like a mindless soldier, killing without a second thought. You're supposed to be better than that, better than what he made you!"
Max flinched at the implication, his defensive posture faltering for a split second. Just as quickly, it was gone, and the prince straightened again, taking a step back and turning away from Charles, crossing his arms fully, now silent and distant.
That silence was louder than any answer he could've given.
Charles' shoulders slumped, his anger giving way to a deep sadness. That was harsh . . . and he regretted saying it the moment he opened his mouth.
Nervously biting his lip, Charles set his hand on Max’s bicep and offered, "I know you're trying to protect us, Max. But please, I don't want anyone dying for me.”
Max stayed turned away from him, arms returning to his sides, fists clenched, while taking a deep breath, "I—," he finally said, his voice quieter, looking down at his hands. "I'll go clean up outside."
Rounding the prince to stand in front of him, the Eldri stopped him from leaving and reached out, placing a hand on the side of Max's face, wiping off a spatter of blood from his cheek.
Those blue eyes looked much the same as they had the first time he saw them on Jos’ ship. A haunted ocean, hiding a lifetime of unknown pain and suffering well beyond his years.
"You are more than this," he said softly, hoping his apology came through in his tone.
Max turned his head away from the horizon quickly, eyes meeting Charles' again. "You don't know that.”
God, how much damage had the emperor done to Max for him to think so little of himself? Charles clearly had his work cut out for him to continue Alonso’s work, undoing all the years of mind games and torment the warlord waged on the young prince, and he was failing miserably.
Alonso told him to take care of Max—had put his faith in him.
Managing a small, reassuring smile, Charles said, "I do," and brushed his thumb across Max’s bloody cheekbone.
The tension between them eased slightly, the air in the cave feeling a bit less heavy. Charles knew that getting the prince to change his ways wouldn't be easy, but for Max, he was willing to try. And seeing the trust in Max's eyes, though it was small, gave him hope.
Tail scar tingling, Charles felt compelled by his instincts and he rose up on his tippy toes, sealing their lips together.
He felt Max gasp into the kiss, the sound raw and full of need, as his large gloved hands wrapped tightly around Charles’ waist, pulling him in with a force that left no space between them. Thick fingers dug into Charles’ hips, holding him possessively.
For a few precious moments, all the tension and conflict between them melted away. The cave, the blood, the violence—all faded into the background as they lost themselves in each other.
The faint taste of copper on the prince's lips did something primal to Charles’ mind, igniting a fire deep within. The voice in the back of his head whispered softly, urging him to re-stake his claim on Max, to reaffirm their bond, to reward their mate for protecting them. The thought sent a jolt of lust through him, a visceral feeling that it was impossible to ignore.
If he were still in control, Charles might have denied it—denied that a part of him was turned on by the sheer power and ferocity Max had displayed in the fight, the way he’d taken life in his name. But that part of him wasn’t in control anymore. His Eldri instincts had taken over, driving him forward, compelling him to act on the desires that pulsed through his veins.
Charles moved on instinct, his tongue pressing deeper into Max’s mouth, exploring, tasting. He couldn’t get enough of him—the warmth, the salt of his skin, the metallic tang of blood still lingering on his lips. It was intoxicating, a heady mixture of danger and lust that made his heart race.
His Eldri whispered urgently in the back of his mind, urging him on, telling him to reward their mate for protecting them. The thought confused him as the words sank in.
Protecting them? That’s what Max had said he was doing, right? Keeping him safe, shielding him from danger by not taking any risks. The flutter of those foreign thoughts sent another surge of heat to Charles' core, and he battled with his desire to rebuke Max’s actions.
Max had even gone out there hurt, that voice said, reminding Charles of the wince he’d seen.
His mouth moved down Max’s chin, licking and sucking at the red spatter on the prince’s pale skin, the taste of blood electrifying his senses in the most baffling way.
The blood looked beautiful in the soft cave light, like ruby jewels scattered across Max’s fair complexion, and Charles felt lightheaded, dizzy with the intensity of his desire. Every drop, every patch of red on Max’s skin felt like it belonged to him—like it was his right to remove the scent of another from his mate.
He licked at the streaks on Max’s neck, sucking the skin between his teeth, desperate to claim him, to remind Max that he was his and his alone. Later, he might look back on his actions and be disgusted, but right now, this was all that mattered.
A rumbling growl ripped from the prince’s chest when Charles ran over a patch of skin at the juncture of his shoulder and neck with his tongue, vibrating the Earthling’s sternum, sound so low and primal it echoed off the cave walls. The prince’s hands tightened their grip on his waist, fingers pressing into his skin with bruising force.
Quick as a breath, Max spun him around, pressing Charles’ back into the cool, rough stone of the cave wall, chestplate clinking against the rocks. The suddenness of the movement left Charles breathless, his body pinned firmly between the rock and Max’s solid frame, tail insistent against his waist.
Max’s mouth was on his again in an instant, their lips crashing together with a hunger that felt all-consuming, the Eldri throwing his arms around Max’s neck. His tongue invaded Charles’ mouth, the coppery taste of blood still lingering on his lips, and Charles moaned into the kiss, his body responding to the fierce, possessive way Max was claiming him. Every touch, every kiss was filled with an intensity that left him reeling, and he couldn’t stop himself from pressing back, needing more, craving more.
“Max—,” Charles breathed, running his fingers up through the blonde’s short hair, lightly pulling those golden tresses.
There was something raw about the way Max kissed him, the way his body pressed Charles against the rock, as if he needed to devour him, to claim him just as Charles had wanted to do.
The air around them was thick with the scent of sweat and blood, the cave walls echoing the sounds of their panting breaths, the rustle of their chest plates together, the primal growls that escaped Max’s lips.
His tailspot burned and he immediately felt wetness start to pool beneath the scar. Feeling it before he smelled his slick, Charles knew the moment Max smelled it too. Pulling away from him quickly, the prince looked down at him with dilated pupils, breathing ragged, tail working its way into the top band of Charles’ pants.
Fuck, Charles wanted him so bad, but this was not the time or the place. The urge to feel Max inside him was overwhelming, soft tail brushing against his tailspot sending fire through his loins.
His face had to be a mess of red now since Max's tongue started sliding across his chin and down his neck, lapping at his overheated skin, making him feel even hotter.
Charles didn’t care about the blood, didn’t care about anything other than the feeling of Max’s hands on him, the taste of him, the way their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle.
Max was his, and he was Max’s. It was as simple and as complicated as that . . .
“Not anymore,” the voice of his Eldri spoke in his mind, so crisp and clear, very different from other times it had spoken to him in the past. This wasn't a whisper or some vague statement he didn't understand, this was—this was new.
“We have been touched by the hands of another.”
The words hit Charles like a punch to the gut, making his breath hitch in his throat. His mind, already foggy with pleasure, stuttered as the full weight of what the voice was telling him settled over him.
The meaning was clear, the implications even more so.
George .
His mind was yanked back to that moment—George’s hands on him, the weight of his touch, the violation, the slap, the shame. He could feel the bile rising in his throat, the cold sweat prickling his skin beneath Max’s warmth, a phantom hand gliding down the front of his bodysuit pants.
“Since you can't seem to offer much else . . .” he'd said.
Pausing when Charles recoiled back against the cave wall, attempting to escape that imaginary hand, Max’s lips hovered just above Charles’ throat. Hot shallow breaths puffing against his skin, the prince looked at him, a soft confusion in his eyes.
Charles quickly blinked a few times to clear his thoughts.
They weren’t there anymore, he told himself. The ship was long gone. This wasn't George, this was Max .
Max had never hurt him like that.
Would never hurt him like that.
Pulling back himself, Max rested his hand against Charles’ cheek, thumbing at it lightly, tail retreating from his waist. “Forgive me,” the prince said. “You must be exhausted.”
Charles swallowed hard against the bile in his throat, relieved Max didn’t seem to catch on to his momentary panic.
"We should head for the town before it gets dark," he said softly, still slightly panting “If it even does such a thing on this planet.”
Nodding, Charles immediately missed the feeling of Max’s hands when the prince dropped them away. "We—We need to get out of these suits,” Max added. “Try to blend in more with the local population."
With a look of embarrassment, Max pulled his tail out of Charles’ pants and away from its firm position around his waist, standing up straighter, flush bright on his cheeks. "I'll be right back."
Despite the lingering memories of the commander, Charles didn’t want Max to go. “Where are you going?”
Max didn’t answer and exited the cave, the sunlight outside glinting off his back. Charles watched him go, feeling a mix of emotions all vying for center stage.
His Eldri hissed in the back of his mind, louder now, moving forward, more insistent. “We must keep it hidden ,” the voice urged, the words wrapping around his consciousness like a suffocating grip. “ Our prince must never know. He will find us unworthy.”
Charles felt his chest tighten with the weight of the words, his body tensing involuntarily alone in the cave. There was truth in what the voice was saying, even if he didn't want to admit it. He’d seen Max’s possessiveness, the way the prince laid claim to him, how fiercely he protected what was his.
If Max found out—if he knew that George had put his filthy hands on him, had taken something from him—Charles wasn’t sure how Max would react. Anger? Violence?
Rejection?
His mind raced, torn between the truth and the fear of what that truth might bring. He wanted to tell Max. Let him in on the pain and shame that still gnawed at the edges of his mind, but the Eldri inside him warned him that doing so would only lead to disaster.
Max would see him as tainted, marked by someone else’s touch. Even by his own words the first time they slept together, that was something the prince cherished about him.
“No one's had you like this?” He'd asked, voice full of revelry and desire.
The memory twisted ugly in his chest.
The prince might not say it, might not even admit it, but deep down, it would change the way Max saw him.
And that terrified Charles more than anything.
The voice in his mind hissed again, a dark reminder. “We are his, and only his. He must never know.”
Charles swallowed hard, the taste of blood and fear bitter on his tongue. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on Max's energy, on the warmth of his touch from a few short moments ago, but even that wasn’t enough to drown out the voice whispering in the back of his mind.
What if Max looked at him differently? What if, in some dark corner of his heart, Max blamed him for what happened with George? What if this—what they had, this intense, consuming fire—wasn’t enough to hold them together once the truth came out?
Charles shivered and put the lid back on the box his instincts resided in, forcing the voice away. He wanted to be honest with Max, to tell him everything. But he also wanted to bury it deep where it could never come between them.
His Eldri had been right before about George. Even told him to run when the commander said his name outside the ship kitchen, so maybe it was right about this too?
For now, he decided he had no choice but to listen to that voice, not ready to lose Max, not like this. Not ever.
A short while later, Max returned, carrying a bundle of bland colored cloth in his arms. "These should do," he said, looking up at Charles as he entered the cave.
“What are those?” he asked softly, stepping toward Max.
His body felt stronger now, the dizziness and weakness that had gripped him when he first regained consciousness having mostly faded. Still, there was a heaviness in the air, a lingering nausea that clung to his every movement.
“These are some clothes from the search party,” Max explained, laying the garments out on the cave floor, carefully inspecting each piece. His blue eyes scanned the fabrics with a detached utility, hands moving quickly to lay them out. “They won’t be needing them anymore.”
Charles hesitated, his stomach twisting at the reminder of what the prince had just done. The nonchalant way Max spoke about the dead sent a chill through him.
It wasn’t that Charles didn’t understand—he knew they had no choice, that they needed to blend in if they were going to survive. But still, the thought of wearing clothes stripped from the bodies of people Max had killed not even ten minutes ago had his lips pulled down into a frown.
Crouching down next to Max, he picked up one of the garments—a simple tunic made from rough, homespun fabric. As soon as he lifted it, his hand slipped through a gaping hole right over the chest, edges blackened and burnt. Charles cringed at the sight, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled his hand free.
The hole was the size of a fist bigger than his, and his mind immediately conjured images of Max’s devastating attack, the blast that must've torn through the man’s body to leave such a mark.
With a grimace, Charles placed the tunic back in the pile, trying to push the image out of his head. He picked up another garment, this one less damaged, though the neck seam was lightly scorched. It smelled faintly of ash and sweat, but it was intact enough to wear.
“Good thing I only took the head off that one, huh?” Max said suddenly, his voice breaking through the heavy silence.
He glanced at Charles with a wry grin, clearly trying to lighten the mood. His eyes gleamed with an almost mischievous spark, but there was a tension behind it—like he was testing the waters.
Charles rolled his eyes and tossed another mangled garment at the prince, unable to stop the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips despite the uneasy knot in his chest. “Not funny,” he muttered, his tone half-scolding, half-amused.
As much as he wanted to be upset, there was something comforting about the way the prince tried to keep things light—tried to ground them in something resembling normalcy.
Max caught the garment easily, shaking his head with a low chuckle before starting to change into his new chosen attire, and he peeled away the blood-streaked bodysuit that clung to him like a second skin.
One by one, the pieces came off, the clinks of metal echoing softly in the enclosed cave. Beneath the armor, the prince’s body was revealed—lean and muscular, his physique the result of years of battle and conditioning.
At this point, Charles was very familiar with it, but he still found himself transfixed by the rugged, ethereal grace of Max's movement, and it was increasingly difficult not to stare.
Charles snuck quick, fleeting glances as Max continued dressing, his eyes drawn irresistibly to the sharp, defined lines of the prince’s abdomen caged under a scarred patchwork. Each muscle seemed perfectly sculpted, the definition so clear that it made Charles’ insides twist in ways he tried to suppress.
His gaze lingered too long on the small patch of light brown hair that trailed down from Max’s navel and disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants. It was almost teasing, like a tantalizing secret leading to something forbidden, something Charles desperately wanted again but was trying not to think about.
The prince was even still wearing the bracelet he'd given him before his last assignment and Charles followed the glinting gold for a few moments.
Looking away quickly while Max removed the bottom half of his torn bodysuit, heat rose to his face as Charles busied himself with changing into his own clothes. He could still feel Max's presence—strong, commanding, even as he stripped down to something more ordinary.
The desire surging through Charles was only amplified by the soft purring he heard in the quiet space. He loved when the prince purred, the sound of it vibrating deep in his chest—
Wait . . . Why was he feeling it in his own chest?
Breath catching, Charles felt his face blaze when he realized that he was the source of the soft sound, not Max. Mortified, the Earthing glanced over at the prince still dressing, sparing him the indignity of commenting on it.
But Max had a soft smile on his lips.
God, he wanted the ground to just open up and swallow him whole in that moment, cursing his Eldri that was apparently pleased with the sight of their mate. The voice inside his head was smug, content to watch Max and admire what was theirs. It took all of Charles’ willpower to focus on putting one leg into a new pair of loose pants without tripping instead of letting his eyes wander back to the prince or fucking purring again.
Max donned a gray-toned tunic and matching linen-like pants, the fabric loose but fitting well enough to hint at the power underneath. He looked different, less like a warrior prince and more like someone trying to blend in—but even in such simple clothing, there was no hiding the air of authority he exuded.
The tunic had a hood that Max pulled up over his head, and a white surcoat draped over his shoulders, almost like a robe, embroidered with faint red markings along the back. The final touch was a strip of white cloth that he wrapped around the lower half of his face, covering his mouth and nose, leaving little more than his piercing blue eyes exposed.
He rather liked the more common look on the prince, and Charles swallowed, sneaking one more glance before turning his attention back to his own chosen attire.
Slipping out of his worn PTO bodysuit, he felt a strange sense of relief as he shed the remnants of his time on the ship. The tunic and trousers Max had brought for him were simple but comfortable, the coarse fabric brushing against his skin like a reminder of something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
The weight of the tunic, the feel of the hood resting lightly on his head, reminded him oddly of his red Ferrari hoodie—the one he'd been wearing when he was first taken aboard the ship. It soothed a part of him, keeping a connection to his past even if only in memory.
Once they were both dressed, Max glanced over at Charles, a small, almost mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Here,” he said, holding out a small fluid-filled sack made from what looked like some kind of animal skin. “They also had this on them. I already had some—it’s water.”
Charles took the offered bladder pouch in a hurry, fingers brushing against Max’s as he did, and managed a faint smile in return. “Oh, thank God ,” he murmured in relief.
The tension that had been coiling in his chest loosened a bit at the sight of the water and he lifted the sack to his lips, taking a cautious sip. The cool liquid forced a soft moan from him, easing the dryness in his scratchy throat as he drained the sack all in one go.
He watched Max pile their uniforms on top of the rest of the unused garments, and quickly set fire to the heap with a burst of blue ki from his palm.
“Can’t leave any evidence we were here,” the prince said when Charles gave him a questioning look.
That made sense, he supposed.
Max was definitely the more experienced interstellar traveler between them, and Charles begrudgingly had to agree that leaving evidence of their arrival probably wasn't the smartest idea.
But, he was holding firm on the no killing thing.
The pair stepped out of the cave, the sun high in the sky casting a warm, golden light over the arid landscape. Charles wasn’t sure if he could even compare the light cycles, but if this was earth, he’d have to say it was sometime approximating midday.
As they made their way towards the civilization with Charles’ direction, he couldn't help but think about what they would find there.
The energy of the settlement was too much of a blur for Charles to decide if they were friendly or hostile, and if there were more people like the ones that had approached from the search party, this could go very badly.
Chapter 26: Notorious
Summary:
Halting, Max's gaze never wavered from Charles’ captor. The lethal calm in his eyes was terrifying, a contrast to the panic swirling in Charles’ chest.
“You don’t want to do this,” Max said evenly, voice carrying a deadly promise. The muscles in his jaw tightened, but he remained perfectly still, plainly calculating every possible outcome, every potential move.The man holding Charles laughed harshly, a bitter, ugly sound that echoed through the tense silence. “What do you care for this PTO scum?” he spat, eyes darting between Max and the crowd. “They deserve exactly what they give . . . no mercy.”
Voice filled with hatred, he jerked Charles in place to emphasize his point, as if daring Max to test him.
The expression in Max’s eyes darkened, voice lowering to a growl as a hostile edge crept into his words. “I see my reputation precedes me then.” His tone was deceptively even, but the threat in his words was unmistakable.
Notes:
Max and Charles go to the town and get into some trouble . . .
Chapter inspired by the song "Notorious" by Adelitas Way
Chapter warnings: graphic depictions of blood and violence, death
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After cautiously walking for well over an hour, mostly in complete silence to conserve energy, the sun started to dip lower on the horizon, the heat of the day beginning to wane, air still and dry, the wind seeming to pause its relentless howling.
The shimmering mirage of the distant desert was replaced with something more tangible—the faint silhouette of a settlement nestled at the base of a towering cliff face.
The closer they got, the more detail Charles could discern, and what had once been a distant blur took form before his eyes. The young Torossian found himself captivated by the city’s architecture, a stunning blend of futuristic ingenuity and ancient design.
Rounded, almost dome-like, the buildings had multiple levels stacked upon each other, each structure carved from weathered stone or a sandy concrete-like material. Cracked and worn, the stone clearly had withstood many years of harsh winds and relentless sun, yet there was something enduring and proud about the way the city stood amidst the barren landscape.
Vibrant orange awnings stretched between the buildings, shading the streets below. Flags in hues of deep crimson and golden yellow fluttered in the gentle breeze, adding splashes of color to the muted tones of the stone and sand.
The awnings covered bustling market stalls, where a variety of alien species milled about, bartering and selling goods. Buzzing with activity, the marketplace was filled with the hum of conversation and the occasional bark of a merchant hawking his wares.
The sound of everyday life in such a remote, desolate place struck Charles as oddly serene and his heart yearned for his secluded mountain hut.
Tall rocky spires rose dramatically just beyond the city limits, jagged and imposing, their sharp edges catching the dying light of the sun. The cliffs towered over the settlement, giving the entire area an air of grandeur and isolation.
It was almost like the city had been carved out of the very bones of the planet's surface, a fortress against the wilderness. Standing tall like sentinels, the spires added to the feeling that this place was very old, steeped in history.
Charles blinked a few times, studying the scene; eyes scanning the market stalls, the smoke rising lazily from a few chimneys, the residents going about their daily routines completely unaware they were being watched.
The people, many of whom were dressed in traditional robe-like garments, matched the attire he and Max now wore. Their clothing billowed lightly in the breeze, the colors blending into the sandy hues of the buildings and landscape.
He felt a small swell of relief as he realized how seamlessly they would blend in. No one would look twice at two strangers dressed like the locals, moving quietly through the marketplace with how chaotic everything was.
Especially with both of their faces mostly covered by cloth—
“Shit.”
Max's breath hitched in his throat, a sharp intake that signaled alarm. Hand shooting out, the prince grabbed Charles' arm with a vice-like grip and without a word, pulled Charles down low behind an outcrop of rocks, moving them off the dusty path leading to the entrance to the city.
Hidden from view of the main gates, the rough stone pressing into his back, Charles looked at the prince.
"Max, what's wrong?" Charles asked, confused. He searched the prince's exposed eyes, trying to understand the source of his sudden worry.
His blue eyes were stormy, gaze fixed on the settlement. "I know where we are," he whispered, voice barely audible with the cloth across his mouth. "We need to be very careful here."
Charles peered over the edge of the rocks, straining to see what had spooked Max. At first, everything seemed normal—villagers going about their business, children playing, merchants all bustling around their stalls. But then he noticed a small group of figures moving purposefully through the crowd, their posture and bearing distinctly different from the locals.
How did he miss them?
"Who are they?" Charles asked, turning back to Max.
Expression hidden, the older Torossian's eyes were still grim. “PTO rebel leaders. We're on planet Aston, the stronghold for the resistance to Jos’ empire.”
Charles’ brows shot up in shock. "What? A–Are you sure?"
Max's grip on Charles' arm tightened for a moment before he let go, eyes looking deep in thought, but clearly already two steps ahead.
“Positive. I’ve reviewed scouting maps of this settlement many times. How in the fuck did we—” Max turned his head back to look at him sharply. “Alonso said he was sending you to Hassan?”
“Yeah?” Charles nodded his head. “Did he make a mistake?”
“This was no mistake,” Max said and pulled Charles down again when he tried to look back at the city, crouching low behind the rocks. “Aston is in a completely different quadrant than Hassan and Alonso wouldn't’ve even been able to set launch coordinates from the lower deck . . . ” Max trailed off, fists digging in the sand between them.
His eyes closed for a second before opening again, fire blazing behind them. “He had Carlos set the coordinates, didn't he?”
Taken aback by the question, Charles swallowed before nodding. “Alonso sent him to the nav deck after they discussed the plan. Carlos even did some calculations to confirm he could set the pod for Hassan with such short notice.”
“Wat een godverdomme lafbek ook!” [ What a goddess damned coward ] The prince whisper-shouted, before squeezing his eyes tight, leaning his head back against the rock, pinching the bridge of his nose with a huff.
Charles’ mind raced, failing to piece together the fragments of what Max had said. “What does that mean, Max? What's wrong?”
“It was fucking Carlos,” the prince spat, voice full of something like regret. “He sent you here . . . in full fucking PTO gear . . . with fucking PTO credits for goddess’ sake!”
“Max!” Charles said quickly. “What does this mean?”
Sighing, the prince pulled his face covering down below his chin. “He tried to kill you. If you'd been found here alone, in a PTO uniform, you'd have been shot on sight by that scouting party.”
The revelation struck Charles harder than he imagined it would. It was obvious they weren’t the best of friends, let alone actually family, but this . . . ?
Carlos had sent him to this planet intentionally, knowing full well the dangers it posed. His thoughts churned in a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and betrayal.
Why would Carlos do this?
But he couldn’t help but scoff at that. The Earthling knew exactly why.
The man was painfully jealous. It practically radiated out of him every time Charles had the unfortunate luck to be in the dark-haired Torossian's presence.
Charles had been nothing but loyal to the prince, going out of his way to try and make himself useful to all of them, yet Carlos had seen fit to put him in harm's way regardless. The slimy Torossian also couldn’t have anticipated Alonso sending Max with him, so his ultimate plan was for Charles to be here— alone.
If that was the case, then the prince was right then.
The only logical explanation was that Carlos wanted him dead, and the PTO uniform would’ve been the perfect bait. On this planet, swarming with people who despised the PTO, any association with Jos’ army was clearly a death sentence if he understood what the prince was saying.
Heart twisting in his chest, the Earthling processed the implications.
Knowing the uniform marked him as a target, it made sense now why Carlos had rushed out of the Torossian suite, smiling ear to ear. When Alonso told him things could go back to the way things were—their lives before Charles arrived, he'd clearly jumped at the chance to have Max all to himself again.
But really, it wasn’t like Charles had planned for this to happen—this thing with Max. Unsure what to really call it, the Eldri couldn't put it into words. It was like nothing else other than Max existed. Like he was the very air that Charles breathed and the only source of water to drink.
He didn't even have a fucking choice.
Carlos had brought him to that ship against his will, drugged him, and Charles still didn't have a clear answer as to why they'd done so.
The betrayal cut deep.
He hadn’t trusted Carlos as far as he could throw him, but he would’ve never imagined the man would do something like this—to his own brother no less. Since that first time the dark-haired Torossian stepped foot on his farm on Earth, his aura had felt off, ki hiding something that Charles couldn’t quite pinpoint.
Now, it seemed that all his mistrust had been a godsend, instincts warning him to be wary from their first interaction on Earth.
His Eldri was starting to have an amazing track record for identifying assholes, and his hindbrain scoffed an “I told you so” in his mind.
Anger flared within him, mingling with fear and confusion. Carlos had not only betrayed him, his own family . . . but, also now endangered their prince by association.
If they weren’t found together, if Charles would’ve been here without Max, both their lives could've been forfeit.
“I’m sorry,” the prince suddenly whispered, eyes closed. “He did this because of me, he was angry with me. I should've—”
“Hey,” Charles cut him off, placing a hand on Max’s bare cheek causing his eyes to open. They didn’t have time to deal with this right now, and they needed a plan quickly.
“We can deal with all that later. We are here now , and we need to decide what to do.” A small smile stretched across Charles’ face under the cloth covering. “You dishonor yourself with useless apologies, my prince.”
Max's eyes sparkled with recognition as he looked at him, deep wrinkles forming at the corners. He always got when he had a huge smile on his face that melted Charles’ heart.
“I know you have a plan,” the Earthling said, coughing lightly from a dry throat. “What’s our strategy, Max?”
Charles listened intently as Max laid out his assessment. The prince's voice was calm but firm, and the city walls loomed not too far in the distance. Eyes sharp, Max scanned the horizon as he spoke, outlining their next steps with practiced military precision.
"We need to get inside the city walls and blend in as much as possible, so act natural. No sudden movements or anything that might draw attention. These clothes have done half our job for us but remember, they were someone else's. The markings on the back might have a significance we're not aware of."
Charles nodded, his mind working through the logistics. "We’ll need food and supplies so I can treat your injured back," he added, echoing Max's thoughts. "But we can't just go wandering around asking for things."
The prince's gaze met Charles', a look of something he couldn't quite place before the prince masked it with stern resolve. "My back is fine.”
Unimpressed, Charles rolled his eyes. “You’ve been favoring your right side the entire walk over here. At least let me look at it later, yeah? When we find somewhere safe?”
Max looked away from Charles and back at the city, ignoring his concern. “We need to locate supplies in the market with the travelers and locals, then we can find somewhere to lay low for a while without standing out too much."
Charles could see the tension in Max's posture, the way his muscles were coiled and tender. If the prince wanted to keep pretending he wasn’t hurt, Charles would play along for now . . . but he was absolutely having a look at Max’s back later.
"And lodging?" Charles asked, already thinking ahead. "Do you have any idea where we might stay?"
Max nodded. "I know of a few inns or places that cater to travelers from my scouting reports. Hopefully people don't ask too many questions and we can rest, regroup, figure out how to get out of here. Once we have what we need, we can start looking for a way off this planet. A ship, maybe, or some kind of transport."
Charles felt a surge of adrenaline as he readied himself for Max's plan. It was solid, but required them to be vigilant and resourceful.
"Stay close to me and don't wander off," the prince said, clearly wanting to cover every possibility. “Understood?”
Charles nodded, appreciating the thinly veiled protectiveness. "Yes, my prince."
Max recovered his face, masking a bright blush and stood, brushing off the dirt from his borrowed clothes, helping Charles to his feet. "Let's move," he said, voice a low command. "Remember, no wandering off."
They made their way cautiously toward the city, sticking to shadows and keeping their heads down. As they approached the gates, Charles saw the bustling activity of the settlement, the flow of people going about their daily lives.
The juxtaposition of their tense situation against the normalcy of the city's routine was jarring, but made blending in easier than expected.
The market was crowded, filled with the noise of haggling vendors and the smells of various foods. Charles and Max moved through the throng, eyes peeled for any signs of trouble while they discreetly acquired what they needed.
They found a stall selling a few different types of clothes and Max quickly stole an extra covering that he slipped over his face, obscuring more of his hair peeking out from under the hood.
Charles pressed his lips together and thought about the small local market he and his father used to sell their vegetables at in Monaco. Every once in a while, he'd caught someone trying to steal something, and his father always chided him for trying to stop them.
Herve used to tell him that the person must’ve needed the food a lot more than they did, and to not judge them too harshly, unaware of the person's situation or life story.
Charles never understood what that meant until this moment.
You really never could tell what someone was going through or what motivated their actions. He felt a pang of sadness in his chest at the memory and he stepped a little closer to the prince when he moved on from the stall.
He wished he could tell his father that he understood now. Understood the lesson and could thank him for trying to teach him.
Next, they navigated toward the food stalls, picking up enough supplies to last them a few days. Setting them in a small sack that Charles had no idea where Max got it from, the Earthling tried to pay close attention to the local currency and bartering practices, wanting to ensure they didn’t stand out as outsiders, but he hadn't the slightest idea what was happening or how Max was able to convince the stall owners to give him goods.
Items passed back and forth quickly and the language the prince was speaking was completely foreign to his ears as well. It didn’t sound like the harsh guttural language that he occasionally spoke and made his tail scar tingle. This was more through the nose, and used the back of the throat.
Exhaustion started to seep into the edges of his consciousness, and Charles continued on hoping Max didn’t notice, but finding lodging proved slightly more challenging.
They passed by a few inns before settling on one that seemed the least conspicuous. It was small, with a dimly lit common room and a gruff-looking innkeeper who barely glanced at them as they requested a room. He was tall with four arms and an orangish tint to his skin, and Charles didn’t know which pair of eyes he should focus on, so he just looked at the floor instead, eyelids growing heavy as he blinked them slowly.
Charles listened silently as Max and the innkeeper seemed to argue back and forth for a moment. The innkeeper's hands gestured animatedly as he spoke in rapid, clipped tones, and Max responded in the same language, his voice low and forceful, clearly trying to make a point.
The exchange continued for a while and Charles just stood off to the side, feeling increasingly uneasy and drained. Bustling noises of the street outside filtered through the poorly constructed door as he focused on the intense back-and-forth.
Max’s eyes flashed with frustration, jaw set in a hard line, outlined by the cloth. Finally, with a huff of exasperation, Max turned away from the innkeeper and grabbed Charles by the arm, jolting him awake from his doze.
"Come on," he muttered, pulling him back out onto the street.
"What happened?" Charles asked, trying to keep up with Max's brisk pace, grip on his arm unrelenting.
"He wouldn't take us in," Max replied, irritated. "He wouldn't let us stay unless we uncovered our faces, and I obviously can't show my face here. He's not willing to take extra payment either."
Charles frowned, glancing back at the inn. "What did he say?"
Sighing, the prince ran a hand through his hair, up under his hood. "He said that the PTO has been making trouble in this quadrant, and he's not willing to harbor anyone who might be associated with them. Even if we're just passing through, he doesn't want to take the risk."
Charles' heart sank.
The PTO's reach was extensive, and their reputation for brutality was well-known if he believed the rumors he'd overheard while working in the clinic. It was clear that finding a safe place to rest was going to be more difficult than they had anticipated.
"So, what do we do now?" he asked, looking around the crowded street, hoping for some sign of where they could go next.
Max's eyes scanned the street as well, mind visibly racing. "We need to find another place. Somewhere that won’t ask any questions, but it will be on the rougher edge of the city."
The Earthling didn’t like the sound of that, but he supposed they had no other choice.
They continued to walk through the busy market, weaving between stalls and sidestepping locals who barely gave them a second glance. Charles couldn't help but notice the tension in Max's posture, the way his eyes constantly darted around, assessing their surroundings.
Plainly on high alert, it was interesting to see him like this. The prince had always been detail focused at his desk on the ship and overall incredibly intelligent, but this level of situational awareness and confidence in a very dangerous situation was impressive.
The Eldri stayed close to Max, even keeping a hand inside his elbow to not fall behind as he moved.
They walked on for a few more minutes, and Charles tried to focus on what else they needed, but he was so tired from his prior bout of stasis sickness and the baking heat of their trek to the city.
His legs felt like lead as he trudged along beside Max, exhaustion becoming harder to hide and the bag of food he was carrying felt like it weighed a ton. Every step felt heavier than the last, and even the vibrant energy of the market couldn’t distract him from the overwhelming fatigue pulling at his body.
Max, finally noticing how weary Charles had become, slowed his pace and cast a concerned glance his way. His brow furrowed, and his expression softened.
"Charles," the prince said, his tone soft. "You look unwell. Why don't we rest here for a bit?" He gestured to a cluster of shaded seating near a well, a small haven in the bustling city. "Have something to eat. We can keep looking once you’ve rested."
Charles, grateful for the offer, shook his head slightly to decline. "I'm fine, Max. We should keep going. If you want to keep searching, I'll stay here by the well. I’ll be fine." He tried to sound convincing, but the weariness in his voice was undeniable.
Frowning, Max’s jaw tightened at the suggestion. "No, you won't. You're clearly exhausted, and I’m not leaving you here by yourself." His voice had a hint of irritation, though it was laced with concern.
"I’ll be alright," Charles insisted, forcing a smile as he tried to steady his breathing. “I just need to rest for a little bit. You don’t have to wait here with me—you should keep looking for a room. We need a place to stay for the night, and the longer we wait, the harder it’ll be to find one.”
Max crossed his arms, clearly not pleased with the suggestion. “I’m not leaving you here alone. You’re vul—”
Taking a breath, Max’s blue eyes were piercing, filled with a mixture of frustration and protectiveness while Charles waited for him to finish his sentence. Rubbing the base of his skull, Max said, “We’ll just wait here.”
Sighing, Charles wiped the sweat from his brow and took a seat. “Max, I’ll be fine . I’m not a child—I can handle sitting by a well for a few minutes. No one has said anything to us yet, and it seems safe enough. I’m just slowing you down.”
Max’s expression hardened as he took a step closer, kneeling down in front of Charles seated on a stone bench. “You’re not slowing me down. I’m not going to leave you somewhere unprotected.”
Charles bit back a retort, his exhaustion clouding his patience. "You don’t have to protect me every second, Max,” he moaned petulantly. “I know you're worried, but I can handle sitting in a public space while you go do what you need to do. I won’t be far."
Max’s eyes narrowed, and for a second, Charles thought he was going to refuse outright, until finally, the prince let out a frustrated sigh, still rubbing at the back of his head.
“Fine,” Max relented, voice quieter now. “But I’m not going far. You stay here, rest, and I’ll keep an eye on you the whole time. If I see anything wrong, we’re leaving immediately. Understood?”
Charles nodded, relieved to have won the small battle but grateful for Max’s protective nature all the same. "Yes, my prince," he said, voice softening as he adjusted on the stone bench near the well.
Still clearly uneasy, Max lingered for a moment before giving Charles a last look. He stood up and ventured over to the well before returning with a small dark cup. “Have some water and don’t leave this spot,” he said, before disappearing into the crowd, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts.
He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to block out the noise of the busy street, sipping lightly. The cooler evening air was a slight relief, but his body ached from the stress and physical exertion of the day.
That walk had been exhausting, unable to fly to save their energy. Without the hooded clothes, Charles imagined his face and neck would be tomato red by now with the intensity of the sun on this planet, far more intense than the Mediterranean sun over the water.
Taking a piece of . . . something out of the bag, Charles sniffed it lightly before taking a curious bite. The flavor of something crossed between an orange and a watermelon burst on his tongue and the Earthling moaned softly. He finished the piece and drained the cup of water Max had given him.
After a while, the sounds of the market began to blend into a soothing hum, and Charles found himself slipping into a light doze, eyes unfocused slits as he looked around without really seeing.
Until something caught his eye.
A flicker of movement at a nearby stall pulled him from his near-sleep.
Curiosity piqued, he rose from the bench and made his way toward the source of the distraction, eyes not finding Max in the crowd.
He didn’t know why, but it was like his Eldri had seen something that compelled him to follow it, feet moving of their own accord.
Walking closer, he had the feeling that he was being watched. Perhaps it was just his tired mind playing tricks on him, but he couldn't help but feel like eyes were following him.
Eyes that weren't the prince's.
The stall was small, tucked between two larger ones, and its wares were displayed haphazardly. The vendor, an elderly man with a weathered face, was tending to a collection of items that gleamed under the dim lantern light.
Among the trinkets and oddities, one item stood out to Charles: a delicate amulet with an intricate design that seemed oddly familiar.
Drawn to it, Charles picked up the object and examined it closely. The craftsmanship was exquisite, the tiny details almost mesmerizing. He felt a strange connection to it, though he couldn't quite place why. It was a black oval shape, made out of some kind of precious stone or gem.
"Ah, rek'na vo'kshar ni'hakka!” The man said in that language he didn’t understand.
Feeling sheepish, Charles said, “I'm sorry, I don’t know what that means?”
“I said, you've got a good eye," the vendor repeated, his voice raspy but kind. "That stone is one of a kind. Came from a distant planet, they say. The lost homeworld of the Torossian warrior race.”
Charles froze, stone in his palm as he looked up at the merchant.
“It's said to bring good fortune to those who possess it."
He smiled politely, but his mind was elsewhere.
He recognized the symbol now. It was the same one on the round object from Alonso that he'd given to Max in the cave. The Prince had reacted so strongly to it, perhaps he would like to have this one too?
Maybe a little good fortune wouldn't hurt as well.
"How much for this?" he asked.
Charles’ question seemed to hang in the air as the amulet began to emit a soft, alien glow. The vendor's eyes widened in surprise, and Charles' breath caught in his throat as he stared at the pendant, now glowing warmly in his hand. The intricate carving, etched in like a relief, turned red in contrast to the smooth black stone, starting from the center and expanding outward to show more of the seal.
His first instinct was to drop it, but before he could, the vendor’s rough, calloused hands closed over his, trapping the pendant between their palms.
“Wait!” the vendor said urgently, his voice a hushed whisper. The glow intensified slightly, casting an eerie light on their faces. “Don’t let go.”
He felt strange holding it, in a way that was hard to place. Already exhausted, Charles felt even more tired, like his energy was being drained from him as he held the stone against his bare skin.
Still stunned, Charles looked up into the vendor’s eyes, gleaming with a mix of excitement and awe. “What is this?” Charles asked, voice shaky.
The vendor shook his head slowly, his grip on Charles’ hands firm but not painful. “I’ve never seen it do this before,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s been in my possession for many years, and it’s never glowed like this. It must be reacting to you.”
Charles swallowed hard, trying to process the strange sensation in his body, tail spot itching and voice in the back of his head whining loudly, curling away in its cage.
“Max,” it said softly, in a similar daze to how Charles felt. “Need Max.”
“Reacting to me? What does that mean?” Charles said, unable to process what was happening.
The vendor finally released Charles’ hands, but kept his eyes locked on the stone. “The Wilkan I purchased this from said that this artifact came from a religious temple on planet Toro. A sacred place where a select few of their people would be taken and cared for. Mostly of the higher class if I remember correctly. You—You are Torossian , aren't you?”
The old man looked behind him, like he was checking to see if the Earthling had a tail and Charles' throat seized up almost immediately. “No . . . I don't know what you're talking about.”
The amulet’s glow began to fade, but the warmth it emitted lingered in Charles’ palm. Barely able to keep his eyes open now, he was so tired.
Drained.
He glanced around, suddenly aware of the curious stares from nearby shoppers and stall owners, still not seeing Max amongst them.
“I . . . I need to go,” he stammered, dropping the stone back down on the stall table with a clink.
Shaking his head, expression now one of urgency, the vendor said, “No, please! Tell me where you’re from. You can take it.” Picking the stone up off the table, the man held it out for Charles. “No charge—”
Still dazed, the Eldri took a step back and readied to turn away from the stall, heading back toward the well where Max had left him. But the stall owner grabbed hold of his wrist and held him in place.
“Take it,” he said and placed it back in Charles’ palm.
Mind racing with questions and unease, his Eldri was still trying to tell him something he didn’t understand.
What had just happened? Why had the amulet reacted to him and what did it all mean?
“No, I–I can pay,” he said, mind a blur of unfocused thoughts and he closed his fingers around the stone.
He had money somewhere? Just couldn't exactly remember where it was at the moment. Looking around again, he was seeing double and Charles wobbled on his feet.
Empty hand trembling, he set down the sack of fruit on the ground and reached into his boot, pulling out a PTO credit plate, not fully grasping the situation before it was too late.
The vendor’s eyes widened in horror as he recognized the insignia on the chip.
“PTO!” the vendor shouted, his voice ringing through the marketplace. His fear turned to fury as he continued to yell, “Help! He’s PTO!”
Charles’ heart skipped a beat as the vendor’s cries drew immediate attention.
The crowd around them reacted with a mixture of alarm and anger. Charles’ instincts kicked in, but before he could move, several burly men emerged from the nearby stalls, converging on him with hostile intent.
“Get him!” one of the men shouted, pointing directly at Charles. “Don’t let him escape!”
Trying to back away, his path was quickly blocked by the growing mob. Panic surged through him, and he desperately scanned the crowd for any sign of Max, but the prince was nowhere in sight.
“Wait! I’m not PTO!” Charles pleaded, but his words were drowned out by the shouts and curses of the angry townspeople and they began to close in, their faces contorted with rage and fear.
Charles’ mind raced as he realized the severity of his mistake. In his frazzled state, he'd inadvertently exposed their presence and put himself in grave danger.
He needed to get out of there and find Max fast.
As the first man lunged at him, Charles ducked and dodged, using his agility to evade the grasping hands of the large man. He twisted and turned, trying to break free from the tightening circle, but everything was spinning and he couldn't get his eyes to focus.
His training with Alonso had paid off, and he managed to land a few well-placed strikes, but he was quickly overwhelmed by the sheer number.
He felt a crunch of bone as his fist connected with a man’s nose, the impact reverberating up his arm, and a shrill cry filled the air. The man staggered back before kneeling on the ground at his feet with a badly broken nose and Charles, focused on the shouting man, didn't see the other coming up behind him.
A tall, dark-haired figure moved with surprising speed and precision, grabbing Charles’ right arm and twisting it painfully behind his back. His breath hitched as the hood over his head was ripped off and the cold edge of a blade pressed against his throat.
“Move and you’re dead,” the man hissed in his ear.
He couldn’t have been much older than Charles, but the threat from the blade stopped the Earthling from getting a good look at his face.
He was so dizzy, feeling a bit sick as the hand twisted behind his back still had the stone in it, warm and faintly pulsing against his skin.
Charles wished he’d listened to Max and stayed put like the prince had told him. If only he'd just minded his own business, he wouldn’t be in this mess. Feeling sharp pressure against his throat, panic clawed at his insides as he cursed his stubbornness.
Why hadn't he just listened?
Why did he always think he could handle things on his own when clearly he was severely out of his element?
Even his Eldri had warned him, and now here he was, trapped and at the mercy of someone who had no qualms about killing him in front of this bloodthirsty mob.
The sharp sting of the blade as it nicked his skin jolted Charles back to the moment.
He felt a thin line of warm blood trickle down his neck, the sensation sending a shiver of pure fear through him. The man’s grip on his arm was like iron, unyielding and harsh, as if he knew Charles was contemplating making a move. Hot, ragged breath puffed against his ear, each exhale reeking of anger and desperation.
The mob paused, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of satisfaction and bloodlust, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. Heart pounding in his chest, Charles glanced around desperately, scanning the faces around him, searching for the prince.
His double vision blurred slightly from the sweat and tears that threatened to spill over, and he cursed himself again for his weakness, head swimming with that odd feeling of drowning.
Something was wrong.
That stone was doing something to him, but with the way his arm was positioned, he couldn't let it go.
Charles’ heart leaped when he finally caught sight of Max pushing through the crowd, his presence an intimidating force of nature that made people instinctively step back.
Eyes blazing with fury, the regal Torossian's jaw shifted under his face covering as he took in the scene. Charles had never seen him so openly enraged, and despite his terror, a flicker of relief sparked within him seeing those blue eyes.
The prince reached the edge of the gathered crowd, his posture radiating authority and strength, and the mob shrank back slightly under his gaze, their bloodlust momentarily tempered by the sheer force of his will.
But the man holding Charles didn’t waver.
He pressed the blade a little harder against Charles’ throat, forcing a sharp intake of breath as the edge bit into his skin again. The amulet in his hand seemed to pulse with a faint warmth, almost taunting him as a reminder of how he got in this mess in the first place.
“Let him go.” Max’s voice sliced through the tension, a low, dangerous command that seemed to vibrate in the very air around them.
The crowd fell deathly silent at the sound, every pair of eyes turning to the prince, who now stood like a coiled predator. His icy blue eyes were blazing with barely contained rage.
Panting and bruised, Charles looked up at Max with a mixture of overwhelming relief and crushing guilt. He'd failed the prince, disobeyed his orders, and now they were both exposed on this dangerous planet.
“Ma—!” he tried to call out, voice cracking, but the blade dug deeper into his throat, cutting off his words. Breath catching, fear spiked in his chest as he felt the cold metal digging further into his skin.
It was getting harder and harder to stand, legs now so weak he could feel them start to tremble.
The man holding him tightened his grip, his filthy fingers digging into Charles’ arm as he held the blade firm against his neck.
“One step closer and he’s dead,” he warned, voice dripping with malice.
He pulled Charles closer, using him as a shield.
Halting, Max's gaze never wavered from Charles’ captor. The lethal calm in his eyes was terrifying, a contrast to the panic swirling in Charles’ chest.
“You don’t want to do this,” Max said evenly, voice carrying a deadly promise. The muscles in his jaw tightened, but he remained perfectly still, plainly calculating every possible outcome, every potential move.
The man holding Charles laughed harshly, a bitter, ugly sound that echoed through the tense silence. “What do you care for this PTO scum?” he spat, eyes darting between Max and the crowd. “They deserve exactly what they give . . . no mercy.”
Voice filled with hatred, he jerked Charles in place to emphasize his point, as if daring Max to test him.
The expression in Max’s eyes darkened, voice lowering to a growl as a hostile edge crept into his words. “I see my reputation precedes me then.” His tone was deceptively even, but the threat in his words was unmistakable.
His tail around his waist flicked in agitation under his tunic, a barely controlled warning that he was seconds away from unleashing hell. Charles wasn't sure if anyone else noticed it but him.
The crowd began to murmur, shifting uneasily as the tension mounted and their previous aggression faltered.
“You think you’re the first to challenge me?” Max continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble, an apex predator taunting its prey. “Let him go, and I just might let you live.”
Hesitating, the man with the blade didn't respond.
The threat in Max’s eyes was unmistakable, and despite being woefully outnumbered, the mob seemed to all take a step back from the prince in unison, tension palpable.
“Who are you? Show yourself!” Charles' captor yelled.
Taking a slow, steadying breath, the Eldri felt the blade slide to the side, cut further with the movement and elongating his wound. Wincing, Charles remained still, knowing any sudden action could be fatal, fighting against his fatigue and urge to collapse.
Max raised his hands slowly at Charles’ whimper, and said, “Just relax, okay? I'm going to take my hood off.”
Pulling back his hood and the cloth covering his face, his features were revealed, and a hush fell over the mob, the anger and noise dying to a stunned silence. Charles, still held tightly with the vice on his pinned arm, felt the man behind him gasp in shock.
“The Torossian Prince—,” Charles’ captor rushed out in a breathless whisper, loud enough to be heard by the closest members of the crowd.
Unmistakable and fierce, the prince's face was now visible to all; blond hair glinting in the sun, piercing blue eyes sweeping over the mob, a mixture of defiance and malice in his gaze like a lion in the land of sheep. Charles saw something like recognition on the villagers’ faces, the crowd instantly starting to murmur about Max amongst themselves.
It was like this on Jos’ ship too. Hushed whispers and frightened glances whenever Max would enter a room or walk by a group of soldiers.
What did they all know that Charles didn't?
The man holding Charles seemed to realize this too, his bravado faltering as he stared into the eyes of a man who had nothing to lose and everything to take.
“I see you are familiar with my work then,” Max stated, voice carrying an undeniable weight. “And what I am capable of.”
Grip on Charles’ arm loosening slightly, the man behind him wavered. The blade, no longer firmly pressed against his skin, was more just resting against his neck.
“What are you doing here?” The man demanded, but unsteady, all cockiness draining from him as he stared into the eyes of the Torossian prince. “Is Jos on his way?”
Charles’ heart raced as he watched the scene unfold, eyes darting between Max and the crowd, still unable to get a good look at the man behind him. Desperation clawed at his hindbrain, and the suffocating silence in the air made it difficult to breathe.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a figure—or was it two—pushing through the crowd with alarming speed. The glint of a weapon—a long, sword-like blade—caught the light, and Charles’ breath hitched in his throat. Panic surged through him as he realized the figure’s intent, but before he could utter a single word of warning in his weakened state, it was too late.
Everything happened in the blink of an eye.
The assassin broke through the crowd into the clearing, weapon raised to strike, and time seemed to slow as the crowd collectively roared.
But the prince didn’t even flinch.
Didn’t even look.
Without turning his head or even breaking his gaze from the man holding Charles, the prince raised his right hand, two fingers extending out with his thumb pointing towards the sky. The hand positioning almost resembled a pistol from Earth, until the tips of Max’s two fingers started to glow. With deadly precision, the prince fired a thin ki beam that tore through the assassin’s chest dead center.
There was no wasted effort, no excess energy expelled in the action. Just complete and total ruthless efficiency.
The sound of crackling energy filled the clearing, and the assassin’s eyes widened in shock before his lifeless body crumpled to the ground, smoke curling from the gaping hole in his back, sword clattering in the dust beside him.
It was over in an instant.
A single, lethal strike, executed with the precision of a well-oiled machine.
The tips of Max's two fingers still crackled with residual energy, the remnants of his ki beam dissipating into the air. His expression remained unchanged, cold and emotionless, as if taking a life was as simple as breathing to him.
Devoid of their familiar warmth, Max's eyes slowly turned from the man holding Charles hostage to the Earthling himself. The prince’s gaze was a void—an abyss that promised nothing but pain to those who crossed him and Charles’ heart ached at bearing witness.
He knew Max was capable of harsh, unforgiving brutality. The regal Torossian had already proved that when he decimated the search party.
But this . . .
Charles had never imagined it like this.
A loud collective wail erupted from the mob, a chorus of fear and disbelief as they watched the smoking corpse hit the dirt. The crowd, which had moments ago been baying for blood, now recoiled in terror, scrambling to put as much distance between themselves and the prince as possible.
The energy in the air shifted from bloodlust to sheer panic, the reality of Max’s power sinking in as the prince took another step forward, hands now relaxed but ready at his sides.
“It's just the two of us,” Max continued, still eerily calm, gesturing between himself and Charles. “And we were just passing through.”
He took another step closer, gaze never leaving Charles, his cerulean eyes unrecognizable in their black and dilated state.
“Let him go,” he repeated, tone no longer a suggestion, but a command. “This is not a problem you want, I promise you. I am exactly what they say I am.”
The crowd grew silent again, many pausing mid escape when the prince spoke, collective eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. The man holding Charles looked around, seeing the fear mirrored in the faces of his fellow villagers.
Barely more than what passed as a teenager on Earth, the young man had clearly not expected things to escalate so quickly. His dark eyes were wide with fear, darting between the dead assassin at Max’s feet and the prince himself, who was now glaring daggers at him, dark blue energy starting to spread up his arm.
“You're pushing your luck, boy.”
Before his captor could make any rash decisions, an older man with a long, weathered face and streaks of white in his gray, cropped hair emerged from the shadows of the surrounding market canopies. His presence was calm, almost disarmingly so, in complete disregard for the tension that had gripped the clearing.
He moved with a measured pace, his hands visible and non-threatening, but there was an undeniable authority in his bearing.
“Lance,” the older man called out, his voice firm. “Let him go.”
Lance’s head whipped around to face the older man, surprise and confusion flickered across his youthful features. “But, Father—”
“Let him go,” the older man repeated, more sternly this time. His eyes, dark and piercing, locked onto Charles’ when the Earthling turned to look with pleading eyes. There was a power in the elder’s gaze, the kind that came from years of leadership and experience.
Was he the one in charge?
Swallowing hard, Lance was clearly torn. The young man’s bravado was rapidly crumbling under the weight of the situation and his father’s command. Slowly, he lowered the blade, his hand shaking as he released Charles.
Stumbling forward as the pressure on his neck was removed, feeling blood rush back into his wrenched arm, Charles immediately turned to face the young man and his father as he backed away toward Max, eyes heavy and steps uneven.
The prince moved forward quickly, arms catching Charles as he weakly tripped. Warm hands wrapped around his waist, and Charles blinked his heavy eyes to try and keep his captor in sight. Max's eyes flicked from Lance to the older man as well, assessing the new threat.
Despite the older man’s apparent control over the situation, Charles’ instincts told him not to lower his guard and to stay close to Max. Subtly shifting his stance, the prince placed himself in front of Charles while still supporting him, a silent declaration of his intent to protect the Eldri at all costs.
Finally having use of his arm again, Charles slid the still warm stone into a pocket in his tunic, and wavered as the strange feeling in his tail scar finally started to dissipate.
Nodding approvingly as Lance stepped back, the older man had successfully eased the tension in the clearing.
Turning his attention to Max, expression unreadable, he said, “I apologize for my son’s misguided actions,” inclining his head slightly in a gesture of respect. “We didn't know the boy was with you.”
Max’s eyes narrowed, the anger still simmering just beneath the surface as Charles felt out his erratic ki. “That is no excuse Lawrence,” he demanded coldly. “And you know it.”
Looking down at him, Charles felt pressure against the wound on his neck and a loud growl filled the clearing. Bearing his teeth, the regal Torossian turned back to the white-haired man.
Meeting Max’s gaze without flinching, the old man's expression stayed calm and measured. “Forgive my disrespect, Prince of Torossians. I’m sure you're well informed that I'm the leader of this settlement, and I do not wish to see anymore bloodshed today. We were not expecting visitors, especially not ones with your . . . reputation.”
Max’s jaw tightened, clearly not interested in pleasantries or apologies.
Charles had to agree, even if he was barely able to keep up, weakness growing by the second. He could barely keep his eyes open, slumping against the prince with a groan that died as a low whine in his throat.
The pressure on his neck increased, and a firm hand lifted more of his weight, wrapping a protective arm about Charles’ waist. His knees buckled, and Max said, “Grant us transport off this planet and all will be forgiven.”
Burying his face in Max’s side, Charles struggled to get his breathing to slow down and his whole body trembled, threatening to give out.
“That can be arranged. Did you have something in mind?” The leader said.
“Something fast.”
Chapter 27: As Sweet As His
Summary:
The massive doors of the throne room loomed ahead, cracked open, spilling frigid air into the hall. Frost coated the last third of the corridor outside the doors and there were no audible sounds coming from within.
His breath came out in visible puffs as the temperature continued to plummet. The guards at the entrance to the throne room stood rigid, their eyes wide with fear, but they didn’t dare show any sign of discomfort, even as most of their bodies were coated in ice crystals.
George’s jaw tightened as he straightened his posture, forcing himself to project an air of confidence he didn’t feel. He was the commander of the PTO, the emperor’s second hand, and he needed to get a grip.
Notes:
Checking in on our minor characters! POVs from Lando, George, and Carlos with added details for Carlos' backstory.
Chapter warnings: non-consensual touching, allusions to SA mentioned
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
- Capsule Corp ship (somewhere in space) -
Weeks had passed since Lando, Hannah, and Lewis set off to find Charles. The vastness of space stretched endlessly, reminding Lando of the distance separating him from his best friend.
The modified radar Hannah created was their only guide, its persistent soft beeping a small comfort amidst the relentless cold stare of black silence.
Lando sat in the plush leather seat, his forehead resting against the cool glass of the window. The mesmerizing sight of the stars whizzing past, now rendered ultimately monotonous after weeks of interstellar travel.
He tapped idly on the window, creating a soft, rhythmic pattern that echoed his growing restlessness.
The Capsule Corp spaceship was the epitome of luxury, with every conceivable comfort and amenity. Sleek and streamlined, the craft they were aboard was a marvel of technology, a vessel designed for long-range space travel.
Inside, the ship was equipped with state-of-the-art features and luxurious accommodations.
The living quarters were spacious, featuring comfortable sleeping pods that could be adjusted for temperature and firmness. There was a small kitchen area with a food synthesizer capable of creating nutritious meals from basic ingredients.
A training room was available, equipped with gravity controls to simulate various planetary environments, providing Lando and Lewis with a place to spar and keep in shape during the journey. They were banned from using any ki based attacks, and without use of his energy, Lando was getting his ass handed to him on a daily basis.
The control room, where Hannah spent most of her time, was filled with advanced navigation systems, holographic displays, and an array of control panels that allowed her to monitor every aspect of the ship's performance. The seats were comfortable and designed for long-term comfort, made of a material that adapted to the body’s shape.
Anything less and Lando would’ve been shocked.
He glanced around the spacious cabin, taking in the expanse. Every surface gleamed with a metallic sheen, and the ambient lighting created a soothing, almost homey atmosphere.
Well, as homey as traveling at maybe a gazillion kilometers per hour in a metal tin can could feel he supposed . . . Lando didn't have a clue really.
Hannah had outdone herself with this craft, combining her technical prowess with an eye for beauty and functionality.
She was a genius, no doubt about it, and her stunning good looks only added to her mystique.
Lando couldn't help but admire Hannah's handiwork, and if she was anything, she was a woman of taste. Every detail of the ship, from the ergonomic seating to the advanced navigation system, spoke of her brilliance. She'd built the craft with her own hands, pouring her heart and soul into its creation.
Yet, despite its opulence and the urgency of their mission, Lando found himself increasingly bored, the confined space of the craft beginning to wear on the trio.
The gym had lost its appeal after countless hours of sparring and training. The excessive—in Lando’s opinion—entertainment system, with its vast library of movies, games, and music, no longer held his interest. Even the library—stocked with everything from rare and ancient texts to cheesy romance novels—waiting to be thoroughly explored, did nothing for him.
He was never much of a reader anyway.
Lando and Lewis, in particular, found it difficult to coexist peacefully. Their disagreements often escalated into heated arguments, only relieved by their occasional light sparring sessions.
Hannah, ever the mediator, tried to keep the peace, but even her patience was wearing thin.
Despite his boredom, Lando appreciated Hannah and the effort she'd put in to make sure they were all comfortable. She’d made this journey possible, and without her, he wouldn't even be here, hurtling through space towards their uncertain destination.
Sighing, his breath fogged up the window for a brief moment before the advanced climate control system cleared it away.
Standing up to stretch, the Earthling’s muscles protested after hours of inactivity.
He needed to find something to do, anything to break the monotony, and masturbating was off the table. He'd even exhausted the momentary distraction of that.
Wandering through the corridors of the ship, Lando’s footsteps clicked softly against the polished floors. As he passed the control room, he saw Hannah hunched over a console, her fingers clicking softly in the quiet space.
Lando paused in the doorway, watching her work, engrossed in whatever she was doing, her brow furrowed in concentration. Brunette hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few stray strands framed her face. Even in the midst of her intense focus, she exuded a quiet confidence and grace.
“Give it up, Lando,” he heard behind him. Turning around, he saw the retreating form of Lewis walking down the corridor, a teasing smile as he glanced over his shoulder. “You’re starting to look pathetic.”
Lando scowled, flipping off the older man as he disappeared around the corner and turned back to the control room.
"Hey," he called out, leaning against the doorframe. Hopefully she hadn't heard the crotchety driver.
Looking up, her eyes lit up when she saw him, popping an earbud out. "Hey, Lando. What's up?"
Sighing, he was relieved. "Just . . . looking for something to do," he admitted, scratching the back of his head.
Hannah smiled, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Feeling a bit stir-crazy, huh?"
"Yeah, you could say that," Lando replied with a chuckle.
"Well, I could use a hand with some diagnostics if you're up for it," she said, gesturing to the console.
Lando's eyes lit up at the prospect of something to occupy his time. "Sure, I'd love to help." He walked over to her, feeling a renewed sense of purpose and settled into the seat next to her.
“Just only touch what I tell you,” she said and giggled when his ears went red at their tips.
The training bay on the ship was silent, save for the hum of the engines and the echo of boots scuffing across the metal floor as Lando squared off against Lewis once again, his stance ready.
But Lewis, on the other hand, looked far less enthusiastic.
"Honestly, Lando," Lewis said, folding his arms with a sigh. "We've been doing this for weeks, and you still haven't figured out how to land a single hit. Are you even trying? What the hell do they teach you at the academy for whatever the fucking animal was."
Lando scowled, bouncing lightly on his feet. "Turtle, Lewis. It's the Turtle Academy for Martial Arts," he shot back, though even he knew it sounded a little weak. “And Charles kicked your ass several times with Master Vasseur's techniques.”
Rolling his eyes, Lewis shook his head. "Clearly you and Charles were not taking the same classes. Every time you charge at me, you leave yourself wide open. Do you think I’m just going to let you win for pity's sake?"
Before Lando could fire back, Lewis launched forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. His movements were flawless and unforgiving as he grabbed Lando’s wrist, twisted it, and swept his leg out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor with a loud thud.
Groaning, Lando glared up at Lewis, who was looking down at him with a mixture of irritation and boredom. "See what I mean?” He said, exasperated. “You’re predictable. Practically broadcasting your next move with your posture.”
Lando pushed himself up, wincing as he got back on his feet. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. "You just say that because you know I’m getting closer."
Letting out a loud, mocking laugh, the older man shook his head. “Closer? You’re as far off as the first day we started. Maybe even worse. At least then you had a little unpredictability. Now I can read you like an open book.”
Lando’s cheeks flushed and he clenched his fists. Taking a deep breath, Lando moved in quickly, aiming a series of punches and kicks, movements faster and more focused than before.
But Lewis blocked each attack effortlessly, his face set in a smug expression. He moved almost lazily, barely lifting a finger to deflect each of Lando’s strikes, some of which he only used one finger to block. After a few more failed attempts, Lando growled in frustration, trying one last powerful punch aimed straight at Lewis’ jaw.
In one swift motion, Lewis sidestepped, grabbed Lando by the arm, and twisted it behind his back, pinning him down to the floor. "Seriously? What are we even doing this for?" Lewis asked, his voice dripping with annoyance. "I thought by now you’d at least figure out how to keep your guard up."
Lando struggled, trying to wriggle free, but Lewis held him in place, his grip unyielding. "This is honestly embarrassing," Lewis said, shaking his head. "If you can't even get past me, how do you expect to handle the guy who took Charles?”
With that, he released Lando, who fell back onto the metal floor, breathing heavily and fuming with frustration. Lando glared up at Lewis, his pride stinging almost as much as his body.
He didn't need the reminder of what they could be up against. They didn't know who was with Charles or what kind of shape he would be in when they found him, but one thing was for certain. Lando wouldn't be able to defeat the man from the satellite footage and he was begrudgingly grateful that Lewis was with them.
Scoffing, Lewis crossed his arms again as he looked down at him. “Let me know when you actually want to put in some effort,” he said, turning his back as if the entire spar had been a waste of his time. “Because I’m not here to babysit you while you pretend to train to pass the time.”
Lando scrambled to his feet, clenching his fists, his face flushed. “I am putting in effort!” he shouted. “You just—”
But Lewis interrupted, holding up a hand dismissively. “Don’t waste my time with excuses, Lando. You want to get better? Start taking this seriously. It's obvious whatever training you had with Charles went in one ear and right out the other.”
With that, Lewis turned on his heel, leaving Lando standing in the middle of the training bay, fuming.
Dick.
That evening, as they drifted through the star-studded expanse, the modified Charles-tracking radar emitted a sudden, sharp beep, jerking Lando awake from his quick cat nap. A line of drool connected his cheek to the back of the chair he’d turned around in, and he rubbed his eyes looking for the source of the sound.
Hannah, seated at the control panel, frowned and adjusted some things, maybe trying to make sense of the change.
“What’s wrong?” Lando asked, leaning over her shoulder and biting back a yawn.
“The signal . . . it’s changed direction,” Hannah replied, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“What do you mean, changed direction?” Lewis snapped as he walked through the door to the control room, obviously searching for the source of the alarm as well. “We’ve been following that thing for weeks, and now it decides to change?”
Hannah took a deep breath. “It’s possible that Charles has been moved. The radar is still picking up his energy signature, but it’s coming from a different direction now.”
“So, what does that mean? We’ve been chasing a ghost this whole time?” Lando said, a bit frustrated.
“It means,” Hannah said slowly, “that we need to adjust our course.”
Lewis crossed his arms, expression skeptical. “How do we even know that thing has been tracking Charles? For all we know, it could be leading us on a wild goose chase.”
Lando’s fists clenched at his sides. “Do you have a better idea, Lewis? Because if you do, I’m all ears.”
The two men glared at each other, the tension in the cabin thickening.
Hannah stood up, placing herself between them. “Don’t you two dare start. You’ve been at each other's throats for weeks and arguing isn’t going to help us find Charles any faster. The tracker is still reading Charles’ energy as stable and strong. I don’t see any reason to panic just yet. In fact, he's actually closer now than he was before.”
Lando took a deep breath, trying to rein in his temper. “Closer?” He asked. “How much closer?”
“Like, shaving half the remaining distance closer,” she said and messed with the radar a bit more. “And if there’s even a chance that this radar is tracking Charles, we have to follow it.”
Lewis grudgingly nodded. “Fine. But if this turns out to be a dead end, and we are lost in space . . . I’m killing you both,” he growled before turning and retreating from the doorway.
“Asshole,” Hannah said, exasperated. Turning back to the control panel, the scientist adjusted their course to match the new coordinates. “We’ll set a course for the new location and let’s hope we’re on the right track. The good news is, this should cut a week off of travel time.”
“At least there's some good news,” Lando mused.
As the spacecraft altered its trajectory, the trio settled back into their routines. Lando and Lewis continued their sparring sessions, the physical exertion a necessary outlet for their pent-up energy and frustration. Hannah remained focused on the radar, monitoring the signal and doing her best to keep the fragile peace.
_____
– PTO Base Ship –
George approached the throne room with a tightness in his chest, mind filled with anxiety.
It had been several days since Prince Max and that Earthling—Charles—disappeared, and each day without progress added weight to his already burdened shoulders.
Not to mention this summons was surely not of a friendly nature.
Footsteps echoing through the grand corridors of the ship, he was reminded of the expectations placed upon him and how he'd come up empty-handed, each stride bringing him closer to the inevitable confrontation.
Glancing at the dents lining the walls of the throne room corridor, the commander shuddered under the noticeable drop in temperature as he got closer. A testament to the frost demon’s mood since his favorite toy ran away. The chilling temperature wasn’t just physical—it was all-consuming, blanketing over everything within a 50-meter radius of the warlord.
In the last several days since Prince Max’s disappearance, George had turned over every stone, chased every lead, and pulled every string to locate the wayward prince. He'd sent out patrols, used his vast network of informants, and called in every favor he was owed within the PTO.
Yet, despite his relentless efforts, he'd come up empty-handed.
Word of the prince’s escape had spread like wildfire among the troops—nothing stayed secret for long in the PTO—and still, no one had seen nor heard anything that could lead him to Max.
It was infuriating.
How could the prince simply vanish without a trace?
Only a young maid onboard seemed to know much about the Earthing, apparently a frequent visitor of the Torossian suite herself. He'd scoured hours and hours of security footage, noting everyone who'd even so much as brushed arms with Charles, and all of them failed to produce the information he was looking for. Not even extreme methods of persuasion got him any closer to finding the Torossian prince.
George’s thoughts churned with resentment as he replayed every possible scenario in his mind, searching for any detail he might’ve missed. But there was nothing. No reports, no sightings, no whispers in the shadows.
Max and Charles had simply disappeared, leaving George to face the wrath of Emperor Jos for his continued failure.
The massive doors of the throne room loomed ahead, cracked open, spilling frigid air into the hall. Frost coated the last third of the corridor outside the doors, ice hanging from the ceiling. There were no audible sounds coming from within.
His breath came out in visible puffs as the temperature continued to plummet. The guards at the entrance to the throne room stood rigid, their eyes wide with fear, but they didn’t dare show any sign of discomfort, even as most of their bodies were coated in ice crystals.
George’s jaw tightened as he straightened his posture, forcing himself to project an air of confidence he didn’t feel. He was the commander of the PTO, the emperor’s second hand, and he needed to get a grip.
It wasn't like he hadn't been in this position before, but never with stakes this high, icy tendrils of dread licking at the back of his mind.
Taking a deep breath of frozen air, feeling the burn of it in his lungs, he pushed the double doors all the way open, hearing the metal groan under his efforts, and stepped inside.
He'd been dreading this summons, but he couldn't delay the order any longer.
The throne room was eerily silent as George closed the doors behind him, the rushing air biting cold like a wave, the floor covered in a thick layer of ice that crunched beneath his boots. Frost coated the ornate ivory tiled pillars, shimmering in the dim pale light that reflected off the ice coating and thin veins of ice crept up the walls, the once vibrant tiles now brittle and frost-laden. The grand ceiling columns overhead had icicles hanging from them, casting fractured light across the room.
It was strikingly different to the usual oppressive heat pumped through the ventilation systems, and George felt a shiver run down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Emperor Jos sat on his new throne, his usual impeccable control over his energy plainly slipping, radiating an aura of seething rage and impatience ready to erupt at any moment. Tendrils of icy vapor curled around his form, and the very air seemed to crackle with a dangerous chill.
His normally gray skin had turned deep purple around his neck and down his torso, then up to the nape of his jawline. George had never seen the frost demon in such a state, his rage manifesting physically in a way that threatened to freeze the entire room solid.
The warlord’s tail smacked the foot of the throne with a crunch, breaking the surrounding ice and cracking the tile when the commander hesitated to approach, stopping several paces from the base of the stairs.
Fuck, this was bad.
Forcing himself to move forward, each step took a concerted effort, heavier than the last as he approached the throne the rest of the way. His breath puffed out in small clouds, and he wrapped his arms around himself for warmth, though it did little to stave off the penetrating cold.
The emperor's piercing red eyes, glowing with an intense and volatile energy, had locked onto him the moment he’d entered, scrutinizing every detail of his demeanor and tracking every movement.
As George drew closer, the Elysian couldn't help but feel a deep sense of foreboding; the emperor's loss of control a clear indication of his growing impatience and fury.
Stopping a respectful distance away, George bowed deeply, the movement sending a few flakes of frost cascading to the ground that had gathered on his cape.
He didn’t dare meet Jos’ gaze directly.
"My Lord," he began, voice steady despite the frozen tremor in his limbs. "I’ve come as requested to report on the ongoing search for the Prince of Torossians."
Jos’ eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly, the temperature seeming to drop even further, if that was possible. His voice was a low, dangerous growl, "Judging by your tardiness, you don't have good news."
Swallowing hard, the commander felt the cold start to seep into his bones, biting his skin even through his uniform. "We’ve scoured every corner of the known sectors—”
“We?” The warlord cut him off. “I assigned you the task of locating the prince. Do not blame your failures on anyone else.” The emperor's fingers clenched on the armrests of his throne, and the icy mist around him seemed to pulse lightly.
“Patrols have been doubled, informants have been activated, and every possible lead has been investigated. B–but there is no trace of Prince Max or the Earthling, sire.”
"No trace," Jos repeated coldly, voice carrying an edge George couldn't discern. "Days of searching, and you have nothing to show for it? Nothing? "
George forced himself to remain still, despite the cold sweat forming on his brow that immediately froze. "My lord, I've pursued every possible lead, expanded the search parameters and deployed additional scouts, but so far, all efforts have been in vain. The prince has—has vanished. But I'll not rest until he's found. I will continue to search—"
"Where is he!?" Jos shouted, the words sending another shiver through the room.
Unable to reply, the frozen air started to burn George’s lungs while he took short, half breaths.
Jos' eyes glowed brighter, and the ice around the throne seemed to thicken despite the licks of indigo flames lapping at his silver skin. Descending the steps from his throne with a menacing grace, each of the emperor's movements was filled with controlled rage.
The ice cracked and splintered beneath his clawed feet as he moved, a silent acknowledgment of the immense power barely contained within him.
George stood up rigidly, his breath hitching in his throat as the emperor approached.
Jos wasn’t even flying, either. Choosing to approach him as slow as possible.
"You are testing my patience, Commander. I want results, not excuses. They couldn’t have gone far. He's out there, hiding like the coward he is.” Stopping mere inches from his second-in-command, Jos loomed over him, eyes boring into George's with an intensity that could freeze a lesser man's soul. The air between them was frigid, each exhale from George forming small clouds of vapor.
"You disappoint me, George," Jos said, voice a chilling whisper that echoed through the frozen hall. "Even after all these decades, you still fail me."
George tried to muster a response, but his words caught in his throat as Jos' tail, thick and powerful, began to caress along the outside of his right thigh. The warlord was silent, face a mask of indifference as his tail continued its exploration of his body, sending a wave of bile rushing up.
He swallowed thickly before uttering a startled gasp when Jos’ tail ran between his legs to graze the underside of his manhood, forcing his legs further apart and almost losing balance.
“Maybe I haven't provided you with the right motivation to complete your task,” the emperor said, voice detached and clipped.
That sinister tail slithered up his clothed backside, prodding around until it found what it was looking for and pressed its tip down firmly on the tight rim of his hole. Unable to hold back his yelp of surprise at the uncomfortable feeling, George’s eyes blew wide staring back at unyielding red. It wasn’t hard enough to break through his bodysuit, but enough to get his threat across.
The pressure was painful, and he struggled not to tumble forward with the spread of his stance and the tremors wracking through him with each increase in pressure on his backside.
“I wonder if your blood will taste as sweet as his.”
Unbridled fear tore through him like George had never felt before. Not even when the emperor blew planet Merc to a billion pieces had the commander been so afraid to be in the frost demon's presence.
Jos’ tail removed itself from between his legs only to coil around his torso with alarming speed. The cold, scaled appendage tightened around him, squeezing the air from his lungs and pinning his arms to his sides, immense pressure making each breath a struggle.
Leaning in closer, the frost demon’s false breath was a cold mist against George's face. "Do you understand the gravity of your failure?" he hissed. "If you do not find Prince Max, the consequences for you will be severe."
George's mind raced, the pain and lack of air making it difficult to think. "Yes, I–I understand, Lord Jos," he managed to gasp out, his voice strained. "I will find him. I swear it."
Jos tightened his grip, and George felt the icy scales dig into his skin. "Swear all you want," the emperor said, his voice dangerously soft. "But words are meaningless without action.” Coiling his reptilian tail tighter against his ribs, George thought he might actually break them before Jos added, “Prince Max has had the privilege of sharing my bed for many years. You do not seem as . . . durable."
As George struggled to force air into his lungs, the frozen silence of the throne room was shattered by the sudden clamor of hurried footsteps.
A staff member from the clinic, clearly flustered, burst through the massive doors and skidded across the ice covered floor to a halt before the pair. Visibly unprepared for the scene he’d interrupted, the man’s eyes widened and he scrambled back away from the warlord, slipping on ice, falling roughly on his back.
“You better have a good reason for interrupting us,” Jos ground out, not even sparing the staffer a second glance.
"My Lord!" the staff member spoke with urgency, standing to his feet, trembling. "Carlos has regained consciousness."
Jos' eyes snapped to the messenger, and a predatory gleam lit within them. Without a moment's hesitation and a casual flick of his tail, Jos sent George hurtling across the room. He crashed into an ice covered column with a bone-jarring thud, crumpling to the floor with a groan of pain, breath knocked from his frozen lungs.
George gasped, his chest heaving as he tried to steady himself, and looked up at the emperor, who now stood tall and imposing, the very embodiment of cold, unyielding power.
"Question him," Jos commanded, voice a low, venomous growl. "Carlos surely knows where Prince Max has gone. Extract the information by any means necessary."
Despite the agony coursing through his body, George scrambled to his feet, limbs trembling from both the impact and the icy cold. Nodding fervently, the Elysian’s breath was ragged, lower back on fire. "Yes, my Lord," he managed, voice barely audible.
"Do not fail me again. I have little patience left," Jos warned, his red eyes glowing with an eerie light. Turning his back on George, the emperor dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
Clutching his side, George limped toward the doors, mind racing. This was his last chance to prove his worth and avoid the emperor's promise of making him his new favorite plaything.
That was a fate worse than death and he had to get the information from Carlos, no matter the cost.
As he exited the throne room, the icy chill seemed to follow him, a reminder of the stakes at hand.
_____
“I will go,” Carlos said far more sternly than he felt. He’d practiced that line in his head over and over, but now, as he stood before the intimidating presence of the king and the council, his heart felt like it was trying to break free from his chest.
The grand palace council chamber, with its high vaulted ceilings and cold, polished stone walls, made him feel smaller with every passing second. The weight of the room's silence bore into his conscience, making the dark-haired Torossian shift uncomfortably in one of the oversized chairs meant for those of far greater rank.
For those far older than he was. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t even be allowed in a council meeting until he was fifteen, but there he was anyway, barely eleven.
Forcing himself to stand, Carlos pushed past the tightness in his chest. The room was massive, with banners of the Torossian royal family draped on the walls, the house emblem of Toro emblazoned in shimmering gold and red. Council members, advisors, and high-ranking military officials were seated around the long, rectangular table, their faces a mix of surprise and disapproval as they watched him rise.
“Sit down, Carlos,” King Christian said, voice sharp with the cutting order. The king's dark eyes flashed with a mix of anger and concern, and his tone left no room for debate. “You aren’t going anywhere. That bastard frost demon isn’t getting any more ‘tributes’ or whatever the fuck he’s calling it. The prince is bad enough.”
The king's outburst echoed through the room, and Carlos flinched at the weight of it. His father, Jules, sat quietly next to King Christian on his right-hand side, his usually stoic face more intense than ever, lips pressed into a tight line as he met Carlos’ gaze.
There was a warning in his eyes, a silent plea for Carlos to be quiet and heed the king’s command, but he couldn’t.
Not this time.
Carlos’ hands clenched at his sides as he bent his head low in front of him. He’d always been taught to respect the king, to follow his orders without question, but this was different.
This was about Max.
“My king,” he began, lifting his head to meet King Christian's glare, keeping his tone reverent but resolute, “Prince Max is my best friend, and not one day has gone by that I don’t think about him since his capture. If the emperor has demanded another tribute of comparable strength, then let it be me. We’ve trained together for two—”
“Enough!” The king’s voice exploded through the chamber, making Carlos flinch again despite his best efforts to stand tall. King Christian's chair screeched against the polished floor as he shot up, his presence dominating the room, his eyes blazing with a fury that seemed almost uncontrollable.
“You think you understand what you’re asking?” the king shouted, his powerful voice reverberating off the stone walls. “You think I would send another one of my people to be enslaved by that monster? Another child! Max was a mistake—stolen from his chambers in the dead of night and I will regret that fact for the rest of my life. I will not willingly send anyone else to that goddess forsaken place!”
Exchanging uneasy glances, the council members shifted in their seats, but no one dared to speak. The tension was thick in the air like a storm about to break, and Carlos’ heart pounded as he tried to gather the strength to respond, to say the words he knew the king would hate to hear.
“Your Majesty,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady even as his throat tightened, “I know what I’m asking, and I know the risks. But if there’s even a chance that I could help Max, even a small one, then I have to take it. Jos demanded someone of comparable strength, someone who could endure the training he puts the prince through. You know I can. I’ve trained for this, and Max—he needs me.”
King Christian's expression softened, but briefly and his eyes flickered with a hint of pain before they hardened once more, jaw clenched. “Do you hear yourself, boy?” he said, voice lower now, but no less dangerous. “This isn’t a matter of bravery or loyalty. It’s a death sentence. You think you’re strong enough to endure Jos? To endure this . . . ”
Turning around to the table, the King pressed a few controls on the display in front of him, and the holographic image over the table's surface flashed to a collage of photos—all of the prince. Max was in various bound positions, bruised and bloodied, each picture harder to look at than the last.
His face was almost unrecognizable in some of the images, but his blond hair was unmistakable, matted with dirt and dried blood. A collective murmur rippled through the council room with even seasoned war generals turning their eyes away from the display.
“This one here,” the king pointed to a particularly gruesome photo, “was his birthday present from Jos.”
Carlos swallowed, his mouth dry and heart aching, but he refused to change his mind. He looked to his father, searching for any sign of support, but Jules' face was impassive, unreadable. The elder Torossian’s hands were clasped tightly on the table, his knuckles white, but he didn’t speak.
“I won’t sit here and do nothing while Max is suffering,” Carlos said, his voice trembling slightly but growing louder, more defiant. “He would do the same for me. You know he would.”
The king’s eyes narrowed, and he rounded the table, towering over Carlos, mantle billowing behind him like the wings of a red Torossian bull. “And what do you think will happen, Carlos? You think you’ll just walk into that demon’s clutches and somehow save him? Jos will tear you apart, piece by piece, and send what’s left back to us just to prove a point. I will not lose another soul to that monster.”
Silence fell over the room, the king's words hanging heavy in the air.
Carlos felt his resolve waver, the reality of what he was proposing setting in as he looked at the images of the young prince. But then he thought of Max, trapped in that cold, dark place, fighting alone, thought of the promise they’d made to each other, to always have each other's backs.
He couldn’t break that promise, no matter what.
“I understand the risks,” Carlos said quietly, his eyes meeting the king’s. “And I know what Jos is capable of. But I can’t just sit here and pretend everything is fine when it’s not. It’s been nearly a year and if there’s even a small chance that I can bear some of the prince’s burden, then I have to try. Please, Your Majesty . . . let me do this.”
The king’s expression darkened, his lips pulling back into a snarl. “No,” he said, cold and final, leaving no room for further debate. “I will not send you to your death—”
“Let him go.”
The sudden interruption was like a clap of thunder in the council chamber. Every head turned sharply, eyes widening in shock as Jules rose from his seat, heavy chair scraping against the stone floor, silencing the king mid-sentence.
Jules stood tall, shoulders squared, his hands steady even though there was a faint tremor in them. “My King,” he repeated, his tone firm yet respectful. “Let him go.”
King Christian’s eyes blazed with a mix of confusion and rage, and he took a step forward, his cloak swirling around him as he pointed an accusing finger at Jules. “Have you lost your mind!?” the king shouted, voice full of incredulity. “No! You have already paid enough with Percevals’ life. I won’t let you lose another son to the emperor.”
Carlos’ heart twisted painfully at the mention of his younger brother.
The memory of Perceval was still a raw, festering wound against his mother that no amount of time had been able to heal, and he could see the same grief mirrored in his father’s eyes. But there was also a fire there, a cold resolve that even the king’s anger couldn't dissuade. His father, a man who had always been stoic and reserved, was now standing before the entire council, openly defying the king himself.
Breath catching, Carlos watched as his father moved with deliberate slowness to the control panel embedded in the council table. Manipulating the controls, the flickering holographic images of the prince faded into darkness, the room briefly dimming with their erasure.
Carlos felt a mix of shame and relief at seeing them disappear, as if removing them could erase the ache of his memories, could hide the truth of how far things had fallen apart since their enslavement by Jos.
“Carlos is right,” Jules said, cutting through the stillness. “There’s no one else we can send who would satisfy the warlord's request. If we refuse, or send someone of lesser standing, Jos could kill Max.” He paused, letting his words sink in, and his gaze flicked to the king, then back to Carlos. “And that's a risk we cannot afford to take. Not when we are so close to overthrowing him.”
The room erupted into chaos, council members shouting over one another in alarm, advisors rising from their seats, but Carlos stood firm, his eyes never leaving his father’s. For a second, he thought he saw a flicker of respect in his father’s gaze—a recognition of the courage it took to stand up, to offer himself in place of someone else. But the warmth was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a steely resolve.
Carlos had always known his father to be a man of duty, and now he saw just how far that duty extended.
“I will not have anyone else suffer the sorrows that I have,” Jules said, his voice firm, rising above the din. “Carlos will go.”
Face contorted with fury, the king turned sharply, his cloak whipping behind him. “Then you are a fool,” King Christian spat, voice icy and filled with disdain. He cast one last, furious glance at Jules, then at Carlos, as if memorizing their faces, as if they'd both betrayed him in the worst possible way.
Without another word, he stormed out of the room, the heavy wooden doors slamming shut behind him with a deafening boom.
~~~~
Struggling to blink against the residual haze clouding his sight, Carlos opened his eyes slowly, vision blurred by the dense liquid that surrounded him.
Disoriented and confused from his dream, he tried to move, but his muscles felt sluggish and weak. He quickly discovered himself restrained by straps holding him in place and he felt a belt of anxiety settle in.
The healing tank’s fluid, thick and luminescent, began to drain through the grate beneath his feet, and he felt the cool air of the room start to replace the warmth of the healing solution. As the liquid receded below his chin, he blinked a few more times to clear his vision, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
The sterile environment of the clinic was a welcomed sight to the chaos he last remembered, and his mind struggled to piece together the fragments of his last conscious moments, now interwoven with memories from his childhood.
He hadn’t thought about that moment in a long time.
Recalling the intense firefight on Merc, the heat of battle, and the unmistakable sensation of being overwhelmed, Carlos took in a deep breath through the respirator mask still affixed over his face. The memory of Alonso calling out his name resonated sharply in his mind, and he winced. Filled with panic, the elder Torossian’s voice had a desperate edge that hinted at the dire situation they were in.
Carlos’ heart raced as he replayed the events in his head, shaking the last remnants of his father’s face from his mind.
He remembered the ambush—the blinding flashes of energy blasts, the searing pain as he was struck in the chest, and the sudden darkness that had swallowed him. The fact that he was now in a healing tank suggested he'd been gravely injured, body pushed to its limits and beyond.
Wait . . .
He was in the clinic? Torossians weren’t allowed in the clinic.
Fuck. Fuck .
Trying again more forcefully to move, Carlos couldn't get his weak limbs to cooperate and the bindings were too tight to wiggle out of. He had to get out of the tank and leave the clinic fast before someone noticed and reported him.
How did he even get in here? How long had he been in the tank? Why didn’t Alonso and Prince Max put him in the tank in the med bay on the lower deck?
It was probably broken again or maybe the prince was in that one—
By the goddess, the dark-haired Torossian swallowed thickly at that thought. He needed to get down there and check on him.
Was Max badly hurt? Was Alonso hurt too?
Glancing around the room, the healing tank’s thick glass distorted his view at first, but soon he made out the figure of Commander George standing just outside the tank, staring at him. George’s expression was neutral, a mix of sternness and something else Carlos couldn’t quite place that did little to comfort him.
The commander’s presence was a bad sign, and panic bubbled up within his chest. Carlos’ blood soared, each heartbeat echoing in his ears, instincts screaming at him that something was wrong, very wrong.
What had happened after he lost consciousness?
Had they been successful or had the diversion team's mission failed disastrously? More importantly, what had become of Alonso and the rest of his team?
Where was Prince Max?
Questions swirled in his mind, but he knew better than to expect answers from the prickly commander.
The final remnants of the healing solution gurgled away, leaving Carlos standing in the tank stark naked, soaked, and feeling exposed in a way that made his skin crawl. His wet, black tail instinctively wrapped around his waist, curling over his manhood in a feeble attempt at modesty that did little to shield him from the intrusive gaze he felt all too aware of.
Casting a harsh, clinical glow, the tank’s interior lights highlighted every line and ridge of his recovering body, each muscle twitching slightly in the cold and under the discomfort of the moment.
The scars he'd acquired over the years stood out like a roadmap of pain, some faded and old, others fresh and raw, a testament to the battles he'd fought—and lost. His eyes lingered on the fresh marks, the jagged one across his chest commanding his attention.
It was ugly, a long, raised scar that branched out from the center of his torso, accompanied by burns that looked viciously painful, even now, though he didn’t feel anything. He couldn’t remember exactly how he’d gotten it—his memory hazy from the battle and the excruciating pain that had followed.
He supposed it could always be worse, and his scars were barely anything compared to the prince's.
Max had an unimaginable amount on his chest and back, crisscrossing his pale skin. They were beautiful, the hallmark of a true Torossian warrior, fierce and strong. Longing for the time he could touch them freely, Carlos was relieved that those times were upon him again.
Charles was gone.
Good fucking riddance.
With his brother out of the way, Carlos and Max could continue their arrangement unfettered. It would only be a matter of time before Max caved and summoned Carlos to his private rooms, and the dark-haired Torossian lived for those moments where he could truly worship his prince like Max deserved.
Taking another slow, deep breath through the mask strapped to his face, Carlos tasted the sterile, metallic air of the clinic. It left a cold feeling in his lungs, reminding him of the alien environment he was in, far removed from any sense of comfort or familiarity of the lower deck where the Torossian quarters were.
The healing tank, for all its regenerative properties, always made him feel more like a specimen than a person, something to be fixed and sent back out to fight another day.
A soft hiss echoed in the enclosed space, snapping Carlos out of his thoughts. Heart leaping into his throat, the tank door slid open with a low mechanical groan, exposing him fully to the outside world. The cool air hit his soaked skin like a slap, heightening the sense of vulnerability creeping up his spine. He tensed, barely able to meet the gaze of the commander standing just beyond the threshold.
Carlos’ chest tightened at the sight of him so close.
George’s cold, calculating gaze bored into him, and despite himself, Carlos flinched. His mind whirled with uncertainty and unease, unable to discern what awaited him outside the tank.
The commander’s stern expression betrayed nothing, his face carved from stone as he stepped closer. Feeling like prey under his scrutiny, Carlos’ tail coiled tighter around his waist as if that small shield could protect him from whatever was coming.
It was all he had really, wrists and ankles bound firmly in the tank.
Without a word, George reached inside the tank, his hand moving with impassive efficiency, and Carlos’ pulse quickened as he carefully removed the respirator from his face. Muscles, still weak and uncooperative from the healing fluid, refused to obey him fully. He could only watch, wide-eyed and tense, as George’s hands moved steadily, freeing his wrists and then his ankles.
The silence between them was heavy, fraught with unspoken questions and a growing sense of dread. When George finally spoke, his voice was low and serious, “You have some explaining to do, Torossian.”
Throat dry from days of little use, Carlos whispered, “Commander, I—I don’t know how I ended up in the clinic.” Voice trembling, each word was more disjointed than the last, and Carlos struggled to form a coherent excuse for his current predicament. His fear made it hard to think straight. “I shouldn’t be here. I know the rules. I would’ve never—I swear I didn’t—”
Holding up a hand to silence him, George’s expression softened slightly, eyes flickering with something that Carlos couldn’t quite place—was it pity? Frustration? Or something else entirely?
Whatever it was, the look gave Carlos the creeps.
“Enough,” he said, firm but not unkind, mind flashing back to his dream. “I put you in here.”
Carlos blinked, his rambling apology cut off mid-sentence. "You—What?"
Crossing his arms over his chest, George nodded. "You were badly injured, Carlos. You wouldn’t have survived without the tank. The emperor made the decision to put you in here and ordered that you be given the best care possible for a full recovery."
Eyes widening with a mix of disbelief and fear, Carlos struggled to make sense of the commander’s words. That was the last thing he expected George to say, and if it was done on Jos’ order, then there was a reason for it.
Assuredly not a good one.
"I don’t know what to say."
George’s gaze was unwavering, "Nonsense. Despite everything, you’re a valuable asset we couldn’t afford to lose. A capable mechanic and a fierce warrior.” He said, seeming mostly genuine, but Carlos noticed an almost imperceptible twitch to the corner of his mouth as he said the words. “And more importantly, I needed you alive to answer some very important questions."
Swallowing hard, Carlos’ initial shock gave way to a deeper sense of dread. "Questions? About what?"
The commander didn’t answer, instead taking a step back from the tank. George retrieved a towel from a tabletop behind him and handed it over to Carlos. The Torossian breathed a small sigh and quickly wrapped the towel around his waist, feeling a small measure better now that he wasn’t so exposed. His tail also returned to its safe position nestled just above where the towel rode low on his hips.
“Get dressed,” the commander gestured to a folded uniform resting on the floor just outside the tank. “And then, we need to talk about your prince.”
The air was punched from his lungs at that, and Carlos’ hand flew out, grabbing at the slick side of the tank to steady himself.
Fuck, he knew it. Max was hurt. Badly injured enough that even the commander was worried about him.
Trying to form words, his throat felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. "Max? Is he . . . Is he hurt? Where is he? Can I see him?" he finally managed to choke out, voice barely above a whisper.
Leveling him with the most serious look Carlos had ever seen on the commander, George said, “Prince Max has escaped.”
Chapter 28: WANTED
Summary:
"What . . . do you know about him?" Max asked while nodding his head to the side, voice dropping to a barely audible whisper.
Lawrence's face hardened. "News of your escape spread like wildfire. The moment you vanished, it was all over the network. Commander George issued endless bounties, and patrols in every sector have been quadrupled. They're desperate to find you—and anyone friendly to the PTO has been incentivized to provide information regarding your whereabouts."
Max felt a sinking feeling in his chest.
He’d never even considered escaping, not since the last time he’d tried as a child, knowing full well the search would be never ending. But until that moment, he hadn't fully grasped the extent of what the manhunt would be like this time.
Now, they were in the middle of it.
“I didn’t ask you about me,” Max quipped. “I asked what you know about him.”
Notes:
Back with the boys and a brand new character POV 👀👀
Chapter warnings: Blood, wound cleaning, theoretical forced breeding, referenced past SA
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Walking behind the rebel leader, Lawrence, Max’s grip was firm on Charles, who was trembling terribly and clinging to him for dear life, feet dragging behind him.
Charles must've still been suffering from his stasis sickness, and Max was kicking himself for letting the Earthling talk him into their separation. It wasn’t more than a few minutes that Max didn’t have his eyes on him, and everything had escalated so fast.
At first, Max thought the shouting of PTO was about him, and he’d whipped around, ready to silence the person screaming, only to discover the situation Charles had gotten himself into.
His smaller frame pressed tightly against Max's side, face tucked up in the side of his neck, the older Torossian felt the rapid thumping of Charles' heart against his own and a dampness from the trickling blood on Charles’ neck.
The wound wasn't fatal or anywhere close to it, but the sight of the Eldri's blood still made Max's hackles rise. He kept his expression cold and menacing, eyes sharp and alert against the crowd despite his true feelings.
If anyone stepped toward them, Max would rip their fucking throat out with his teeth.
The crowd of rebels parted, their wary eyes darting between Max and Charles, and the prince growled low in his throat at anyone who dared look too long. His protective instincts were going crazy, Oozaru on high alert and howling to be let off its leash.
“Stay calm,” Max chided his Oozaru mentally. “We need to get Charles out of here without further incident and assess his neck. A rush from this mob would not be . . . ideal.”
“Doe het snel , ” [Make it fast] came the reply, deep in the base of his skull. “Er is iets mis met de Eldri. Hij voelt zich erg zwak.” [Something is wrong with the Eldri. He can barely walk.]
Max couldn’t help but agree, even if he didn’t want to. Charles felt weaker, on the verge of collapse as they followed through the crowd, breathing labored. He wasn’t this bad when he’d left the Earthling, just a little winded by the well. That was unless Charles was hiding how badly affected he was from the vapor bath.
Dammit Charlie, Max thought, and gripped the smaller man's waist harder to bear more of his weight, lifting up slightly. Tail also wanting to wrap around the younger, it ruffled up and pushed against the inside of Max's tunic, but was trapped, making his Oozaru bristle.
The rebel leader, a tall figure with an immaculate appearance and an air of authority, led them through the throng, movements confident but hurried, clearly uncomfortable with Max’s presence behind him.
Good. He should be scared.
They all should be fucking terrified for harming his mate, and the prince couldn’t keep his satisfaction at the leader's fear out of his chest.
He’d recognized the man the moment he’d stepped into the clearing, having seen that face before on countless scouting reports for planet Aston and other rebellion briefings. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t recognize the rebel leader’s son, Lance, but he supposed the allusive old man always kept him well protected and out of the public eye.
Definitely necessary, considering the boy was a complete idiot.
What did the fool even think was going to happen? Max could've easily decimated the whole crowd in an instant, and yet, Lance didn't let Charles go, even after the third time Max asked. After he knew who Max was.
After he knew what Max was.
He was so close to just ripping his head off when Lawrence intervened. It was possible after all. He'd calculated the distance and the speed he'd need in order to finish him before Lance could react or cut further into the Eldri's neck. The only hesitation in that plan was Charles' reaction.
One wrong move from the Earthling and it could've been fatal.
Charles had been shocked when he killed the assassin, if his surprised expression was anything to go by. Max had even used such a painless method with the Earthling bearing witness in mind.
His beam of ki went clean through the major artery for that species and the man probably felt nothing. Awake one minute and not the next.
But Charles had still looked at him with those doe green eyes so full of fear.
By the goddess . . . Charles really was serious about this no killing thing, wasn't he?
Fuck.
The trio wound their way through the city to a more secluded area, approaching a tall gate. Recognizing this as the private dwelling for the rebel leader from his reports, Max had anxiety about taking Charles inside.
He didn’t have much intel about what was beyond the well guarded compound's walls, but the Eldri needed to be tended to as soon as possible.
Even if that meant going into unfamiliar territory, Max had to take that risk.
The large gate opened slowly and once inside the residence, Max followed closely, keeping his eyes peeled for any sudden movements. The home was surprisingly devoid of other men. Room after room passed, and Max didn't catch sight of a single guard.
Odd.
He'd been mostly focused on Charles, but he swore all of his reports said the compound was heavily patrolled around the clock. He wasn't so distracted that he would miss dozens of armored guards.
“This way,” Lawrence said flatly, and Max continued to guide a greatly weakened Charles along.
They exited into a courtyard behind the house, and the prince scoffed. The small, private area was lined with guards of all different shapes and sizes, and the prince rolled his eyes for thinking the dwelling was lacking in safety measures.
In the center of the clearing was an odd-looking spaceship, its design unfamiliar to Max. His scouting reports had all sorts of stolen or hijacked crafts listed that supposedly belonged to the rebel leader, but this vessel didn't match any of those descriptions.
The spaceship had a long, tapered body with a sleek, angular design, built for speed and stealth. Its hull was a deep, metallic obsidian that shimmered with subtle hues of purple and blue under the setting sunlight, giving it a darkly iridescent finish. The main body stood low and wide, with sharp, almost knife-like edges that cut through the surrounding space.
Wing-like extensions on either side swept back, curving inward slightly, creating an aerodynamic shape that hinted at both agility and power. The wings featured thin, glowing strips of light that ran along the edges, pulsating softly under the ship's power.
The cockpit windows looked like little more than narrow slits, tinted and reflective, offering minimal visibility from the outside, but probably granted a panoramic view to the pilot within. Small, hidden thrusters were integrated into the ship's design that would help with maneuverability.
Continuing to follow Lawrence towards the rear of the ship, Max noted how the vessel flared out into two elongated, tapering engines. The entire vessel looked new, devoid of any unnecessary ornamentation, embodying a pure, purposeful design.
It wasn’t so small, where Max couldn’t make sure Charles was comfortable, but not so large that it would be difficult to maneuver or require a team to operate.
Perfect.
Pausing before the rear of the craft, the rebel leader halted Max and Charles a few paces behind him, and spoke in a guttural language that Max didn't recognize. The words were harsh and clipped, carrying the unmistakable tone of years of mastery.
A hatch underneath the ship responded instantly, hissing open with a release of pressurized air, metallic clang of the hatch hitting the ground echoing in the otherwise silent courtyard.
Max tightened his grip on Charles, feeling the Eldri stumble and slip against him. Growling again, the prince couldn’t stop the involuntary warning to anyone who might think of approaching them while Charles was so weak. The guards closest to them looked straight ahead, not letting their gaze linger on any spot in particular.
Turning to face them, Lawrence's eyes were calculating as they scanned Max and Charles. "It's all set," he said, cold and authoritative. “She's well stocked and fueled for a great distance. I can give you a brief overview of how to operate it—”
“Do you think I’m stupid enough to get on that ship without you? With all these men here ready to blast it down?” Max shot back. “Show me how to operate it, inside,” the prince jutted his chin out, a soft whimper escaping Charles at the movement.
A few guards, tensed at the exchange and one even placed his hand behind his back, undoubtedly reaching for a weapon. Max snapped his eyes to the man and snarled, teeth bared at the movement.
Holding his hand up to the guard, Lawrence said something in the odd language again, and the man's hands returned to his sides.
“There’s no need for such hostility, Prince of Torossians. No further harm will come to either of you as long as you are on this planet. That is my direct order. Now,” Lawrence gestured to the ship's entrance, “Come with me. The sooner you leave here the better for all of us.”
A growl vibrated in his hindbrain, but no reply was given. “Het is een val.” [It's a trap]
Nodding curtly to his Oozaru, Max’s eyes never left the rebel leader's face. He needed to get Charles somewhere safe to lay down, and then he could deal with this mess.
He was running out of options fast.
Keeping Charles close, he guided him forward as the Earthling stumbled toward the open hatch.
The interior of the ship was dark, walls lined with strange symbols that seemed to pulse faintly with an mysterious energy.
As they stepped inside, the hatch closed behind them with a finality that made Max uneasy. This could end badly, and he would struggle to ensure Charles’ safety if he had to engage in close quarters combat in this ship.
The interior was nice, well used but maintained, and Lawrence pointed out several areas on their way to wherever they were going. There was a kitchen with ample food storage, a dining area, a few bunk rooms, the captain’s quarters, engine room, and the cockpit on the far front of the ship.
Reaching the control room, Lawrence motioned for them to sit in the cockpit chairs, and Max reluctantly released Charles, guiding him to the nearby copilot seat, hoping the Earthling could take a moment to rest.
Charles' eyes were hazy, half lidded, but the apprehension in them was clear when the prince pulled away. At the Earthling’s refusal to sit, Max quickly removed his surcoat, turned around, and stood in between the Eldri and the rugged man, tail looped loosely around Charles’ arm to let him know he wasn’t leaving him when the Eldri whined softly.
He was in dire need of rest, so Max hoped this flight instruction would be brief.
Lawrence leaned against the hull across from them, his piercing gaze fixed on Max. "You have something I want," he began, tone mildly threatening and curious. "And I have something you need. Let's see if we can come to an understanding."
Of course. Of fucking course.
There was always a catch.
He could just slaughter them all and take the ship his Oozaru reminded him, but Charles was in no state to witness that or defend himself in his weakened form if someone else got to him while Max was busy.
Jaw clenching, the prince forced himself to remain calm and hear the man out—the only real option. "Speak," he growled, low and dangerous. "But know that if you're fucking with me or intend to harm him in some way, there will be nowhere in this universe you can hide from me."
Lawrence's lips curled into a faint, almost mocking smile, making Max’s tail coil tighter around Charles. "I wouldn't dream of it," he replied smoothly. Too smooth for the prince’s liking. The bastard knew something, but Max wasn't exactly sure what it was yet. "Let's see if we can help each other, shall we?"
Irritation simmered as he listened to the rebel leader's sonorous words. He'd hoped for a quick departure from this planet, but it was clear now that things wouldn't be so simple. The man's calculating gaze and the tense silence that filled the small cockpit only served to heighten his frustration.
Max’s body tensed, the muscles in his arms tightening as he kept Charles shielded behind him, protective instinct flaring stronger by the second. The warmth of Charles’ breath against his back was the only thing tethering him, keeping him from lashing out.
His tail curled tighter around Charles, stroking gently up and down his forearm in an attempt to calm them both, though the tremors running through the Eldri were unmistakable. He felt Charles lean more heavily against him, the weight of his exhaustion both baffling and maddening.
“What do you want from me?” Max hissed, annoyed. He didn’t have time for this, not when Charles was barely standing behind him, making their situation precarious.
The rebel leader leaned back further against the wall, his posture infuriatingly relaxed, the slow, deliberate steepling of his fingers only deepening Max's vexation.
"Information," he said, voice as smooth as ice. "For starters, you told my son the two of you were just passing through and no other PTO were on their way," he gestured dismissively at Charles who had his head resting against Max’s shoulder blade. "How do I know you're telling the truth? Have you finally defected?"
Max’s lips pursed at the question, a growl rising in his throat as the man’s words cut too close to truths Max wasn’t ready to admit.
"The emperor never held my loyalty," he ground out.
“Maybe not,” Lawrence said, tone carrying a sharp edge, “but that didn’t stop you from doing his bidding for almost a decade, did it? Didn’t stop you from—”
“Don't,” Max snapped, voice low and dangerous.
Unsure of what the rebel leader was going to say next, Max shot him a stern look. Charles didn’t know anything yet, and the prince would be damned if he let Lawrence be the one to tell the Eldri.
Max would tell Charles the truth himself . . . when he was ready.
Feeling Charles flinch behind him, Max’s tail tightened protectively around his waist. "Just tell me what information you need. If I have it, I'll give it to you."
Lawrence raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "We need to know Jos' next targets and the quadrant of his base ship, and any other details you can give me on his plan."
Max's irritation flared into anger, a low growl escaping. "I don’t know where the ship is now," he snapped, tail twitching. "The PTO's last conquest was a planet called P-127 in internal documents, with Merc as the next target for rebellion elimination."
“Galdarea,” the old man said.
Max rolled his eyes, “Sure. I have no idea what its local name was.”
Lawrence's expression darkened as he leaned in, gaze piercing. The thickening tension only heightened Max’s anxiety, especially as he felt Charles start trembling again behind him. Running the tip of his tail along Charles’ jaw in a silent effort to calm him, it took everything in Max to keep his own rage in check.
“So, you don’t know then?” Lawrence’s sharp voice sliced through the silence.
Max’s patience snapped. “I don’t know what ?” he bit out.
Voice dropping to a grim tone, Lawrence’s eyes stayed locked on his. "Merc is no more. Jos destroyed the planet nine PTO day cycles ago."
Max's face went pale, his heart plummeting as the words sank in. "What?" he breathed, barely able to speak.
The shock hit him like a tidal wave, leaving him momentarily paralyzed. He stared at Lawrence, eyes wide and uncomprehending. The words felt heavy, echoing over and over in his head, each repetition more horrifying than the last. The floor beneath him might as well have disappeared, leaving him suspended in a dark, gaping void of disbelief and dread.
Max had always known what Jos was capable of—he'd witnessed it firsthand at a young age, the frost demon’s cruelty leaving scars that ran deeper than flesh.
But this?
Destroying an entire planet, wiping out billions of lives in a single, merciless act of annihilation? Just because Max was gone?
It was a nightmare he'd hoped would never repeat itself. The sheer ruthlessness of Jos' actions left him momentarily speechless.
The last time Jos had resorted to such savagery had been more than a decade ago.
Max had never told a soul about that catastrophe, the memories of which still haunted him, but he'd clung to the faint hope that, perhaps, the emperor had moved beyond such senseless slaughter. But those hopes were shattered, leaving him reeling with a mixture of anger and despair.
This was his fault.
Everything was always his fault.
If he hadn’t been so selfish in his actions to see the Eldri one last time, none of this would’ve happened. Alonso would still be alive, Carlos, the billions of people on Merc . . .
For a second, Max's mind was a chaotic swirl of what-ifs, a familiar rage boiling in his veins threatening to explode, but there was nowhere to direct it, no outlet for the storm. He wanted to scream, to tear apart the universe itself in his anger, but he only had himself to blame.
“Max?” Charles’ voice was a soft, hesitant whisper behind him, and the sound snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. A small hand rested lightly on his back, reminding him of the one thing that mattered now.
Charles.
If Max hadn’t gone to see him, the Earthling would be dead right now, lost to the unforgiving desert sands of Aston.
If he would've let Charles stay on the ship with him, if Jos found out about Charles, if he knew about their bond and the Earthling’s Torossian designation . . .
Max's Oozaru smashed against the bars of its cage, roaring with enough force to make him squeeze his eyes shut. Pushing the beast away, the prince was unwilling to even entertain the possibility of the warlord getting his hands on Charles.
Lawrence’s eyes glinted with satisfaction at Max's shock. "Jos didn't even wait for his men to fully retreat," he said, confirming Max's worst fears. "He destroyed Merc without hesitation after news of your defection. That’s why I need your help to stop him before he wipes out more lives, more planets. You know better than anyone that Jos’ madness knows no bounds."
Max's instincts tingled with suspicion. How did this rebel leader know so much? Spoke with such confidence like he knew everything about Max? His certainty felt too precise.
Narrowing his eyes, Max pressed, "How do you know all this?"
"It’s my job to know,” Lawrence bristled. “Just as I know Jos will stop at nothing to find you and your Earthling,” he replied, leaning over to try and catch a glimpse of the curled form tucked behind Max.
A low growl rumbled in Max’s chest, ki charging the air between them, blue sparks flashing.
Pushing off the wall to stand up straight, Lawrence raised his hands calmly. "Easy, Prince. I simply meant that we have a feed into PTO scouter footage. We’ve had access to PTO files for some time now and word travels fast.”
Max’s stomach twisted at the thought.
Scouter footage—those devices had been both a lifeline and a curse throughout his life. They were tools of surveillance, of control, and now, it seemed, they had unwittingly become witnesses to Jos' atrocities.
The idea of seeing the destruction of Merc through the eyes of those who died in the blast made Max feel sick.
What troubled Max even more though, was the fact that the rebellion had access to such footage. It meant they were far more resourceful—and dangerous—than he had anticipated.
His skin felt like a thousand fire tannis bugs were crawling on it, a reminder of the dozens of guards outside the ship.
But right now, the regal Torossian needed to find out what Lawrence knew about Charles—or what Jos knew about the Earthling to be exact. If the rebels really did have inside access to PTO files and data, they would know what the emperor knew about Charles’ origins.
"What . . . do you know about him?" Max asked while nodding his head to the side, voice dropping to a barely audible whisper.
Lawrence's face hardened, "News of your escape spread like wildfire. The moment you vanished, it was all over the network. Commander George issued endless bounties, and patrols in every sector have been quadrupled. They're desperate to find you—and anyone friendly to the PTO has been incentivized to provide information regarding your whereabouts."
Max felt a sinking feeling in his chest.
He’d never even considered escaping, not since the last time he’d tried as a child, knowing full well the search would be never-ending. But until that moment, he hadn't fully grasped the extent of what the manhunt would be like this time.
Now, they were in the middle of it.
“I didn’t ask you about me,” Max quipped. “I asked what you know about him.”
Lawrence turned to the ship’s main console and pressed a button, speaking in that guttural language again. A holographic display flickered to life, showing a series of documents and text.
As the display stabilized, several bounty notices materialized on the screen, each one depicting a different reward for information on the whereabouts of the "Traitor Torossian Prince." The amounts varied, but all were staggering, reflecting just how much the emperor wanted him back.
Max's gaze moved from one notice to the next, each one more unsettling.
His stomach churned as he saw the numbers increasing with each new notice, the desperation of the frost demon evident. But then his eyes locked onto one particular notice, and a chill ran down his spine.
The notice showed an image of Charles in the corridor of the PTO base ship. It was zoomed in, his face partially obscured, but the resemblance was unmistakable:
Charles of Earth, accomplice to the Torossian traitor. Extra reward for the prince found alive. Double for the Earthling accompanying him.
Max's blood ran cold as the words sank in. Jos wanted Charles too.
Alive.
The implication sent his Oozaru charging at the walls of its cage again, gnawing at the bars of its enclosure, mind racing as he imagined what Jos might do if they were captured together. The idea of Charles being used as leverage—of him suffering at the hands of Jos was unbearable.
Alonso’s words echoed in his ears. “As important as it is for Jos not to find out Charles is Torossian, it is dire that he doesn’t find out Charles is an Eldri.”
He’d almost forgotten.
That breeding program Jos supposedly planned before Toro’s demise. If the frost demon was successful in capturing Max and Charles together, it would only be a matter of time before the emperor discovered Charles was a Torossian with his tail scar, and also a compatible Eldri mate for the prince.
Being forced to partake in a program like that would be a fate worse than death.
What would become of the offspring? What would become of Charles without his tail?
There was no possible way for the warlord to know Charles needed his tail to reproduce . . . Would he make them keep trying in vain? Would he subject the Earthling to horrible experiments when, time after time, they'd fail?
What if they didn't fail?
What if Alonso was wrong in his assumption and Charles did become with child?
"There isn't much in terms of internal PTO documents about your partner. His service file is only bare bones filled out, and there isn't much footage of him on the ship. From what I can tell, Jos is monitoring Earth to see if you intend to go there. But I'm sure he knows as well as I do, that you’re much smarter than that.”
Max swallowed.
While it was good news that the emperor didn't seem to know very much about Charles, the additional monitoring of Earth meant his plan to take Charles home was blown to hell.
“I don’t know how you managed to keep so much about him under wraps on that fishbowl of a ship, but they clearly don’t know much. They're also not playing around, Max," the old man said, voice heavy with warning. "The entire galaxy knows you’re out there somewhere, and the commander is clearly willing to go to any lengths to bring you back. Your Charles has a steep price on his head too."
A soft whimper from behind Max broke the focus and he instantly turned around and pulled Charles to his chest, tail wrapping firmly around the smaller man’s waist.
His jaw tightened as he fought to keep his temper in check, anger, fear, and guilt warring within him. The scent of the younger filled his nose as he buried his face in Charles’ brown curls.
He’d dragged Charles into this nightmare, and now, the young Eldri’s life was at risk because of him.
Yet another thing that was his fault.
Turning his head back to Lawrence, voice low and controlled, Max asked, "Do you know anything else about their search, where their patrols are concentrated besides Earth, or how they’re coordinating the effort?"
Lawrence shook his head. "Details are scarce. The PTO has been careful not to let too much slip, even to their own. But we’ve intercepted some communications. They’re focusing on high-traffic systems and outer-rim territories—places where you might try to hide or seek refuge. They’re using every resource at their disposal."
Nodding, the prince processed the information, but his thoughts kept returning to the bounty notice for the Eldri. Charles was in more danger than he’d realized, and he needed to stay one step ahead, to find a new way to get Charles to safety.
This ship was a good start. It seemed stocked enough to get beyond the boundary of Jos' empire. All Max needed to do now was review the region map to decide—
Desperation slipping through his facade, he turned back to Lawrence, eyes narrowed with a newfound urgency. "How am I supposed to operate this ship if I don’t speak the language you’ve been using for the console?" he asked, tone clipped and tense.
What good was the ship if he couldn’t pilot the damn thing?
Lawrence regarded him with a calm, almost pitying expression.
Max hated when people did that.
Pitied him.
With a few quick steps, Lawrence tapped a sequence of commands into the console. The display flickered for a moment, and then a notification appeared on the screen in Galactic Standard: "Voice input settings updated. Language: Galactic Standard."
"There," Lawrence said, stepping back. "The ship will now accept Galactic Standard voice inputs, so you should be able to navigate the systems without any trouble. Take good care of her. I just had her waxed."
Max exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
He wasn’t sure if it was relief or merely the satisfaction of having one less obstacle in his path. Either way, they needed to keep moving, and every second they lingered was another second that Jos’ forces could close in on them.
Maybe they were even on their way right now?
“Jos was headed for the Sauber planetary system after handling Merc,” Max said. “There were a few buyers who wanted a whole system, and preliminary scouting showed promise there with the presence of gold and obsidian.”
Lawrence looked genuinely surprised by that information and the two exchanged a few more bits and details about what Max knew. If it helped seal the deal and got them this ship, Max felt it was worth indulging the rebel leader.
He was already wanted for treason anyway.
Watching Max closely, Lawrence's sharp, aged eyes stirred something in Max’s chest, reminding him of his mentor's gaze. "You were smart to come to Aston," the leader continued, voice carrying a note of approval. "Anywhere else within PTO territory would’ve been a death sentence with those bounty notices out there."
Meeting Lawrence’s gaze, the prince tried to gauge the man’s intentions. Despite the apparent kindness, Max wasn’t sure he could fully trust anyone—especially not with Charles’ life on the line. But Lawrence’s words seemed sincere enough.
"There are no PTO loyalties on Aston," he said firmly as he leaned in. "No informants, no spies. This planet is a refuge for those who resist the empire, those who’ve suffered under the emperor’s rule. You don’t have to worry about anyone here turning you in. You can go in peace."
Max’s expression softened slightly, but the wariness didn’t leave his eyes. "I’ve learned the hard way that peace doesn’t find people like me," he replied, hardening as memories of his time under the warlord’s control flickered through his mind. "But if what you’re saying is true, then I’ll take what I can get. For him."
Lawrence nodded solemnly, glancing down at Charles tucked in Max's arms. "It’s true. You won’t find any friends of Jos here. Aston is beyond his reach, for now at least. Use this time to plan your next destination carefully. You won’t get another chance like this."
Turning his head away from Lawrence, Max looked back at Charles, who was leaning heavily against him, eyes closed, pale and shaken from their ordeal. The sight of Charles—tired, vulnerable, and yet unwaveringly loyal—solidified Max’s resolve.
They couldn’t afford to linger any longer, not with the knowledge that their enemies were growing more desperate by the hour.
Kneeling down, Max lowered Charles into the chair directly behind the Eldri who didn't fight him. Weakly grabbing onto his tunic Charles whimpered momentarily, before settling, curled up in the chair.
"Thank you," Max said to Lawrence, his voice sincere despite the urgency. "For your help. We’ll be on our way."
Lawrence inclined his head. "Good luck, Prince Max. The galaxy is a dangerous place for those who stand against the PTO. But with caution and a bit of luck, you just might outrun them. And without you amongst their ranks, we might just stand a chance at stopping their next purge."
Max didn’t respond, though he knew what the leader meant. Jos’ forces were greatly weakened without the prince, and anyone who had a score to settle with the warlord would use this as their opportunity to get even.
Jos might actually have to get his hands dirty for once.
He gestured a farewell to the rebel leader, and Lawrence moved toward the ship’s entrance. “I hope he is worth it,” he said and then slipped past the hatch without another word.
Charles was worth it, Max answered for himself.
With the ship’s systems now responsive to his commands, Max initiated the launch sequence. The engines roared to life, and the vessel began to rise into the air for a vertical take-off.
As the ship ascended, leaving the planet’s surface behind, Max cast one last glance at Lawrence out of the viewport window. The man remained on the ground, watching them go with an unreadable expression.
The group of rebels in the courtyard grew smaller and smaller until the orange planet itself was a sparkling addition to the stars against the blackness.
Once they were alone, Max scooped up Charles into his arms and exited the cockpit, wandering down the main corridor looking for a sleeping quarters. The small man barely made a noise of protest as he did so, eyes closed and fingers curled in Max's tunic.
After a few moments, Max came upon the captain’s quarters Lawrence had pointed out earlier. He pressed a button on the control panel, and the door slid open with a quiet hiss. The room was modest but comfortable, clearly meant for someone of importance.
Without hesitation, Max stepped inside, his only concern being to get Charles to bed.
Carefully, he lowered Charles onto the bunk, tucking him in with a gentleness that might’ve surprised anyone who knew the prince's reputation. Charles barely stirred, his breathing deep and steady, lost in much-needed rest.
Max removed the Earthling’s boots, a few PTO credits sliding out in the process, and the prince sighed. He should've never left Charles alone by that well.
Sitting gently on the edge of the bed, Max tore off a strip of his tunic and wrapped it around the Eldri’s neck. The small cuts had mostly stopped bleeding, but they still needed tending to. After he got the navigation sorted, he'd find a med kit and treat it properly.
Once Charles looked comfortable, he placed a soft kiss on his temple and rose from the bed. The regal Torossian stood there for a moment, watching him sleep, heart heavy with thoughts of the bounties he'd seen and the life of freedom they could never have.
Exiting the quarters, the prince quickly paced back to the cockpit, determined to keep as much distance between them and the warlord as he could.
They were far from safe, but at least, for now, they had a chance. And that was more than they’d had when they first arrived on Aston.
_____
Lance paced back and forth in the main corridor of their private residence, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. The events in the market replayed in his mind over and over—the way his father had cut in, the disapproving glare he’d given him, and the humiliating way he’d handled the situation.
He could still feel the sting of embarrassment, the judgmental looks of the onlookers as Lawrence had cut him down in front of everyone, dismissing his actions as foolish.
“Misguided,” he'd said. Fucking hell.
That piece of PTO scum deserved to have his fucking throat slit and there was nothing anyone could say to make him change his mind.
The sound of footsteps broke through his brooding thoughts, and he looked up just in time to see his father enter the residence from the courtyard, flanked by several guards. Lawrence’s face was set in a grim expression, gaze distant, like he hadn’t even noticed his son standing there, waiting for him.
The guards trailed behind him silently, a constant reminder of Lawrence’s authority over everyone, including his own son, iron grip suffocating.
Fury flared in Lance’s chest as he watched his father walk past him without a word, without so much as a glance in his direction. Unable to hold back, Lance turned on his heel and followed Lawrence into the main living area, his footsteps loud.
The main room was modestly furnished, its walls lined with shelves filled with artifacts and trinkets collected from his father's years of traveling.
He'd never been allowed to accompany him of course, never allowed to leave the planet for “safety” reasons.
Lance’s gaze barely registered the familiar surroundings as he entered, focused entirely on his father, who'd taken a seat in one of the high-backed chairs. Posture relaxed, it was like he hadn’t just humiliated his own son in public and let a wanted war criminal escape.
He couldn’t contain himself any longer.
“What the hell was that back there?” he demanded, voice trembling.
Lawrence raised an eyebrow, gaze cool as he looked up at his son. “Watch your tone, Lance,” he said, voice calm. “I’d advise you to remember who you’re speaking to.”
Scoffing, Lance crossed his arms defiantly. “Oh, I remember, all right. “‘Great leader of this settlement’,” he retorted. “You made sure of that when you humiliated me in front of half the market!”
Leaning back in his chair, his father sighed as he regarded him with a look of mild disappointment. “Humiliated you?” he repeated, mildly amused. “Is that what this is about? You think I embarrassed you?”
Lance’s jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides. “I was doing what had to be done,” he snapped. “That PTO scum was in our territory, flaunting their presence like they owned the place. I was trying to send a message, but you just had to swoop in and undermine me!”
Shaking his head, there was a hint of exasperation flashing in Lawrence's eyes. “Sending a message? By what—parading the Prince of Torossians’ lover around like a petty thief?” He narrowed his gaze, tone sharp. “He could've killed you faster than you would've seen him coming. That was stupid and brash. What did you think was going to happen? That the prince was just going to take that disrespect?”
Scrubbing his hand down his face, Lawrence spoke quieter. “What do you think we stand for, Lance? Do you think this rebellion is about brute force and reckless displays of power? If so then you belong in the PTO, not here.”
Lance’s face flushed with anger, and he took a step closer, voice rising. “Maybe if you'd actually let me come with you or do something for once, I would've known who that was! I’m sick of sitting around, waiting while you make all the decisions, treating me like a child who can’t be trusted! But you . . . you keep treating me like I’m nothing more than an inconvenience!”
“I don't trust you, Lance,” Lawrence said, expression hardening as he stood up slowly.
The words felt like a slap to the face and Lance faltered.
Shifting slightly, the guards stationed near the entrance held their positions, and Lawrence waved them off with a dismissive gesture, his attention fully on his son.
“You could've gotten everyone killed today, not just Elias.” Lawrence said, voice low and steady, but carrying an unmistakable weight. “You think I’m holding you back, but everything I do is for your safety.”
He took a step forward, his gaze piercing. “I’ve given you every opportunity to prove yourself, Lance. Every chance to show that you understand what we’re fighting for. But time and again, you show me that you don’t. That you don't understand the kind of enemy we face.”
Lance glared back at him, chest heaving with anger. “Oh, but you do? You just let Max, the most infamous war criminal whose ever lived, murderer of untold billions, run off into the sunset to fuck his Earthling whore!”
Regarding him for a moment, expression unreadable, his father sighed and turned away, moving toward the door, signaling to the guards to follow.
Watching as his father disappeared through the door, Lance's fury wouldn’t let him stay silent. He stormed out after Lawrence, catching up with him just as he was about to leave their residence.
"Letting him go was a mistake, Father," Lance spat, voice trembling. "You’re getting soft. That PTO prince is Jos’ lap dog, and you let him slip through your fingers! We should've killed him, or at the very least tortured him for information. With control of his Earthling, he would've told us whatever we asked.”
His father kept walking, plainly ignoring him and Lance doubled down. “I've even heard the Torossian Prince is the emperor's own personal cockwarmer every night. Why else would Jos be offering the fortune of his empire for his and the Earthling’s return? Who knows, maybe the emperor was fucking them both—"
Lawrence stopped, his shoulders tensing, and turned slowly to face his son. The guards lingered by the entrance, casting wary glances at the heated exchange, but Lawrence raised a hand, signaling them to stay back. His gaze, steely and cold, locked onto Lance’s, and he took a slow step forward, cutting off Lance's sentence.
“Come with me, Lance,” Lawrence said, devoid of warmth.
Hesitating, Lance's defiance faltered for a moment at his father's tone, but he followed as Lawrence led him back into the main room, the quiet authority in his father’s voice leaving no room for argument.
Gesturing to one of the chairs, the rebel leader fixed his eyes firmly on his son. “Sit down.”
Reluctantly, Lance lowered himself into the chair, crossing his arms as he glared at his father.
He hated when he got like this. Scolding him like he was barely weaned from his mother's breast. Lance was twenty-one for fuck's sake and his mother was long dead, murdered by the emperor's forces.
Taking the seat across from him, Lawrence's expression was grave, as he regarded Lance in silence for a few moments.
The weight of his gaze was heavy, like he was trying to impress upon his son the gravity of what he was about to say. It caught Lance off guard for a moment.
“You think I let Max escape because I’m ‘getting soft’?” Lawrence said quietly, tone deadly serious. “You think I don’t know what he’s done?”
Lance’s jaw tightened, gaze earnest. “Then why, Father? Why would you let him walk away? He’s responsible for more suffering than anyone could ever imagine, and you just . . . let him go?”
Leaning forward, his eyes narrowed as he met Lance’s gaze. “I let him go because I know exactly what he is—and what he means to the emperor.” He paused, before continuing, “Jos isn’t going to stop coming after Max, not after what happened. That prince humiliated him and outsmarted him somehow, slipping away right under the emperor's watch. Max has been Jos’ favorite plaything . . . his bedmate as you so ineloquently put it, for years. And sooner or later, he’ll come after him, unable to let that loose end hang.”
Lance frowned, anger tempered slightly by confusion. “So . . . what? You’re hoping Jos will eliminate him for us?”
Lawrence shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not about hoping, Lance. It’s about strategy. You speak on things you know nothing about.”
Rolling his eyes, Lance said, “Then tell me what's really going on,” in a tone more resembling a whine than a question.
“Firstly, you're wrong about the prince and Jos. I have it on good authority that the prince was an unwilling bed companion to the emperor, and I have no doubts as to why he defected with the Earthling. I mean, you saw him . . .”
Lance cringed at his father’s insinuation.
“Secondly, with Max in the wind, the PTO is weaker than it’s been in years. They’ve lost their figurehead, their strongest weapon, and the symbol of Jos’ power. While they’re scrambling to recover, we have an opportunity.”
Well.
That was certainly new information for Lance.
He'd heard all the stories and the rumors about Max and the Emperor. It wasn't exactly the best well-kept secret, but he'd never heard anything about it not being consensual.
Fuuuuuck.
Lance didn't even want to imagine that. The frost demon was horrid enough to look at in photos, let alone up close and personal like that.
He shuddered at the thought.
Leaning back, the older man's expression hardened. “Do you understand? Jos is too busy hunting down his own lost toy to keep a tight grip on his empire, and Commander George has been jetting all over sector seven. The PTO is vulnerable right now, fractured, giving us the chance to put into motion some of the coup operations we’ve been planning for years.”
Lance’s eyes widened slightly, realization dawning on his face with all this new context. “So . . . letting Max go was . . . a tactic?”
“Yes,” Lawrence nodded. “A very deliberate one. By letting him and his pathetic Earthling bride escape, we’ve weakened the PTO far more than any battle or skirmish ever could. And when the time comes, we’ll be ready to strike at them where it hurts.”
Lance’s brow furrowed as he tried to process it all.
He hadn’t considered that there might've been a deeper strategy at play, but there was still something gnawing at him, a question he couldn’t ignore.
“But what if Jos comes here looking for him?” Lance asked, voice tense. “Someone has to know where he went when he left. Won't the emperor logically follow? Jos will be furious we let him go instead of turning him in for the bounty.”
Steepling his fingers, the old man pressed his lips in a thin line. “You have to weigh the risks. I have tracking on the ship they just took, Lance. I know exactly where he is, and where he’s going. And if, on the off chance, Jos comes here looking for him, however unlikely that may be, we’ll deal with him then.”
Lawrence took a breath and rubbed at his chin. “It's been nine days already, so if the emperor is coming, I would expect we would've seen his ship on radar already. The tracking is our insurance because we have what the emperor needs. This piece of leverage will be beneficial for the long game son, but for now, Max’s disappearance is an asset, a distraction that keeps Jos looking over his shoulder while we prepare to strike.”
Lance sat in silence, his anger dissipating as he absorbed his father’s words. The old man had never made a point of explaining his plan like that to him, and Lance was momentarily stunned.
There was a cold, calculated logic to it all, a strategy he hadn’t considered. His father hadn’t been acting out of softness or sentimentality—he’d been thinking several steps ahead, seeing an opportunity where Lance had only seen a threat.
“You need to start thinking like a leader, Lance. Every action has consequences, and sometimes, the best move isn’t the one that feels right, but the one that gives us the most options in the future and an advantage.”
Lance nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. He still felt the sting of his earlier humiliation, but now he could see the bigger picture, and how short sighted he'd been.
Standing, his father placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “One day, you’ll have to make these decisions. But until then, at least try not to get yourself killed. The stunt in the market today was shameful, even for you.”
All the air was immediately sucked out of the room and Lawrence gave his shoulder a tight squeeze before turning and heading toward the door, voice quiet but full of conviction. “We’ll bring down the PTO. And when we do, they won’t see it coming.”
But instead of feeling reassured, Lance's frustration roared back to life. His jaw clenched, a burning determination settling in his chest as the words, “I don't trust you,” burned in his brain.
He wasn’t worthless.
If his father would just explain things to him more often, he could make better decisions and make him proud.
But if Lawrence wouldn’t recognize his worth, Lance would find a way to prove it. One way or another.
Chapter 29: Ik heb niet gelogen [I Didn't Lie]
Summary:
“Okay,” Charles whispered gently. “We can just sit here for a while, yes?” He carefully placed his hands over Max’s in his lap, feeling the tension in the prince’s fingers as they clutched his tunic. “As long as you want.”
Max’s grip tightened as he held onto Charles, breathing uneven again, chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. Tail unwinding from the prince’s thigh, it instead coiled tightly around the Earthling’s left leg, and Charles wasn’t sure if the prince knew he was doing it. Opting to let Max’s Oozaru get whatever physical grounding it needed from him, he didn't mention it.
Keeping his touch gentle, presence steady, Charles was surprised when Max leaned into him, resting his head on Charles’ shoulder. He felt the frantic rhythm of Max’s heartbeat through the thin fabric of his tunic, each pulse quick and erratic. The thudding was so intense it seemed to echo in Charles’ own chest, a physical manifestation of the storm raging inside Max.
‘Every protector needs a healer,’ his Earth father used to say. Charles never understood why until he’d met Max.
Notes:
Little bit of domestic bliss and then back to your regularly scheduled space opera 😉
Chapter warnings: Blood, violence, referenced genocide
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Charles slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the darkness, dim starlight filtering through the room. Mind groggy, weighed down by the remnants of exhaustion, the first thing he noticed was the unfamiliar ceiling above him—an odd mix of metal and some kind of resin or wood? Maybe?
It was nothing like the sterile, oppressive environment of the PTO base ship he’d grown accustomed to and for a brief moment, he felt a flicker of hope that it had all been a terrible dream, that he was somehow back home on Earth, safe and sound in his wooden cabin just over the Monaco border.
But the alien architecture, the faint hum of machinery, and the distinct lack of bird song quickly dispelled that illusion.
He sat up slowly, muscles stiff and sore from the events on Aston. Exhaustion still clung to him, but nothing like after he'd held that stone—
Jerking upright suddenly, Charles tossed the blankets away from him to pat his tunic until he found what he was looking for. The small black amulet still rested in its pocket hidden away. Relief washed over him that he hadn’t lost it, but it was quickly followed by uncertainty as he placed his palm over the amulet outside the pocket.
What should he do with it?
The small thing seemed harmless now, just a smooth, cool stone against the fabric. But Charles couldn’t forget the memory of the strange, almost alive sensation it had given him when it glowed and rested against his bare skin back on Aston. The warmth that pulsed through his fingers, as though it were breathing—communicating with him in a way that defied explanation. He’d never felt anything like it before, almost like it was sucking his ki away at an alarming rate.
Should he tell the prince?
His mind wrestled with the question as he looked around the room, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light.
It was a small, sparse space—far from luxurious in the way of offering comfort or warmth. Now that he'd thrown off the numerous blankets on top of him, the room was actually fairly cold.
The bed he was sitting on was low to the ground, the mattress thin and uncomfortable. A plain metal table stood against the bare wall, with a single chair neatly pulled out next to it, like someone intended to return to it.
The only other sign of life came from Max’s white surcoat resting on top of the pile of blankets crumpled at the foot of the bed.
Charles reached for it, his fingers brushing against the rough fabric. He pulled it close, wrapping it in his arms as if it were Max himself. Feeling heavy in his hands, the surcoat fabric was coarser than he remembered, but it didn’t matter. He pressed it to his face, burying his nose in the material, desperate to find some trace of the prince in its folds.
The scent was faint, barely there, but unmistakable.
That musky, foreign smell he’d come to associate with Max; a mix of sweat, metal, and something distinctly him. It smelled almost like the air after a lightning strike, sharp ozone and rain. It must be the smell of Max’s ki, Charles decided.
Blue lightning and sparking fire.
It wasn’t strong enough to overwhelm his senses, but just enough to send a jolt through him—a startled purr bubbling up from deep within his chest, unbidden. The sound surprised him, a soft rumble he hadn’t meant to make, just like back in the cave, but it felt like his Eldri was responding instinctively, claiming that scent as theirs.
He really needed to get a handle on himself and this purring thing.
Charles rubbed his face in the coat and smiled, allowing the indulgence for a moment more. Pulling his face away, there was a smear of dried dirt or sand on it, and the Earthling made a face.
He definitely needed a shower.
A small viewport caught his eye on the opposite side of the room and revealed a glimpse of distant stars, reminding him he was still far from home.
His heart sank as more fuzzy memories came.
The confrontation on Aston, Max’s tense exchange with the rebel leader, the overwhelming fear he’d felt when Lance held a knife to his throat—it all came flooding back. He could still feel the pressure of the blade against his skin, the cold sweat that clung to him as he fought to stay still.
Bringing his hand to his throat, the Eldri was surprised to find a bandage over the wound. Turning his neck slightly, Charles hissed, damaged skin underneath protesting at the movement.
He couldn't remember how the wound dressing got there.
Kicking himself for that whole debacle, Charles had even felt Lance’s ki. The young man, barely older than himself, had an energy less than half as strong as his own. Charles should've easily been able to overwhelm the man, but he’d been too focused on the cool metal on his skin and the crowd rapidly closing in to formulate an efficient maneuver to gain the upper hand.
His limbs refused to cooperate, and even thinking clearly had become a challenge after holding onto that stone for so long.
“Stupid . . . I am stupid ,” he chastised himself, thinking back on the situation.
Charles swung his legs over the side of the bed, pleased that they cooperated with him this time, and planted his bare feet on the cool metal floor, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Still wearing the stolen clothes from the search party, Charles noticed his boots were missing.
He hoped they would at least be able to launder these garments if they didn't have new items to put on.
The stench of sweat and desert sand would be unpleasant for the rest of their journey.
The last thing he remembered was Max carrying him after talking with that older man, setting him down gently on something soft, and telling him to get some rest. He’d been too tired to argue, too drained from the adrenaline-fueled chaos they’d narrowly escaped.
Falling asleep almost instantly, the exhaustion, lingering effects of the vapor sickness, and the amulet's bizarre side-effects finally caught up with him, forcing his eyes closed.
But now, as he looked around the dark room, he felt a pang of anxiety being alone.
Where was Max?
The prince’s absence left a hollow feeling in his chest, a twinge of worry that something might’ve gone wrong. Charles had grown so used to Max’s presence while serving as his assistant, to the silent strength and unwavering protection that he provided.
Now he felt almost naked outside of his vicinity.
“Max?” Charles called out softly. There was no response, only the faint hum of the ship’s systems in the background.
Standing up, his legs were shaky as he tried to gather his bearings.
Taking a few tentative steps to the side of the bed, he was struck with an overwhelming urge for the restroom. Padding quickly, he tried the first door he found, but it was only a closet—fully stocked too. Fumbling around the room, he located the small ensuite and made a bee-line for his salvation.
He felt like he was bursting. How long did he sleep?
After completing his business, Charles got a good look at himself in the mirror. His hair was a mess, face wind burnt and dirty, and he, in general, looked like hell. But the bandage against his neck was neatly placed, and the area around it seemed to have been scrubbed clean and taken care of.
Brushing his palm against it, Charles wet his hands and did his best to clean his face, taming his mangy hair in the process. After a minute or two, he decided his hair was a lost cause.
Instead of worrying about that, he needed to find Max and make sure the regal Torossian was alright.
The prince was probably in dire need of rest, and Charles was saddened that Max, apparently , felt the need to keep some kind of watch while he was asleep, if that pulled out chair by the bed was any indication.
Tingle forming at the base of his skull, the corner of Charles’ mouth quirked up imagining Max watching him sleep.
Still a bit weary of his Eldri's new voice, Charles would at least agree that the prince being so protective of him felt good.
Exiting the ensuite and crossing the small room to the door, Charles hesitated for a moment, hand hovering over the control panel. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the button, and the door slid open with a soft hiss, corridor beyond dark and plain, bathed in dancing shadows on the walls.
Charles stepped out cautiously, his senses on high alert as he walked through the unfamiliar ship. It smelled strange, and made his nose wrinkle, lips pulling down into a frown. The floors were grated along the edges, making them uncomfortable to walk on with bare feet, so he stayed towards the middle of the hall.
His thoughts raced, wondering about their situation now. All those bounties issued for Max, the few that included him as well . . .
He’d only gotten a brief glance at them from behind Max’s shoulder, but one image was still at the forefront of his mind. The last photo of Max made him look so serious, almost like some kind of ID photo from Earth—one you weren’t allowed to smile in—with his jaw firmly set and his detached eyes.
What a mess .
But, at least they were together, right? The consolation brought a sad smile to the corners of his mouth.
The only thing worse than being hunted by a genocidal frost demon, Charles mused, would've been abandoning the prince on that ship to continue his life of torment. While he fled like a coward.
Charles wasn't a coward.
Eldri huffing in agreement, he stood up straighter and checked in another room off the main corridor, finding it empty, making him pause for a moment.
Where could Max have gone?
Was he dealing with something urgent, or had something gone wrong with the ship while Charles was asleep?
Walking a little faster to the end of the main hall, he heard faint voices in the distance, one of which he recognized immediately. It was Max, speaking in that familiar, authoritative tone that always seemed to carry weight no matter the situation.
Relieved, Charles quickened his pace, following the sound of Max’s voice, bare feet padding down the corridor.
Stepping into the small cockpit, his eyes were immediately drawn to the sight of Max standing at the control panel issuing voice commands to the ship’s computer, calm tone soothing the Earthling’s anxieties. The various screens and instruments surrounding him glowed faintly, flickering displays changing rapidly while his tail rested looped around his waist.
Max was also still wearing his stolen clothes—minus the surcoat—furthering Charles’ suspicions that Max hadn't rested or taken a moment for himself since they’d left the rebel stronghold.
How long had Max stayed awake?
When Max turned to see Charles enter, his contemplative expression softened instantly, and a large smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that made Charles’ insides turn to mush, his heart skipping a beat as warmth flooded through him, tailspot tingling.
Despite everything they'd been through thus far since their escape, Max still had the ability to make him feel safe, even in the most uncertain of circumstances. Even his Eldri purred happily again in the back of his mind at the sight of their mate.
“There you are,” Max greeted, filled with warmth and relief. “How did you sleep? I was starting to get worried.”
Charles couldn’t help but return the smile, though his was smaller, tinged with the lingering effects of the stone he'd been feeling. “I slept alright,” he replied, nodding slightly. “I’m feeling better. How long have I been out?”
“Almost a full cycle,” Max said.
“A whole day!?” Charles shrieked, stunned.
That couldn't be true, could it? Sure he was exhausted, but a whole day . . .
Max just sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, deep bags under his eyes. “I didn't want to wake you since I know stasis sickness just needs time to wear off. But I did manage to take care of your neck while you were resting.”
Running his fingertips over the bandage on his neck again, Charles blushed at the thought of Max tending to his cuts while he was sleeping. Memories of those skilled fingers on his body made the Earthling squirm under the gaze of cerulean orbs.
He missed them.
The way they sent shivers and made goosebumps bloom across his feverish skin.
Redirecting his attention from lewd thoughts, he took a step closer to the console, his curiosity piqued by the map of stars. “Where are we headed now?”
Max’s smile faltered slightly, replaced by a more serious expression as he turned back to the control console. “I’ve scanned this sector for planets with weak or peaceful lifeforms. There are a few possibilities that look promising, and I’ve set a course for one of the planets well outside of PTO-controlled space,” he explained. “It’s a neutral zone, far from any major conflicts. We should be able to lay low for a while, gather our bearings without drawing too much attention.”
Charles felt relieved at the news. The idea of being somewhere safe, away from the constant threat of Jos and his forces, sounded like a dream come true right now. “That sounds . . . good,” he said, though a trace of hesitation lingered in his voice.
A sudden realization hit him like a ton of bricks—they couldn’t go to Earth. The truth settled heavy in his chest, and the joy he'd felt only moments earlier began to dissipate, replaced by a growing ache.
A small glimmer of hope had taken root when Alonso said he could go home. Despite the negative feelings of being apart from Max, Charles had still held on to that small spark. However unlikely it may be, he'd still wished he could take Max home with him. Introduce him to his friends, show him all the wonderful places he'd told the prince about.
Start their life together there.
That same old thought of never returning home, of never seeing the familiar landscapes and people he'd known all his life, brought a lump to his throat.
“We won’t ever be able to go to Earth, will we?”
Max turned to face Charles fully, expression tight, steely gaze already giving him the answer he didn’t want to hear. “No, we should avoid Earth,” he said, voice firm. “Jos knows you’re an Earthing, and they are patrolling that sector heavily looking for us.”
Charles’ heart sank further.
“He won’t do anything to Earth though, right?”
“I—I don’t know,” Max said, more honestly than Charles was expecting. “It was still intact when I scanned for it.”
Well that certainly didn't make him feel better.
It felt like a lifetime ago that Charles agreed to stay on the ship, to protect the Earth. He didn’t want to think it was all for nothing.
He stared out the window at the vast expanse of space, mind drifting to thoughts of Earth—its blue skies, the smell of rain on the grass, the mountain air mixing with the salt of the shore, the laughter of friends, the warmth of the golden sun.
All of it seemed so distant now, like a fading memory he could never quite grasp.
A warm tickle spread across his back and he closed his eyes, recognizing the feeling. Max’s tail always knew exactly the right thing to do to make him feel better and always at the moments he needed it most.
The gentle appendage slid smoothly up and down his back, soothing circles around his clothed tail scar.
Charles let out a long breath, and then another.
As the silence between them deepened, Charles felt a familiar rumble in his stomach that echoed loudly through the small cockpit. The sound was so unexpected, it broke the tension hanging in the air, causing both him and Max to blink in surprise.
Charles’ cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but before he could say anything, Max let out a soft chuckle.
“I guess that answers my next question,” Max said with a grin. “You must be starving.”
Charles smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I am. It’s been a while since we ate, hasn’t it?”
Max nodded. “While you were resting, I had a chance to explore the ship a bit more. There’s a small food storage area with some supplies that should last until we arrive, and I figured I’d try my hand at making some breakfast. I didn’t want to wake you, so I just kept it simple.”
Charles’ eyes widened slightly in surprise. “You made me breakfast?”
Giving him a playful nudge, Max said, “technically dinner. Should I have expected you to feed me? I am, after all, your sovereign.”
“After the dozens of times I fetched your meals, the least you could do is return the favor, your highness ,” Charles quipped.
The prince playfully smacked Charles on the ass, startling a gasp from the young Torossian. “Let me set the autopilot, and then we'll eat.”
Standing outside the cockpit, Charles’ face was ablaze as the pair made their way through the narrow corridors of the ship. It was small, but well-equipped, with everything they needed for a long journey.
They approached the dining space, and Charles felt a sense of appreciation for Max’s resourcefulness. He was full of surprises and the Earthling couldn’t wait to learn more, especially when the prince managed to make something as simple as breakfast feel like a comforting gesture.
When they reached the small dining area, Charles was immediately impressed by what he saw. The table was neatly set with two trays, some odd transparent dome cover on top, each holding a plate of what looked like a well-prepared meal through the steam.
Lifting the lid for him, Max stood expectantly beside the table, holding the cover to his food, tail flitting gently behind him.
Charles fought to keep the smile on his face.
There was an unrecognizable pile of some green fluffy pieces on the plate that had an odd golden crust around them, accompanied by a few slices of what possibly resembled toasted bread. The meal was finished with some kind of jelly substance that Charles didn’t recognize.
The smell was inviting enough, causing his stomach to growl again in response, but the visual aspect left much to be desired.
“Wow,” Charles said. “This looks . . . really good.”
Max's smile slid off his face, tail drooping, and his fingers rubbed against the dome in his grip. “I . . .” He started, sounding unsure. “Let me find something else in the store room.”
Turning around quickly, the tips of the prince's ears were red as he paced across the room, setting the lid down next to an unusually large amount of dirtied cookware and other scrapped dishes.
Charles felt a pit in his chest that Max had clearly spent a lot of time trying to cook for him, and he'd embarrassed the prince with his apparent ungratefulness.
“No!” The Earthling said, a bit too aggressively. “No, it looks great Max, really. Please, sit with me?”
Without waiting for a response, the Eldri sat down in the small booth connected to the hull of the ship, and picked up the odd looking dining utensil, taking a moment to appreciate the presentation. He'd noticed Max's private quarters were always well organized and neatly clean, and he’d had his suspicions about Max being a perfectionist. The even spacing of the utensils beside the plate, perfect even portions of each food item, and directional, even shape consistency all but confirmed his prince had some idiosyncrasies.
But he loved that about Max and the level of effort made his cheeks flush.
Sitting down across from him, Max didn't meet his gaze and instead, stared at the plate in front of him, slowly removing the cover with a sigh.
Stabbing one of the green things, gentle steam wafted up and Charles took his first bite, pleasantly surprised by the taste.
The green things were actually very similar to scrambled eggs in terms of texture and flavor. Seasoned just right, having a slightly more savory taste to them than chicken eggs, they were delicious. The bread had a satisfying crunch to it, and even the strange purple jelly was some kind of fruit puree, having a sweet and tangy flavor.
It wasn’t Earth food like his father used to cook, but it was still one of the best meals he’d had in a long time—probably because it was made by Max.
“This is amazing,” Charles said between bites, his appreciation evident in his voice.
Max’s small smile returned as he picked up his own utensils and started eating, a hint of pride in his expression. “Are you sure? I can try something else if you want—”
“Mmmnmmm,” he mumbled around a mouth full of food. “I really like it.”
“I’m glad.” Max said, “It’s not exactly gourmet, but I did my best with what I found. Anything would be better than some of the meal items on Jos’ ship.”
Charles made a face remembering that hard, dry bread from the clinic that had felt like sand in his mouth. How far the two of them had come from those few awful days apart he'd spent in the med bay, sleeping with a towel.
“It’s really good Max.”
Looking pleased, the prince's blue eyes brightened with satisfaction. “I wasn’t sure what you'd be in the mood for with the late hour, but I remember you said you liked a small creature’s eggs on earth. These come from a large predator somewhere in the eastern quadrant I believe.”
Charles shook his head, not surprised that the prince would remember such a small detail and swallowed another mouthful of food. “They’re perfect.”
They continued eating in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier completely dissolved. As they shared the meal, Charles stole a few glances at Max, who seemed more relaxed now, almost content. The simple act of sharing breakfast together, in this small, unfamiliar ship, made Charles feel a little more at ease about the uncertain future.
When Charles finished eating his second plate, he leaned back in his seat, feeling pleasantly full. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” he admitted with a chuckle, patting his stomach.
Max smirked and leaned forward slightly. "That’s probably because we were in stasis sleep for nine days on the way to Aston. It slows down your metabolism, but doesn't stop it completely. I could eat a whole shletar right now," he said, shoveling another bite of eggs into his mouth.
Charles blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "A shletar? What’s that?"
Grinning widely, Max evidently enjoyed the opportunity to explain.
More ‘Maxsplaining,’ Charles mused with fondness, but let him continue.
"It’s this massive creature from the planet Vampa. Kind of like one of those spotted animals I saw on a scouting report for Earth, but way bigger—six legs, three horns. The meat is incredibly tender, and the taste . . . well, let’s just say it’s like nothing you’ve ever had."
“Six legs and three horns? Nothing on Earth looks like that?” Charles’ eyes widened in surprise.
Max used his hands to gesture where the three horns were positioned on the animal’s skull, and Charles couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiastic movements.
"Yeah, it looks pretty bizarre, I’ll admit. But once you get past the scaly appearance, it’s delicious. The locals on Vampa roast them whole over an open flame, seasoning them with spices that really bring out the flavor."
Charles shook his head, amused. "I’m not sure I could handle eating something that strange-looking. They say you eat with your eyes first, you know."
The irony of how he reacted to Max's breakfast was not lost on him.
Leaning back on his bench, the prince crossed his arms casually. "You’d be surprised what you can get used to out there. On an assignment, you’d just about eat your own foot to not starve, especially on some of the colder planets with a distant sun where nothing grows. It’s a good thing Torossians have an iron stomach. I’ve eaten some very . . . questionable things."
Pausing for a moment, Charles asked, “We do?”
“We do,” the prince confirmed. “It would take a lot for an item of food to make us sick.”
Now that he thought about it . . . Charles couldn’t recall a time when he'd had an upset stomach after a meal or felt sick like that. Lando was prone to throwing up after a long night out, but the Eldri had never experienced that sort of thing.
Maybe that had more to do with the large amount of alcohol Lando consumed?
Charles laughed softly at the memories of this friend. "I think I’ll stick to more familiar foods for now, like whatever this fruit is." He gestured to the half-eaten piece of alien fruit on his plate.
Max nodded, still smiling. "Fair enough. But if we ever find ourselves on Vampa, I’ll make sure you try some shletar."
The conversation flowed easily after that, the two of them discussing various idle topics—alien species Max had encountered, planets he’d visited, food he liked, and stories from their past adventures.
Atmosphere light and relaxed, it was a welcome change from the constant tension they’d been under since their escape. For a brief time, it felt like they were just two old friends enjoying breakfast together, without the weight of the universe resting on their shoulders.
As the meal wound down, Charles took a deep breath and glanced at Max, his expression growing more serious. "So . . . how long do you think it will take us to get to where we’re going?"
Max paused, his gaze shifting slightly as he considered the question. "It depends on a few factors. If we stay on course and avoid any unexpected delays, I’d say we have another five days of travel ahead of us."
Charles nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "And where exactly are we headed?"
Max’s eyes flickered with something for a brief moment before he responded. "It’s called Namek. A planet in the neutral zone, mostly inhabited by a peaceful species that are few in number. It should be a safe place for us to lay low for a while with the increased patrolling Lawrence was talking about."
Standing up from the table, the prince gathered their empty trays and took them to the small automated cleaner in the corner, while Charles’ thoughts drifted back to the unsettling conversation Max had with Lawrence.
The more he replayed it in his mind, the more uneasy he’d become.
He’d been so focused on keeping his breathing steady, and on Max’s tail rubbing his arm, that he wasn’t even sure he’d heard everything correctly, missing large chunks of the conversation.
But one thing stood out clearly: Lawrence had said Jos destroyed Merc. The whole planet.
Charles struggled to wrap his mind around the words, the idea so horrifying and incomprehensible that his mind almost rejected it completely.
Was that really something Jos had the power to do?
Could someone— anyone —destroy an entire planet on a whim?
It seemed impossible, like something out of a nightmare. But, the way Lawrence had spoken, with such certainty, left little room for doubt. And Max had reacted even more strangely, with ready acceptance, like an event like that was commonplace in his world.
His gaze drifted to Max's back as the regal Torossian placed the dishes into the cleaner along with some of the pile of cookware, unaware of the storm of thoughts raging in his mind.
Turning slightly in his seat, Charles watched Max intently. "I’ve been thinking about something," he began, voice hesitant. "When you were talking to Lawrence . . . did he say that Jos destroyed Merc? As in the planet Merc?"
Max froze for a split second, hand hovering over the cleaner’s control panel. It was so brief that Charles might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been watching so closely, and the prince quickly covered it. When he turned to face Charles, there was something guarded in his eyes Charles couldn't place.
"Yes," Max replied, carefully neutral. "That’s what he said."
Charles studied Max’s expression, trying to read the prince’s true feelings. But Max was incredibly skilled at hiding his emotions, and his face revealed little.
"But . . . how is—" Charles pressed, his voice growing more insistent. "How could the emperor destroy an entire planet? Is that really possible?" Thinking back on the times he was near Jos’ energy, the Earthling paused.
Yes, it was horribly evil, twisted, and unimaginably large . . . But blowing up a planet large?
Surely. Surely , they were mistaken.
Max’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something—fear? anger?—crossing his face before he quickly masked it. "The emperor is powerful," he said, tone clipped. "He can do many things."
Charles felt a surge of frustration at Max’s vague answer.
It was clear that the prince knew more than he was saying, but for some reason, he decided to speak in riddles. "Max," Charles said, voice stronger now, "What do you mean? He just goes around blowing up planets for fun? Has he done that before?
Before the last of his sentence even passed his lips, the prince was on the move, walking briskly from the room.
“Max?” Charles called out, stunned and confused.
It took him a few moments to gather himself before he scrambled to his feet from the booth, the strange behavior of the prince propelling him forward.
What was going on? Had he said something he shouldn't have?
Charles was so confused, but one thing was for certain . . . he wasn’t about to let Max brush him off like this. Max needed to stop running from him, stop pushing him away and shutting him out.
It was getting really fucking old.
A pit growing in his stomach, he rushed out of the dining area and hurried after Max.
When he caught up with the prince, Max was already inside the small bedroom he'd woken up in earlier, back turned as he removed his tunic. The sight of Max’s bare back, tense with old crisscrossed scars, made Charles hesitate in the doorway.
He’d seen those scars before, run his nails over them in moments of ecstasy, but in the dim light of the room, they seemed even more pronounced, angry looking, matching Max’s sudden change in mood. They were having such a pleasant meal together and then it was like a switch flipped in the regal Torossian.
The whiplash left Charles feeling adrift.
The prince’s tail was loose around his waist, flicking lightly at the tip like it did when Max returned from contentious council meetings.
Seemingly oblivious to Charles’ presence, Max tossed his tunic on the bed and moved towards the small washroom connected to the bedroom. Now only wearing the loose stolen pants, riding low on his hips, broad shoulders and muscular frame on full display, Charles saw the tension in every line of Max’s body, the way his movements were stiff and almost jerky.
Was he really going to ignore Charles like this?
Determined not to let Max shut him out, Charles quickly entered the room and stepped in front of the washroom door, blocking Max’s path. The prince stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at Charles standing in his way.
They simply stared at each other, the air between them thick.
"I’m going to shower," Max said flatly, devoid of emotion. “Auto-pilot is on, so you can just relax.”
He clearly wanted to end the conversation, and escape whatever was brewing between them, but Max made no move to go around Charles, posture rigid, radiating frustration.
Absolutely not.
Charles wasn’t having it. He was a Torossian damn it, and he needed to start acting like one.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Charles planted his bare feet firmly on the ground, mirroring the prince’s now infamous stance—just as he’d seen Max do countless times.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” he said, voice steadier than he felt. “You’re hiding something, and I want to know what it is.”
Max’s jaw tightened, the muscles flexing visibly beneath his skin, and he glanced away, refusing to meet Charles’ gaze. “Don’t concern yourself,” he muttered, attempting to sidestep him, but Charles stood his ground, not budging an inch. “Move, Charles.”
He’d thought maybe once they were off Jos’ ship, Max wouldn’t feel the need to keep things from him. Evidently, he thought wrong, and Charles was incensed at being treated like a child.
"You’re lying," Charles snapped as he reached out, grabbing Max’s wrist to stop him from pushing past. The contact was firm but not aggressive—just enough to make the prince pause.
Max froze at the touch, his expression darkening further, eyes stormy. His eyes slowly flicked down to where Charles held his wrist, and for a second, Charles thought he’d pushed too far or crossed a line.
But Max just stood there, eyes frozen on his wrist, distant.
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, the air charged with tension.
“I’m n–not lying,” Max finally said, voice a low, shaky growl, but there was something else in it. A flicker of something raw, that Charles had only glimpsed a handful of times. “Stop, Charles. Let go of m–me—”
Max attempted to free his wrist from Charles’ grip, hand slipping off a few times in his hurried attempts, breath puffing against Charles’ face in short bursts.
“No, you're lying! Stop keeping things from me Max.” Charles barked, grip tightening, but not out of anger, registering too late the way the prince’s breath hitched and eyes looked unfocused. “Don’t lie to me!”
The shift in Max’s demeanor was terrifyingly swift.
One moment, he was trying to brush past Charles to get into the bathroom, his frustration palpable. But as soon as Charles squeezed his arm and stepped closer to him, something inside Max snapped. The transformation was so sudden, it caught Charles completely off guard.
Eyes wide with fear as he shuddered, the color drained from Max's face as he looked right through the Earthing, eyes glazed over.
He took a few steps back quickly, ripping his arm from Charles’ hold before dropping to the floor, scrambling away from Charles on his hands, crawling back. Breath coming in quick, panicked gasps, the prince's chest heaved like the air itself was suffocating him, while he tried to escape a threat only he could see.
Charles froze, hands hanging in the air.
What just happened? What did he do?
Stomach in knots, guilt quickly took root. He was not quite sure what he did to trigger such a reaction. All he knew was he needed to fix it.
“Max?” he called out, voice filled with concern, but the Eldri stayed in place by the bathroom door, unsure of what to do. He watched in shock as Max’s back collided with the outer wall of the room, his wild eyes darting around like the prince was searching for an escape route.
The fear in Max’s expression was deep, a primal panic, and it made Charles’ heart clench painfully in his chest.
Taking a cautious step forward, Charles reached out toward Max, but the moment he moved, the prince reacted violently. Max scrambled further into the corner, his panicked and uncoordinated movements pressing himself hard against the wall like he wanted to disappear into it, eyes squeezed shut, body shaking uncontrollably.
“Ik heb niet gelogen, meester Jos,” [ I didn’t lie, Master Jos ] Max muttered in a voice that sent a cold chill through Charles. It was small, broken, nothing like the strong, commanding tone he was used to hearing from the blond. Instead, it was filled with terror, laced with desperation, like a frightened child begging for mercy. “Ik heb niet gelogen. Ik heb niet gelogen. Ik heb niet gelogen.”
Charles froze in place—halfway across the room—breath catching in his throat as Max continued to mutter the same phrase over and over, the words growing more frantic. His Eldri stirred at the back of his mind, burning the base of his skull as it tried to force its way forward, urging him to do something— anything —to help their mate.
But Charles couldn’t understand Max’s words, not even a little. He didn’t even know enough Torossian to pick up pieces, let alone the meaning of this desperate cry for help.
Max was pleading, begging, but anytime Charles tried to approach, Max got worse.
What was happening?
How could he fix th—
The name Jos suddenly hit him. Max wasn’t here in this room with him. He was back in the warlord’s grip, lost in a trauma so deep, it dragged him into this nightmare.
Charles’ chest tightened painfully as Max threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and the Eldri in his mind thrashed wildly against his control, tail scar burning half way up his back. He swallowed hard, trying to keep himself calm—he needed to be calm, for Max's sake.
His mate didn’t need him to panic. He needed him to be strong.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Charles said softly and as gently as he could. He took another slow step toward Max, careful not to startle him further with hands raised in a placating gesture, showing Max he wasn’t a threat. “It’s me. It’s Charles. You’re not there, Max. You’re safe. I’m right here with you.”
Max’s trembling body tensed further at the sound of his voice, eyes still tightly shut, like he couldn’t bear to open them and face whatever nightmare his mind was trapped in. Breathing shallow and erratic, Charles saw fear in every inch of his body—fists clenched, shoulders hunched, tail coiled tightly around one leg.
The sight was heartbreaking, a stab of sorrow that pierced Charles' chest, and his own fear melted away, replaced by an overwhelming need to comfort Max, to pull him out of whatever nightmare had him in its grip.
Clawing fiercely at his bare chest, the prince made a wounded noise that had his Eldri spring forward again in desperation, but Charles still had no idea what to do.
It had never been like this before.
Max had suffered from nightmares, terrible ones that left him shaken and withdrawn, but this wasn’t like that. The prince wasn’t asleep or lost in the shadowy realms of his unconscious mind. He was awake , fully conscious, and trapped in the grip of something that seemed to claw at him from the inside out.
Charles had witnessed the aftermath of Max's nightmares, saw the haunted look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching, but this was a torment that bled into his waking hours.
Wait . . . Charles’ thoughts shuttered as a memory resurfaced, sharp and clear.
This wasn’t new.
It had happened before—he’d seen it, experienced it with Max.
In the shower, the first time they were intimate. Charles had sunk to his knees to pleasure the prince after Max had driven him to the edge and beyond. But something had gone wrong, something in Max had changed, and the reaction had been similar to this.
The prince had gone rigid then, eyes shut tight, as if caught in a moment of sheer terror, his mind slipping into a dark place Charles couldn’t reach.
It was over so fast though. How could he have forgotten?
The realization brought a fresh rush of guilt. Whatever had triggered this, Charles was sure it was something he did, and he needed to tread carefully. Max was teetering on the brink, struggling against demons that had taken root deep within him and Charles didn’t fully understand.
There was so much pain and fear buried inside the prince, wounds that hadn’t healed, scars that ran too deep. They were like jagged shards of glass embedded in his soul, cutting him from the inside out, threatening to tear him apart.
“You’re safe,” Charles repeated, voice steady but soft, inching closer. “I promise, Max. You’re not with him. You’re with me. You’re here with me, and you’re safe.” He carefully knelt down to make himself smaller, still keeping some distance between them, and tried again. “Max, please, look at me. You’re safe now. Jos isn’t here. It’s just you and me.”
Charles wasn’t sure if his words were reaching Max at all.
The prince’s trembling didn’t stop, his muttered words barely above a whisper now as he kept repeating the same phrase— Ik heb niet gelogen —over and over, each repetition filled with more fear every time.
Voice faltering, the words choked off, replaced by a deep, gasping breath. The Torossian’s chest rose and fell unevenly as he struggled, his fists unclenching just slightly against the floor.
Slowly cracking his eyes open, still clouded with fear, Max seemed to focus on Charles briefly, but then his blue eyes darted away again. His hands were balled into fists against at his sides, ki rising violently, hands starting to crackle and glow.
Charles’ heart leapt into his throat as he watched the strong, determined prince reduced to this man haunted by his past. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold him, but Max was so fragile in this state, and any sudden movement could push him further into his panic.
Energy building, the Earthling felt the heat radiate off Max’s hands and he needed to do something fast to avoid disaster. The prince was so much stronger than him, Charles didn’t think he could stop him if he turned violent.
“My prince,” Charles whispered, voice filled with as much warmth and reassurance as he could muster. There was no immediate response, but Charles didn’t give up. “It’s me, Charles. I’m right here. You’re safe. You’re not with Jos anymore.”
The sound of his formal title seemed to penetrate the fog of fear clouding Max’s mind. His unfocused gaze flickered back to Charles, and this time, he held it for a few seconds longer, terror in his blue eyes beginning to wane, replaced by confusion.
There was a war raging behind Max’s eyes, the struggle between the present and whatever horror the prince was reliving, and Charles stayed perfectly still, letting Max come to the realization on his own, trying to give him the space he needed.
Finally, after several tense moments, Max blinked heavily, and his breathing began to slow.
The tension in his body eased slightly, and his fists unclenched as recognition dawned in his eyes, releasing his energy. He looked at Charles, really looked at him this time.
“Charles?” Max’s voice was hoarse, and quiet.
“Come back to me, Max,” Charles said gently, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “Please, come back to me.”
Max’s shoulders sagged, and the haunted look in his eyes faded, replaced by exhaustion. He let out a shaky breath, his entire body trembling from the intensity of the episode.
Neither of them moved, the room filled with a heavy silence, the weight of what had just happened hanging between them.
Charles slowly reached out, his hand hovering in the air for just a moment, hesitating so that Max could stop him if he wanted to. Max was like a taut wire, stretched thin. One wrong move could snap it, sending the prince spiraling again.
With a slow breath, Charles finally placed a gentle hand on Max’s cheek, his touch light and careful, handling something delicate and precious. The warmth of Max’s skin under his palm sent a reassuring pulse through him.
This time, Max didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned into the touch, pressing his face into Charles’ hand, seeking it out. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes.
Encouraged by this, Charles brought his other hand up to cradle the prince's face, thumbs brushing lightly over Max’s cheeks, offering silent support. The act felt natural, like he was meant to hold Max together when everything else seemed to be falling apart.
Something Alonso had said echoed in his mind while he continued to stroke Max's cheeks with his thumbs. “Your relationship with Max is special. As a compatible match for him, each of you are the missing half to the other, fulfilling a vital role and need . . . You possess the unique ability to calm and soothe his Oozaru when overstimulated . . . He needs you Charles.”
Max’s eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling against Charles’ skin as he took in another deep, shaky breath. The rise and fall of his chest gradually steadied as he leaned into Charles’ hands and swallowed thickly.
This was good. This was better.
The panic that had gripped Max moments ago seemed to be fading, replaced by something more vulnerable, something almost, dare he say . . . human .
The Eldri continued to rub his thumbs against Max’s cheek, feeling the stubble on his chin tickle his palms. “Let me get you some water,” Charles said softly, voice gentle and soothing.
He went to drop his hands away, intending to stand up and fetch something to help further calm the prince. But before he could even fully stand, Max's hands shot up from his sides with lightning speed, latching onto Charles’ tunic with a desperation that took Charles' breath away. The fabric bunched under Max’s tight grip, knuckles white with the force of his hold.
The look in Max’s eyes was so unguarded.
“Don’t . . . D—Don’t leave,” Max rasped, voice trembling with the weight of the plea. The words were soft, almost a whisper, but they carried a gravity that made Charles’ heart ache.
There was no anger, no command, just a simple, honest plea that cut through all the defenses Max had ever built around himself. It was a rare glimpse into the depths of his vulnerability, and Charles felt the full impact of it settle in his chest like a stone.
Without a second thought, Charles slowly lowered himself back down to his knees in front of Max, his hands hovering uncertainly over the prince’s trembling form.
“Okay,” Charles whispered gently. “We can just sit here for a while, yes?” He carefully placed his hands over Max’s in his lap, feeling the tension in the prince’s fingers as they clutched his tunic. “As long as you want.”
Max’s grip tightened as he held onto Charles, breathing uneven again, chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.
Tail unwinding from the prince’s thigh, it instead coiled tightly around the Earthling’s left leg, and Charles wasn’t sure if the prince knew he was doing it. Opting to let Max’s Oozaru get whatever physical grounding it needed from him, he didn't mention it.
‘Overstimulated.’ That was the word Alonso had used. Max’s Oozaru was overstimulated right now and struggling to regulate itself inside of Max’s mind.
Keeping his touch gentle, presence steady, Charles was surprised when Max leaned into him, resting his head on Charles’ shoulder. He felt the frantic rhythm of Max’s heartbeat through the thin fabric of his tunic, each pulse quick and erratic. The thudding was so intense it seemed to echo in Charles’ own chest, a physical manifestation of the storm raging inside Max.
‘Every protector needs a healer,’ his Earth father used to say. Charles never understood why until he’d met Max.
The new ship’s ambient temperature was noticeably cooler than the PTO base ship, and the chill felt amplified on Max's skin. Despite the internal heating system, a cold clung to the air, and Charles instinctively moved his hands to Max’s back and rubbed his palms across the ridges there, trying to impart some warmth through the contact. The skin under his fingers felt icy, reminding Charles that Max was only half dressed.
“Are you cold?” Charles asked softly. “Do you need a blanket?”
Max swallowed roughly, the motion of his throat shifting against Charles’ chest as he tried to form words. “No . . . I—I,” he stammered, the words catching in his throat.
Charles slowly leaned back just enough to look into his eyes, while still staying close enough to be a reassuring presence. He kept a hold of Max’s shoulders, fingers tracing soothing patterns on the cool skin.
“I’ll stay right here,” Charles promised, voice tender. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just . . . let me stay with you. Do you want my tunic?”
Shaking his head, Max leaned back more to sit up straight. His furrowed brow relaxed, and the rigid set of his jaw softened. The grip he had on Charles’ tunic loosened slightly, but he still didn’t let go, fingers remaining curled into the fabric.
Charles understood that need, that desperate desire for connection when everything else seemed to be slipping away. He’d seen it in Max before, in fleeting moments when the prince’s guard dropped just enough to reveal the cracks beneath his walls.
This felt different—deeper, more raw.
And Charles wasn’t going anywhere. He could stay there forever if that’s what it took to help Max find peace.
In an effort to try and get the prince talking, Charles got an idea.
He’d been through tough moments before—when everything seemed overwhelming, or the voice in the back of his mind became too loud, crushing the air from his lungs. Back on Earth, his father, before he'd passed, would always sit with him, ask him a series of simple questions that would help center himself with the now—with what was real.
It was worth a shot.
“Name five things you can see right now,” Charles whispered, voice soft and soothing.
Max blinked, looking at him a bit confused, evidently unsure of the exercise. But Charles moved his hands back over Max’s in his lap and gave them a gentle squeeze, hoping Max would indulge him anyway.
“The floor. A–A bed.” The prince’s voice was low, each word spoken with an air of detachment. “Lights. A door . . . ”
There was a pause, a moment where Max seemed to falter, his gaze distant, lost somewhere in the swirling turmoil of his thoughts before his focus returned, locking onto Charles’ eyes, and a small spark flashed in Max’s expression.
“Green,” he said softly, voice gentler now. “I see green.”
Charles smiled warmly, encouraged by the response. “Good,” he said. “Now, how about four things you can touch?”
Max flexed his fingers, his grip tightening slightly on the fabric of Charles’ tunic. He glanced down at their hands, “Cloth,” he said, tone steadier and more controlled. “Metal, heat . . . and water.” Raising the back of his hand, the prince swiped away a damp trail that had formed at the corner of his eye, the moisture glistening in the soft light of the ship.
“You’re doing great, Max,” Charles praised gently, heart swelling with pride at the prince’s effort. “Three things you can hear.”
Closing his eyes, Max said, “Humming engines,” voice more certain. “A buzz from the light regulation system, and your voice.”
The last word was spoken with a reverence that made Charles’ ache to hold the prince tight. Charles smiled softly, the gentle curve of his lips filled with quiet encouragement. The exercise seemed like it was working; Max was starting to settle.
“What are two things you can smell?” he asked, tone light, coaxing.
Keeping his eyes closed, inhaling deeply, Max pulled in more than just air Charles felt. His voice, when he spoke, was a whisper, but it sounded stronger now, less weighed down by the memories that had gripped him moments ago.
“The trees of Earth.”
The answer caught Charles off guard. Max had never been to Earth to his knowledge, and yet he was speaking of it as if it were a familiar scent, something comforting.
Was the prince talking about him? Did Charles smell like Earth to him?
The thought sent a warmth through the smaller man.
“And the Bellis flower from Toro,” Max continued, his voice filled with an almost reverent nostalgia. The sound of the name, the association with their homeworld, stirred something tender in Charles’ chest. “Their first bloom, in the garden outside my terrace doors in the palace.”
Toro was gone, obliterated by the forces of nature, but in this small moment, in the air they shared, Max had found a piece of it again. Charles leaned in slowly while Max still had his eyes closed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, light and fleeting, a gentle reassurance that he was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere.
Max’s breath hitched slightly at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his lips parted just enough for Charles to see the faintest flicker of a smile.
“One thing you can taste,” Charles breathed against him, voice a quiet invitation.
The prince opened his eyes slowly, their blue depths locking onto Charles’. His gaze softened as it dropped to Charles’ lips, the warmth of the kiss still lingering there.
“Sugar,” the prince whispered tenderly, filled with a quiet, unspoken affection.
The answer, so simple yet so intimate, made Charles’ heart swell with the knowledge that it wasn’t just sugar—it was him.
They stayed like that for a moment, Charles kneeling in front of Max with the prince’s hands still tangled in his tunic, tail around his leg giving him the occasional squeeze and caress. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing.
When Max finally looked up at him again, his eyes now held a flicker of gratitude with the base of exhaustion. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice rough but sincere.
Charles offered him a small, reassuring smile, gently squeezing Max’s hands. “You don’t have to thank me,” he replied softly.
The prince nodded, his grip on Charles’ tunic finally loosening as he began to breathe normally. Charles stayed close, keeping one hand resting lightly against Max’s tail, just in case the prince needed the reassurance.
As Max opened his eyes again, he murmured hoarsely, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I didn't mean to—”
“Don’t apologize,” Charles cut in softly, shaking his head in earnest. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I shouldn’t have asked about Jos or grabbed you like that.”
Max looked at him, really looked at him, and Charles saw a flicker of something warm in those piercing blue eyes—a fleeting glimpse of the man behind the stoic facade. But just as quickly as it appeared, that warmth was replaced by a hard look, a shadow of pain and regret that clouded Max’s gaze once more.
His jaw tightened, the muscles flexing.
Charles worried he’d overstepped again by mentioning the emperor, maybe causing Max to shut down the conversation entirely, retreating back into the emotional walls he had so carefully constructed. But the prince let out a heavy sigh, the sound filled with the weight of countless unspoken sorrows. His shoulders slumped slightly, the tension draining from his posture, as he leaned back against the wall.
"Yes,” Max admitted quietly, gaze dropping to the floor, unable to meet Charles’ eyes. "The answer to your question is yes. He’s done it before . . . with Toro. He—He destroyed Toro."
Charles felt like the ground had just dropped out from under him.
The way Max said it, with such quiet resignation, some horrible fact of life he'd long since accepted, made the reality of it even more terrifying. There was no anger in his voice, no bitterness—just the hollow echo of a tragedy that had shaped his entire existence.
“What?”
_____
Max took a steadying breath, the familiar weight of a buried truth heavy in his chest. Sensing Charles’ confusion and hearing the tremor in his voice, the Eldri whispered, “But . . . Carlos said it was a meteor?”
The words stung—he’d let Carlos and Alonso believe that lie for so long. It was easier that way, and what good would it have done to shatter their memory of Toro, knowing it wasn’t lost by accident?
Slowly, Max shook his head. “Carlos didn’t know the truth. No one does.” His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears.
How could they ever comprehend the depths of it? Toro hadn’t been an unfortunate casualty of the cosmos, but rather the victim of a calculated, merciless act.
A retribution for Max’s failure.
In front of him, Max noticed Charles struggling to make sense of the horror he’d just unleashed. Jos had the power to wipe out entire worlds, to obliterate millions without a second thought. It wasn’t something Max was sure anyone could understand without witnessing it, let alone escape, and for years, that knowledge had lived in him, a dark, festering wound.
It was part of why he’d held Charles at a distance at first—he didn’t want anyone to bear even a fraction of that weight.
“What happened?” Charles asked, and in his voice, Max caught a note of hurt, of betrayal that cut deep.
Max exhaled, forcing himself to sit up straighter and face the truth of it, fully letting go of Charles’ tunic. He hadn’t wanted the Earthling to see this side of him, the shame and the terror he carried. Burying it, he thought he could keep that darkness separate from whatever small sliver of light Charles had brought into his life.
But that was blown to hell now, after his episode or whatever the fuck that was earlier. He wasn’t even entirely sure why that had happened, and now all he felt was exhaustion, his long few days without sleep catching up to him all at once.
He’d been selfish, thinking he could protect Charles—protect them all from a truth they had every right to know.
“I haven’t told anyone this,” he started reluctantly. “Not even Alonso or Carlos. It’s . . . something I’ve kept hidden because it was my fault.”
Charles’ hand found its way to Max’s cheek again, even though Max felt he didn’t deserve that kind of comfort. “Max, I’m sure it wasn’t your—”
“I was ten years old, Charles. Ten,” he interrupted, words a painful whisper. He let his gaze fall, eyes tracing the cold floor beneath them, unable to meet the compassion he knew was in Charles’ eyes. “I’d been in that damned prison cell for three years by then, practically my whole life, it felt like. When I wasn’t alone, I was surrounded by soldiers, guards, and—and Jos. I hated it—everything about that place. They kept Carlos away from me, dangling my best friend like a reward, letting me see him only if I completed my training goals. But even then, I got maybe a few minutes a day. That was my entire world.”
The words spilled out, dredged from some dark, hidden part of himself that he’d buried long ago. He almost wished he could keep them there, but there was no going back now. The memories swarmed his mind, flashing images of cold, gray walls, the relentless drills, experiments, mazes, the sneering faces of soldiers who’d remind him he was nothing, that Jos could snuff him out as easily as a flickering candle.
That he was a prince of nothing.
A prince to no one.
For years, Max carried that loneliness, that relentless ache for connection, for something more than what he’d been given. He hadn’t known anything else, and when he’d finally tried to escape, when he’d dared to hope for something beyond that iron prison . . . that's when everything had truly gone wrong.
The words hung in the air, each one clawing at his throat as he forced them out. “They made me this before I even knew what I was, what I could be.”
Max’s voice came out in a low, fractured murmur, his gaze distant, fixed on a past he could never escape. "Jos was always there. Watching, waiting, pushing me. He knew exactly what he was doing—isolating me, keeping me on edge just to see how far he could push me." He paused, jaw tight with the bitterness that had taken root in his soul long ago. "He told me if I wanted to see my family, I had to prove myself, prove I was strong enough, worthy of my title and lineage."
The words tasted vile on his tongue, thick with anger and an old, gnawing virulence. A part of him still hated that he had fallen for it, that the mere thought of seeing Alonso and Carlos had kept him tethered to that cold prison for so long, kept him trying to meet standards that seemed impossible.
He could feel the weight of Jos’ expectations crushing him even now.
"So I trained," he continued, voice tinged with an unmistakable resentment. "Harder than ever. I endured so much; the freezing conditions of space, tied to a scouting pod and left there until I couldn't feel my hands, couldn’t feel anything, to figure out a way back to the base ship on my own. Given malfunctioning pods, parts missing on purpose, training with broken bones and untreated injuries. I thought . . . I thought if I became what he wanted, I’d get some piece of my old life back. But all he wanted was to make me into something I didn’t want to be."
The memory sat heavy in his chest, a jagged wound that never seemed to heal. He could almost feel Charles’ sympathy in the way the Earthling’s hand tightened over his, but he couldn’t meet his gaze. Not with the ugliest parts of himself laid bare.
He took a breath and kept going.
"But no matter what I did, it was never enough. Every time I reached his bar, he’d raise it. There was always another test, another impossible goal. I thought nothing could've been worse than what I experienced back then. And then . . ." His voice wavered, but he clenched his jaw, "One day, he told me that if I passed the next test, I could spend a full day with Carlos and Alonso. A whole day.”
A bitter laugh slipped out, hollow, devoid of any warmth. "I was so desperate, Charles. Desperate to see them, to feel like I wasn’t completely alone. So I agreed. I didn’t even think to ask what the test was."
Finally, he turned his gaze to Charles, letting him see the weight of it, the pain he had carried alone for so long. "The test was to solo purge planet Jordan," he whispered, voice barely audible, but each word felt like it tore out of him. "Jos told me if I wanted to prove my loyalty, prove I was worthy of my ‘inherent Torossian potential', I had to complete it in under three days, annihilate everything that moved, everything that breathed."
The horror of it sank into him all over again as he spoke, an icy dread that wrapped around his chest, squeezing. He could still remember the feeling of that planet’s muddy soil under his boots, the endless faces of people scrambling in terror.
It was wet. Raining thick, heavy drops the entire time he was on the planet.
"I’d never done one on my own before. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. The whole three days, there was just—just more and more people everywhere, multiplying in the shadows no matter how many I'd killed. I was so cold and wet, I could barely stand.”
The silence that followed was heavy, each memory sharper and more unbearable than the last. His hands balled into fists at his sides, and his tail squeezed the Eldri’s leg, much to Max’s displeasure.
"I came so close, Charles," he said, voice strained. "So damn close. But when the inspection team came to check the planet at the end, they found one person breathing. One. Barely alive, but still breathing.”
Max’s voice broke, and he felt the weight of that failure settle into him all over again. "I’d failed. And because of it, I was going back to my cell, until Jos decided if I was worth another chance. The goddess only knew if he’d give me another one after so many." His voice dropped to a ragged whisper, scarcely able to hold together the raw, broken words. "I–I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran. Didn’t have a plan, didn’t know where I was going or care—I just ran. I managed to escape the inspection team, stole a ship from the planet, and went as far as I could."
The memories hung between them, so fresh like they’d just happened, and for a long moment, Max didn’t say anything.
Taking a shaky breath to calm himself, Max’s voice was thick with both the fear and exhilaration he’d felt during those fleeting days of freedom. "For a week, I was free," he said, barely recognizing his own voice, the words cracking and fraying with each syllable. "It was . . . it was the most terrifying and invigorating time of my life, even when I crash-landed on this small, quiet planet, starving and desperate. I remember going from door to door, begging for food. These locals—an old couple—they took me in, didn’t ask questions. They let me live in their small home for a few days, gave me warm clothes, treated my injuries, and fed me. They were so kind, the way I remembered people back on Toro being before . . . before everything."
He paused, his throat tightening as memories of those gentle strangers surfaced, the peace they’d given him, however brief.
"But then Jos found me."
The moment those words left his mouth, a chill settled over him, goosebumps blooming on his chest, the image of the frost demon looming in the doorway of the small dwelling like a shadow. He felt Charles' hand slip from his cheek to his shoulder, a small, comforting weight anchoring him, but it barely eased the fear clawing its way back up his throat.
“There was no one with him,” Max whispered, feeling his own body tremble as he spoke. "Just him. He didn’t say a word—just dragged the old woman from the hut and killed her along with her mate when he tried to stop him. Made me watch as he burned the whole village to the ground; dragged me back to his ship like I was nothing, like I was his property. I thought . . . I thought he’d kill me, Charles. I was so sure that was the end."
His voice faltered, and he scrubbed the back of his hand across his cheek, eyes misting as he clung to the painful memory. "Once we were back on the travel ship . . . I–I begged him. I told him I didn’t want to be there, didn’t want any of it. I just wanted to go home." His voice cracked, the words barely audible, haunted by the hope that had flickered in him then, a hope so fragile he’d been afraid to breathe for fear of extinguishing it. "To my surprise, Jos . . . he agreed. Even said he'd have Carlos and Alonso meet us there. He set a course for Toro, and I actually thought he was going to let me go. I thought maybe . . . maybe I was wrong about him. That he wasn’t as cruel as he seemed.”
Swallowing hard, gaze distant, Max replayed the scene in his mind as if it were happening all over again. "When we got there, I was so happy. A small envoy came to dock with our ship, there to receive me. I remember seeing my father, General Bianchi, and a few others. I thought I was finally going home."
Max could feel his voice quivering as he spoke, and now he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to, every word tumbling out of him. "But it was all a lie," he whispered. "The emperor had no intention of letting me go, even after I begged him. My father . . . he took one look at me, saw what Jos had done—how emaciated and broken I looked. That was his breaking point after years of Toro being in forced servitude. King Christian had had enough. He charged at Jos, his ki blazing, and tried to strike him down. But Jos just sidestepped him, as if he wasn’t even fucking moving.”
Reliving it all in his mind, in horrifying detail, Max was sick with the same helplessness he’d felt, the rage as he’d tried to intervene and save his papa. "I tried to help him, but someone held me back—your father. Jules. He . . . he tried to tell me something, something about the legendary shift and what Jos was truly afraid of, but I can’t remember all the details. The words . . . they’re gone, and all I remember is Jos laughing as he turned and punched his fist straight through my father’s chest—armor and all.”
The last image Max had of his father was Jos’ fist painted in red, staining his royal mantle a deep crimson as it hung off the king’s back.
Max’s voice cracked, and he felt a tear slide down his cheek, but he didn’t wipe it away. “Jos killed them all. My father, your father, everyone in the envoy. And then—then he . . . he destroyed Toro.” His voice was barely a whisper now, hollow and empty. "He obliterated everything right in front of me. My mother, my sister, my friends—gone in an instant. And he made me watch, Charles. He forced me to watch it all burn from the window of his ship while he laughed, forced me to watch the life count on my scouter drop from millions, to hundreds, to tens . . . to zero.”
A shudder ran through him, and he felt his hands shaking uncontrollably, the old guilt and anguish suffocating him as he whispered, "I don’t remember much after that, other than he told me it was my fault, that it was my punishment for running. That I was responsible for the destruction of my world because I was weak, because I r–ran."
Max looked down, unable to meet Charles’ tear-filled green eyes, his voice heavy with an old, unshakable despair. “After he . . . after he destroyed Toro, he took me back to the base ship and ordered me to write the report. The official record on what happened to our home.” He swallowed, his throat tight. “I—I was so ashamed, so humiliated and full of grief . . . I lied. The report I wrote said Toro was struck by a meteor and met its end. That it was an accident.”
The words felt weak, stripped bare after years of silence. “The emperor never corrected me. He let it stand as the truth, and I know he enjoyed watching me hide it.” Max’s hands clenched. “I kept the lie because he was right—Toro was gone because of me. I was weak, I let it happen, and my people paid the price for it.”
The weight of his own confession crushed him.
The truth he’d hidden, the burden he’d carried alone twisted in his chest. For years he’d told himself that it was what he deserved, that he should suffer the silence, and should bear the guilt of what he hadn’t been able to stop.
And now, Alonso and Carlos were dead too . . . because of him, and he never told either of them the truth.
Without a word, Charles reached out, hand steady as he placed it firmly behind Max's head and pulled him close into a tight hug. "No," Charles said softly but fiercely, voice trembling with conviction. "It’s not your fault, Max. Jos did that, not you. You were a child. Just a boy, manipulated by a monster.”
Max didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either.
His own shoulders sagged as he finally allowed himself to lean into Charles’ neck, his strength gone, leaving only raw grief. The tears he'd buried for so long surfaced unbidden, and he let them spill, his breaths shallow and shaky against Charles’ shoulder. For a brief, weightless moment, he let himself sink into the comfort Charles offered, a hand gripping his back, anchoring him.
He hadn’t known how heavy it all was until now.
They stayed that way in silence, Max’s breathing slowly evening out, his chest no longer heaving with the force of old, pent-up pain. Charles held him until he felt the worst of the storm subside, until Max felt some of the ache lift, leaving his heart a little lighter.
Finally, Max pulled back, his eyes red, face flushed with the shame of his own tears, but somehow, he felt an odd sense of release. He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d needed to let that go.
Charles looked up at him, eyes soft, understanding, and the prince felt something settle in his chest—a small piece of calm where there had once been only anger and regret.
“I’m so sorry, Charles,” Max said, voice rough, feeling the words catch in his throat. “Your father was a good man.”
“Shhhh,” Charles said, tucking Max's hair behind his ear, pulling him into a hug again. “You are a good man.”
Max was just about broken enough to believe him.
Wiping his damp face, the prince murmured something about needing a shower, needing to distance himself from Charles’ gaze on him. Charles released him and stood up, offering a steadying hand as Max rose to his feet. Hesitating, pride warring with the impulse to reach out, Max let himself take Charles’ hand, feeling a bit steadier with each passing second.
Max’s head spun as Charles gently steered him toward the small ensuite bathroom, still raw from his confession, uncertain and drained. It took everything he had not to pull away, the urge to stand proud and never accept help strong. But Charles’ grip was steady, and Max found himself surrendering to that quiet guidance.
When they reached the bathroom, he looked down, searching Charles’ face, trying to understand why this felt so significant—why he felt a warmth he hadn’t felt in years.
Seeing Max’s confusion, Charles gave him a small, encouraging smile. “Would it be okay if I showered with you?” he asked, his voice soft but sure.
The suggestion left Max momentarily speechless.
His mind blanked, eyes widening slightly as he processed what Charles had said. The confusion melted away, replaced by a rare, quiet acceptance, and he nodded, gaze dropping briefly as he felt a trace of embarrassment at having revealed so much, at needing someone, at being this vulnerable.
Fuck, Alonso would be so proud of him right now, and Max hated that he smiled at that thought, words from his mentor aching in his chest.
“Your father would be proud of you.”
Gently running his fingers along Max’s tail around his waist, the Earthling said, “Let me turn the water on.”
Looking down, “By the goddess,” Max cursed and removed his tail from around Charles, earning a soft giggle from the Eldri.
His Oozaru purred and Max didn't have the energy to argue.
As the water flowed, Charles helped him ease out of his pants, each gesture unhurried and careful. Max felt exposed in more ways than one, but there was a gentleness in Charles’ actions that reassured him. They stepped under the warm spray together, and the sensation of water washing over his skin soothed his frayed nerves.
They'd shared so much already, endured so much together, that this moment felt like another step in the journey they were on—one of trust, healing, and something deeper that neither of them had fully named yet.
Max focused on Charles, letting himself relax as he soaped his chest. They moved in harmony, their touches tender, like they were piecing each other back together, and when Max’s hands stilled, lingering longer on Charles’ skin, Charles looked up at him then, and Max saw a soft vulnerability that mirrored his own. Without thinking, he closed the gap, pressing his lips to Charles’ in a kiss that held everything he couldn’t say aloud.
Charles’ soft gasp against his mouth and the feel of his hands gripping Max’s arm sent a rush of warmth through him. The cold metal of the shower wall pressed against Charles’ back as Max deepened the kiss, savoring every second, every taste. The usual urgency that accompanied his desire was absent; this was slow, unhurried, a moment that felt suspended in time.
It was a kiss that was meant to be felt, not rushed.
They moved together, water and soap mingling between them as their touches grew more fervent. Max ran his hands over Charles’ shoulders, down his back, committing every inch of his skin to memory. This wasn’t just physical—this was a silent promise, a way of giving Charles a promise after the storm of emotions they'd just weathered.
“I-I . . . I'm in love with you,” Max whispered, startled by his own admission. He’d missed his chance to say the words when he thought he’d never see Charles again, and he didn’t want to let the opportunity slip by him again.
“I’m in love with you too,” Charles said, a large dimpled smile melting Max’s heart as he kissed him again.
Finally, as the water began to cool, Max reluctantly broke the kiss, their foreheads resting together as they caught their breath. "Let’s get out of here before we freeze," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Charles nodded, shivering slightly as he turned the water off and they stepped out of the shower, wrapping themselves in towels. Max clung to the warmth of Charles’ skin against his, the quiet intimacy lingering between them even as they dried off.
There was no awkwardness, only a sense of peace and understanding that Max hadn’t known he needed until now.
They made their way to the bed, pulling the covers up around them as they lay together in the dim room. Max propped himself up on an elbow, studying Charles in the soft glow of the stars outside. Brushing a strand of hair from Charles’ forehead, Max let his fingers linger along the side of his face.
“Thank you,” he whispered, voice low, laced with gratitude.
“For what?” Charles asked, equally quiet.
“For staying,” Max replied, his thumb tracing gentle circles on Charles’ cheek. “For leaving . . . and for staying.”
Charles smiled, and Max felt something within him ease, the tight coil of loneliness unwinding as they lay there, wrapped in each other’s warmth.
“I’ll always stay,” the Eldri whispered back.
He leaned down and kissed Charles again, slow and soft—a kiss that held everything he couldn’t yet put into words. And as he pulled Charles close, Max felt, for the first time, a glimmer of peace.
Chapter 30: Don't Touch, Just Feel
Summary:
Leaning in closer, Max’s breath ghosted over Charles’ exposed ass as he whispered softly, “My Eldri.”
He remained asleep, and Max tested the waters. Placing a tentative kiss on each cheek, the prince's tongue traced the delicate rim of Charles’ entrance, and he groaned immediately at the taste. It was intoxicating—a mix of the Earthling’s natural scent and something uniquely his.
It was like every part of Charles had been crafted to drive Max wild, to awaken the most primal desires within him. The Oozaru inside Max growled in satisfaction, pleased by the offering before it, urging him to continue, to take what was his and claim it in a way only he could.
Notes:
Smuuuuuuuut
Chapter warnings: Reading in public may cause unintended arousal 🤣
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max stirred awake in the small bedroom on the ship to the soft simulated light of dawn of some unknown distant planet. This ship had a lighting system similar to that of the PTO base ship and Max was momentarily grateful that their sleep wouldn’t be compromised without a consistent light source.
Having been on several assignments with broken stasis systems—no doubt Jos’ doing—having no sun for a guide always fucked up his sleep pattern. And Charles had never fully adjusted to the longer Torossian daylight hours of the suite anyway.
Maybe this one could be closer to his Earth daylight cycle?
Max made a mental note to check in the system controls.
His eyes fluttered open, and Max just laid still, enjoying the peace. There was a comforting weight of Charles’ arm draped across his bare chest, the Eldri’s body pressed close against his right side.
The prince’s heart ached with a bittersweet mix of gratitude and shame. Charles’ presence grounded him, the small speck of good in his life, but the memory of his breakdown and confession the night before still lingered like a dark cloud over his thoughts.
A soft noise filled his ears and it took him a moment to identify that the sound was coming from Charles, a soft rumbling purr deep in his chest. His Oozaru was content being bathed in the warm scent of Charles, and the Earthling’s Eldri seemed to agree.
Max carefully untangled himself from the bed, moving slowly so as not to wake him, and unwrapped his tail from Charles’ thigh, much to his Oozaru's displeasure. As he shifted to sit up on the edge of the bed, he felt the cool air of the ship against his bare skin in contrast to the warmth of Charles’ body.
Running a hand through his cropped blond hair, the prince’s fingers trembled slightly as he padded over to the ensuite, trying to push away the remnants of the events that still buzzed in the back of his mind.
The hallucination had been so vivid, so real .
He heard Jos’ voice, like the frost demon was standing right in front of him, that cold, commanding tone that had instilled fear deep in his broken bones from the moment he woke up in that cell twenty years ago.
“Beg me to stop and I will . . . Don’t lie to me again.”
The words echoed in his mind even now, pulling him back to a time when he was nothing more than a scared child, powerless against the whims of the tyrant who'd shaped his life into a living nightmare.
Max's hands clenched onto the sink as he chased the thoughts away, knuckles turning white with the effort, before splashing cold water on his face. His mind a battlefield, the memories of his time under Jos’ control waged war against the fragile peace he'd managed to carve out for himself.
The prince shuddered at the memory of Jos’ cold, calculating eyes, the way they seemed to pierce right through him, stripping away his pride and leaving only the obedient soldier behind. Those eyes, so devoid of warmth or empathy, had been the last thing he saw before countless battles, each one more brutal and bloody than the one before. The warlord's presence was constant and unyielding, a shadow that loomed over every aspect of Max's life.
Even now, free of his tyranny, Max couldn’t escape the grip that the warlord had on his mind. The hallucination had been a reminder of that, a cruel whisper that no matter how far he ran, he couldn’t outrun his past.
He'd already tried that and failed.
But this time, Charles had been there.
Max glanced out into the room at the sleeping form of the man who'd come to mean so much to him. The sight of Charles, peaceful and unguarded in sleep, was a balm to his tortured soul. His expression softened as he watched the gentle rise and fall of Charles' chest, the way his dark curls framed his face, catching the soft light filtering into the room.
There was something about the Earthling's presence that steadied him, anchored him, and pulled him back from the edge of the abyss.
Charles represented everything that Jos had tried to strip away from Max—hope, love, a future that wasn’t drenched in blood and violence. He was a beacon in the darkness, a glimpse of life that could be more than just survival, more than just following orders and executing missions without question.
With Charles, Max had found something he never thought he would—someone who saw him as more than a weapon, more than a tool to be used and discarded.
And it terrified him.
The prince feared that one day, the darkness inside him would be too much, that it would swallow him whole and leave nothing for Charles to love. He feared that the remnants of Jos’ influence would rear their ugly head, turning him into something monstrous again, something unrecognizable. But as much as those fears swam in his chest, there was something else, something stronger that kept the darkness at bay—the undeniable truth that he loved Charles.
It was a love that went beyond the physical, beyond the bond they shared. It was a love born out of the countless moments of tenderness, the quiet conversations in the dead of night, the way Charles looked at him like he was worth saving. It was a love that Max had never dared to hope for, and now that he had it, he was terrified of losing it.
That's what his father had told him as a boy when telling him about his mother. “Love is the death of peace of mind,” the king said, and it could never be more true.
Max would never have peace of mind again with his constant fear of losing the Eldri.
Without being able to take Charles to Earth, Max decided that his original plan was no longer viable and the incident in the market proved Max needed to stay close to Charles to protect him.
Who was he kidding anyway.
He took a deep breath, trying to let go of the tension in his body, to be strong, not just for himself, but for Charles. He couldn’t let Jos’ memory poison what they had, couldn’t let the shadows of his past destroy the light that Charles had brought into his life.
He owed it to Charles, to himself, to fight for that future, to protect the love they had built together.
With that thought, Max made his way back to the bed, his fingers hesitant as he reached out, gently brushing a stray curl from Charles' forehead. The touch was light, almost reverent, afraid of waking him. But Charles remained asleep, his face relaxing further under Max’s gentle touch.
An idea popped into his head then, and a small devious smile crept onto his face.
With deliberate care, Max’s breath was shallow as he knelt on the bed beside Charles. The soft rise and fall of Charles’ breathing was the only sound in the quiet room, early morning light casting gentle shadows across his sleeping face. Max’s heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his movements slow and smooth, not wanting to disturb the peaceful slumber of the man beside him.
He hesitated for a moment, hands hovering just above Charles’ upturned hip. Still on his side, the Earthling’s arm on top of Max earlier was now sprawled across his empty side of the bed. The distant memory of their last time in bed together flashed in his mind.
That night was one of the few things that kept him going during his purge of P-127. That, and the thin piece of red twine and gold on his wrist.
The things he'd said in the heat of passion, the promise he'd made to Charles, to wake him every morning with his face buried between the Eldri's delicious tanned thighs.
That felt like a lifetime ago and that promise now guided his hands as he finally let them settle on Charles’ hips, his touch feather-light.
Charles didn’t stir as Max’s fingers traced the curve of his bare sides, the fabric of the bed linens cool beneath his palms as he pulled them back. Taking a steadying breath, the regal Torossian let the warmth of Charles’ body seep into his skin as he gently lifted him. Moving with the utmost care, Max raised Charles onto his knees, slowly turning him onto his stomach.
The prince’s touch was tender, reverent, moving as slow as he could.
Shifting slightly, a soft murmur escaped the Earthling's lips and Max froze, waiting to see if the movement would wake him. But Charles settled back into his deep slumber, arms firmly tucked under the pillow beneath him, and Max let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
Pulling the blankets up over his head so Charles wouldn’t wake from the chill in the room, Max leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Charles' backside, lips lingering on the warm skin.
The prince’s hands continued their tender exploration, smoothing over the small of Charles’ back, avoiding his tail scar, and up to his shoulders. The Eldri’s body was relaxed, completely at ease under Max’s touch, and the sight of him like this—so vulnerable, so tempting—filled Max with an overwhelming desire.
He knew how much trust it took for someone to be this open with him, to allow themselves to be so exposed around the fabled Torossian prince, and Max didn’t take that trust lightly.
No one really ever trusted him. At least not fully. His reputation made that sort of thing impossible.
The fact that Charles did made him want to fall on his knees and plead forgiveness to the goddess who he'd cursed more than once.
As he continued to move his hands in slow, soothing motions, Max felt a swell of arousal rise in his chest. This was more than just a physical act for him; it was a way to allow his Oozaru to seek out Charles’ Eldri, and please him in ways that left the Earthling breathless.
He wanted to please him like that now.
Leaning in closer, Max’s breath ghosted over Charles’ exposed ass as he whispered softly, “My Eldri.”
He remained asleep, and Max tested the waters. Placing a tentative kiss on each cheek, the prince's tongue traced the delicate rim of Charles’ entrance, and he groaned immediately at the taste. It was intoxicating—a mix of the Earthling’s natural scent and something uniquely his.
It was like every part of Charles had been crafted to drive Max wild, to awaken the most primal desires within him. The Oozaru inside Max growled in satisfaction, pleased by the offering before it, urging him to continue, to take what was his and claim it in a way only he could.
He closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself as he pressed another kiss to the curve of Charles’ ass, savoring the softness of his tan skin. Wanting to be gentle, Max was determined to let Charles feel nothing but pleasure and affection.
With that goal in mind, Max leaned in again, letting his tongue glide more firmly over Charles’ hole, now starting to shine with slick. He felt the Eldri’s body respond, a subtle clenching that told Max his touch was being felt even in sleep.
Humming against the sensitive skin, pleased by the reaction, the regal Torossian continued his slow, deliberate exploration. Each lick, gentle press of his lips, was filled with a quiet, growing hunger and silent promises.
He was always far better with his actions than his words.
His Oozaru inside him purred contentedly, soothed by the close proximity with Charles, and Max could feel the beginnings of that primal bond solidifying the more time they spent like this—drinking in Torossian pleasure from the goddess.
Max's hands caressed Charles’ thighs, squeezing softly as he tasted his mate, wanting him to know on some level how cherished he was. Breath growing heavier, he adjusted his stance on his knees, cock now throbbing and hanging heavily between his legs.
The slight tremor in Charles' thighs and the way his breathing hitched, even in sleep, only spurred Max on, feeding his desire to keep going, to push further and explore every part of him.
Charles stirred again, a small gasp escaping his lips this time, but he didn’t wake. Desire swirled in his chest and he smiled against the Eldri’s skin, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction knowing he could bring Charles such pleasure, even in sleep. He nuzzled against him, pressing his stubbled mouth further into the warm flesh, and whispered, “De mijne.” [ Mine ]
Allowing himself to indulge for a few more moments, the prince's tongue extended out flat before driving forward. Flicking out, he traced firmer slow circles around Charles' entrance, feeling the way the Earthling’s body responded instinctively to his touch. The taste of Charles’ now gushing slick was overwhelming, a heady blend of sweetness and musk that lingered on Max’s tongue, making his Oozaru rumble with primal satisfaction deep inside him, tail curling high over his back under the blanket.
It wanted to mark him, to claim Charles in every way possible, and though Max’s logical mind knew he shouldn’t, the urge to take him, to make him understand just how much he belonged to Max, was undeniable.
“De mijne,” [ Mine ] Max whispered again, voice a low growl as he pressed his teeth against Charles' skin, the word oozing with possessiveness. Trailing his mouth lower, the prince ran his angular nose along Charles’ core, brushing open mouthed kisses along the sensitive area under the Earthling’s hardening cock, over his balls, and down where Charles’ thigh met his torso.
He nipped at the skin lightly, just enough to leave a small mark before soothing the area with his tongue. The sound of Charles' quiet whimpers filled the room, and Max’s blood roared in his ears with the knowledge that he was the one bringing the Eldri to the edge, even in sleep.
Hands moving back up to Charles' hips, Max gripped them firmly as he held the Earthling in place, tongue dipping lower, teasing, tasting, pushing just enough to make Charles' body twitch beneath him. Max felt his own desire building more, the heat coiling tightly in his gut as he lost himself in the pleasure of worshiping his mate.
Every sound, every tremble from Charles sent a jolt of electricity through him, intensifying his need to claim him fully.
Without the Earthling's tail, they couldn't truly mate, but Max decided that that old traditional ceremony wasn't needed for Max to consider Charles his chosen.
Charles let out another breathy moan, a sound that made Max's Oozaru snarl with satisfaction. Completely at his mercy, the prince reveled in the control he had, the way he could reduce Charles to this state with just his mouth and hands, the way he could make the Earthling lose control with just a touch, a lick, a well-placed stroke . . . It was invigorating, a heady power that made Max’s blood sing in his veins.
A power he valued above the might of his own strength.
Max knew he could possibly push Charles over the edge without waking him, but . . . where was the fun in that?
He wanted Charles to know it was him, to know that he alone was making the Earthling feel this way.
Reaching up slowly, Max brought his fingers to Charles’ tail scar and circled it lightly before adding pressure. The soft whimpers from the Eldri turned into full on moans as Charles arched his back, arms extending out in front of him. “Max?” He asked groggily. “W—What are you—Oh, mon Dieu—”
Squirming in his drowsy, half-asleep state, Charles pulled away until Max brought him back firmly against his tongue with his hands on the Eldri's hips, eliciting a litany of noises he'd never heard from the younger man before.
Keeping up the pressure with his palms pulling Charles closer, Max pushed the tip of his tongue inside, tight walls of the Earthing’s velvet flesh squeezing hard. Charles rose up higher on his knees in response, spreading his legs out further, showcasing his impressive flexibility. Max’s tail flicked off the blanket covering him to give him a lit view of the Eldri’s new position.
Like this, Charles was fully presented for Max, head down between his shoulders on the pillow, hands stretched out gripping the sheets, his ass high in the air with legs spread wide.
“Fuck, Max Fuuuuuuck . Don’t stop, please don’t stop—”
Max's smirk deepened as he felt Charles’ body shudder beneath his touch, the Earthling’s moans sending a thrill through him. The warmth and softness of Charles’ ass in his hands was heaven, the way the flesh gave under his fingers making him want to lose himself in the sensation. The prince’s grip tightened as he spread Charles wider, his tongue delving even deeper, flicking and teasing in a way that had Charles writhing above him.
The sounds coming from the Earthling’s lips were music to Max's ears—those breathy moans, the desperate whimpers, and the broken pleas that only spurred him on further. Obscene slurping noises filled the room as Max practically drowned in the Eldri’s free flowing arousal, mixing with Charles’ increasingly frantic gasps as he drew closer and closer to the edge, caught in a battle between pulling away and pushing back further onto Max’s tongue.
Max knew exactly what he was doing, how to push Charles to the brink and then pull him back, savoring every second of his mate’s pleasure.
Legs starting to shake at the new depth of Max’s tongue inside him, the Eldri’s voice broke as he continued to beg Max. “S—So, I–I–I’m so, sooooo close, M-Max.”
Max felt a surge of pride at the sound of Charles stammering out his name, each syllable laced with need. The wet sounds of Charles starting to touch himself, the slick slide of his hand on his cock added another layer of arousal to the atmosphere, but Max’s brain caught up quickly.
Instincts growling, Max pulled Charles’ hand away by the wrist and held it against the bed. “Don’t touch, just feel.”
The Eldri whined high-pitched and rocked back against Max’s tongue, chasing release. The more Charles trembled, the more Max pushed forward, his tongue working with a fervor that matched the Eldri’s rising desperation. He wanted to drive Charles crazy, to push him over the edge with nothing but his tongue and sheer determination.
“Oh mon Dieu—oui, Max, oui. P–Putain putaiiiiin—!” [Oh my God—yes, Max, yes. Fuck fuuuckk—!]
Feeling Charles’ legs start to buck back against his tongue more, desperate fingers found their way into his hair, and Charles pulled Max in closer with his tight grip, half turning his torso around. Groaning at the feeling, Max wrapped both hands firmly around Charles’ thighs and buried his face as deep as he could in the Eldri's tight heat.
The prince was relentless, his tongue plunging deeper, lapping up every moan, every gasp, every broken word that spilled from Charles’ lips. Feeling the Eldri’s body tightening, trembling on the precipice, Max wanted to taste it.
He needed to taste it.
Sensing the moment Charles began to tip, the Eldri’s voice broke as he gasped out Max’s name one last time. Doubling down, Max's fingers found Charles’ tail scar again and pressed harder, driving Charles closer and closer until there was no turning back.
The prince let little bursts of blue ki dance over his fingertips, small weak vibration-like sensations jolting right to the Earthling’s Torossian nerve center.
The scream Charles let out rang in Max’s ears, and his Oozaru rumbled so deeply, he wasn’t sure if the noise was just in his head or out loud.
When Charles finally came, body arching, muscles taut with pleasure, Max didn’t stop. He kept going, his tongue working the sensitive flesh, milking every last drop of pleasure from the Earthling who refused to let go of his hair, even as Charles shuddered through the waves of his release, sobbing into the pillow and tearing at the coverings on the bed.
The prince’s own arousal pulsed within him, hard and aching, but he was content for now, knowing he'd brought Charles to this level of ecstasy. Finally, Charles' hand released its death-grip on Max’s hair and flopped down on the bed. Max pulled back slightly, slick dripping off his chin, letting his coated tongue trail lazily over Charles’ soaked entrance one last time before pressing a tender kiss to the trembling pucker.
“Fuck,” Charles whispered, voice hoarse and breathless, still riding the aftershocks of his orgasm. “Max, that was . . . ”
“Perfect,” Max finished for him, voice low and rough, the word heavy with meaning as it left his lips. “You’re perfect.”
He could feel the truth of it in his chest, an undeniable certainty that echoed through his whole being. Charles was perfect—his Charles. He didn’t just want Charles; he needed him.
Beneath him, Charles trembled, the aftershocks of his release still rippling through his body. A soft, warm laugh escaped Charles’ lips making Max smile against his skin. The sound was like music to his ears, easing the tension in his own muscles and filling him with a contentment he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling.
Max leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Charles’ waist, pulling him close so that their bodies pressed together. He kissed the small of Charles’ back, directly over his tail scar, savoring the warmth of his skin, the way he smelled, the way he fit so perfectly in Max’s arms. There was something so right about holding him like this, about feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as he relaxed into Max’s embrace.
For a while, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, mingling in the quiet room. Max let himself bask in it, in the closeness, in the intimacy. He closed his eyes, trying to memorize every detail—the way Charles felt against him, the warmth of his skin, the scent of him. He wanted to hold onto this moment forever, to keep it safe from the harsh realities that would inevitably return.
But then Charles broke the silence, his voice a soft whisper that pulled Max back to the present. “How long did you say we had until we reach Namek?”
Max opened his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Five days . . . well, four now after last night,” he replied, tone teasing. He couldn’t help the playful edge in his voice, even though a part of him wished they had more time.
Turning around in his arms to face him and before Max could speak, the Earthling flipped them, tackling the prince down onto the bed, straddling his hips with a grin that sent a jolt of excitement through Max’s veins. The suddenness of the movement caught him off guard, a raw thrill rolling through him.
Max let out a low chuckle, his hands automatically coming up to rest on Charles’ thighs. Filled with mischief, the Earthling’s eyes also held something deeper—something that made Max’s heart beat just a little faster.
“Plenty of time for you to try out that ki thing on me again,” Charles said, voice light and teasing, but the hunger in it was unmistakable. The desire there mirrored Max’s own, and it ignited a fire in him that he didn’t want to put out. “You’ve been holding out on me. I want to try so many things with you.”
Max’s smirk deepened, a predatory smile curling at the edges of his lips as he stared up at Charles. “As you command,” he murmured, voice rough with anticipation. The words were barely out of his mouth before Charles leaned down, claiming his lips in a kiss that sent sparks through Max’s entire body.
The kiss was electric, a spark that reignited the passion between them, and Max responded with fervor, his hands roaming up Charles’ back, pulling him closer. He deepened the kiss, tongue pushing past the Eldri’s lips, pouring all of his pent-up emotions into it—the desire, the affection, the need.
Charles moaned into the kiss, his fingers tangling in Max’s hair again, tugging just enough to send a shiver down the prince’s spine. Max’s grip tightened on his mate, holding him close, not wanting to let go. The feel of Charles’ body against his, the way he responded to Max’s every touch, sent waves of pleasure crashing through him.
Pulling back to sit up, Charles reached down between them and held onto the base of Max's painfully hard erection, lining up his hole with the tip. Max’s breath hitched at the contact, hands flying back to Charles’ waist.
“I want you to wake me up every morning like that,” he said, moaning as he slowly sank down and impaled himself on the prince's dick. “Just like you promised.”
“Yes, Charlie,” Max rasped, groaning when the Eldri was fully seated. “ Fuck, whatever you want.”
Squeezing Charles’ hips, Max’s eyes were glued to where their bodies connected, breath shuddering at the tight squeeze around his manhood. His tail wrapped around Charles’ forearm and the Earthling quickly slapped his hands and tail away from him, making Max frown, looking up at those hooded green eyes confused.
“Don’t touch,” Charles said with a moan, sliding up to the tip of Max’s cock before sliding back down slowly. “Just feel.”
Charles planted his hands on Max’s chest and quickly set a steady pace, making Max’s eyes roll back, hands fisting the sheets on either side of him. His Oozaru chuckled lightly a their Eldri’s assertiveness, but complied with the command, letting Max’s tail rest beside him on the bed, fur fluffing up at the slick slide of the Earthling around him.
The world around them faded away as they lost themselves in each other, the worries and fears pushed aside for now. There was only Charles—only them—and Max knew that he would do whatever it took to protect this, to protect him.
This was where he belonged.
Chapter 31: Where Does Your Loyalty Lie?
Summary:
An endless stream of “why” echoed in his head, and Carlos focused on the one that stung the most.
“Why,” Carlos finally ground out, voice low and dangerous. “Why would he do this? How could he lie to my face?”
George’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it, only cold satisfaction. “Because Prince Max is weak, Carlos. He always has been. He takes everything personally and lashes out with unnecessary anger, borderline violence. He lets his emotions cloud his judgment, lets his attachments control him. That Earthling was just his latest weakness, and he chose that over everything else. Over Alonso . . . Over you.”
Notes:
George and Max's fight could not be better timed I swear. Hope everyone who celebrates had a nice thanksgiving!!!
Chapter warnings: Mentioned death, Mentioned SA abuse
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
– PTO Base Ship –
Carlos sat stiffly in the chair, his eyes locked on the cold, bitter drink resting in his hands. The liquid was a dark, murky brown, swirling slowly in the small metal cup. It tasted as awful as it looked, but he knew better than to refuse a gift from Commander George, especially when he was sitting in the commander’s office, surrounded by the harsh sterility of the walls and the oppressive weight of Jos’ influence that permeated everything on the ship.
The news of Max’s escape burned in his gut like poison, churning with a mixture of disbelief, betrayal, and anger.
He refused to believe that Max just left . Left him there to rot. Abandoned, the last of his people.
His prince would never. He even said so himself in the corridor before the all-hands meeting in the throne room.
No. Max would never leave him.
George must be mistaken, or outright lying, and Carlos wanted answers.
But he’d learned long ago that patience was a valuable tool, especially when dealing with men like Commander George. So he sat there, forcing himself to take small, reluctant sips of the awful drink, letting the bitter taste linger on his tongue as he waited for the commander to speak.
The office was quiet, the only sounds the low hum of the ship’s engines and the occasional clink of Carlos’ cup as he set it down on the desk in front of him. He was starving, unsure exactly how long he'd been in the tank.
Sitting across from him, George's expression was hard as he tapped a manicured finger rhythmically on the surface of his desk. The commander’s eyes were sharp, calculating like they always were, and Carlos was sure he wouldn’t like what George was about to say.
Finally, George leaned back in his chair, the orange pleated fabric rustling as he moved, and folded his hands neatly in his lap. “I’m sure you have questions, Carlos,” he said in a measured tone. “And I’ll answer what I can, but first, I need you to answer a few of mine. Let's start with something easy for you, yes?”
Bristling at the condensation, a flash of irritation sparked in Carlos’ chest. He was not a fool, and he didn’t appreciate being treated like one.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I remember the ambush on Merc,” he replied evenly, keeping his tone respectful. “I remember Alonso calling out to me, and then a sharp pain in my back, and then . . . nothing. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in a healing tank in the clinic, and you’re the one standing on the other side of the glass.”
George’s lips curled into a thin smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes, quite the unfortunate turn of events,” he said, patronizingly. “You were lucky to survive. Alonso, on the other hand . . . wasn’t so fortunate.”
Eyes snapping up from his cup, Carlos’ mouth dropped open. “What? Alonso is . . .”
The Torossian couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“Dead,” the commander finished for him. “We recovered his remains not too far from where you were found in the forest on Merc.”
Carlos’ grip tightened on the cup, the cold metal biting into his skin. Alonso’s death felt like a punch to the gut, the pain of it fresh and raw. He'd suspected as much with how overwhelmed the diversion team was, but hearing it confirmed made tears prick in the back of his eyes.
He cared deeply for the old Torossian, and Carlos said a soft, mental prayer to the goddess for his soul.
“Can I see his body?” Carlos asked, sipping his drink to try and keep his voice steady. “I need to pay my respects and offer him his last rights of our goddess.”
“I'm afraid that won't be possible. We suffered heavy casualties on the planet during the assault and lost nearly half our men. The majority of the bodies had to be burned to conserve storage room.”
Carlos squeezed his eyes shut, offering another silent prayer for the goddess to accept the elder's Oozaru spirit, even without the official ceremony.
His heart was bleeding, but there was something in George’s tone he couldn't quite place that put him on edge. “And Max?” He forced himself to ask.
George’s smirk faded, replaced by a cold, menacing gleam. “As I said before. The Torossian prince has made . . . an unfortunate choice,” he said slowly. “A choice to abandon his post, to run away with that Earthling like a coward. It’s a shame, really—”
“Ch–Charles? . . . He left with Charles ?” Carlos asked breathlessly, eyes wide in disbelief. “Th-that’s not . . .”
His mind was spinning. Max wouldn’t—
“No. I don’t believe you,” he spat, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice. “He would never abandon me like that, and Charles had already left before the—”
Fuck.
Snapping his mouth shut, he stopped abruptly, mind racing. Carlos folded his arms tightly over his chest, determined not to let George further worm his way under his skin. Whatever games the commander thought he was playing, it wasn't going to work.
“Oh?” George leaned back in his chair, gaze sharpening with interest like a predator scenting blood. “Charles left before what, Carlos?”
Lips pressed into a thin line, the dark-haired Torossian didn’t say a word as he glared back at the commander.
George scoffed, hands moving to his tablet, gaze never leaving Carlos’ face as he tapped on the screen. With an ominous silence, he turned the device around and slid it across the desk, pushing it toward Carlos.
Caught off guard, he hesitated before glancing down at the screen.
A video feed flickered to life, security footage unmistakably taken from one of the lower launch decks, and Carlos’ stomach dropped as he recognized the scene, his arms falling limply to his sides as his heart hammered against his ribs.
The screen showed Alonso, preparing the scouting pod on lower Launch Deck G for the Earthling on the ramp. Charles looked hesitant, like he couldn’t bring himself to climb up the ramp, and Carlos fought back the roll of his eyes.
Just fucking go already, he thought.
And then, as if on cue, Carlos saw Max rush into frame, wrapping his arms around the secret Torossian.
Carlos felt like he’d been stabbed in the heart, watching Max put his tail protectively around Charles’ waist and the image blurred slightly as his eyes misted over in a sudden belt of anger. Brows pinching together, he leaned closer, chair creaking under him as he refused to look away.
Max had never put his tail around him like that, signaling to others an intention to court, to claim them as his own, Max's intended. Exhaling shakily, Carlos held onto the tip of his own tail, remembering how hard it was to not wrap it around the prince when they were together.
He'd only done it once.
On his knees, mind still floaty and numb after submitting to Max, he'd unconsciously tried to twine their tails together, seeking the closeness and reassurance. The prince, incensed by the gesture, threw him out of his private room and the pair had never even spoken about it since.
After that time, Carlos had always made sure to keep his tail tight around his waist when the prince called for him in his quarters, afraid to let it wander loose and seek out the prince again.
Nose burning, Carlos squeezed his tail harder, eyes glued to that soft, light brown object of his dreams, squeezing the Earthling's waist. Ceasing to breathe all together, he watched Max place both hands on either side of Charles’ face and seal their lips together.
Charles couldn’t even return the gesture. The man wasn’t even a real Torossian without his tail, and he surely had no idea how special an act like that was. And to receive it from their prince . . .
The footage jumped to Alonso shutting the pod door, hand lingering over the glass before stepping back and letting the pod leave its launch housing, moving at lightning speed into the void of space.
“I skipped over the particularly graphic part to spare my lord’s feelings,” George remarked coolly. “Unless, of course, you would like to see more of their lewd touching—”
“No,” Carlos whispered, throat tight. “Turn it off.”
He tore his gaze from the screen, chest heaving as he tried to contain the fury building inside him.
George turned the tablet off and set it back on the table to his side, face completely calm. “Prince Max is now a traitor against the Emperor as well as his Earthling companion. But you, Carlos, have a chance to prove your loyalty. A chance to show that you’re not like him.”
Carlos sat in stunned silence, the words echoing in his mind like a cruel joke. Max had gotten into the pod with Charles and left .
Max had left him behind.
The realization settled, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His mind was going crazy, trying to piece together the impossible. Alonso hadn’t even mentioned this to him, not a single word about Max’s involvement in the Earthling's escape. He’d even asked the elder Torossian how the launch went when he met him for diversion team launch, and Alonso had just said, “Fine. No issues.”
The betrayal stung like acid, burning through the thin veneer of control Carlos was struggling to maintain.
Across the desk, Commander George watched him with an expression that was almost pitying, regarding him like some kind of wounded animal on the brink of death. The look only intensified the storm brewing inside Carlos, the quiet, simmering rage that began to rise from the depths of his soul.
His Oozaru rumbled in his mind, its fury rippling through his thoughts, urging him to lash out and to tear something apart.
Max had promised.
The prince stood there, outside the throne room, looked Carlos in the eyes, and told him he would never abandon him and Alonso. And yet, not even a few hours later, he'd gone back on that promise, taking the first opportunity to leave with that filthy harlot.
He'd left them. Left them to die. Left then both in that forest on Merc to be forever lost, souls unclaimed by the godin van de maan.
He chose the fucking bastard over his own people, over his own family, over those who’d stood by him through every hardship, every battle. Those who'd left their home to join him in this prison of death and despair.
The betrayal was too much.
Carlos’ hands clenched into fists on his lap, nails digging into his palms so hard they drew blood. The beast inside him clawed at the edges of his consciousness, demanding release, demanding retribution. But he forced it down, buried it deep beneath the icy cold rage that now filled his veins.
“I can see you’re upset,” George said, smoothly, leaning forward in his chair, studying Carlos with a gaze that was equal parts curiosity and amusement. “I understand how you must feel, Carlos. It’s not easy to be left behind, especially by someone you trusted.”
Carlos’ jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. This asshole had no idea what it felt like, and he didn’t want to give George the satisfaction of a response. He wouldn’t let the commander see how deeply the knife had cut, how much it hurt to know that Max had chosen to leave him behind without a second thought.
Instead, he focused on the rage, let it fuel him, let it keep him from crumbling under the weight of the betrayal.
He would not show weakness.
Not here. Not in front of George, the smug asshole. Why was George even telling him this anyway? Why couldn't he have just died with Alonso on Merc?
An endless stream of “why” echoed in his head, and Carlos focused on the one that stung the most.
“Why,” Carlos finally ground out, voice low and dangerous. “Why would he do this? How could he lie to my face?”
George’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it, only cold satisfaction. “Because Prince Max is weak, Carlos. He always has been. He takes everything personally and lashes out with unnecessary anger, borderline violence. He lets his emotions cloud his judgment, lets his attachments control him. That Earthling was just his latest weakness, and he chose that over everything else. Over Alonso . . . Over you.”
The words were like gasoline on the fire raging inside Carlos, and his Oozaru snarled, its fury threatening to consume him whole.
“Alonso knew,” Carlos muttered, more to himself than to George. “He knew, and he didn’t say a word.”
“Perhaps he was trying to protect you,” George suggested, unclear if he was feigning sympathy or not. “Or maybe he didn’t trust you to keep it together if you found out. After all, you’re not exactly known for your . . . tact.”
Carlos’ eyes snapped up to meet George’s, the thinly veiled insult not helping to ease his pain. He hated the smug look on the commander’s face, the way George always seemed to know exactly how to twist the knife just a little deeper.
But as much as he wanted to rip George apart, he couldn’t afford to lose control of this situation and he was begrudgingly grateful that the Commander had put him in the tank. He had to figure out how to get Max back, and he needed to do it before Jos found out about his involvement in the escape.
“Have you found him?”
Steepling his fingers, the commander said, “If I had, I wouldn’t be talking to you, now would I?”
“So you don't know anything about their destination,” Carlos asked, voice barely more than a growl.
George’s smile didn’t waver. “That’s what I need you to tell me, Carlos. After all, you were the one who worked with Alonso on this little escape plan. Surely you remember where they were headed.”
Carlos’ fists tightened even more. It was obvious George knew way more than he was letting on, giving Carlos just enough rope to hang himself if he said too much. He had no choice but to play along, and give George what he wanted if he had any hope of seeing Max again.
But he would remember this.
He would remember the lies, the manipulation, the betrayal. And when the time was right, he would make sure that the prince answered for every single one of them.
For now, he would bide his time and swallow his pride, giving George the information he wanted. When his time came, Carlos would unleash the full fury of the Oozaru on anyone who stood between him and Max.
Especially that fucking tailless whore.
Charles was no brother of his. He may’ve been Jules’ son, but no less illegitimate.
Carlos’ heart pounded in his chest, struggling to stay focused. This was a delicate situation, but it was also an opportunity, an olive branch to earn favor with the commander, and in turn the Emperor, a chance to gain something from the chaos Max had caused. George was testing him, trying to see where his true loyalties lay, and he couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
“What do you want from me?” Carlos asked, keeping his voice calm, neutral.
Leaning his elbows on the desk, the commander took a sip from his drink. “I need to know everything you know about Max’s escape. The coordinates you set, the plan you devised with Alonso. Everything.”
Carlos felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.
This was it—the moment of truth. He had to decide whether to protect Max and risk his own life, or betray the prince to save himself.
What would Alonso do?
He'd often ask himself that question when he wasn't sure of the right move, of the path he should take to live up to his Torossian heritage and honor. The weight of the decision hung heavy on him, the bitter taste of betrayal and of the cold drink still lingering on his tongue.
But one thing was for certain: Commander George was not a man to be crossed lightly. If he wanted to survive this day, Carlos would have to choose his next words very, very carefully.
“How about you start at the beginning, Carlos,” George said before taking another sip from his cup and sitting back to give the Torossian space. “How did Charles get on board? I have no records for his official start date of service.”
Sitting back in his own chair, the dark-haired Torossian rubbed his eye with his thumb as he made up his mind.
Fuck Torossian honor.
Max clearly didn't have any when he fled, nor Alonso when he lied to his face, so perhaps it was all meaningless anyway.
Taking a deep breath, Carlos began to unravel the tale.
"I didn't plan for things to turn out this way, Commander," he said, voice steady, masking the truth inside him. "When I brought Charles on board, I had no idea it would lead to this."
George raised an eyebrow, expression skeptical. "So, you’re saying you brought the Earthling onto the ship . . . for what? Sport? A bit of fun?"
Forcing a chuckle, Carlos tried to make it sound natural. "You could say that. He caught my eye during one of the scouting missions on Earth, and I thought he might be . . . entertaining. There wasn't much else on that worthless planet. I didn’t expect Max to get involved, much less become so transfixed by the harlot."
George's eyes narrowed as he studied Carlos. "Transfixed? You are offended that Prince Max got wrapped up in this Earthling?"
Nodding, Carlos suppressed the urge to grit his teeth. "Something like that. It was almost immediate too. Like he couldn’t see straight whenever Charles was around. It wasn’t long before my prince was spending more time with the Earthling than handling his duties, using that fake pretense of Charles being his assistant. I tried to warn him, but you know how stubborn Prince Max can be."
George’s gaze darkened, the flicker of frustration evident. "And why exactly didn’t you report him to be registered on the ship in the first place? It goes against protocol to bring unregistered slaves on board. Why risk being caught? What was the point, if not to cause this mess?"
This was the moment Carlos knew he had to lie.
He couldn’t afford to reveal Charles as a Torossian, not yet at least. That information was a card he would play later, if it came down to it. For now, he had to give George something else.
Shrugging, Carlos put on his best air of indifference. "To be honest, Commander, I thought we’d have him for a week at most, two tops before disposing of him. He was attractive, and a nice piece of ass. I thought it might be a good change of pace from the usual pleasures."
Eyes flicking over Carlos, George assessed him carefully. The commander was silent for a moment, his expression blank, and Carlos wondered if the lie had been convincing enough.
"Alright, then tell me this Torossian. I know it was you who set the coordinates for that pod," George began, voice cold and steady, apparently done playing mind games. "Alonso wouldn’t have had the clearance to do it. But what I don’t understand . . . is why you decided to send the Earthling away instead of ‘disposing’ of him as you say. And more importantly, why didn’t you know that Prince Max was going with him?"
Carlos swallowed hard, mind whirling. He’d expected George to piece things together, but the commander’s insight was still unsettling. He needed to think of better lies if he wanted to get out of this with his life.
"It was Alonso’s idea," Carlos explained, keeping as close to the truth as he could. "He wanted to send Charles back to Earth to keep him out of Jos’ reach. It was obvious Jos had already learned of Max’s . . . attachment to him, and we both know how well that went for the last harlot Max engaged with."
Suspicion evident, George’s eyes narrowed. "Why would you care about what happened to him? He's just some Earthling slave?”
“We didn't want to have the breach of protocol discovered or even worse, blamed on Max.”
“If you both wanted to protect the prince by sending Charles away, why did you tell Max? Surely you knew he'd go after the young boy."
Hesitating, the dark-haired Torossian chose his words carefully. "I don't know if Alonso told Max about his plan, but I certainly didn't tell the prince.”
That part, at least, was true.
“I went to nav deck to work on the coordinates shortly after it was decided when we returned from the all-hands meeting. If Max was made aware after that, if I had known . . . I would've done everything in my power to keep him here."
George tapped his fingers on the desk, considering Carlos’ explanation. "And you were okay with this plan? Sending the Earthling away? You brought him on board after all. You went to all the trouble of bringing him here, just to let him go."
Carlos nodded, feigning a calm he didn’t truly feel. "I trusted Alonso’s judgment. He’s been my mentor for years, and I believed he was doing what was best. He thought sending Charles back would be the safest option. But I—"
"And where does your loyalty lie, Carlos?” George’s expression remained unreadable as he jumped in, voice low and dangerous. "With Prince Max or with the empire?"
Carlos stiffened at the question.
"With the empire, Commander. Always with the empire. But Max is my prince, and I can’t abandon my duty to him."
"Let's see if I understand, Carlos," George bit out, condescendingly. "You say you’re loyal to the empire, but you still consider Max your prince. That’s quite the contradiction, don’t you think?"
Hesitating, Carlos was unsure of how to respond. His mind raced to find an explanation, but George didn’t give him the chance to think up a lie this time.
"You know," the commander continued, leaning back in his chair with a casual air. "Now that you mention your loyalty to the prince, I couldn’t help but remember a few things that seemed fishy to me. For instance, the night the camera in the old training room was mysteriously fixed. That camera was broken for weeks, maybe even longer, and it just so happened to get repaired the night before I caught Max and that Earthling in their little affair."
Carlos’ blood ran cold.
He'd thought he’d covered his tracks well enough that no one would ever connect the dots, but George clearly had. Trying to keep his face neutral, Carlos felt his Oozaru clawing at the edges of his control, threatening to betray his fear, tail bristling around his waist.
"I looked into who was on maintenance duty that night, and surprise, surprise—it was you, Carlos. Now, isn’t that interesting?"
“Along with seven other crew members,” Carlos spat. “That doesn't prove anything.”
George leaned over, turning away from him. "But that’s not all, is it?" George’s voice took on a chilling edge while he brought his tablet back over. "You see, I’ve always been thorough, and when something doesn’t add up, I dig a little deeper.”
After a few taps on his screen, a copy of a report, strikingly familiar to Carlos, was placed on the desk in front of him, and a cold sweat beaded on the back of his neck.
“Imagine my surprise when I discovered that you were also the one who filed this anonymous report. See here,” he pointed to a number highlighted inside a mess of coded letters, “your PTO service ID was embedded in the metadata. How curious, Carlos? What would your ID be doing on a report detailing Prince Max’s involvement with an engineer named Daniel all those years ago?"
Feeling suddenly hot, the air seemed to thicken around Carlos, suffocating him.
"I–I don’t know what you’re talking about," Carlos stammered, voice shaking. “I've never seen that report in my life.”
George’s laughter cut through his lie like a knife.
"Don’t play dumb with me, Carlos," George sneered. "The evidence is all there. I’m sure you thought you were very clever. Playing both sides, covering your tracks. Pretending to be loyal while stabbing your prince in the back.” Jabbing his finger down on the screen, George went on. “You’ve been trying to sabotage Prince Max for years, though I can't quite figure out why."
“No!” Carlos blurted out, more from fear than conviction. “No, I didn’t betray Max, I would never—"
“No?” George questioned with a tilt of mockery. “Then enlighten me. Why did you write this report and fix the camera in the training room, hmm? Surely you knew those events would lead to Prince Max being caught and subsequently punished?”
Carlos swallowed hard, his mouth dry.
"I–I did those things because I care about Max," he stammered, voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t want to see him get hurt. Daniel was . . . he was trouble, and I knew it. Always getting Max to skip duty shifts and miss sparring sessions. He was getting lazy and I wanted to protect Max from making a mistake."
"Protect him?" the commander repeated, a hint of disbelief. "You call this protection? Sabotaging him, reporting him to Jos—how exactly was that supposed to help your prince? You had to know how serious these punishments would be. Or maybe you just didn’t care?"
Carlos felt a fresh wave of guilt crash over him.
He’d known, deep down, what reporting Max’s relationship with Daniel would lead to. But he’d had no idea how badly he’d miscalculated until after it was too late. The abuse that started for Max that day, the complete change in his personality, his spark—a quiet strength—shattered.
Max was never the same after that, distant and dead inside, going through the motions but barely breathing.
Carlos had never meant for that to happen and he'd never stopped blaming himself for that.
"I care about him more than anyone," Carlos said, voice cracking. "I would've n–never sent that report if I'd known what Jos was going to do. And I couldn’t just stand by and watch Max destroy himself and everything we worked for. I thought . . . I thought I was doing the right thing."
George’s lips curled into a full smirk, eyes gleaming with a cold satisfaction. "Oh, I see how it is now. You weren't just trying to protect your precious prince . . . there is something more.”
Breath catching in his throat, Carlos froze. The truth was right there, just beneath the surface, threatening to spill out, but Carlos couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud.
"You’re in love with him, aren’t you?" George taunted. "That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? All this time, you’ve been trying to keep Max close, keep him isolated, because you couldn’t bear the thought of him being with someone else."
Carlos’ heart cracked in his chest.
The words cut deep, leaving him feeling exposed in a way he’d never felt before. He wanted to deny it, to tell George that he was wrong, but he couldn’t. The truth was a heavy burden, one he’d carried since that day he begged King Christian to be sent to this ship in the throne room on Toro.
He'd loved Max even then.
Instead of responding, Carlos sat in silence, eyes fixed on the desk in front of him, hands loose in his lap, a silent tear rolling down his cheek. The weight of his feelings, his guilt, and his anger all converged in this moment, leaving him unable to speak, think, or move.
The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, until George finally let out a quiet laugh.
"That’s what I thought," the commander said, tone smug. "You’ve been lying to yourself for decades, haven’t you? Playing the perfect soldier, pretending to be on Prince Max’s side, when really, you were just hoping he’d see you the way you see him."
Carlos’ chest tightened, his heart aching with the bitter truth of George’s words. He’d spent so long hiding his feelings while warming Max's bed, convincing himself that he was doing the right thing, that he’d forgotten what it felt like to be honest—with himself and with Max.
There was nothing left now. A hollow shell. An empty vessel quickly being filled, overflowing with rage .
He'd practically begged Max to choose him in the corridor before his assignment on P-127. The weight of that conversation was still fresh in his mind. Max had always told him their relationship was nothing more than convenience, but he'd still held out hope that he could convince the prince otherwise.
Begging like a dog for scraps of affection. He'd been a fool.
And now, it was too late.
"You’re pathetic, Carlos," George sneered, standing up from the desk. "You’ve been clinging to a fantasy, and look where it’s gotten you. Prince Max is gone, Alonso is dead, and you’re stuck here, answering to me."
Carlos clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The truth was undeniable. He'd betrayed Max in his own twisted way, and now he was alone.
Eyes gleaming with a calculating coldness, George stood up, and approached Carlos, footsteps echoing in the quiet office. He stopped just in front of the seated Torossian, looking down at him with an expression that felt like equal parts pity and predatory intent. Kneeling down beside him, George turned Carlos in his chair until their eyes met again.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, George placed a firm hand on Carlos’ jaw, startling him. He supposed the gesture was intended to be reassuring, but instead felt like the tightening of a noose, and Carlos’ muscles tensed under the pressure.
"I understand your frustration, Carlos," George offered gently. "You’ve been loyal to the empire, done your duty without complaint. But I can see the toll it’s taken on you—watching your prince run off with that Earthling, betraying your trust. You deserve better."
Carlos’ heart squeezed in his chest, the words striking at the core of his insecurities. He'd always felt second to everyone in Max’s life—first to Daniel, now to Charles. Even Alonso held more meaning to the prince than he did.
"You’ve done everything you can for him, and what has it gotten you?" George continued, his grip on Carlos’ jaw tightening slightly. "Leaving your home at such a young age to follow him. Standing by him through every assignment, just for Max to look right through you. He is not a man who deserves your respect.”
Warm palm softening against his cheek, “But that can change. If you help me find the prince, I'll help you finally get what you’ve wanted all this time. There will be no one left to stand between you and him."
The thought of being truly seen, truly valued by Max, was a spark of hope he'd long given up on. But now, George was dangling that very hope in front of him like a lifeline.
Carlos’ breath hitched as the words sank in. No barriers, just him and Max—the last of the Torossians, together. The idea sent a shiver of both fear and longing down to his toes.
But George wasn’t done yet.
"I’ll see to it that you’re promoted to a general on the reserve team," he said. "I'll even give you Alonso's vacant seat on the war council. You and Max can be assigned together on missions, side by side. He’ll have no choice but to see you for who you really are—his equal, his partner. His blood."
The spark in Carlos’ chest began to grow, igniting a flame of desire that had been smothered for too long. He could almost see it—him and Max, fighting together, conquering together, just like they used to. The respect, the recognition, the bond he’d always craved would finally be within reach.
But again . . . George wasn’t finished.
"And as for that Earthling," George added, voice lowering to a near whisper as he bent forward to speak directly into Carlos’ ear, breath making him shiver. "If he’s a problem, you can deal with him. Remove the distraction once and for all. No one would question it—not Jos, not me."
Carlos felt a sick thrill at the suggestion.
He resented Charles for coming between him and Max, for stealing the prince’s attention, his affection. The thought of getting rid of the Earthling, of having Max all to himself, was intoxicating. It was everything he had secretly wished for, all wrapped up in a neat, dangerous package.
George’s hand remained on his jaw, a silent reminder of the power he held over Carlos’ fate. The commander’s eyes were sharp, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed Carlos’ face. He had the Torossian in the palm of his hand, and he was squeezing just hard enough to make Carlos desperate.
"So, what do you say, Carlos?" George asked, voice barely above a murmur. "Help me bring Max back, and everything you’ve ever wanted will be yours. You’ll be his right hand, his confidant. You’ll have the life you’ve always dreamed of."
Carlos stared back into those blue-green eyes that looked far older up close than the rest of the youthful commander, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The logical part of him knew this was a trap, that George was manipulating him. But the longing in his heart, the need for Max’s approval, for his love, was overwhelming.
The offer was too tempting, too perfect to resist.
The flicker of doubt in his eyes was slowly being consumed by the flame of his desires. “I have conditions.”
“And those are?” the commander smirked.
“You leave Charles to me. If you find them together, I get to decide what is done with the Earthling.”
“That can be arranged,” George smiled. “Anything else?”
“I’ll help you find Max, but you have to promise Emperor Jos won't kill him for his escape,” Carlos said, voice barely steady. "I know he will have to face consequences, but they can't include death.”
“Master Jos will treat the prince as he sees fit. If he wanted to kill him, he’s had more than enough opportunity to do so before this escape. Now . . . Tell me where you sent them. We’ve scouted the entire sector where the planet Earth resides, as well as sectors six, seven, and four, and there’ve been no travel pods discovered—”
“Aston,” Carlos whispered. “I sent the pod to Aston.”
Brow shooting up, the commander looked genuinely surprised by that answer before it turned into skepticism. “How do I know you aren’t lying to me?”
“You don’t,” Carlos smirked, feeling not on the back foot for the first time since he walked in. “But as you said, commander. You wouldn’t be talking to me if you didn’t have to. So I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”
George’s smile widened as he huffed through his nose, his grip on Carlos’ jaw moving to his shoulder and tightening into something reminiscent of approval.
"Good boy," he said, voice a smooth purr. "You’ve made the right choice, Carlos. We’ll bring the prince back to where he belongs."
Carlos nodded, a cold dread settling in his stomach. He was making a deal with the devil, but the promise of being with Max, of having everything he ever wanted, was too powerful. Even if it meant crossing a line he could never come back from.
This was the ultimate betrayal. One that made his prior acts look insignificant.
As George released his shoulder and stood up, Carlos couldn’t help but wonder if, in his pursuit of Max, he'd just sealed his own fate.
_____
“You must be starving,” George offered, attempting to extend his good will with the dark-haired Torossian with a layer of false warmth. “Why don't you head to the kitchens and get a few extra rations before you accompany me to my evening briefing with the Emperor.”
Carlos rose slowly, still looking slightly dazed from their contentious little chat, and turned toward the door, pausing only to offer a rigid salute. “Commander,” he murmured before stepping out.
Watching him go, George waited until the door shut completely before allowing himself a satisfied chuckle. That had gone far better than expected; Carlos hadn’t even tried to press him further about Alonso's death or the launch deck footage. He could practically see the battle raging in the boy’s mind, the hurt and the anger gnawing at him.
All that raw vulnerability made everything just too easy. Torossians were so emotional, George mused.
He’d had his suspicions about Carlos for some time. All the wayward glances and longing puppy eyes he made when the prince was around were obvious to anyone who paid enough attention.
Finding his report about Daniel was just a bonus. Laughable in its poetic irony.
It was a shame that he belonged to that mangey monkey species. Now that he'd spent some time with Carlos up close, he wasn't as hard on the eyes as the prince in George's opinion, but not nearly as pretty as that Earthling.
Carlos was more broad and rough around the edges, dark hair covering most of his body with matching dark piercing eyes, whereas Charles almost had a feminine quality to his features. Smaller waist, slimmer frame, light eyes and a narrower jaw.
It was a bit funny, the two did look similar in some ways. Maybe it was something in the face or the hair?
Groaning, George's eyes flashed to the spot in his office where he'd had the Earthling on his knees, jaw stretched and precious liquid diamonds slipping from the corners of his eyes.
It was obvious Carlos would kill Charles given the opportunity, but perhaps he could negotiate one last turn with the Earthling before that.
Or even a turn with Carlos for the added fun.
Leaning back in his chair, George rubbed his temples. The effort of playing nice with Carlos was as exhausting as it was tedious, but the potential payoff was well worth it. After all, Planet Aston was the last place he would've thought to look for the prince—it being on the complete opposite side of Jos’ empire from where Earth was located.
He’d only covered just under half of Jos’ empire in his grid search with so little time and the warlord’s patience would’ve never lasted long enough for him to find Max organically.
Refocusing, the Elysian straightened, swiveling his tablet back around on the table top and scanning through his files. He had contacts scattered across the seven regions—plants, informants, people whose loyalty could be bought or coerced. With a few quick taps, he brought up the specific service record he needed and then slipped on his scouter, activating the transponder with a press of a button.
“Tell me you have news for me.”
The seconds ticked by in silence, the room’s sterile quiet only heightening the thrill of what was to come. Finally, a response notification crackled through his earpiece, and a message scrolled across the transparent screen over his eye.
George's lips curved into a wide triumphant smile as he read the informant’s reply.
“I may have something you're looking for.”
The words were like music to his ears. Standing, George was filled with excitement at the prospect of telling the Emperor, his fingers drumming against his empty cup.
Frowning, Jos could wait, he decided. More coffee first.
Chapter 32: As You Command, Princess
Summary:
The last few days had been a whirlwind for Charles, a blur of passion and intimacy that left him both exhilarated and exhausted. Time seemed to lose all meaning as the days and nights blended into one another, marked only by the rise and fall of the artificial sunlight and the heat of their bodies entwined.
Each morning began the same way: Charles would wake to the warmth of Max’s body beside him, the prince’s strong arms wrapped around him possessively. They would start their day slowly, lazily exploring each other as the early light filtered through the room, Max fulfilling his promise with his viper of a tongue. The touch of Max’s hands, the heat of his breath against Charles’ skin, sent shivers of pleasure through him.
Their lovemaking was unhurried, now that they had all the time in the universe to savor every moment together.
Notes:
The boys get some needed rest and quality time, blissfully unaware of Carlos' betrayal
Chapter warnings: Everything is happy and nothing hurts
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
– Lawrence’s stolen ship –
The last few days had been a whirlwind for Charles, a blur of passion and intimacy that left him both exhilarated and exhausted. Time seemed to lose all meaning as the days and nights blended into one another, marked only by the rise and fall of the artificial sunlight and the heat of their bodies entwined.
Each morning began the same way: Charles would wake to the warmth of Max’s body beside him, the prince’s strong arms wrapped around him possessively. They would start their day slowly, lazily exploring each other as the early light filtered through the room, Max fulfilling his promise with his viper of a tongue. The touch of Max’s hands and the heat of his breath against Charles’ skin, sent shivers of pleasure through him.
Their lovemaking was unhurried, now that they had all the time in the universe to savor every moment together.
After breakfast, they would train, maintaining the routine they'd developed on the PTO base ship. But their training sessions had taken on a new tone, less about honing their skills and more about teasing and taunting each other. Max would spar with a glint in his eye, his movements calm and fluid, and Charles could hardly focus, distracted by the way the prince’s muscles moved beneath his skin, the way he grinned when he got the upper hand.
Inevitably, their sparring would dissolve into something else entirely, a playful exchange of touches and kisses that escalated until they were both breathless, pressed against each other in a heated frenzy of sweat-slick skin.
It was like Max had been holding himself back, and now, freed from the horrors of that slave ship, he had no reason to restrain himself, plainly letting his desire for Charles control him. There was a hunger in him, an urgency that Charles could feel in every touch, every kiss. Max seemed determined to make up for lost time, to indulge in everything he'd been denied for so long.
And Charles was more than willing to let him.
Their afternoons were spent exploring each other’s bodies with a renewed sense of freedom, Max bending Charles over every surface he could find, whether it was the edge of training equipment, the kitchen counter, the back of some odd shaped furniture, or even just on the metal floor. The prince was relentless, his desire for Charles seemingly insatiable, and Charles found himself giving in to the pleasure, losing himself in the intensity of their connection.
Dinners were a brief respite, a moment of calm before the storm of snarls, growls, and grabby hands started again.
They would share a meal together, often exchanging stories and laughter, but the underlying tension between them was undeniable. Max’s eyes would linger on Charles, a smoldering heat in his gaze that promised more to come, and Charles would find himself growing impatient, eager for what he knew would follow.
One time, Charles even let his bare foot wander up underneath the table while they dined, finding its target easily. The prince was already achingly hard, not helped by the tight pants he'd raided from the fully stocked closet, and Charles startled him into loudly dropping his utensil, groaning at the pressure when the Eldri pressed down.
They didn't even wait until after the meal on that occasion. Max just shoved their plates to the side and fucked him stupid on the table, muttering all kinds of things in that foreign language that made his tailspot burn.
The nights were the most intense, the culmination of everything they had held back during the day. They would shower together, the hot water cascading over them as they pressed against each other, hands roaming, lips meeting in a fervent dance.
The water only fueled their passion, the steam rising around them as they made love against the cool tiles, the sound of their moans echoing in the small space.
Charles could hardly keep up with Max’s energy and stamina, but he didn’t much mind. He was consumed by the prince, by the way Max almost worshiped him, craving him in a way that left him breathless and wanting more. It was a side of Max he knew was there, buried deep next to that golden center, now unrestrained and uninhibited, and it made Charles’ heart swell with love and desire.
Charles remembered the first time Max had pressed his lips against his in the prince's private quarters, a desperate fevered plea without words, hands moving quickly, afraid the Earthling would slip right through. His ankle was still horribly broken, body recovering slowly, though he pretended he didn't need any assistance.
Scaring off that maid, Max was unbelievable, the memory making him chuckle. He hadn't seen it then, but thinking back on it, the prince had been protective of him so early, even before Charles realized.
Painfully lonely, Charles understood the silent cries of his actions back then, and his heart swelled with pride at how far Max had come in only a very short time away from Jos’ influence. The prince had been so angry, spiteful, and closed off for those first few weeks of Charles being on the ship, but the more he got to know Max, the more he'd come out of that impenetrable shell he kept his heart protected in.
There was no longer any need for secrecy, no longer any duty to pull Max away. They were free, truly free, and they were taking full advantage of it.
That’s how Charles found himself currently bent over the control panel of the cockpit, drooling and gasping for breath as Max took him from behind, the loud smacking of skin echoing on smooth metal walls.
Charles’ knuckles turned white as he gripped the edges of the console, his breath coming in ragged gasps as Max’s relentless pace drove him to the edge of sanity. The console beneath him was cool against his feverish skin, contrasting nicely with the fiery heat that radiated from Max’s body. His legs trembled with the force of each powerful thrust, and his vision blurred, stars dancing in his eyes as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in his belly.
He'd come more times than he could count and it was almost unbelievable he was still capable of climaxing again.
The small space of the cockpit was filled with the sounds of their bodies colliding, the slick, wet noises mingling with Charles’ desperate gasps and Max’s low, guttural grunts. The steady hum of the ship’s systems was drowned out by the symphony of their passion, the room thick with the scent of sweat and sex.
Max’s hands were everywhere, roaming possessively over Charles’ back, his hips, his thighs, leaving trails of heat in their wake. Each touch of his ki-laden fingertips sent a jolt of electricity through the Earthling, making him arch his back further, pushing himself back against Max with need. The prince’s grip on his hips was bruising, holding him firmly in place as he drove deeper, harder, his breath hot against the back of Charles’ neck.
“Max,” Charles choked out, his voice barely more than a whimper as he felt himself unraveling. He was so close, his body trembling on the precipice. He couldn’t hold on much longer.
The intensity of it all—the way Max filled him, the roughness of his touch, the primal sounds he made as he took Charles over and over again—it was too much, too overwhelming, and Charles felt like he was going to shatter.
“Tell me what you need, Charlie,” Max growled, voice low and rough, sending a shiver down Charles’ spine. Max nibbled on the side of his neck. The prince’s breath was hot against his ear, and Charles could feel the tension in Max’s body, the barely restrained control as he fought to hold back himself, waiting for Charles to come undone beneath him.
“I—fuck, I need more,” Charles gasped, his voice breaking as he teetered on the edge. “Please, Max . . . harder. J–just more!”
A dark, possessive growl rumbled from Max’s chest in response.
He leaned forward, pressing his sweaty chest against Charles’ back, his teeth grazing the Earthling’s shoulder that was littered with possessive bites as he complied with the plea. The change in angle drove him deeper, hitting that spot inside Charles that made him see stars. Charles cried out, his hands slipping on the console as his knees buckled, pleasure crashing through him like a tidal wave, but his orgasm remained out of reach.
Max’s pace became almost brutal, each thrust pushing Charles closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. The cockpit felt like it was spinning, the controls, the walls, the stars outside the viewport—all blurring together as Charles lost himself completely in the sensation. His breath hitched in his throat, his moans becoming more desperate, more incoherent as he was pushed to his limit.
“Max, please! I–I can't . . .” Charles whimpered, his body trembling violently as the pleasure became almost unbearable, every nerve ending on fire.
His head fell forward, forehead pressing against the console as his eyes squeezed shut, the entire universe narrowing down to the feel of Max inside him, the feel of his hands, his breath, his heat.
Suddenly, he was moving, arms limp as Max turned him around, lifting him into the air. The prince settled back into one of the pilot chairs and guided Charles up over his lap, leading the Eldri to straddle him with a knee on either side of Max's powerful thighs.
Exhausted, Charles let his forehead flop onto Max's shoulder, whimpering at the loss of the prince's glorious cock. He was so loose and sloppy from the four days of constant fucking, Max slid right back inside, setting a slower pace than before.
He needed more, not less—faster, not slower, and he was not above begging for it.
Whining loudly, Charles said, “M–more Max. S'il te plaît, s'il te plaît, s'il te plaît.”
Gasping softly against the Princes’ neck, Charles felt something soft prodding around his entrance, already stuffed with Max's thick cock.
“Just breathe for me, Charles,” Max said, giving him a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’ll give you more, just breathe.”
Taking a shaky breath, all the air felt like it was being punched from his lungs when that soft prodding stopped and something else pushed in past his rim, squeezing beside Max's manhood, gliding gently inside his dripping entrance.
Eyes flying open, Charles moaned from deep in his core at the new stretch, sensation on the verge of his limits. The object stayed still, as well as Max, letting him adjust to the added girth, but when the object started moving in tandem with Max's shallow thrusts, all thoughts left him. Mind foggy, slow to catch up, Charles bit down on Max's shoulder, the bitter tang of copper filling his mouth as the prince told him to breathe again.
“So good, Charlie. Doing so well. Mhhh, you can take it. I know you can. Blijf ademen, Charlie. [Just keep breathing, Charlie.] Max ran his fingers up through Charles’ sweaty curls before gripping them tight, holding him steady.
The new rhythm was incredible. Dual sensations of thrusts, each aimed directly at his sweet spot, making his eyes roll back as breathless pants slipped past his lips. The prince placed both palms firmly on each side of his ass, spreading him open to accommodate the size, and Charles realized belatedly the soft object that joined the prince's cock was Max’s tail, moving deeply inside his stretched hole.
Fuck, Charles wasn't even sure why the idea of that was so hot, but he swore he started gushing even more, slick running down his backside and dripping onto the insides of Max's thighs before running down the chair to the floor. Bouncing back a little bit on his knees, chasing the sensation, Charles couldn't last, insides burning with the need for release. He'd been having dry orgasms all day, but he was getting an odd sensation this time, an added pressure from the base of his cock that told him this one was going to be different.
Sitting up straight, Charles planted both palms firmly against Max's chest, tears of ecstasy blurring his vision. “T–Take it off, Max. Need to come, fuck , Max. Please— Please take it off!”
“You want to come?” Max growled under his fingertips, the words a command, a plea, an offering.
“Please, y–your highness,” Charles gasped and threw his head back, a lopsided smile on his face, knowing that would get him what he wanted.
“As you command, princess.”
Max reached down between Charles’ spread legs, and the band of blue ki, snug around his heavy, leaking cock and balls disappeared. Trailing his hand up to Charles’ chest, Max shot ki sparks around the bite marks on his abused nipple, pinching it hard.
That was all it took.
Charles shattered, his release crashing over him with a force that left him gasping for breath, his vision going white as he convulsed around Max, nails digging into Max's shoulders to stay upright. His cries filled the cockpit, body clenching tightly around the prince and his tail as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over him, leaving him trembling and weak. Max's thrusts didn't stop, his cock and tail working in alternating movements, so deep he swore he felt it in his chest, milking every last ounce of energy from him.
He painted them both, coating their bare chests with a clear spurting liquid that splattered against the prince's abs and ran down to the floor, more gushing out of his cock with every thrust. Charles had no idea what was happening, ears ringing, throat raw, mind a million light-years away.
Max followed him over the edge a heartbeat later, a deep, primal groan rumbling through his chest as he buried himself to the hilt, tail pressing deeper, his grip on Charles’ hips tightening.
The heat of his release flooded Charles, pushing him even further into the haze of pleasure, mind going blissfully blank as they both rode out the aftershocks together, Charles falling forward over Max's sweaty chest, the Eldri's fluid smeared between them.
For a few moments, neither of them moved, both breathing heavily as they came down from the high. Max held him steady, Charles’ forehead resting against the prince's neck as they tried to catch their breath, Max running his fingers through Charles’ curls.
The only sound was the quiet hum of the ship and the occasional beep from the console behind them, the air around them thick with the scent of Torossian pleasure and Charles’ slick.
Finally, Max pulled his tail out first, groaning as it slid free, soaked and dripping off the tip. The prince's hands were gentle as they skimmed over Charles’ back, soothing the trembling muscles beneath his fingertips. He pressed a soft kiss to Charles' neck before bringing his tail to his lips, hungrily sucking the Earthling’s juices from its fur.
It was amazing. Everything Charles had needed and more.
Charles sighed, his body still tingling from the aftershocks, and leaned further into Max’s embrace. He felt boneless, utterly spent, but there was a deep contentment settling in his chest, a warmth that came from knowing he was safe, cherished, loved. Max’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close as they both basked in the afterglow.
“Princess, huh?” Charles murmured, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he glanced up at the prince.
Max chuckled softly, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “Well, since I’m a prince . . . Naturally that makes you my princess, no?”
Charles felt his cheeks heat up as Max’s gravelly voice called him " princess " again. The title sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander. Max was a prince—a real prince, not just a title, but someone born into it, molded by it, carrying the weight of the legacy of their people on his shoulders.
And here Max was, playfully bestowing a matching title on him. It made something warm unfurl in Charles’ chest, something that felt both new and entirely natural.
His Eldri hummed with quiet contentment at the idea.
Being Max’s princess . . . was a role he found himself liking more than he expected. It wasn’t about power or position, but about belonging, about being a part of something bigger than himself, something tied to Max. It felt right, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.
Max hadn’t always treated him as an equal, the start of their relationship fraught with complications, but this small term of endearment spoke volumes about how Max saw him now—important, cherished, someone he wanted by his side.
Charles allowed himself a brief moment to bask in the thought. The idea of being something more to Max, of standing beside him not just as a companion, but as something deeper, something intertwined with his very identity, filled Charles with a quiet joy.
His Eldri practically purred at the thought, pleased and content with the idea of being cherished by the prince—their mate.
Charles was grateful his Eldri seemed satisfied and hadn't tried to derail him with more thoughts about George. All he wanted to do was forget that happened and never speak of it again. After these four perfect days with Max, the Earthling begrudgingly decided his Eldri was right, and he could keep this to himself, take this secret to the grave.
He'd thought about it in rare moments, about how Max would react, and he feared the worst, already deeming himself unworthy as a Torossian.
What he wouldn't do to go back and stop himself from having Seb remove his tail.
But just as Charles was getting lost in the depth of those thoughts, a sharp, piercing alarm blared through the cockpit, cutting through the moment. Both of them snapped to attention, the intimacy of the moment shattered.
Charles’ blush deepened, this time from embarrassment as reality crashed back in, and his naked state left him feeling exposed in Max’s lap, softening cock still buried inside him.
The Earthling’s chest was soaked, and Charles bit his lip, unsure what exactly had happened when he came.
Max’s expression hardened, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by the steely resolve of a leader. He gently lifted Charles up off his lap, and moved quickly toward the console, his fingers flying over the controls as he tried to determine the cause of the alarm, not a care or thought seemingly given to his naked state or the puddle of something he had been sitting in.
_____
Max’s fingers moved instinctively over the control panel, adjusting the ship’s settings with ease. He was surprised how quickly he'd picked up using this ship's interface, but he supposed once you'd seen one interstellar vehicle, you'd seen them all.
The final approach warning echoed through the cockpit, an unwanted reminder that their journey was nearing its end. He could feel Charles’ eyes on him, watching silently, and it stirred a mix of emotions in his chest—pride, protectiveness, and an unfamiliar ache he couldn’t quite name.
If he was honest, it wasn't unfamiliar.
He’d felt it every time he looked at the Eldri, but he still didn't have the ability to put the feeling into words that he felt did it justice. His confession of ‘I’m in love with you’, words that had long needed to be spoken before they were, were the closest he’d come.
The closest he could get in words that Charles would understand.
Truthfully, the words in galactic standard didn’t convey the full weight of his feelings for Charles. Max had thought a lot about it over the long day Charles was resting, reviewing that feeling as he sat and stared at the sleeping Eldri, adrift in his dreams.
If Charles spoke Torossian, or even understood it, Max would tell him how he felt. Tell the Eldri how beautiful he was, and that his true beauty was found in the soft way he tamed Max’s fire, while wildly igniting it at the same time. Max would tell him how his green eyes reminded him of the vast gardens of Toro, how his voice—rolling off sugared lips—sounded like the goddess of the moon spoke through him.
The prince would tell Charles how his smile brightened even the darkest of nights, and quieted all the years of rage and pain inside him; how Charles made everything okay. He’d tell him that they were one and the same, born to fight and bleed together. They were the broken ones from different places, but from a home of the same name.
If Charles spoke Torossian, Max would tell him, "Jij bent mijn alles.” [ You are my everything ]
The sight of the warning lights flashing on the console brought a heaviness to his heart, breaking his thoughts. This quiet time with Charles had been a rare gift, a reprieve from the burdens that had weighed him down for as long as he could remember.
Out here, in the vastness of space, they'd been free from the eyes of others, free from the demands and expectations that usually surrounded him. It had been just the two of them—no war councils, no missions, no emperor, no need to hide what they truly felt for each other.
But now, that peace was slipping away, and Max wasn’t ready to let it go.
His shoulders tightened as he read the data on the screen. Namek was coming into view, a small, serene planet that promised safety, but also a return to reality. Not knowing what they would find when they got there, the prince needed to be prepared for anything.
Max straightened his back, forcing himself to focus. He was a prince, and he had responsibilities, duties he couldn’t ignore.
Top of his list—keep Charles safe.
Turning to Charles, Max saw the reflection of his own reluctance in the Eldri’s eyes. The past few days had been perfect, almost surreal. They had laughed, shared stories, and explored each other in ways that Max hadn’t dared to imagine before. The idea of giving that up, even for a short while as they got settled, felt like losing something precious.
But he couldn’t afford to dwell on it.
“We’ll be landing on Namek in twenty minutes,” Max said, voice firm, though he couldn’t keep the edge of regret from creeping in. “We’d better get dressed. Don't want to be vulnerable in case we meet resistance.”
“I thought you said this was a peaceful planet? In the neutral zone, yes?” Charles asked, biting his lip.
“It is, but that doesn't mean they will welcome us willingly.”
Pursing his lips, the Earthing got that fierce look in his eye that Max found adorable. “Absolutely no killing. If they want us to leave, we will just go somewhere else.”
Sighing, the prince pinched the bridge of his nose, “Fine. But don't wander off this time. Understood?”
Placing his hands on his hips, Charles huffed but the sound had no spite in it. How threatening did Charles really think he was standing stark naked, squirt dripping down his chest and legs?
Max chuckled softly, watching Charles drop his hands and nod. The Eldri’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual, the unspoken understanding lingering between them, a mutual acknowledgment that this peaceful interlude was ending.
“Let's shower.”
Stepping out from the belly of the ship, Max took in the sight of Namek for the first time.
The planet's lush landscape stretched out before them, vibrant and teeming with life. Its three clustered suns hung low in the sky, casting long, intertwined shadows that danced across the rolling hills and valleys. The atmosphere was thick with rich, oxygenated air, almost sweet on the inhale, filling Max’s lungs in a way that felt strange after the sterile confines of the ship.
He let out a slow, measured breath, trying to ease the tension that had coiled in his shoulders.
Beside him, Charles was practically giddy, his eyes wide with childlike wonder. The Eldri’s gaze darted from the verdant fields to the azure waters that glistened in the distance, taking in every detail with an infectious enthusiasm. The way he moved—so light and carefree—stirred something in Max’s chest.
He envied that ability to be so fully in the moment, to find joy so easily.
Max watched as Charles spun in a slow circle, arms outstretched like he was trying to embrace the entire planet at once. A soft smile tugged at Max's lips, but it was tinged with a heaviness he couldn't quite shake. He wished he could feel the same sense of awe, the same thrill of discovery that lit up Charles’ face. But all he could think about was the danger that the two of them were in.
Max's gaze shifted to the horizon, scanning for any sign of movement, any indication that they weren’t alone. The lushness of the planet, though beautiful, was a reminder that they were far from the desolate worlds he had grown accustomed to. This was a place where life thrived, where creatures—friendly or otherwise—could be hiding just out of sight, and then there was the looming question of what might happen next.
Namek was peaceful, but how long could that peace last with the shadow of the PTO always hanging over them? Not even three suns could blot out that shadow.
Charles’ laughter snapped him out of his thoughts.
Max turned to see the Eldri grinning widely, dimples on full display, his eyes crinkled with delight as he looked back at the prince. For a moment, all of Max's worries melted away under that stunning green gaze that matched the landscape. Charles’ happiness was contagious, and Max found himself smiling back, even if just for a moment.
“What do you think, Max?” Charles asked, his voice brimming with excitement. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Max nodded, his smile a little tighter now. “Yes, it is. It’s . . . more than I expected.”
Charles took a few steps closer, his expression softening as he seemed to sense Max’s underlying anxiety. “We’ll be okay here,” Charles said gently, as if reading Max’s thoughts. “For now, let’s just enjoy it while we can.”
But Max wasn't really listening that well to respond.
As soon as his boots touched the soft, grassy surface of Namek, the urge hit him like a bolt of lightning, becoming harder and harder to ignore. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity—an uncontrollable, burning need to take flight.
The restrictions on the PTO base ship had kept him grounded for so long, his metaphorical wings clipped by the invisible chains of duty and surveillance. But here, in this foreign yet familiar world, he was free.
Without a word to Charles or even a moment’s hesitation, Max launched himself into the air with a burst of energy that left the ground trembling in his wake. The wind roared in his ears as he shot upward, the lush green landscape of Namek quickly shrinking beneath him until Charles was nothing more than a tiny speck on the ground.
Higher and higher he ascended, the atmosphere thinning as he broke through the lower layers of the planet's sky. The three suns beamed down on him with a radiant warmth that enveloped his entire body, their combined intensity almost blinding as they reflected off his skin.
For the first time in what felt like years, Max stretched his arms out wide, letting the full force of his speed and power wash over him. The sensation was euphoric, the suns' rays dancing across his skin like the gentle caress of a long-lost lover. The warmth was eerily reminiscent of the suns of Toro, and for a brief, heart-wrenching moment, he could almost believe he was back home.
He closed his eyes, letting the suns’ rays soak into his skin, cherishing the reminder of a time and place that was lost to him forever. Up here, with the wind whipping through his blonde hair and the vast expanse of the sky stretching out in all directions, Max felt truly alive—truly free.
There were no walls, no chains, no eyes watching his every move. Just him and the sky, the suns, the wind, and the memories of a world that no longer existed.
A faint noise reached his ears—Charles' voice calling to him from far below, snapping him out of his reverie. Max opened his eyes and looked down, squinting against the bright light to find the small figure on the ground. Even from this altitude, he could make out Charles, his arms waving frantically as he called out to him.
Approaching him from below, the prince saw Charles rising up to meet him, his figure quickly closing the distance between them.
Charles slowed his ascent as he neared Max, his green eyes full of concern as he hovered beside the prince. "What’s wrong?" he asked, voice carrying easily over the wind. "Are you alright?”
A pang of guilt twisted in Max’s chest. He’d been so caught up in the thrill of flight, in the rush of freedom, that he had left the Earthling standing alone on the ground.
Even after he just told Charles to not wander off . . .
Max sighed, letting the wind carry the sound away before he slowly began his descent, Charles following wordlessly close behind. The warmth of the suns remained on his skin as he glided back down toward the planet's surface, but it no longer felt quite as comforting as it had moments before.
Touching down softly beside the Earthling, Max didn’t waste a moment, reaching out, placing a hand on Charles’ cheek, giving it a reassuring caress. “Forgive me,” he said, voice quiet but filled with sincerity. “I just . . . I needed that. It’s been so long since I’ve flown like that, and I—”
Charles cut him off with a small, understanding smile, though the worry hadn’t fully left his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I get it. I just . . . give me a warning yeah?”
As they pulled apart, Max gave the Eldri a small smile, followed by a soft peck on the lips. “Come on,” he said, taking Charles’ hand in his. “Let’s explore this place together.”
Chapter 33: Brother.
Summary:
While grieving Alonso's demise in the privacy of the Torossian suite, Carlos reflects on how everything went so wrong, starting with the night his father brought Charles home.
Notes:
Things are going to start picking up now with George hot on Max's trail thanks to Carlos' cooperation.
Chapter warnings: Mentioned death in childbirth
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
– Capsule Corp ship (somewhere in space) –
Lando and Hannah were seated at the table, enjoying a quiet dinner, the aroma of the meal filling the room, helping to distract from the fact they were hurtling through space on a mission to find their missing friend. The dining area of the Capsule Corp ship was a small, cozy space, with soft lighting and a sleek, modern design, but it did little to settle Lando.
He was exhausted after training for most of the day by himself in the gravity room, and the food seemed to only sour his upset stomach.
Having just taken a bite of his food, the Earthling was lost in his thoughts when the door to the dining area slid open with a hiss. Before either of them even fully looked up, Lewis stormed in, face a mask of fury, presence like a thunderstorm rolling into an otherwise calm evening.
He barely had time to swallow his mouthful of food before Lewis was on him.
“This is ridiculous, Lando!” the older man shouted, voice echoing off the walls.
His eyes were wild, and without warning, the older man grabbed Lando by the collar, yanking him up out of his chair. The sudden movement sent Lando’s plate clattering to the floor, the remnants of his dinner scattering across the polished surface.
“Lewis, what the hell—” Lando started, straining as he struggled against the crazed man’s grip.
Shooting to her feet, “Lewis, put him down!” Hannah demanded, voice a mixture of fear and anger. She moved to intervene, but the intensity in Lewis’ eyes kept her at bay, at least for the moment.
Ignoring her, the older man's focus stayed entirely on Lando. “We’ve been out here for weeks!” he snarled. “Weeks, Lando! And for what? To fly around in circles while testing is about to start without me?”
Lando saw the stress in Lewis’ face, the bags under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. The long search for Charles was wearing on all of them, and it seemed Lewis was at the breaking point.
“Oh fuck off, Lewis,” Lando spat, keeping his voice as calm as possible despite the tight grip on his collar. “I get it, you’re frustrated. We all are. But Charles is more important than driving around in those stupid cars.”
“Stupid cars?” Lewis barked, his grip tightening. “Do you have any idea what this is costing me? Those ‘stupid’ cars are the only reason I don't try to kill you and your merry band of loser friends in the tournament anymore. Every race missed is valuable points I’ll never get back, and for what? For WHAT? Charles is gone, Lando. We’ve been chasing a ghost!”
The words stung more than Lando expected, like a cold slap to the face. The thought of Charles being truly gone was one he hadn’t allowed himself to fully entertain, and he wasn't about to start now, he told himself.
“I’m not giving up on him,” Lando replied firmly. “Charles is out there somewhere, and I’m going to find him. I know it’s taking longer than we thought, but we’re not just going to leave him out there!”
Hannah stepped closer, her hand hovering near Lewis’ arm, ready to pull him off Lando if things escalated further. “Lewis, please,” she said softly, trying to soothe the tension in the room. “We’re all tired, and we’re all worried, but Lando’s right. We need to stick together if we’re going to find Charles, and then make it home in one piece.”
Lewis’ eyes flicked to Hannah, and something in his gaze softened. His grip on Lando loosened slightly, though he still looked far from convinced.
“This is a PR nightmare,” Lewis muttered. “There are only so many lies my team can tell before people catch on.”
He finally released Lando, pushing him back into his chair with more force than necessary.
“Where does your team think you are right now?” Hannah asked.
“My team is posting old photos from my trip to Africa over the summer break and have said I'm continuing my charity work there. That only holds out if I make it back in time for testing.”
Lando adjusted the collar of his shirt, taking a deep breath to steady himself, heart still pounding. Appetite now nonexistent, all Lando was left with was simmering frustration that made it hard to sit still. He poked at the remnants of his meal with his fork, barely tasting the food as he forced himself to eat.
Lewis, having calmed down somewhat, quietly settled into the seat beside him.
The tension in the room was thick, and Lando felt the weight of Lewis’ glare. He could see the crotchety older man was still simmering with frustration, but the anger had subsided, leaving behind a brooding silence.
Hannah looked between the two men, concern etched on her face. It was obvious she sensed the discomfort radiating from Lando, but she'd already told him she was at a loss as to how to keep the peace.
Like he was the fucking problem . . .
“Lando,” she said softly, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “Would you like something else to eat? There are a few other things in the synthesizer.”
Forcing a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Lando appreciated her attempt to smooth things over, but the tension gnawing at him made it impossible to stay. The image of Lewis manhandling him, effortlessly lifting him out of his chair, played on a loop in his mind, eroding what little composure he had left.
“I’m fine,” he lied, shoving another forkful of cold food into his mouth. He chewed quickly, barely tasting it as he tried to ignore the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the table. Lewis, for his part, was eating slowly, his eyes focused on his plate as if trying to avoid any further confrontation.
But Lando couldn’t sit there any longer.
The room felt too small, too stifling. He needed to move, to do something that would clear his mind and shake off the unsettling feeling of inadequacy that had taken root.
Hannah gave him a concerned look when he stood up from the table, meal half eaten. “Lando—”
“I'm going to train,” he said, voice tight, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape that made Hannah wince. “Come get me if anything with the radar changes.”
Hannah frowned, clearly worried, but she didn’t press the issue.
He walked out of the dining area, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway as he made his way to the training room. Each step was fueled by a mix of anger, frustration, and the need to prove to himself that he wasn’t as weak as he felt at that moment.
“If you can't even get past me, how do you expect to handle the guy who took Charles?” Lewis’ prior words echoed in his thoughts.
He was quickly running out of time and options.
As the door to the training room slid shut behind him, Lando took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts. He was disheveled, both physically and emotionally, but he couldn’t let that get the best of him. He needed to focus, to push himself harder than ever before.
He was determined to prove, if only to himself, that he was still strong enough to see this through and find Charles.
_____
– PTO Base Ship –
Carlos sat alone on his bunk in the Torossian suite, the weight of everything that had happened sitting heavy in his gut. The air felt stifling, the silence in the room broken only by the faint chewing while he ate.
In his hand, he held a skewer of roasted meat, his favorite part of their meal rations, but even that couldn’t take the edge off the bitterness clawing at his insides.
Max was gone.
Not just gone—he’d left, on purpose, taking Charles with him.
The burn of it was unbearable, but it wasn’t just Max’s departure that had left him reeling. Alonso was dead. The man who’d guided them, fought for them, stood as a pillar of strength in the chaos—gone.
No body for him to offer last rights of the goddess to. No chestplate or even a single glove for him to have as a memento.
Carlos tore a chunk of meat from the skewer with his teeth, chewing mechanically, the flavor barely registering. His gaze drifted to the counter across the room, where all the rest of the ration items were still scattered, among them a familiar cylindrical container, plain and unassuming, but instantly recognizable.
Prince Max’s stew.
The sight of it ignited a spark of anger in Carlos’ chest, and his grip tightened around the skewer. It had been one of Max’s odd habits, gravitating to the unassuming meal since they were teens on this ship, a little piece of normalcy he clung to amidst the hell of their lives. Max had told him once that it tasted like a meal his mother, the queen, used to make for him when the fresh vegetables were harvested from the palace garden.
It was a symbol of his privilege, his ability to leave everything behind whenever it suited him—his meal, his people, even his best friend.
Carlos’ jaw clenched, his breathing growing heavier as the anger bubbled up. He set the skewer down, his appetite gone, and stood abruptly, eyes fixed on the container. The silence in the room seemed to amplify his frustration and rage until it became all he could focus on.
“Egoïstische lul,” [Selfish asshole] Carlos muttered under his breath, the words sharp and venomous. “How could you do this?”
His hands balled into fists as he stepped toward the counter, the container taunting him with its presence. Max’s absence, his betrayal, staring him in the face.
Without thinking, Carlos grabbed the container, its weight insignificant in his hand but heavy with meaning, and hurled it across the room.
It hit the closed door to Max’s private quarters with a loud thud , the lid popping off and the contents splattering against the pristine surface, newly replaced after the temper tantrum Charles caused. The sound echoed in the silence, and Carlos stood there, his chest heaving, breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
“Hoe kon je mij verlaten!” [How could you leave me!] Carlos shouted, cursing him in Torossian. “How could you just leave? How could you leave with him?” His voice cracked, and he slammed his fist against the door, the pain a dull counterpoint to the raw hole he felt in his chest.
Carlos stared at the door, willing it to open, for Max to walk out and end this nightmare, but the door stood silent, indifferent to his cries of pain, breathing uneven as the stew dripped onto the floor, pooling near his feet. Squeezing his eyes shut, Carlos refused to look at the mess, and turned away, knees buckling as he knelt down beside Alonso’s empty bunk, the scent of the old Torossian lingering faintly in the sheets. Balling his fists into the fabric, he pressed his face against his hands, the muffled sound of a wounded wail escaping his trembling lips.
It was a soft, broken sound, but it carried the weight of years of bottled grief.
For several long minutes, Carlos stayed like that, shoulders shaking as tears dampened the worn fabric beneath him. He let go of everything he’d held back in front of George, all the pain, the anger, the loss that felt like it was splitting him open.
Why had he even bothered trying to hold it together? What was the point?
Max was gone.
Everything Carlos had done—years of torment, suppressing his emotions, following orders without question—had been for the prince. Every calculated move, every agonizing decision had been to shield Max from Jos’ wrath.
If Alonso or Carlos ever made a mistake, it wasn’t them who suffered; it was Max. The emperor had always delighted in punishing the prince for what he deemed as his failure to control his people, using it as an excuse to mock his worth as a leader.
Alonso had understood that better than anyone, and he’d been relentless in Carlos’ training because of it. Every grueling drill, every moment of harsh discipline, had been Alonso’s way of ensuring Carlos didn’t give the emperor any more excuses to hurt Max.
It had always been about keeping Max safe.
Never about him. Never about anything else.
Carlos gritted his teeth, anger rising like bile in his throat as he pressed harder into the sheets.
He was done.
Done with the lies, the work, the constant fear for someone who could leave him behind without a second thought. The betrayal stung deeper than he thought possible.
His chest heaved with each shaky breath as his gaze drifted across the room, landing on Charles’ empty cot. It was neatly made, mocking him with its pristine appearance, a reminder of how Max looked at Charles vs how he looked at him.
A young, fresh, shiny new toy ready to be played with, while Carlos was the broken one, left forgotten to collect dust.
That cot.
That jezebel.
The thought sent a surge of bitterness coursing through him, and Carlos’ fists clenched tighter.
Just like his whore of a mother.
Carlos had never told Max or Alonso the truth about Charles, never revealed the family secret that had haunted him for decades. Charles was his half-brother, a fact Carlos had kept buried deep out of shame and a desire to avoid their judgmental looks.
Torossian marriages were rarely about love, especially among the lower classes, but it was looked upon very harshly to seek pleasure outside of them. While the elites and royalty had marriages for status, symbols of heritage and bloodlines, unions in the lower classes were far worse. They were unions of survival, alliances to enhance what little power and means they had and most—if not all—were pre-arranged.
His parents' marriage had been no different.
Jules, his father, had married Carlos’ mother—a respectable third-class woman from a good military family—at a very young age, and their union had brought Carlos the privilege of training alongside the elite warriors of their society. Jules’ promotion to a military advisor of the king had opened doors for him that others in his class could only dream of.
That was how Carlos had met Max.
Carlos had been selected to be a personal training partner for the prince after catching General Marko’s eye during a sparring session at the royal academy. He stood out among his peers as a skilled fighter and a sharp tactician, taking down even elite opponents with qualities that had impressed the old general enough to pull him and his father aside after the session.
Elated that day, Carlos was eager to prove himself worthy of the honor. But the day he was introduced to Max—the golden haired prince with piercing blue eyes and an aura that commanded attention—was the day everything had changed for him.
Carlos was captivated the first time he saw Max.
The prince carried himself with an effortless confidence, even at such a young age, and Carlos had immediately felt a mixture of awe and excitement at the opportunity to train with him in one-on-one sessions.
In no time, the two became inseparable, their bond solidifying almost overnight.
Their childhood was filled with endless laughter and mischief. While their fathers were absorbed in late-night council meetings, Max and Carlos made the palace staff their unsuspecting targets, sneaking through the corridors to play pranks on the maids or stealing sweets from the kitchens. The palace became their playground, a vast maze of adventure and camaraderie.
He'd even had early stirrings of affection for Max, accompanied by visions of courting with him, going for walks in the garden holding tails. When they were old enough there would be a grand palace mating ceremony, Max wearing his royal uniform with golden clasps and red mantle, blonde hair glinting in Toro's red sun.
It was a ridiculous thought, he knew it was.
Carlos was third-class, and no amount of training was going to change that. But he still let himself hope, basking in his childhood dreams, until that carefree time ended one night.
Carlos was jolted awake by the sound of shouting—a voice sharp with anger, familiar yet alien in its intensity, his mother. The unmistakable cadence of her cursing in rapid Torossian echoed through their small third-class townhouse.
A baby’s cry pierced the heated exchange, high-pitched and desperate, and Carlos froze for a moment before slipping out of bed quietly and creeping down the stairs.
From the landing, he saw his father standing in the sitting room, a bundle cradled in his arms. His mother’s face was red with fury, her voice breaking as she spat venomous words. “Take it back, Jules. Take it back to wherever you found it!” she hissed, tears streaming down her face.
Carlos ducked into the shadows, heart hammering as he watched his father stand firm, his expression worn and defeated. Jules spoke in a low voice, his words drowned out by his mother’s sobs as she stormed into another room, slamming the door behind her. The muffled sound of her crying drifted up the stairwell, and Carlos swallowed hard when his father turned to him.
“Come down, Carlos,” Jules said, voice heavy with exhaustion. Carlos hesitated but obeyed, descending the last few steps slowly. Standing before his father, he looked at the bundle, now cooing softly. “Come and meet your brother.”
Brother.
Carlos stared down at the baby, his ears ringing. The tiny face, round and soft, was framed by wisps of brown curly hair as it reached out, tiny fingers curling toward Carlos like it was searching for comfort, and he didn’t move, didn’t speak, his young mind struggling to process what he was seeing.
He wouldn’t fully understand until later. His mother, voice trembling with heartbreak and bitterness, told him the truth: the baby was his half-brother, the result of Jules’ affair with an Eldri maiden from the temple who’d died in childbirth.
His father had claimed they were in love—compatible, and that he couldn't control his Oozaru as the reason for the affair, but Carlos had always thought that was a weak excuse.
Eldris were the exception, he was taught. A rare gift from the goddess and should be treated as such. Being so few in numbers, the normal rules that governed their rigid society didn't apply to them and they were seen as sacred, reserved for the elite of the elite, married off to the finest of Torossian families.
Jules was out of his mind for thinking he was compatible with one, and Carlos didn't even fully understand what that meant, only knowing what his mother told him about it.
His father was the strongest person he knew besides the prince, and that maiden from the temple must’ve tricked him in some way, receiving judgment from the goddess for doing so with her ultimate demise.
But the damage was done and the revelation shattered his family.
His mother, devastated, refused to acknowledge the baby or care for it, retreating into herself. The house was steeped in tension so thick it felt suffocating, every meal eaten in silence, every interaction strained. Jules tried to bridge the growing chasm, but nothing could mend the betrayal.
Carlos spent as much time as he could at the palace with Max, desperate to escape the tense atmosphere at home. But even there, the weight of the secret followed him. Jules had sworn him to silence, telling him to call the baby his brother and to never speak of what he knew.
Carlos had kept that promise, even as resentment festered in his young heart.
And now, as he knelt by Alonso’s empty bunk, the memories clawed their way back with a vengeance. What good had come from keeping that secret? From trying to see Charles as a brother, to force a bond that was never meant to exist?
Foolishly, Carlos had thought he could start over with Charles when he'd found him on Earth. The younger Torossian had no idea about his origins, and Carlos had convinced himself that they could forge a new path, kindle some kind of kinship with their shared paternal figure.
But he’d been wrong. So wrong.
Charles’ very existence had brought nothing but ruin.
He should’ve listened to his mother.
She’d always known better. It was her who insisted on taking Charles for his energy scan, and Carlos remembered the day vividly. The machine’s results had sent shockwaves through their already fractured family.
Charles’ ki was so low it was almost nonexistent, and Jules—furious—demanded the scan be done again. But the results didn’t change.
Charles was weak. Useless. He’d been sent for a purge infant assignment less than a week later, deemed unfit to train as a soldier under the emperor’s new imposed restrictions.
Standing abruptly, Carlos paced the room like a caged animal. His fists clenched at his sides as a new wave of fury surged through him.
Maybe it didn’t all tie back to Max. Maybe it all came back to Charles.
To Perceval . . .
The freak. The stain on their family name. The bastard child who had ruined everything.
He had no business existing, let alone becoming entangled in their lives on the PTO ship.
His mind raced with every slight, every grievance he could pin on Charles: his family being torn apart, his childhood ruined, Max leaving, Alonso’s death . . . It all traced back to the Earthling in some twisted way.
“I should've left you on that damned planet to rot,” Carlos spat bitterly to the empty cot, his voice shaking with rage. “You will meet your death at my hands—”
A sudden banging on the door snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts and he turned sharply as the suite door slid open, revealing George’s impatient figure standing in the doorway.
“Come, Torossian,” the commander said, his tone clipped and cold. “We shouldn’t keep the emperor waiting.”
_____
The massive doors of the throne room creaked open, revealing George as he strode in with an urgency to his steps. His boots echoed on the cold, icy floor, the sound almost swallowed by the chill that hung in the air.
Dragging Carlos behind him, the young Torossian's steps were reluctant and unfocused, his glare steady on the back of George’s head. Clearly unsure of this meeting, George even had to retrieve Carlos from the Torossian quarters instead of the man coming back to his office like he’d told him to.
Annoying, yet unsurprising, he swore all of those damned Torossian mongrels were nothing but cowards at heart.
The last time he’d walked this path, his steps had been heavy with failure, weighed down by the lack of results in locating Prince Max. But today . . . today, he had something valuable, something that would surely please the emperor, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a satisfied smirk as he led Carlos into the heart of the frigid lair.
He was going to enjoy giving the warlord good news for once, and hopefully escape the horrible fate of becoming Jos' new favorite toy.
George shuddered at the thought.
The throne room itself was a vast, frigid expanse, more reminiscent of a frozen wasteland than a place of power. Frost clung to the walls, and the air was so cold that each breath George took felt like inhaling shards of ice. The temperature had dropped even further since his last visit, a clear indication that Emperor Jos' mood had not improved in the slightest.
Despite the biting cold, George’s conviction didn’t waver. His gaze remained steady as he advanced toward the throne, his grip tightening on Carlos’ arm as he pulled the Torossian along.
Carlos stumbled slightly, breath audibly hitching as he looked around at the icy, unforgiving environment. Displeasure palpable, seeping into every corner of the room, the frost demon’s energy had turned the space into a hellish landscape of ice.
But the commander was expecting it this time, and he would not show fear.
As they drew closer, he noticed the subtle shift in Jos' posture. The emperor, previously lounging with a bored, almost disinterested expression, suddenly sat up straighter, his red eyes narrowing as he focused on George and the Torossian he was dragging behind him.
The warlord’s expression was still a mask of icy control, but there was a spark of interest in his gaze, a faint flicker of threat that George better have something worth his attention.
When they reached the base of the throne, George came to a halt, still holding Carlos firmly in place beside him, until the Torossian shoved his hand away, crossing his arms over his chest, looking down at the floor.
Ungrateful idiot, George thought.
The jerk could’ve just as easily died out there in that forest on Merc if their lord hadn’t ordered him tanked. George had even approved several additional procedures and rare medicines be used on the injured warrior. Ignoring Carlos, George stood tall, failing not to exude an air of triumph while Carlos kept quiet. Breath fogging in front of him as he spoke, the words were crisp and clear in the icy air.
“My Lord,” George began, carrying the perfect blend of respect and authority, “I come bearing gifts.”
Jos’ eyes glinted, the faintest curl of a frown tugging at the corners of his black lips. “Unfortunately commander, that is not the monkey I asked you to find,” he sneered, voice as cold and sharp as the frost coating the room.
George’s smirk widened as he shoved Carlos forward, forcing the Torossian to stand directly before the throne. “While that is true, that doesn’t mean I don’t have good news.”
With measured confidence, the commander relayed the details of his findings, savoring each word as he watched the warlord’s interest deepen. Carlos shifted uncomfortably under the emperor’s gaze, his eyes not leaving the floor. As he spoke, the cold that had once seemed so oppressive now felt like a backdrop to his impending victory, and for George, the thrill of getting back in the warlord's good graces was almost intoxicating. This was his moment, his triumph, and he relished the thought of what it would mean for his standing within the empire.
What it would mean for that arrogant asshole prince.
Jos would no longer see him as a failure or a waste of decades of resources and training. He didn’t need to be just as good as the Torossian prince.
He was better.
Remaining silent as George finished his report, the frost demon's eyes were calculating, expression unchanged, but George felt the shift in the atmosphere, a subtle change in the air that told him the emperor was pleased. The ice may have still clung to the walls, but George sensed the heat of impending action, the simmering fury that would soon be unleashed upon the galaxy.
The atmosphere in the throne room was charged with a tense energy as the emperor’s gaze shifted from George to Carlos. “What do you have to say for yourself then Torossian? Do you deny the commander's claims of your involvement in Prince Max's escape?”
Taking a step back, the commander gave Carlos the floor, doing his best to hide how much he was enjoying the moment and watching the Torossian squirm under the emperor’s scrutiny. The tip of his black tail fluffed a bit around his waist, and it reminded him of some small animals he used to play with on Elysia—
George’s smirk slid off his face in a hurry, ripping his eyes away from the filthy appendage.
“I do not, my lord,” Carlos said and bowed low, bending almost completely in half before standing up again. “Commander George speaks the truth. I was involved in the preparation for sending the Earthling away, but I deny all prior knowledge of Prince Max's intentions to escape with him.”
The frost demon’s piercing eyes narrowed as he assessed the dark-haired Torossian. “Aston?” Jos’ voice was cold and measured. “You are sure you sent that pod to planet Aston.”
“Yes, Emperor Jos,” Carlos answered, voice steady despite his evident anxiety. “Aston is where I intended to send just the Earthling. It seemed the best option given the circumstances.”
The frost demon’s expression remained neutral, but the coldness in his eyes deepened. “Explain your reasoning,” Jos commanded, the order carrying the weight of a threat.
Carlos took a breath. “As the PTO rebel stronghold, with a population known for its brutal enforcement of the promise of death to all those loyal to the empire . . . It seemed a safe bet that the locals would see him as a threat and act accordingly. Given the Earthling’s mostly untrained background, the situation doesn't leave much for the imagination.”
“Mostly untrained,” Jos parroted. “Yet another lie from the traitor prince.”
As Carlos and the emperor continued, George’s amusement only grew.
He found the situation deeply ironic—and deliciously cruel. Sending Charles alone to Aston would've been a stroke of twisted genius, even if it pained him to admit that. The rebels on Aston were notoriously ruthless, and the chances of the Earthling surviving there would've been slim to none.
George still found it amusing, imagining the chaos that would have ensued when Charles was discovered.
Musing silently to himself—Torossians are brutal indeed, he thought. But this one . . . George cast another glance at Carlos, taking in the sight of the Torossian standing rigidly at attention before the emperor.
This one seemed clever.
Despite his reservations about Torossians as a species, George had to admit that the younger Torossian had some wit—enough to come up with a plan that, in George’s mind, neatly tied up the loose ends surrounding Prince Max’s impromptu escape. Combine that with his past actions in the training room and with the anonymous report, and George hated to say he was impressed.
Even he wasn't so devious.
Jos remained silent, his gaze locked on Carlos as he considered the explanation. The frost demon’s stillness was unnerving, the kind of silence that could precede either approval or a swift and brutal end.
After an unusually long silence, Jos finally spoke, voice a low, icy whisper. “And you wouldn't have tried to escape with your prince, given the opportunity? He is, after all, your leader. Why give away any information at all regarding his whereabouts? How do I know you aren't lying to buy Prince Max more time to run?”
Carlos shook his head. “No, Emperor, I assure you. I would never abandon my post. Such an act would be treason and my loyalty is with the empire. My only regret is that my actions to ensure the Earthling wouldn't pose a threat to your rule, unwittingly led to Prince Max's poor decision.”
A flicker of something—satisfaction, perhaps—passed through the emperor’s eyes, though his expression remained neutral. Carlos would never have been able to tell the difference, but George had spent enough time around Jos to notice the change. Jos’ tail coiled slightly, a subtle movement that hinted at the satisfaction he felt with Carlos’ words.
Jos turned his attention back to George. “And what of the prince now?” he inquired, tone suggesting that the fate of the Earthling was a secondary concern, a mere afterthought compared to the matter of the missing prince.
Straightening, George's expression held firm as he met the emperor’s gaze. “I've received word from a source on Aston that both Prince Max and the Earthling were spotted in the main settlement no more than a day ago. My informant believes the pair are holed up in the rebel leader's compound and wishes to collect the bounty on them both.”
That fact also made George smirk. There was no bounty to collect and even if there was, they wouldn't live long enough to spend it—
“Then tell me something commander," Jos' ground out, hands gripping the sides of his throne in a crushing grip. “If you know where they went and have an informant confirming their current location," the warlord stood up from his throne, a deep purple aura radiating around his body that made George take a step back. “Then why are you still standing in front of me!?”
Flinching at the emperor's harsh tone, George opened his mouth but no words came out.
“Bring him to me!” Jos bellowed and George turned on his heel, rushing to the doors. “And . . . ” George heard behind him, turning back to look over his shoulder.
Jos moved down the stairs of the throne in the blink of an eye to grip Carlos tightly by the front of his chest plate. “Take this with you,” he barked and tossed Carlos across the room, crashing into George, toppling the two of them over.
Grunting under the broad Torossian's weight, George fought off a blush at Carlos kneeling between his legs, hands scrambling for purchase, trying to stand up. After quickly untangling their limbs, Carlos and George both bowed before moving swiftly to the double doors.
“If the two of you come back without the prince, it will be your end.”
Chapter 34: A Man With A Tail
Summary:
Max makes a new friend, Charles gives Max a gift that doesn't go as planned, and they discover how special their connection really is.
Notes:
Hope everyone enjoyed their holiday! Some more fluffy stuff before we start picking back up.
Chapter warnings: N/A?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
– Back on Namek –
“Max, come eat!”
Charles stood by the small fire outside their dwelling, the soft crackling of the flames blending with the gentle rustling of the Namekian breeze. The air was filled with the rich aroma of the food he was stirring, a mix of local herbs and vegetables that they’d foraged together over the past week.
The simple act of cooking had become a cherished routine for him, something that solidified him in this new life they were building together. He'd cooked his own food in his small cabin in Ez ever since his adopted father fell ill, and he was glad for the prior experience.
Charles glanced up at the small cabin-like hut Max had built with his own hands. It was modest but sturdy, nestled between a grove of skinny Namekian trees overlooking a serene lake that reflected the planet's three suns. Not providing much shade, the “trees” towered high above the ground and had no branches to speak of save for their very tops, small bush like crowns forming a canopy.
The cabin’s wooden walls were smooth, the roof slanted similarly to a lean-to from Earth so the occasional rainfall flowed off into a small collection system Max had designed out of some small hollowed out saplings.
During their exploration of the planet, Charles noticed Max studying the local dwelling designs and structures from afar, and he smiled fondly thinking about how much work the prince had put into their little house.
It had been a little over a week since they’d landed, and Max had worked with unsurprising efficiency, saying he had experience building shelters from his training as a child. Charles wanted to ask more about that, but he didn’t want to risk sending the prince into another episode while thinking about Jos.
There had been a few restless nights of Max tossing and turning, but nothing like what had happened on their journey there.
Charles hoped it would stay that way.
Instead of lurking from afar, Charles suggested they ask one of the locals about best build materials and weather patterns, but Max had been firm in his stance that he didn’t need any help, and avoided any interaction with the local Namekians.
He'd gone so far as to say that they needed more wood—even with their current stockpile overflowing—and flew away quickly when some locals stopped by to welcome them.
Charles sighed and let him be.
It was hard to believe they'd only been on Namek for a short time. The planet felt like a safe haven, a place far removed from the chaos and danger that had taken over Charles’ existence.
Smiling to himself as he continued to stir the soup, the Earthling’s mind drifted back over the last week. He'd never felt this content before, this at peace. The days were filled with hard work, yes, but it was the kind of work that left him feeling fulfilled.
They had spent their time building, exploring, sparring, and simply enjoying each other's company. Charles had even started to teach Max how to sense ki with his mind, dedicating a few hours at night to practice together.
Max was resistant to the idea at first, but after the prince lost a bet about how many alien fish Charles could catch in their pond, he grumbled but stayed focused during the lessons.
There were no enemies lurking in the shadows—Max checked and rechecked the whole planet—no missions to be completed, and no fear of being seen together.
It was just them, living day by day in harmony with the quiet world around them.
He called out again, louder this time. “Max! Come eat!”
Charles could see Max kneeling by the lake in the distance, probably playing with that little animal again. He’d asked people in the local village what species the animal was, but now he couldn't remember what the boy called it. It looked a lot like a cat from Earth, with small pointy ears and a long, soft tail.
The texture of the fur actually reminded him a lot of the feel of Max's fluffy appendage.
Excitedly jumping from side to side, the small spotted thing loved to chase Max's tail as he whipped it back and forth in the thin blue, grass-like ground covering. The soft chuckles and sighs escaping the prince while he played with the animal were music to the Eldri’s ears, and the blinding smile Max had on his face didn't hurt either.
It certainly didn't tie Charles’ stomach in knots, going soft and gooey thinking about Max being so tender and gentle with a small helpless creature.
No, it absolutely didn't.
He knew Max was resourceful. The prince had to be to survive all the horrible things he'd endured under Jos, but the level of craftsmanship he'd displayed in building their cabin and setting up their small homestead was remarkable. Charles had watched him work with a quiet admiration, marveling at how the prince had turned this small patch of land into a home for them.
The Earthing spent most of his time running back and forth between the small village of aliens nearby for supplies and starting his own garden behind the cabin, similar to the one he had on Earth. The locals were friendly enough and didn't seem to mind Charles' presence.
Max, again, never ventured near, but the Eldri took that for Max being his normal brooding, antisocial self, just as he was on the PTO ship.
He didn’t seem to have very many friends there either, but with how hard Max fought to keep everyone away from him, feeling like a threat or a danger if someone got too close, Charles supposed it made sense.
As he stirred the soup, Charles couldn’t help but reflect on how much they'd changed since their escape. The tension that once hung over them like a dark cloud had lifted.
He could see it in Max too—the way he smiled more easily now, the way his shoulders weren’t weighed down by the burdens of the life he'd lived. The prince was still the strong, determined man he'd always been, but there was a hidden stillness to him now, a sense of calm that had been missing before.
Charles was grateful for this peace.
It gave them the chance to just be together, without the constant threat of danger looming over their heads. He'd never imagined that they could have something like this—a simple life, where their biggest concern was whether the soup was too salty or if the vegetables needed more time to cook.
It was a far cry from the battles and chaos Max had left behind, but it was exactly what they needed.
Max finally turned and began making his way back toward the cabin, his pace leisurely, a small smile playing on his lips. Charles felt a warmth spread through him at the sight, a feeling of contentment that settled deep in his chest.
“Dinner’s ready,” Charles said, extending a steaming bowl of soup to Max as he approached. Charles had traded for the container made from a dried, hollowed-out, root-like object.
Max took the bowl with a grateful nod, his eyes meeting Charles’ with a look that spoke volumes. No words were needed between them; they both knew how much this new life meant.
As they sat down together by the fire, the suns began to set in their clustered rotation and cast a golden light over the landscape.
Charles felt a profound sense of happiness. This was their life now—simple, peaceful, and filled with the quiet joy of just being together. As they ate in comfortable silence, the rich, earthy flavor was comforting, the kind of warmth that spread from the inside out, easing away the last traces of the day’s exertions.
The soup was simple, made from local vegetables that bore a surprising resemblance to tomatoes, though they had a slight tangy bite and a more vibrant yellow color. The broth had thickened nicely, taking on the flavor of the vegetables, and the subtle spices he’d added earlier brought it all together into more of an alien tomato bisque.
Charles glanced over at Max who was quietly eating his soup, tipping the primitive bowl to his lips and drinking, clearly enjoying the meal.
His thoughts drifted back to his to-do list and the village where he’d spent most of the day. The villagers were a gentle, peaceful people, their lives revolving around their small community and the land that sustained them.
They were unlike any beings he’d met before—small in stature, with large, expressive eyes and soft, green-tinted skin that shone in the light of the three suns. They communicated in a melodic language, one that Charles had failed to pick up even the basics of, and he relied heavily on gestures and expressions to get his point across. There were a few who spoke Galactic Standard, but it seemed to be only the older members of the community.
The villagers had been kind to him from the moment they arrived, welcoming him with open arms despite the obvious differences between their species. They didn’t ask many questions, content to accept the newcomer as he was.
Some of them were even happy to trade small items and food for help with manual labor, and Charles was determined to make a good first impression. Using his strength, he had helped with tasks that were difficult for the smaller villagers. Lifting heavy boulders, repairing structures, and clearing out old growth were tasks that would have taken them days, but Charles could finish in a matter of hours.
Today, he'd spent most of the afternoon helping an elderly villager repair a crumbling stone wall that bordered his garden. The man had been grateful, his eyes crinkling in a smile as he handed Charles a basket filled with the vibrant vegetables in exchange for his labor.
Charles accepted the gift with an appreciative nod, but he couldn’t quite remember what the man had called the vegetables—something with a soft, rolling sound, but the name escaped him.
He’d have to remember to ask the man again the next time he visited the village. Given the way Max was devouring his portion, the soup looked like it could be a new favorite for the prince.
It was important to Charles to learn as much as he could about this new world they were living in. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as an outsider, someone who took without giving back, much like he felt on the PTO ship when he’d first arrived.
The villagers had given them so much—supplies, food, a sense of community—and Charles was determined to repay that kindness in any way he could.
Max looked up from his bowl, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he licked the last remnants of the soup from his lips.
“What is this? It's good,” he said, voice filled with genuine appreciation. He glanced over at Charles, clearly eager for an answer.
Charles grinned, pleased that Max enjoyed the meal. “It’s made from some local vegetables,” he explained, gesturing towards the pot still simmering gently over the fire. “The same man who gave me the seeds yesterday also gave me these. He said they’re really easy to grow, so I’m going to start a garden with them. I can make more of this once the plants grow.”
Max’s eyes brightened at the prospect. “That sounds great. It’ll be nice to have fresh food regularly.”
Charles nodded, his mind already picturing the small garden he would tend to outside their cabin. A small ache in his chest reminded him of his assuredly scorched radish crop on Earth, but he pushed the thought away and replaced it with the thought of watching the new seeds sprout and grow into healthy plants.
It brought him a sense of fulfillment he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was a simple thing, but it was theirs, a part of their new life here on Namek.
While Charles was lost in thought about his future garden, a small movement caught his attention. He looked down to see the tiny animal weaving its way around Max’s legs, its soft fur brushing against the prince’s calves.
The “cat” was a curious little creature, no bigger than a loaf of bread, with sleek purple fur and large, expressive eyes that looked almost too big for its small face. It made a soft trilling noise as it rubbed against the prince, undoubtedly pleased with the attention.
Max glanced at his feet, expression softening as he reached down to gently scratch the cat behind its ears. “Hallo daar, kleintje,” [ Hey there, little one ] he murmured, voice taking on a tone that Charles had rarely heard before—a mix of tenderness and affection.
The cat purred in response, its trilling noise growing louder as it leaned into Max’s touch and the Eldri smiled at the sight.
The cat had appeared out of nowhere a few days after they arrived on Namek, and it had quickly made itself at home in their small cabin. It was an odd little creature, but it seemed to take a liking to Max, following him around whenever he was outside.
Charles watched as Max continued to pet the cat, his strong hands surprisingly gentle as they stroked the creature’s soft fur. The sight of the powerful prince being so tender with such a small, fragile creature filled Charles with a warmth that spread through his chest, ending with an odd sensation in his tail scar.
His Eldri purred loudly, pleased with Max's care for the small animal, though Charles wasn't exactly sure why.
“Looks like your new friend would like some dinner too,” Charles teased lightly.
Max chuckled, the sound low and rumbling. “Seems like it,” he replied, his attention still focused on the cat.
As if understanding that it was being talked about, the cat looked up at Max with adoring eyes and trilled again, its tail swishing back and forth in anticipation. Scooping out a small portion into his empty bowl, Charles set it on the ground near Max and the animal scampered over, lapping happily at its meal while not venturing too far from the prince.
Charles felt a little envious of the thing, that it had found a way to be close to Max, to bask in his warmth and affection without any effort at all.
But then again, so had he.
He was here, in this peaceful place, sharing these moments with the prince, and that was more than he could have ever hoped for since he woke up in the dank med bay.
As the cat finished its portion and settled down in Max’s lap, purring softly, Charles reached over and refilled Max’s bowl, knowing that the prince would want more. The night was quiet and peaceful, the perfect end to another day in their new life on Namek.
The next morning, Charles slipped out of bed quietly, determined not to wake Max. The prince, for once, was sleeping peacefully, his breathing slow and even as the early morning sunlight crept through the cracks in their cabin’s window coverings.
Charles paused for a moment, glancing back at Max. The soft golden glow of the light highlighted his sharp features, the tension in his brow finally relaxed for the first time all night. Charles' heart gave a small tug at the sight—the prince deserved every peaceful moment he could get after what he'd endured.
But the night had been a difficult one again.
Max had thrashed and murmured in his sleep, that guttural Torossian language slipping from his lips in broken, unintelligible phrases. Charles had been awake for most of it, watching helplessly as the prince’s tail lashed beneath the blankets and his scarred hands clenched tightly against the pillow. He’d soothed him as best he could, running his fingers gently through Max’s blonde hair and whispering calming reassurances.
He didn't even know if his words were getting through, but what else could he really do?
Eventually, the nightmares had subsided, leaving Max curled on his side, his tail tucked close around Charles waist like a comfort.
Charles slowly unwound it, and took one last look at him before slipping out of the small cabin, careful to close the door behind him without a sound. He could already feel the crisp morning breeze against his face, the familiar sounds of Namek starting to hum to life around him. The soft chirp of alien insects, the faint rustling of the nearby fields—they all seemed sharper in the quiet of the early morning.
This planet had an odd sense of serenity about it, and Charles had grown to love that.
His plan was simple, but he hoped it would brighten Max’s day. The prince had been in the habit of giving him small little gifts, things he'd found he thought Charles might like. A flower, a smooth glittering stone from the pond, fresh meats and other niceties that made him smile.
Max was doing better lately, and Charles wanted to keep that momentum going, giving him a small something in return. Something that might remind him of their lost homeworld.
Crossing the short distance to their ship parked nearby, the Eldri moved with purpose, footsteps light against the dew-dampened grass. The ship sat gleaming under the morning suns, its metallic finish still scuffed from their not so gentle landing.
Climbing aboard, Charles let the familiar hum of the ship’s systems wrap around him like a cocoon as he entered.
Heading straight for the small bedroom they shared on the ship, Charles moved quickly, unsure how much longer the regal Torossian would stay asleep. Their stolen clothes were still in a messy pile in the corner, a heap of sandy tunics, cloaks, and robes they'd snatched up when they'd landed on Aston. Dropping to his knees, Charles began rifling through the pile, hands brushing against the coarse fabric as he searched for his tunic.
He mumbled to himself, shaking his head. “I swear, I left it in the pocket . . . ”
Finally, his fingers closed around the rough material of his tunic, its muted sand tone blending into the mess of garments. He tugged it free and quickly ran his hand over the folds until he found what he was looking for—a small lump tucked securely into the pocket.
Pulling it out, Charles unwrapped the amulet from the market on Aston, holding it carefully between his thumb and forefinger. The cold stone glimmered faintly in the ship’s dim light, its dark, glass-like surface innocuous and unassuming.
Just to be safe, Charles took a strip of fabric and folded it neatly, wrapping it between his palm and the stone. He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination the last time, but he couldn’t shake the memory of how it had pulsed with energy when he touched it with his bare hands; how it had felt like something alive when he first picked it up, like it was draining him. Making him so weak he couldn't stand.
Now, though, it sat there quietly, cool and motionless against his hand, as harmless as any trinket could be.
“Maybe it really just was stasis sickness?” Charles muttered under his breath, turning the amulet over to inspect it more closely, symbol etched into its smooth surface. It had the same marking as the seal clasp Alonso gave him for Max, and the prince had shown it to him during their trip, speaking of it like it was his most precious possession.
Charles decided it would be his most prized possession too if he were Max. The elder Torossian had held onto that small piece of Max's official uniform for decades, waiting for the right moment to give it to him.
It pained him that Alonso never got the chance.
Despite the clasp's simplicity, there was something about it that struck him as . . . special, and Charles hoped Max would think this stone was special too.
It was beautiful in its own way, smooth and unblemished except for the faint swirl of red at its center, almost like a star trapped in dark glass. The color in it seemed brighter than he remembered, but it had the same mystery to it like the prince's eyes, hiding untold secrets just beneath.
Maybe Max would see the same beauty he did—something small but meaningful, something that felt like hope.
It was saved from the fate of Toro. That had to count for something?
Carefully tucking it back into the fabric wrapping, Charles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I hope he likes it,” he said quietly to himself, a small smile creeping across his lips.
The damn thing caused that entire fiasco on Aston, and Charles might just drown himself in the small pond if Max thought it was worthless or trash.
Standing up, he dusted himself off and headed back for the exit, glancing back once at the untidy room. Max would probably complain about the mess later, in one of his fussy moods, but Charles didn’t mind.
Let him grumble—it was part of the prince's charm.
The morning light hit Charles’ face again as he stepped out of the ship, the fresh air a welcome relief from the stale air inside the ship. Clutching the amulet tightly, he quickened his pace back toward the cabin, excitement bubbling up in his chest. He knew it wasn’t much, but for some reason, this small gesture felt important—like a promise, a way to show Max that no matter what nightmares haunted him, Charles would be there.
Now all he had to do was hope the prince would accept it.
Max had been reluctant to accept the bracelet he'd given him before his assignment, so hopefully this exchange would go a little better.
Charles still fought off the need to giggle every time he caught sight of the simple bracelet on Max's wrist. The prince had even taken to thumbing over it when he seemed a bit stressed, and Charles was glad it brought comfort.
Slipping carefully back into bed, Charles moved with caution, mindful not to wake the prince just yet. Max stirred at the slight dip in the mattress, a low, gravelly groan escaping his throat as he rolled onto his back.
Charles couldn’t help but grin to himself, taking a moment to appreciate the rare peacefulness of the scene before seizing his chance.
With an impish smirk, Charles shifted forward and crawled on top of Max, straddling his hips with deliberate care. His fingertips traced light, teasing patterns over the firm planes of Max's bare, scarred chest, earning another soft groan from the prince as his muscles twitched faintly under the touch. The warmth of Max’s skin sent a flutter through Charles’, wrapping him in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
Leaning down, Charles pressed a soft kiss to Max's lips, the gentle contact lingering for a heartbeat.
“Good morning,” he whispered against the prince’s mouth, voice barely audible over the muted hum of the morning outside.
A lazy, lopsided smile tugged at Max’s lips, eyes still half-closed with sleep.
“Goedemorgen,” he murmured in that deep, sleepy rumble that Charles secretly loved. His hands slid up to rest on Charles’ hips, fingers curling possessively up under his shirt, and his tail—warm and smooth—wrapped affectionately around Charles’ thigh, giving it a lazy squeeze. “What are you doing up so early?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes and blinking blearily.
Charles couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Max disarmed and content, so unlike his usual sharp-edged demeanor.
The prince’s morning half-erection didn’t help Charles’ blush either.
Large hands returning to his hips, Charles fought off a whine when Max rocked him over his lap, a rumbling groan sounding from below him.
Maybe he could give Max his present later—
No.
He wasn't going to get distracted.
“I have a surprise for you,” he teased, stilling the prince's movements, and watched as Max pushed himself up onto his elbows, curiosity starting to replace sleepiness in his features. “But you have to close your eyes. No peeking.”
Max raised a brow but chuckled softly, the sound warm and rich. “Giving me orders again I see. You’re insufferable, you know that?” he muttered, but with an indulgent shake of his head, he closed his eyes. “Fine. I won’t look.”
Charles’ grin widened. “Good. No cheating,” he warned, pointing a mock-accusatory finger at Max as he reached for the small bundle tucked into the pocket of his trousers.
He unwrapped the fabric slowly, the soft rustle filling the cabin, and there it was—the amulet—sitting innocuously in his palm, its obsidian surface shining in the morning light.
Glancing back at Max to make sure his eyes were still shut, Charles tossed the cloth covering aside and held the stone carefully in his palm. “Okay,” he began, excitement bubbling up in his chest, “you can—”
The words died on his tongue as the amulet began to glow.
A familiar faint red light bloomed at the center of the stone, spreading quickly and pulsating like a heartbeat. Charles’ breath hitched, the draining sensation from before creeping up his arm, stronger this time, pulling at something deep inside him. The cabin was no longer bathed in morning light—awash in a crimson glow, eerie and unnatural.
“Charles?” Max’s voice cut through the haze of the Earthling’s confusion, sharp and alert despite his sleepy start to the morning.
He had clearly heard the slight tremor of Charles’ gasp as his eyes snapped open, taking in the scene before him. The easy warmth on his face vanished instantly, replaced by a wide-eyed alarm.
“Charles! Drop it—let go of it!” Max barked, voice a command, panic lacing the edges of it.
Charles barely had time to react before Max grabbed his wrist with lightning speed, grip vise-like and almost bruising. Startled, Charles' fingers reflexively loosened, and the amulet tumbled from his hand, landing symbol side down, squarely on the center Max’s bare chest with a dull, ominous thud.
Time stood still as the glow intensified immediately, and then all hell broke loose.
The amulet flared with red-hot light, searing through the air like a miniature sun, making Charles squint and cover his eyes. Max’s body jolted violently beneath Charles as his back arched off the mattress, a guttural yell ripping from his throat.
The sound sent a spike of fear through Charles, who scrambled backward but couldn’t tear his eyes away. Ki exploded from Max’s chest in a brilliant, uncontrolled burst of blue energy, sending shockwaves through the room and rattling the cabin’s fragile walls.
“Max!” Charles shouted, panic rising as the prince’s head snapped back, his mouth open in shock while the veins of red light twisted and pulsed across his chest like molten threads weaving their way inside his body. The colors sparked and battled for a moment before the red fire intertwined with the prince's own blue ki in a river of deep purple energy expanding outward from Max's chest.
The amulet seemed fused to him, glowing brighter and brighter, almost scorching his skin in a way that made Charles’ stomach drop. Every muscle in Max’s body was taut, his thick neck flexed back at an awkward angle, his arms trembling as they clawed at the sheets for something—anything.
Charles had no idea what was happening and he felt Max's ki expand rapidly in his mind, engulfing his base state and spiking incredibly high.
The cabin felt unbearably hot now, the very air humming with an odd, chaotic energy, and Charles scrambled forward, reaching out in desperation. He had to brace himself against the gale force winds ripping through the cabin, the prince's energy expanding outward further into the space.
“Max! Hold on!”
But the moment his hand got close to the amulet, the red energy flared violently, sending him flying backward off the bed into the far wall, hitting the back of his head with a thud, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs as he slumped down to the floor, momentarily dazed.
Through blurred vision, Charles looked up, heart hammering in his chest as Max stayed rigid on the bed, back arching even further, the amulet’s light casting rampageous shadows on the walls, energy dancing across Max's chest and up the veins of his neck.
For one agonizing second, Charles was certain he’d killed him. That his stupid attempt at giving a gift had somehow set whatever was happening into motion.
Max’s energy started to level off as the raging purple aura turned golden on the edges, quickly shifting to a glittering mass of yellow flames and light. That same golden hue Max had on the PTO ship during his outburst.
And then—just as suddenly as it began—the light vanished.
The room plunged into eerie silence, the only sound Max’s ragged, uneven breaths as he slumped back against the mattress, chest rising and falling like he’d just fought for his life, golden energy flickering back to blue, then to nothing.
The prince was shaking, whole body quaking against the bed.
“Max . . . ” Charles croaked, stumbling forward on shaky legs.
He knelt beside the bed, trembling hands hovering uncertainly over Max’s chest. The amulet was resting on the bed beside him, back to its base black color, leaving behind a faint scorch mark on the prince’s skin, still glowing softly with residual heat.
Max’s eyes fluttered open, soft blue dazed and unfocused, the usual sharpness in them dulled, voice hoarse when he managed to speak.
“What . . . in the goddess . . . was that?”
Charles didn’t know what to say.
He could only stare down at him, heart still pounding wildly as the full weight of what had just happened settled like lead in his chest. He couldn’t tell if he was in any pain, or if the prince was still feeling the stone's effects.
Shakily, Charles reached out to pull the thing away from Max, the image of its violent power still fresh in his mind. The prince looked as though he’d been through hell, his skin slick with sweat and his chest heaving for breath.
Just as Charles’ trembling fingers hovered over the black stone, Max’s voice broke through the tense silence.
“Don’t touch it,” Max rasped, low and rough.
Charles froze mid-reach, breath hitching as his gaze darted to Max’s face. The prince’s blue eyes, though glassy and strained, held a sharp warning, a glint of alarm that immediately halted Charles’ movements.
“Don’t touch it, Charles,” Max repeated, this time with more force.
Reaching out with his mind again, the prince's ki had retreated to an incredibly low level and Charles couldn't stop the whine from leaving his throat at the thought that he'd caused this mess, tears welling up behind his eyes.
The Earthling remembered the drained feeling after holding the stone for so long, recalling how he could barely stand while gripping it firmly in his palm pinned behind his back.
Turning his head slowly, Max met Charles’ anxious stare head-on. “It’s . . . It's a Veyöra—don’t touch it, Charles. Fuck,” Max groaned deep in his chest. “It's an Eldri stone. Where—where did you get that?”
“What?” Charles whispered, jerking his hand back as though the stone had burned him. His mind swirled, heart pounding furiously in his chest. “What the hell is an Eldri stone?”
Charles had only recently learned what an Eldri even was, and that he was one himself—Alonso telling him as much back on the ship—but the elder Torossian hadn't mentioned anything about a stone. Certainly not something that could make Max, of all people, look so shaken and vulnerable.
“Where did you get it, Charles?” Max repeated, and Charles pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.
“I–I,” he started, wrapping an arm around his stomach, squeezing his side. “I got it in the market on Aston. I stayed by the well like you told me, but I . . . I don’t know. I just–just felt like something was calling to me—something compelling me to follow, and b–before I knew it, I was at a stall and the stone was—”
Charles looked down at his lap, nose starting to burn. Now that he'd said it out loud, his story sounded ridiculous.
He was ridiculous.
“I recognized the symbol on it from your seal clasp, and the merchant said it was from Toro, an–and he asked if I was Torossian. I panicked—and then he wouldn't let me pay for it—and then he wouldn't stop yelling, and then everyone got so—so angry. But I j–just wanted to get this for you, because I thought maybe you would want it or maybe it was special?”
Looking back up at Max's tired eyes, Charles' voice shook. “I swear I didn’t know it would hurt you an–and I just wanted to give you something nice—” A sob blubbered from him and Charles dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. Fuck, he didn't want to cry.
Did he always have to be so pathetic all the time?
Max let out a breathless sound, though it was more of a wheeze, his chest rising and falling unevenly that did little to soothe Charles’ panic.
“Jij bent echt een Eldri,” [ You really are an Eldri ] he said, almost like he couldn’t believe it, the faint trace of incredulity making Charles’ skin prickle in discomfort.
“I don't know what that means, Max?” Charles whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek when he brought his hands back to his sides, gripping the blanket beside Max, afraid to do something else that might hurt him.
The prince’s lips curled faintly into a half-smile, but Charles couldn’t see anything funny about the situation. He felt half-crazy, unable to shake the deep unease pooling in his stomach, more tears burning behind his eyes.
“Max, what's going on?” Charles demanded, voice straining to stay calm. He didn’t care how pathetic he sounded; all he knew was that something terrible had happened, something beyond his understanding, and he needed to know Max was alright. “What just happened? What is that thing!?”
“I’m okay, Charles,” Max said quietly, though his voice still held that strained edge. The prince’s tail unwound and wrapped around Charles’ forearm, the touch familiar and grounding. “I’m— I’m okay.” He breathed in slowly, his tail squeezing gently, a reassurance both for himself and for Charles. “Don’t cry princess. I'm not hurt, just . . . a–a bit numb all over.”
Charles swallowed hard at the term of endearment Max used, free hand instinctively moving to run soothingly along the smooth fur of Max’s tail. His eyes, however, remained fixed on the stone, glaring daggers at the evil black object now lying lifelessly on the bed.
It looked so harmless—small, dark, cold—but Charles knew better. Whatever it was—name some amalgamation of foreign syllables strung together—it had done something to Max, and the longer it sat there, the more he wanted to grab it and hurl it straight into the pond outside.
“I swear to God,” Charles muttered under his breath, almost to himself, thumb absentmindedly stroking Max’s tail. “As soon as you’re okay, I’m chucking that hunk of junk into the water and watching it sink.”
Max let out a low, tired chuckle, though it was quickly cut off by a groan. “You'll do no such thing,” he murmured faintly, a ghost of his usual sarcasm flickering in his voice. “Help me sit up,” Max said after a beat, breaking the tense quiet that had settled between them.
His voice was stronger now, though still unsteady, and Charles was quick to move. Sliding his arm behind Max’s damp shoulders, he carefully lifted him up, the effort far more delicate than he expected for someone as strong as the prince.
“Easy,” Charles whispered, muscles straining slightly as he eased Max into a sitting position.
The prince let out a long sigh but didn’t protest, body sagging slightly against Charles for support. Charles kept a steady hand on Max’s bare shoulder, holding him upright as he shot another wary glare at the stone. Even now, he swore he could feel something wrong emanating from it—an unnatural hum that made his skin prickle and the back of his neck crawl.
There was a deep burn in the base of his skull, Eldri fluttering wildly, loud whines of worry.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Charles asked softly, doubt etched into every word as he looked at Max’s pale face.
The prince’s usual vibrancy was dulled, his eyes dimmer, and Charles hated how fragile he looked in that moment. It was so unlike Max—the fierce, unshakable warrior who always seemed untouchable.
Max’s head tilted slightly in his direction, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yes, I'll survive,” he said quietly, though the exhaustion in his voice was impossible to miss. His tail unwound itself from Charles’ arm, brushing lightly against his leg before curling protectively around Charles’ waist. “I’ve been through way worse.”
“That’s not reassuring,” Charles replied in a punched out laugh. He kept his hand steady on Max’s shoulder, watching him carefully, his Eldri fluttering and yelling in unintelligible words.
It had been going crazy since the incident started, and Charles wanted to rip out that part of his brain and chuck it into the pond too if it wouldn't calm down.
Max’s gaze softened further, his hand lifting slowly to rest on Charles’ forearm. “It’s a Veyöra,” he repeated. “My mother used to have one, though I’ve never seen it behave like that.”
Charles blinked, stunned, the words barely registering. If it was an object meant for an Eldri, then . . .
“Your mother—” He stopped short, mind stumbling over the revelation. “Your mother was an Eldri?”
Giving a slow nod, Max took a breath and Charles felt his heart thud heavily in his chest. The idea that Max’s mother— the queen —had been an Eldri shattered everything Charles thought he knew about Torossian royalty from Max's stories. Their rigid protocols and firm traditions.
“Her name was Sophie,” Max said quietly, tone carrying a tenderness Charles rarely heard. “And she had the most beautiful, long dark hair with kind eyes.”
If that was true, Charles could see the resemblance. The prince had the kindest eyes he'd ever seen beneath the years of torment.
His expression grew distant, eyes unfocused like he was looking at something far beyond the confines of the small cabin. Charles shifted, instinctively scooting closer and sitting cross-legged on the bed beside the prince, waiting patiently.
“She grew up and studied at the Eldri temple,” Max continued softly, “before being married to my father. She was selected for him based on her abilities as an Eldri. She was considered superior— special.”
“The merchant on Aston said the stone was from a temple on Toro. Do you think it was the same one?” Charles asked, frowning deeply, his brow creasing.
He’d never heard Max talk about his family like this, not in such a personal, raw way, and the words only left Charles feeling more confused.
Max exhaled softly and straightened his posture, forcing his body to sit up a bit more. The slight shift made Charles’ stomach twist with worry—Max looked like he was still recovering, pale and tired, but he seemed determined to explain. He turned toward Charles, meeting his gaze, his blue eyes clearer now despite the fatigue.
“I don’t remember much, but it must be from the same place. There was only one Eldri temple and I don't think Eldri trained anywhere else on Toro.”
“Do you know anything else about them?” He asked.
“I know Veyöra were something hard earned,” Max began, voice steady but quiet. “My mother was very protective of hers and she told me once an Eldri reached a certain level in their training at the temple, they’re given a stone—or rather, a stone chooses them. She caught me playing with hers once when I was very young and—”
“Chooses them?” Charles echoed, the phrase sitting uneasily in his mind. It sounded mystical, ancient, and wholly out of his depth.
Max gave him a faint nod, expression serious. “It’s not just some trinket, Charles. It’s a tool. A gift from our first Eldri ancestors. The stones are tied to energy—ki. They’re used to practice ki sharing and energy storage for moments of extreme need.” Regaining more of his color, Max said, “I think that is what we just did. You—you shared your energy with me?”
Charles was speechless, only vaguely remembering Alonso said something about energy sharing while telling him why Max's Oozaru needed his Eldri.
“My mother used to say that her stone felt alive, like it could sense her will. She said it was a bond unlike anything she’d ever experienced.”
Charles opened his mouth to respond but quickly shut it again, completely at a loss. He wasn’t sure what shocked him more: the concept of a sentient stone that could share and store his ki, or the fact that he’d unknowingly brought one of these powerful relics into their home and almost killed the prince with it.
That was just his fucking luck.
“I—I don’t get it,” he admitted, finally. “What does it mean for me then? It reacted to me—violently. I didn’t feel like it was sharing ki or helping me store energy. It just—” He shuddered at the memory, rubbing his palms over his knees. “It felt like it was draining me. Like it hated me, and it didn't look like it liked you very much either.”
Max’s expression darkened slightly, uncertainty flickering across his face. “I don't really know how it works, but I don't think that was supposed to happen,” he said, low and thoughtful. “If I remember correctly, Eldri stones resonate with their chosen wielder. If it reacted violently to you, maybe it means there’s something different about you, Charles.”
Charles’ stomach twisted at those words.
Something different.
He'd felt different his whole life; first on Earth amongst his peers, and then with the other Torossians, missing his tail.
And now, even a stupid rock was telling him he was less than. Unworthy.
That was the last thing he wanted to hear.
“Hey,” the prince said and put his hand on Charles’ cheek, giving him a soft peck. “It's okay, Charles. I promise I'm fine.”
“I felt your energy though?” Charles pressed, voice rising slightly with his growing anxiety. “It was all over the place and now it feels so weak, like one of the Namekians in the village. And I didn’t even know I was an Eldri until Alonso told me, and now this thing—” He gestured sharply toward the stone at the edge of the bed. “—is acting like I’m its mortal enemy, and—and it burned you—”
Max cut him off with another kiss, bruising this time with its fierce intensity. Hand dropping down over the mark on Max's chest, Charles returned the kiss with fervor, relieved that the prince seemed to be returning to normal, energy level now rising again.
They broke apart, softly sharing breath between them, before Max's gaze moved to the stone. “I don’t know what happened,” he admitted, tone heavy. “But it’s not your enemy. That much I can promise you.”
“It sure doesn’t feel that way,” Charles muttered and turned his head, glaring daggers at the now dormant stone.
It sat there like a scolded animal proclaiming its innocence, black surface no longer glowing, no longer writhing with whatever power it had earlier. And yet Charles felt its presence—he could feel it on the edge of his mind.
Max leaned forward slightly, placing a hand on Charles’ knee before picking up the stone. Gasping, Charles’ breath caught in his throat when the stone did . . . nothing.
Not even a sparkle or a twinge of light. Just a void of black nothingness.
“We’ll figure it out,” the prince said quietly. “The Eldri temple was destroyed along with Toro, but maybe we just need to have you practice with it more.”
Charles looked up at Max, startled. “You want me to use it!?”
Eyes steely and resolved, the prince nodded, “We have to. This isn’t something we can ignore, Charles. These stones are powerful and if it reacted to you, then you’re more connected to it than you realize.”
Charles swallowed hard, mind still spinning.
He didn’t feel ready for any of this. Learning he was Eldri had been overwhelming enough; now there were magical stones, ancient temples, his missing tail, and some deep-rooted power he clearly didn’t understand to go along with it.
Not to mention a maniacal frost demon warlord was after them.
“Okay,” Charles said, voice soft but resolute. If Max thought it was important he try, then he would—simple as that. “We can add it to our training sessions in the evenings. You practice sensing ki, and I'll try not to kill us both with that thing.”
Squeezing his knee lightly, a faint smile tugging at Max's lips. “Deal,” he said simply. “We’ll practice together.”
Charles nodded, exhaling slowly as he glanced once more at the stone in Max's hand. He could only hope that whatever the stone did next, it wouldn’t make things worse.
_____
Max sat on the ground by the pond, legs crossed beneath him, hands resting on his thighs as he tried—once again—to follow Charles’ instructions. His eyes were squeezed shut in concentration, brow furrowed as frustration set in.
The faint, relaxing sounds of the water lapping at the edges of the pond mixed with the soft rustling of the wind through the trees, but none of it was enough to soothe the irritation building inside him.
“What exactly am I supposed to be feeling?” Max asked, exasperated.
He’d been trying to sense ki for days now, and each attempt felt like a failure. He was a prince for goddess’ sake, and the wounding of his pride stung. Every new skill he’d been taught on Toro he’d picked up with ease, and he’d taught himself how to fight mostly on the PTO ship, relying only on his instincts.
But his Oozaru was just as doubtful as he was, huffing loudly in the back of his head, distracting him even more. The Eldri had made it seem so easy, so natural, but to Max, it felt like a fantasy. He was starting to wonder if Charles was making the whole thing up, just to mess with him.
“ Onzin. Energie is niet voelbaar ,” [ Nonsense. Energy cannot be felt ] his hindbrain rumbled in his head. “ De Eldri is een heks .” [ The Eldri is a witch ]
Max growled in disagreement.
Across from him, Charles sat in the same meditative position, his posture relaxed and serene, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Max had watched Charles effortlessly track energy signatures and even use his own ki in ways that Max could barely comprehend, but right now, it all seemed out of reach.
Max’s face scrunched up in annoyance, his hands clenched into fists as he let out a low growl. “I don’t feel anything.”
Chuckling softly, the sound light and amused but not mocking, Charles opened his eyes and scooted a little closer to Max, his green gaze warm and understanding. “It took me a really long time to master it, Max,” he said, tone gentle. “It’s only been a few days. You’ve got to give it some time.”
Cracking open one eye to glare at him, the regal Torossian’s irritation only grew at how calm and collected Charles seemed. “I’ve been at this for hours every day, and I still can't feel a fucking thing. Not even a speck.” He let out a frustrated sigh, tucking a strand of his short hair behind his ear. “I think you’re just making this up to make me look stupid.”
Charles chuckled again and shook his head, the smile never leaving his face. “I’m not making it up, I swear. I felt that search party coming for us and got us to the settlement on Aston, didn't I?” He leaned back slightly, his hands resting casually on his knees. “You’re used to relying on brute strength, Max. Sensing ki is . . . different. It’s about feeling, not forcing. You can’t just power through it like you do with everything else.”
Groaning and rubbing a hand over his face, the prince felt the familiar surge of impatience rising inside him. He wasn’t used to being bad at something, especially not something that seemed so crucial. He'd mastered combat, strategy, and ki manipulation in battle, but this—this delicate sensing—was beyond him.
There wasn’t anything delicate about him really.
And even a third-class—
Max banished the thought before he could finish it.
The Earthing’s expression softened as he watched him for a moment. “You’ve got to stop trying so hard,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “Ki sensing is about relaxing, about tuning into the world around you. It’s already there, you just have to listen for it.”
Max let out a slow breath, trying to rein in his frustration and get his Oozaru under control, tail flicking agitatedly against the blue grass. He closed his eyes again, this time attempting to follow Charles’ advice and relax, but the tension in his muscles wouldn’t ease, mind still buzzing.
“I don’t get how you do it so easily,” Max muttered, eyes still closed. “You make it look like breathing.”
Charles smiled softly, leaning in just a little closer. “It wasn’t easy for me at first, either. I had to practice a lot. It’s not about being strong or fast. It’s about being open.” He paused for a moment, watching Max’s face. “You’re trying too hard to control it. Just . . . let go. Feel the energy around you, don’t force it to come to you.”
Gritting his teeth, Max made himself sit still despite the growing urge to lash out at the entire exercise.
After a few moments of silence, Charles spoke again, his voice low and steady. “Try this—just focus on me. On my energy. It’s familiar to you. Start there.”
Max hesitated but nodded slightly, his breath steadying. He tried to clear his mind, focusing on the presence he knew so well—Charles. He concentrated, trying to feel beyond the physical, to sense the energy that radiated from his mate.
For a brief moment, Max thought he felt something—a faint warmth, a soft hum of life just beyond his reach—but it slipped away before he could fully grasp it.
Max sighed in defeat, opening his eyes to look at Charles. “I don’t know if I can get this.”
Taking his hand gently, the Earthling’s touch was soft but grounding, and placed Max’s palm in the center of his chest, the steady rhythm of Charles’ heartbeat thrumming under Max’s fingertips.
Feeling the warmth of Charles’ body seeping through his gloveless hand, the touch was comforting in a way he hadn’t expected.
“Focus on me,” Charles said softly, almost soothing. His green eyes were patient, filled with that unwavering belief in Max that never seemed to falter, even when Max doubted himself.
He let out a deep breath, closing his eyes once more, ready to give it one last try—just for Charles’ sake.
Trying to empty his mind of noise, frustration, and distractions, the prince focused on the feeling of Charles’ heartbeat beneath his hand. His breath steadied, and for the first time in hours, he felt a flicker of calm wash over him, Oozaru locked in on Charles’ presence.
And then, just as he was about to give up, he felt it.
The world around him began to fade—the sound of the wind rustling through the grass, the gentle lapping of the pond, even the faint hum of his own thoughts—all of it receded into the background. His mind grew quiet, and in the stillness, Max sensed something. It was faint at first, like a flicker of light at the edge of his consciousness, but it was there—a spark of energy that hadn’t been there before.
Max’s breath hitched, his heart racing as he instinctively wanted to chase after it, to grab hold of that spark and make sense of it, but he remembered what Charles had said—don’t force it. Just let it be.
So he did. And in that moment, everything changed.
The small spark of red behind his closed eyes began to grow, its faint flicker transforming into a bright, warm flame. The sensation was incredible, like nothing Max had ever experienced before.
The flame wasn’t just heat—it was life, energy, and emotion all wrapped into one. It grew stronger, warmer, filling his mind and his senses with a comforting glow that seemed to radiate from deep within.
Without realizing it, Max leaned in closer to Charles, his hand pressing more firmly against the Eldri’s chest as he connected with the energy between them. The warmth of the flame in his mind enveloped him, and even his Oozaru quieted, observing the phenomenon with a kind of reverent curiosity.
It was beautiful, pure .
It was like he was seeing Charles in a way he had never been able to before, sensing the very essence of his being, his energy, his spirit. The flame wasn’t just light—it was Charles . It was everything that made him who he was, and Max found himself completely overwhelmed by the intensity of it.
His breath hitched again as emotions began to flood through him—emotions that weren’t entirely his own.
Love. Compassion. Strength. Vulnerability.
All of it flowed through Max like a river, filling him with warmth and a sense of connection that went far beyond anything physical.
In his mind’s eye, the flame shifted.
Max gasped, startled by the sudden change as the shape of the flame began to morph. At first, it was just a flicker, a subtle shift in the energy, but then it became more defined, more tangible. The fire twisted and stretched until it formed a figure—clear and unmistakable.
A man . . . A man with a tail. Charles’ true form.
Max’s heart raced as the image solidified in his mind, eyes still squeezed tight. The man stood tall and proud, the long tail swaying behind him.
The figure exuded strength and grace, but also a quiet, unspoken sadness. Max could feel it in the energy that flowed from the flame—the weight of history, trials, of love lost and found. It was all there, wrapped up in the essence of this figure, and Max was overwhelmed by the depth of it.
He'd never felt anything like this before—this raw, unfiltered connection to another person’s energy, their very soul.
Was it like this with everyone? Could Charles feel this all the time?
But as the moment stretched on, Max felt a tear slip down his cheek. He quickly removed his hand from Charles' chest, opening his eyes as he tried to gather himself, breaking the deep connection.
Charles, still sitting in front of him, hadn’t moved, eyes still closed, expression serene, chest rising and falling gently with each steady breath, the flicker of his ki still dancing around him like a quiet flame.
The moment felt special, sacred, and before Max could stop himself, he leaned forward, closing the small distance between them. He pressed his lips softly to Charles’ in a tender kiss: a hesitant yet deeply intimate gesture.
Charles let out a small, surprised sound at the contact, his lips pulling into a sweet smile under Max’s.
It was gentle, unhurried, and filled with a tenderness that made Max’s chest tighten, Oozaru rumbling softly.
Max paused, his forehead resting gently against Charles’, breath slow and shallow. His mind was still spinning, unable to fully grasp what he'd just felt. Opening his mouth to speak, barely a whisper, full of awe and uncertainty, Max said, “was that real?”
Charles opened his eyes slowly, his sparkling green gaze meeting Max’s. There was a softness in his expression, a quiet understanding that made Max’s heart ache. He didn’t answer right away, instead, smiling—warm and sincere, the kind of smile that made Max’s chest tighten even more.
Charles leaned in and kissed him again, threading his hands through the hair at the nape of Max's neck, shifting up on his knees. “This is real.”
It was soft, tender, and full of reassurance, a gentle answer to Max’s question and the kiss deepened, not in intensity, but in meaning.
Chapter 35: Pleasure Doing Business
Summary:
Things heat up as Carlos and George travel to Aston.
Commander George has survived on that hell ship for longer than most others have been alive, and there's good reason for it . . .
Notes:
George is such a maniac, I love him ❤️
Chapter warnings: Violence, death, blood, amputation
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
–Planet Aston–
The settlement on Aston was eerily quiet under the cover of darkness. The faint glow of scattered lanterns illuminated the sand-laden streets, their surfaces dusty from the evening’s dry air. The settlement’s architecture was a patchwork of stone and metal, a mix of a lesser species' lower intelligence and the practicality needed for a planet housing the heart of a rebellion.
It was even more run down than the last time George had visited.
He moved quickly, steps silent, posture relaxed but alert, as his eyes scanned the streets ahead. The commander was wearing a dark, hooded cloak made of sturdy, nondescript cloth that mirrored the style of the locals. The fabric hung loose, concealing the bulk of his trimmed frame, and the faint outline of his PTO armor underneath.
Behind him, Carlos followed closely, his movements less fluid but equally cautious. He wore a similar cloak, though it didn’t quite hide the tension in his shoulders or the restless energy in his tail around his waist.
Holding up a hand without turning, George signaled for Carlos to stop. They paused in the shadow of an archway, the faint sounds of conversation drifting toward them from a side alley. Tilting his head slightly, listening, George took a breath.
Carlos leaned in closer, his arm brushing up against the commander as he tried to see down the alley.
“Back up,” George murmured, voice barely audible. “Don’t touch me.”
Carlos bristled but said nothing, his jaw tightening as he eased his stance, taking a step back. George couldn’t believe he had to drag this inept child along with him, but the emperor had insisted that he take the Torossian.
“Take this with you,” Jos had said.
Unbelievable.
Had Jos’ opinion of him soured so much, he didn’t trust George to handle this retrieval on his own? Yes, he'd made a few more mistakes than usual, but he felt undeserving of this particular form of punishment.
Glancing back at Carlos briefly, “You need to look like you belong here,” he said quietly. “Blend in and stop looking so much like a thief, or we’ll both be spotted. We can’t risk drawing attention to ourselves and the prince being alerted. If they are in fact still here, we can’t let them get away again.”
Carlos nodded, adjusting the hood of his cloak to better conceal his face, and relaxed his posture, letting his arms hang loosely at his sides, steps softer as they moved forward again.
The streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional figure moving in the distance, and a pair of locals passed by, their voices low as they exchanged quiet words. George and Carlos stepped into the shadow of a doorway, letting the cloaked figures pass without a second glance. The attire they had taken from the PTO ship was a close match to the settlement’s fashion, and so far, no one had seemed to notice them.
Benefits of having rebel conscripts George mused.
As they continued, George’s pace slowed slightly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the street ahead. A small marketplace lay just beyond, its stalls mostly shuttered for the night, but a few vendors remained, their wares illuminated by dim lanterns. A group of figures lingered near one of the stalls, their conversation animated but hushed.
George leaned in toward Carlos, keeping his voice a low whisper. “Stay close. Don’t draw attention.” Carlos nodded, gaze fixed on the group near the stall.
Unable to make out what they were saying, George took notice of their body language, a few obviously concealing weapons. One of them glanced in their direction, and Carlos—the imbecile—stiffened, but George didn’t falter. He quickly grabbed Carlos’ arm and wrapped it around his smaller waist, leaning into the Torossian to place a hand over his concealed chestplate.
Two lovers out for a late night stroll were far less suspicious than two strange men casing the market.
But that didn't make him hate this any less.
The commander continued walking at a steady pace, movements calm and Carlos followed suit, though clearly startled by the change in their dynamic, heavy breathing puffing against the side of his face. Carlos’ fingers squeezed his hip tightly as the brute eased into their new positions, and George ground his teeth at the sensation.
They passed the group without incident, weaving through the narrow streets as they moved deeper into the settlement, and past the market. Once out of view, George ripped Carlos’ arm away from his waist, squeezing his wrist.
“Unhand me!” he whisper-shouted and stiffly turned his back to the Torossian, angrily walking down the narrow street.
He heard a snort behind him and George scowled, walking faster.
The nerve of him. It was just a ruse, didn't Carlos fucking know that? He didn't have to squeeze him so hard with his warm, strong fingers—
George’s teeth squeaked under the pressure of his clenched jaw, and he made plans of how best to kill the dark-haired Torossian.
The settlement’s buildings grew closer together, their walls older and cracked, and George paused at a corner, peering around it before stepping into the street, not waiting for Carlos to follow. Maybe he should just kill the mongrel and tell Jos rebels got to him? Or maybe once he located the prince, he could—
A hand and on his arm halted his steps before he was yanked back into a dark alcove.
Eyes blazing, “What did I just—,” he snarled and Carlos slapped his big palm firmly over the commander’s mouth.
This fool had a death wish.
Just as he was about to launch a ki beam directly through the Torossian’s head, George froze. A small patrol of guards moved into the street, their uniforms faintly visible in the lantern light. They moved slowly, heads on a swivel, looking fully alert.
“You’re welcome,” Carlos murmured. “Jackass.”
George tensed but stayed still, his breath huffing through his nose, Carlos’ palm still over his mouth as they watched the guards. The group moved with an air of authority, their boots shuffling against the sand as they got closer.
The guards passed the alcove without noticing them, their voices fading as they continued down the street. George waited a few moments longer, ensuring the coast was clear, before roughly shoving Carlos off of him.
“Just inform me next time,” he said spitefully as they resumed their pace.
Rolling his eyes, Carlos said, “Like you told me about your idea to ‘blend in’ in the market? Or did you just want to cuddle up for warmth?”
Scoffing, George didn’t reply, deeming his question not even worth his breath.
“In the time it would’ve taken me to tell you, they would’ve seen us. I know you think I’m—I’m beneath you or something, but I’m not a complete idiot. I want Prince Max back as much as you do.”
George highly doubted that, but Carlos didn’t need to know what Jos had threatened him with if George failed to find Max.
As they approached their destination, George slowed once more, his eyes scanning the building ahead. It was unassuming, a small inn tucked away at the edge of the settlement, but the commander saw the faint glow of lights from within.
“This is it,” George said, keeping his voice low. “Keep your wits about you.”
“I thought you said they were in the leader's compound?” Carlos whispered. “This doesn’t look like the scouting maps.”
“My informant runs this lodge. He might have more information since his last message.”
The pair entered the dark shabby inn, its interior a mix of peeling paint and worn furnishings that spoke of its age and neglect. The air was thick with the faint smell of mildew, and the cobbled together stone floor crunched under the weight of George and Carlos as they entered. George’s sharp eyes scanned the empty room, his gaze landing on the counter where a rustling noise caught his attention.
“Jeice?” he called out, voice firm but tentative as he stepped further into the foyer.
There was no response, just the faint creak of the old building settling. Then, a door behind the counter opened with a soft creak, and out stepped the innkeeper. His silver hair gleamed in the low light, and his sharp, reddish-orange eyes fixed immediately on George. He moved with an uncoordinated gait, irritation clear as he stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him.
“Where the hell have you been?” Jeice spat, clipped and accusatory. He crossed his arms, body tense. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days.”
George didn’t flinch at the outburst. Standing his ground, the Elysian crossed his arms in return. “Stasis sleep, of course,” he replied dryly. “It was a long journey from Lord Jos’ base ship to here. You didn’t think I’d stay awake the whole way, did you?”
“You’ve got some nerve, commander,” Jeice sneered, eyes burning with frustration as he gestured wildly. “Do you have any idea what’s been happening while you were taking your little nap?”
“What’s important is that I’m here now,” he said contemptuously. “So stop whining and tell me what you know?”
Huffing, Jeice raked a hand through his disheveled hair. He paced back and forth behind the bar, his boots scuffing against the worn dusty floor, before suddenly turning back to face George.
“What I know,” he snapped, pointing an accusing finger at the commander, “is that your timing is absolute shit. The rebellion’s movements have been a damn circus—erratic, panicked, pulling their forces in every direction like headless drakes. And Lawrence? He took off this morning with almost all of his men—”
George’s expression darkened in an instant, his restrained calm shattering as he surged forward, hand shooting out, gripping Jeice by his snowy hair and yanking him close.
“You let them get away!?” he barked in a dangerous growl.
Jeice struggled against the grip, hands flying up to claw at George’s wrists. “They were with Lawrence!” he shouted, voice strained as he tried to free himself. “And the other guy was injured. What the fuck was I supposed to do—stop Lawrence and his entire force by myself!?”
With a snarl, George shoved Jeice back against the counter, the impact making bottles and glasses rattle. “Tell me exactly what happened,” he ordered, voice cold and sharp.
Jeice staggered but quickly straightened, rubbing his side with a wince. His gaze darted to Carlos, who stood rigidly near the entrance with his arms crossed and a worried expression.
Scoffing, the innkeeper’s lip curled in disdain. “And who’s that?” he asked, jerking his chin toward Carlos. “Your latest recruit? What’s the matter, commander? Couldn’t find anyone better to babysit you?”
Carlos stiffened but didn’t respond, eyes narrowing slightly at the insult. George, however, didn’t take the bait, gaze remaining fixed on Jeice in a silent but deadly warning.
“He’s with me,” he said coolly. “And you’d do well to answer my questions. Now stop stalling and tell me what I want to know before I lose my patience.”
Jeice’s expression faltered, the bravado slipping as George’s cold demeanor held fast. The disheveled man glanced nervously at Carlos once more before straightening up and muttering, “Fine, but you’re not going to like it.”
“Talk,” George snapped.
Licking his dry lips, Jeice glanced down at the counter. “The prince came in here several days ago with someone,” he said. “They were disguised well, but I knew it was him immediately. He refused to uncover all of his face—kept that hood up tight, but I’ll never forget those eyes . . . That animal has a presence, even when he’s trying to hide it.”
George leaned forward slightly, “Did they ask for a room?”
Pouring himself a drink from a bottle behind the counter, Jeice nodded. “The prince said they needed a room for a few nights. I–I told him no. Said there was too much suspicious PTO activity in the area, and that I wasn’t about to take the risk on two strangers.”
“You fucking turned them away?” George asked, tone dripping with disdain.
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Jeice was never his best informant, but plants that had access to the rebel stronghold were few and far between. George was starting to think this one wasn't worth all the trouble.
“I agreed to provide you with information, not house the most dangerous man in the universe!” Jeice said, taking a long swig from his glass. He set it down with a clink, shrugging slightly. “But I wasn’t about to let them disappear on me. Not with five billion credits on the line. Do you know what I could do with that money?
Pinching his lips together, George scowled. “You mean, besides paying off the ridiculous debt you owe me?”
“Oi, I always pay my debts,” he said, taking another drink. “ Anyway, I followed them when they left.”
George rolled his eyes, but he didn’t interrupt. Letting Jeice have his drink seemed a small price to pay if it kept the man talking.
“Where did they go after they left here?”
Scratching the back of his head, the innkeeper's brow furrowed in thought. “They tried a few more places around town, but the guy with the prince . . . he didn’t look so good. Pale, shaky, like he was struggling to keep on his feet. The prince must’ve noticed too, because he left the man by the well in the square before heading off on his own.”
Eyes narrowing, the commander asked, “His companion was injured?”
Jeice nodded quickly. “Yeah, the guy looked really bad. Could barely stand, let alone walk.”
“And the prince? Where did he go?”
“I followed him,” Jeice said, voice lowering as if he didn’t want to be overheard, even though the fool had been half yelling their whole conversation. “He tried a few other inns but seemed like he didn't want to go far from the other man. I kept tabs on the man at the well as he wandered the market for a bit, but then I heard shouting. Loud shouting from the market square. That’s when everything went to shit.”
George’s fingers tapped against the counter impatiently. “Who was shouting?”
Clearly uneasy, Jeice hesitated. “I didn't see what happened, but a mob formed around the prince’s companion and the prince looked like he was ready to lose it when Lawrence's son threatened him with a knife to his throat.”
The commander heard a snort behind him and glanced over his shoulder at Carlos leaning back against the wall. Eyes shooting daggers at the Torossian for interrupting, Carlos mouthed an apology, and George turned back to the innkeeper.
The least the idiot could do was pay attention.
“Like I said, I didn't see what happened, but it didn't end well. The prince killed Elias when he tried to approach him—poor fool must’ve thought he’d get the jump on the famed Torossian prince. Then Lawrence stepped in and calmed everything down. The three of them left the market together, and no one’s seen them since they entered Lawrence’s compound.”
Setting his glass down with a dull clink, Jeice wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I suspect they left on his ship this morning with the rest of his men.”
Tightening his jaw, muscles there twitching as fury bubbled up, George was furious.
A week.
Over a week of relentless searching, only to find out he’d just missed them by mere hours. His blood was boiling, patience snapping like a taut string.
Grinding his teeth, “Where were they headed?” George asked.
Jeice shrugged lazily, oblivious to George’s rage as he finished his drink, and reached for the bottle to pour another. “That, I don’t know. All of Lawrence’s plans and ships are kept inside his compound. If anyone knows, it’d be someone in there.”
Slowly, George picked up the half empty bottle and examined it. The dark colored glass had a weight to it, and the commander smirked before grabbing it by the neck and smashing it over Jeice’s head. Yelping in pain, the white-haired alien stumbled backward and crashed into a set of shelves, sending bottles and trinkets clattering to the floor. Crumpled on the ground, he clutched his head as blood seeped between his fingers.
George’s blue-green eyes narrowed dangerously, “For your sake,” he said flatly. “I hope that is true.”
“I swear!” Jeice gasped. “I’ve told you everything I know! Please!”
George didn’t spare him another glance, furiously turning sharply on his heel, long cloak sweeping behind him as he strode toward the door.
“Come,” he barked, grabbing a stunned Carlos by the arm, yanking him along without slowing.
“Wait!” Jeice called out behind him, making the pair freeze and look back. “What about the bounty? That information will surely lead you to the prince?”
“I’ll deduct the amount from your debt,” George spat on the floor, and pulled Carlos through the door.
_____
Carlos followed as the commander dragged him along, wide eyes darting between the whimpering innkeeper and George’s seething form. The grip on his arm was like iron, pace brisk as they stepped out into the warm night air. The dark street stretched ahead, silent save for the faint cries of Jeice and the occasional muffled sounds from the buildings around them.
Quickly getting his feet back under him, Carlos said, “So now what? Max is already in the wind again, and he has Lawrence helping him. What’s your next brilliant plan?”
George didn’t even break stride, dragging Carlos forward as he spoke, tone clipped and brimming with condescension. “We’re going to that compound to find out where they went,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Scowling, Carlos yanked his arm free from George’s grasp with a forceful tug. “Isn’t that heavily guarded and under constant surveillance?”
Going in there with just the two of them seemed like a bad idea, and he was starting to feel skeptical of the commander’s ability to actually find Max. Jos sending him along now made a lot more sense, even if he loathed being in the egotistical man's presence.
Carlos hadn't spent very much time around the commander, with his much lower rank and jammed duty schedule, but the little he did know about the taller man told him enough.
George was a fucking psycho.
Barely glancing at him, the commander’s smirk was faint but irritatingly smug. “What’s the matter, Carlos? I thought someone as seasoned on the diversion team as yourself wouldn’t mind getting their hands dirty?” he scoffed.
Tail bristling under his cloak, Carlos shot back, “I’m not worried,” the jab hitting a nerve. Stepping in front of George, he forced him to stop. “Unlike you, I like to know what I’m getting into ahead of time. As you’re well aware, I’ve been sparring with Prince Max since I was just a boy. I can hold my own.”
The words came out more defensive than he intended, but he wasn’t about to let this self-righteous jerk undermine him like that. He wasn’t some rookie soldier to be dismissed with a snide comment.
George stopped short, cold stare locking onto Carlos with unnerving intensity. “That pathetic Earthling was also a sparring partner of your Torossian prince,” he said, voice low and mocking. “I’d say that honor doesn’t bestow much confidence.”
Carlos’ fists clenched at his sides, tail curling tightly against his back as his temper flared. “That slut didn’t do any honest training with Max unless he was horizontal,” he ground between his teeth, the venom in his voice masking the unease twisting in his gut.
Smirk widening, George’s pale eyes flashed with something close to approval that caught Carlos off guard. He’d been doing that a lot today—odd touches and odd looks—Carlos didn’t know what to make of it.
“Come on. Stop dragging your feet.”
Without another word, George resumed walking and Carlos fell in step beside him.
It was quieter than Carlos anticipated. The compound's perimeter was dark, and the two guards at the front gate were barely alert. George dispatched them quickly without even breaking a sweat, their bodies crumpling silently to the ground before Carlos could even get his bearings. The commander didn’t wait for him, moving toward the main building with a confidence that made Carlos’ skin prickle.
Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of oil and sand. The main room was sparse, with four guards standing idly by. Carlos only had time to assess the situation before George launched an attack.
The commander’s ki flared to life, forming a searing-hot green blade of energy out from the bottom of his wrist that hummed menacingly in the still air. The dark-haired Torossian hadn't even landed his first blow on his target, and George had already slit the throats of two guards, their bodies slumping lifelessly to the floor. A swift and precise arc of his ki blade decapitated a third, blood spraying across the walls in a brutal display of his training.
Carlos downed his opponent with a quick, sharp twist to the neck, the guard collapsing at his feet. Glancing over at George, who stood amidst the carnage with the cold, detached expression of someone who'd done this a thousand times before, Carlos hated to admit it, but the commander’s prowess was undeniable.
Ruthless, efficient, and utterly devoid of hesitation—George might be almost as terrifying as the emperor himself in combat.
Carlos had only had a few opportunities to see the commander in battle before, often assigned to lower ranked units, and the dark-haired Torossian loathed to say he was impressed. It was obvious that the regal looking man was not misplaced as Jos’ second-in-command with the way his lithe form moved through each strike.
It was almost mesmerizing in a way.
“Did you see anyone else?” George asked, voice making him refocus.
“Negative,” he replied, ki burning faintly in his palm as he scanned the room again. Without their scouters, they were at a disadvantage. He itched for the technology’s familiar readouts, but they’d left the devices back in their pods to blend in better.
Without it, tracking potential enemies was significantly harder.
Carlos’ thoughts were interrupted by a voice from behind him, calm yet edged with tension. “Who are you? And what do you want?”
Whirling around, the Torossian’s ki flared back to life in his hand, held out in front of him in an offensive stance. Standing in the doorway was a young man, his silhouette sharp against the dim light from the hallway beyond.
Stepping forward next to him, the commander’s ki blade still glowed ominously like an extension of his arm.
“I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you,” the young man said, raising his left hand to reveal a small, hand-held device from under his cloak.
Breath catching in his throat, Carlos extinguished his ki instantly.
George’s energy, however, didn’t budge, and Carlos wasn’t sure if he didn’t know what the man was holding or if he just didn’t care. But Carlos recognized it immediately. Raising his hands slowly, palms up, he tried to keep his movements calm and slow, eyes never leaving the device.
One wrong move, and this could end catastrophically.
He glanced over at the commander as a slow, chilling smile spread across George’s face. “My, my, what a surprise,” he said. “How nice it is to finally meet the son of the ever-elusive rebel leader.” His words were measured, each syllable dripping with malice. “I must say, your father has kept you well hidden all these years. I was beginning to wonder if you were merely a myth?”
The young man stepped further into the room, his face illuminated by the flickering light of George’s blade. He was fairly composed, but Carlos could see the stress in his posture, the subtle way his shoulders held the weight of the situation.
“I can assure you, I am very much real,” the boy said, steadily despite the danger he was facing.
This was not how Carlos had expected things to unfold.
His heart sank as he recognized the boy now. Lance, the rebel leader’s son. His presence here was dangerous, not just for the boy, but for everyone involved. The fact that he was here, seemingly alone could mean any number of things—none of them good.
It raised too many questions with no clear answers.
George took another step forward, his predatory smile widening as he tilted his head, studying the boy, causing Carlos’ breath to hitch in his throat.
“Tell me, boy,” he said softly. “Why would the son of Lawrence, the leader of a rebellion that has been a thorn in my lord’s side for years, come out to face me willingly? And what, pray tell, do you think you can offer me that would spare your life?”
Was he out of his goddess damned mind!?
Carlos stepped closed to the commander, tail flicking anxiously under his cloak. “Commander . . .” he said, voice low, but firm enough to draw George’s attention. “He’s holding a deadman switch.”
Eye’s flicking toward Carlos for a moment before returning to Lance, George’s smirk faltered slightly, returning to a more neutral expression. Hesitating for the first time since entering the compound, the commander’s ki blade flickered before extinguishing, and George relaxed his shoulders, letting his hands fall down by his sides.
“That’s what I thought,” Lance said spitefully. “Now, tell me who you are.”
George tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he regarded Lance. The room was still, the tension thick enough to cut through, and Carlos watched the exchange carefully, his own ki still subdued, muscles taut, ready to spring into action if needed.
He wasn’t sure what the commander was up to, but Carlos let him take the lead for now.
“Who we are,” George said smoothly, “is far less important than why we’re here. But since you’re asking so nicely . . . ” He gestured dismissively to Carlos without breaking eye contact with Lance. “That is General Carlos and I am Commander George of the PTO. We’re looking for someone. Someone who passed through here recently.”
Carlos bit the inside of his lower lip as he listened. George had said he would be promoted to general, but he hadn’t realized that was already in effect. Didn’t the emperor have to bestow that title on him?
There was no time to dwell on it now, but the title had him standing a little taller, shoulders pushed back. Taking a deep breath, Carlos slowly lowered his hands to his sides to match George’s authority.
Lance’s brow furrowed, though he didn’t lower the device in his hand. “You mean the Torossian prince,” he said sharply. There was no hint of a question in his tone—just certainty.
“Clever boy,” the commander said condescendingly. “Yes, Prince Max Emilian. Or as you rebels call him, the ‘PTO Prince’. We know he was here, and you’re going to tell us where he went.”
Lance straightened his posture, grip on the device steady despite the tension radiating between the three of them. “And why would I tell you that?” he countered. “What makes you so sure I know where he went?”
“He left with your father. Did he not?”
Tensing at the mention of his father, Lance held the device in his hand out further toward George.
The maniac was going to get them killed.
Carlos stepped forward cautiously, tail flicking anxiously again under his cloak. “We’re not here to hurt Lawrence,” he said, voice low but urgent. “We’re just here for the prince and the man that was with him.”
Eyes flicking to Carlos, there was evident suspicion in Lance's sharp gaze. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”
George chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “You don’t have to believe it, boy. But it’s the truth. Max is all we are here for. We need to find him.”
“And why is that?” Lance demanded, voice edged with defiance. “So you can drag him back to your twisted master to destroy more worlds? You can’t possibly expect me to trust you.”
Smirk disappearing, the commander’s expression turned cold. “Max is a traitor to the empire,” he said bluntly. “He’s unstable and a threat to everyone when not under my lord's control, including you and your father’s precious rebellion.” Lance stiffened, his grip on the device tightening. “But I think you already know that.”
Carlos fumed at the assertion that his prince was in any way mentally diminished, like George had any room to fucking talk. But if that lie would get them out of this situation, so be it.
Taking another cautious step forward, Carlos raised his hands again in a placating gesture. “We know he hurt people while he was here,” he said quietly. “Even killed someone, yeah? It’s incredibly dangerous for your father to be on a ship with him. If you tell us where they went, we can make sure he doesn’t hurt Lawrence.”
Lance’s face betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, but he quickly masked it, his jaw tightening. “The Torossian prince isn’t going to hurt my father.”
Crossing his arms, George’s gaze sharpened. “Quite the bold statement,” he said curtly. “What makes you say that?”
Lance stared at him for a long moment, the tension in the room crackling like static. “Because the prince isn’t with my dad.”
Carlos’ brows shot up, unable to tell if the boy was telling the truth.
“Alright,” the commander said calmly. “If he isn’t with Lawrence, then where is he?”
Silence hung in the air and Lance didn’t take his eyes off George.
Taking a slow step forward, “If you don’t help us,” George said evenly, “then you’re not just endangering yourself. You’re endangering everyone here; your father, your people, your rebellion. If you would like to try your luck when Emperor Jos comes here looking for the prince himself, then I guess we're done here.”
Carlos could see the weight of those words sinking into Lance’s mind, the flicker of doubt crossing his face. But the boy’s defiance hadn’t fully crumbled yet.
“Come on, Carlos,” George said and turned his back to the boy, walking a few steps to the door. The Torossian was stunned by the commander’s nonchalance, and numbly started to follow when they were halted by a desperate shout.
“Wait!” Lance yelled.
The pair turned back around and waited.
“Give me a reason to trust you,” Lance said finally, voice quieter but no less firm.
Raising his chin, “How about this,” George said smoothly. “I don’t kill you here and now, and leave this compound to its fate.”
“Commander!” Carlos hissed sharply, tail puffing up.
George really was out of his fucking mind and was going to seal their death warrants if he didn’t play this right.
But George ignored him, gaze locked on Lance. “We’re not your enemy, boy,” he said coldly. “Not yet. But we don’t have time to waste convincing you. Max’s trail is growing colder by the minute. If you know something, now is the time to share.”
The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. Lance’s grip on the device didn’t waver, but his eyes darted between George and Carlos, weighing his options.
Finally, he let out a slow breath, lowering the suicide device slightly, and Carlos couldn’t believe his eyes.
“If I tell you where he went,” Lance said cautiously, “you leave immediately. An–and you don’t come back.”
George smiled faintly, that look of victory Carlos recognized in his eyes. “Deal.”
Lance led George and Carlos through a narrow corridor, the walls lined with exposed wires and rusted panels that spoke to the age of the compound. The air was damp, carrying a faint metallic tang, and Carlos couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose.
His Torossian sense of smell was going crazy and this place oddly made him miss the pristine, advanced systems aboard the PTO ship—a fact that made him instinctively wary of their surroundings.
They entered a room at the end of the corridor, and Carlos immediately noticed the hum of machinery. The room was cramped, with low ceilings and a sporadic flicker from the overhead lights. Monitors and consoles filled every available surface, their screens displaying streams of data, maps, and other information that Carlos couldn’t immediately decipher. The consoles themselves were bulky and outdated, their worn displays and blinking lights a statement of the rebellion’s limited resources.
Carlos’ eyes darted around the room, taking in the screens while also keeping a close watch on Lance. The boy moved with purpose, though his grip on the deadman switch in his left hand never faltered as he crossed the room to a cluttered corner and started rummaging through a pile of equipment.
Anxiety soaring through the roof, Carlos jolted when Lance banged the switch against a container as he moved it aside.
George, ever composed, stood in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the setup. “Charming,” he remarked dryly. “A bit rustic for my taste, but I suppose it gets the job done.”
Lance shot him a glare over his shoulder but didn’t respond. Instead, he continued searching through the pile, muttering under his breath as he sifted through old tools and spare parts, the faint clatter of metal against metal filling the room as he worked.
Moving closer to one of the monitors, Carlos’ tail flicked slightly under his cloak as he tried to make sense of the data displayed. The screens showed various maps of the surrounding area, some marked with glowing red dots that seemed to represent patrols or points of interest. Other screens displayed strings of code, flickering lines of communication logs, and blurry surveillance footage.
“This your intelligence hub?” Carlos asked, keeping his tone neutral but he failed to hide his curiosity. He cast a quick glance at Lance, who was still focused on his task.
“It’s what we’ve got,” Lance replied curtly, not bothering to look up. “Not everyone has the luxury of just stealing better technology from every planet they pillage.”
Carlos bristled slightly at the jab but said nothing, his attention returning to the monitors. One screen caught his eye—a grainy feed showing what appeared to be a ship taking off from the compound. The footage was old, the timestamp indicating it was from days ago, and Carlos didn’t recognize the silhouette of the vessel.
“What is this?” he said as he pointed to the screen.
Lance glanced up briefly before returning to his search. “That is the ship the prince and the Earthling left in,” he said tersely. “They left three days ago and took my father’s newest ship. We tracked him as far as we could, but these systems here aren’t exactly built for long-range tracking.”
George stepped forward, his sharp gaze flicking to the screen. “How far did he get?”
Lance didn’t answer right away, and he pulled another small, handheld device from the pile of equipment and examined it briefly before placing it on the nearest console. He pecked a few keys on the keyboard with his unoccupied right hand, and one of the monitors shifted to display a new map—a wide, sprawling image of the local star system with a faint blue trail marking a ship’s trajectory.
“He took off toward the outer rim of PTO territory,” Lance said, still tense. “I tracked him to this sector before the radar signal cut out and then I picked him up with the onboard tracking unit.”
Carlos leaned in closer to the monitor, his eyes narrowing as he studied the map. “There isn’t much out in that region. Just lawless worlds, abandoned stations, and primitive planets.”
Shrugging, Lance crossed his arms over his chest before realizing the angle was awkward with his grip on the switch. “Maybe that’s the point. If he wanted to disappear, that’s where I’d go.”
Glancing between George and Lance, “and you’re sure this is accurate?” Carlos asked, tone a bit skeptical. “Prince Max is smart. He could’ve planted false trails or interfered with the tracking system.”
Rolling his eyes, clearly annoyed, Lance said, “I’m sure. The quantum embedded tracker on that ship can’t be tampered with. You don’t have to trust me, but this is the best intel you’re going to get.”
George straightened, expression a mask of indifference as he turned to Lance. “You’ve been surprisingly helpful,” he said, voice calm but carrying an edge. “And all we need to track him is that tool there?” he said, and pointed at the small tracking module Lance hooked to the console.
Eyes narrowing, Lance's grip on the deadman switch tightening slightly. “You can’t take that,” he said bluntly. “I’ve told you where he went, now it’s time for you to leave. We had a deal.”
George regarded him for a long moment. “Now, Lance,” he said simply. “Our deal was for you to tell us where the prince went. So far you’ve only shown approximations and trajectories, but unless I’m mistaken, the ship is still moving, yes?”
The young man didn’t acknowledge the question, scowl firmly set on his face.
“And if that little device is the only way to track it . . . well, I’m afraid it will have to come with us," George said smoothly.
The rebel’s son stiffened, and he snatched the tracker off the console, holding it protectively in his right hand. The screens went dark as he disconnected it and his jaw set in defiance meeting George’s icy gaze.
Carlos took a step back away from the monitors and kept his eyes on the shaking switch in Lance's hand.
“Okay. New deal then,” Lance said slowly.
Tilting his head, George smirked faintly but didn’t argue. “Let’s hear it, boy.”
“You can have this,” Lance said, holding up the tracker, “in exchange for the five billion credit bounty you put out on the prince. Plus the additional five billion for the Earthling. The way the prince was acting with him, there’s no way you won’t find them together.”
Carlos felt his stomach churn, a bad feeling settling in his gut like a stone that had nothing to do with the mention of Charles. His Oozaru rumbled that something was off, and the tension in the room thickened as Lance made his demand.
George’s expression didn’t shift. He stood silent for a moment, processing the offer, before taking a calm step back from the console like Carlos had, lips pressed into a thin line as he turned to glance over his shoulder at him.
That look—cold, maniacal—made Carlos’ hackles rise. Whatever the commander was planning, Carlos knew it wasn’t good.
“Deal,” George said finally, extending his hand toward Lance.
The rebel exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly, though his hesitation was clear. He flicked his gaze to Carlos, as if seeking reassurance, before slowly stepping forward. With visible reluctance, Lance extended his right hand, holding the tracking device out toward the commander.
Taking it without hesitation, George's tone was unnervingly smooth. He tossed the unit toward Carlos, not even looking to see if he caught it, and Carlos managed to grab it before it hit the ground, quick reflexes saving him.
“Carlos,” the commander said sharply. “Is that thing blast-proof?”
“What?” his eyes widened in alarm, mind racing to keep up with the sudden shift in tone, fingers closing around the tracker instinctively.
Then it happened.
Faster than Carlos could stop him, George grabbed Lance’s left wrist and yanked him forward with brutal force. “Pleasure doing business with you,” George said coldly.
The boy let out a startled gasp, his eyes wide with panic, and before he could fight back, George’s ki blade flared to life. The glowing carver hissed as it sliced cleanly through flesh and bone, severing Lance’s hand just below the elbow in a flash of green light.
The air filled with the familiar smell of scorched flesh, and the rebel’s bloodcurdling scream, voice raw with agony. Blood spattered across the floor, pooling rapidly as Lance crumpled to his knees, clutching the stump of his arm.
Time stretched into an agonizing crawl as Carlos’ gaze locked onto the deadman switch, now falling in slow motion. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, watching the severed hand, still twitching as it fell away, the switch slipping free from Lance’s limp fingers.
The sound of it clattering against the floor was deafening, a metallic clink that seemed to echo endlessly in the cavernous space. The trigger mechanism disengaged with a soft, almost anticlimactic click, but to Carlos, it was the sound of impending doom. His chest constricted, breath catching in his throat as he watched the device bounce once, then twice, before settling.
Raw and piercing, Lance’s broken wails of pain continued, but Carlos was frozen, legs of lead paralyzed by the knowledge of what would unfold next. He sucked in a hurried breath, looking back at the commander with wide eyes.
The heat struck like a tidal wave, overwhelming and suffocating, as the deadman switch detonated in a violent, earth-shaking blast.
“Fuck!” Carlos yelled, voice drowned out by the deafening roar of the explosion.
His shout was met with nothing but a wider grin from George, whose unshakable composure only made the moment more surreal. The commander’s perfect teeth gleamed in the firelight, the corners of his eyes crinkling with an unsettling satisfaction, savoring every second of the destruction.
The shockwave hit with a crushing force, an unstoppable wall of heat and pressure that ripped through the compound. The walls buckled outward, crumbling like paper as fire surged in all directions, devouring everything in its path. The air ignited with a deafening roar, bright reds and oranges swirling together in a chaotic, all-consuming inferno.
Instinct took over. Carlos curled tightly around the tracker, pulling it to his chest and shielding it with his arms and chest plate under his cloak. He braced himself against the blast, muscles coiled like steel cables as the inferno surged over him. Red was everywhere—splattered across walls and consoles, pooling on the floor, and staining the very air as the room became an apocalyptic hellscape.
The force of the explosion launched him skyward like a ragdoll, the sheer power of the blast tearing through the air. His ears rang with a high-pitched whine, drowning out all other sounds as debris flew in every direction.
Shards of metal and stone sliced into his exposed skin, tearing through his cloak as he twisted mid-air, desperately trying to avoid the worst of the shrapnel. Each fragment felt like a searing-hot blade, leaving trails of agony in their wake.
The explosion triggered a cataclysmic chain reaction, one detonation feeding into the next, each blast escalating in intensity. The entire compound collapsed in on itself, its structure torn apart at the seams by the relentless inferno.
Carlos was hurled against the ground hard, the impact jarring every bone in his body as his breath left him in a wheezing gasp. The tracker in his arms dug painfully into his ribs, but he didn’t dare loosen his grip.
Trying to push himself up, coughing violently as smoke and ash filled his lungs, the Torossian’s vision was blurred by the flickering light of the flames and the acrid haze that choked the air. Before he could fully rise, a heavy piece of debris slammed down onto his back, pinning him to the ground.
The sand beneath him trembled with aftershocks, a weak protest of the destruction. Sirens and alarms blared around him, only to sputter and die in the blistering heat. The stench of burning metal and charred flesh filled his nostrils, and every breath felt like inhaling shards of glass.
His limbs throbbed from the force of the detonation, nerves screaming in protest, and darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, blurring reality and pulling him into the depths of memory. The rocky debris beneath him felt oddly familiar, almost like the mud and tangled vegetation of Merc’s battlefield. A phantom scent filled his nose, the ghostly echo of that forsaken planet, and somewhere in the chaos, he swore he heard a distant yell—his name called out in a voice he couldn’t quite place.
Over the crackling roar of the fire and the groaning metal of the collapsing structure, a sound broke through: George’s laugh, off somewhere in the distance.
It was low and sinister, brimming with dark amusement.
Carlos gritted his teeth, the sound twisting his gut as he realized this devastation had unfolded exactly as George must have intended from the moment he’d seen Lance holding that switch. Strength waning, Carlos tightened his grip on the tracker as consciousness failed him.
Chapter 36: Oil and Water
Summary:
Charles teaches the prince an Earth custom and Max is introduced to the villagers for the first time.
Notes:
Things are starting to take a turn and I'm so ready for it.
Chapter warnings: Referenced past child abuse, forced medication, imprisonment
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was cold and dark.
The kind of cold that seeped deep into your bones, gnawing at his small frame with merciless precision. Max’s body felt impossibly heavy, muscles leaden and unresponsive as he laid there curled up on the metal floor, each breath a ragged, painful gasp.
He blinked weakly, struggling to open his eyes. The darkness around him was thick and impenetrable, suffocating in its blackness.
He hated the dark.
The biting chill of the floor pressed into his skin, sharp and unyielding, but it wasn’t just the cold that clung to him. There was a warmth too, wet and sticky beneath him: his own blood, pooling under his frail, broken form.
He for sure had a broken rib, among other injuries, but he couldn’t focus on the feeling long enough to identify them, pain blurring together. The metallic tang of his blood filled his mouth, copper mingling with the acrid stench of sulfur and rust that choked the air around him.
His throat burned, parched and raw from screaming, as he fought back with everything he had before he felt a sharp pinch in his neck, his chambers in the palace fading into nothing.
Max was drifting, eyelids fluttering closed again, too heavy to keep open. The world was slipping away, consumed by the darkness, and he wondered if this was it, if this would be the end—
A sliver of light.
It cut through the darkness, a thin, bright line that pierced the void and sent a flicker of awareness sparking through his exhausted mind. Max stirred weakly, his small fingers twitching against the cold metal.
Someone was there. Someone had come.
His heart pounded in his chest, the dull thud of it muffled by the weight of his injuries, but it was enough to rouse him. Lifting his head, he tried to speak, but the words barely made it past his cracked lips.
“Pa?” he rasped, the word a soft, broken whisper.
His voice was hoarse, so faint it barely registered above the sharp sound of boots clicking steadily closer.
The footsteps echoed ominously in the silent room, like the slow march of an executioner approaching the condemned. Max’s chest tightened with fear, a low tremor running through his battered body as he forced his eyes open again, squinting against the growing light.
The figure looming in the doorway was tall, imposing—a shadow backlit by the pale glow of the corridor beyond, a mantle hanging off their back, down to meet their ankles. Max’s heart skipped a beat, a flicker of hope surging through the pain.
His father wore a mantle like that.
Maybe his father had finally come to save him from this place, and Max’s heart leaped with a fragile, desperate hope that burned brightly for a split second.
“No, not quite,” an unfamiliar voice drawled, cool and mocking.
Max’s blood ran cold, his small chest tightening as he strained to lift his head. His vision swam with exhaustion and blood loss, but he managed to make out the figure standing before him.
A lean man with broad shoulders, draped in a long, flowing mantle that fluttered behind him like a cape. The dim light glinted off the purple jewel dangling in front of his forehead, casting an unnatural glow across his sharp, angular features. His eyes, a chilling shade of pale green and blue, gleamed with interest as they roved over Max’s small, battered form.
A hand, strong and unyielding, seized Max’s collar, yanking him up off the floor with terrifying ease. The young prince’s body, frail and barely clinging to consciousness, was lifted and slammed against the cold metal wall with a force that knocked what little air he had left from his lungs.
The impact rattled through him, but Max held back the whimper of pain that threatened to escape.
The man gripped Max's chin, his fingers digging into the bruised flesh as he tilted the boy’s head back and forth, examining him. The prince’s vision blurred with the movement, but he refused to look away. Glaring up at his captor with defiant, burning blue eyes, Max’s shallow breaths came out in ragged gasps.
“Who are you?” Max hissed through gritted teeth, venom lacing every word despite his weakened state. “Why are you here?”
The man grinned, a slow, cruel smile that sent a shiver of fear down Max’s spine. His grip tightened for a moment before he released the prince, letting Max’s head drop forward as if he'd lost interest in the game.
“You’re very strong for such a young boy,” the man observed, voice filled with twisted amusement. He took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded Max with a look that made the boy feel even smaller. “Impressive, really. For a filthy monkey.”
Max's jaw clenched, heart hammering against his ribs. He forced himself to stand taller, glaring up at the man with all the defiance he could muster, tail lashing behind him.
He would not be cowed.
“My father is the King of Torossians,” Max growled. “He will kill you for this.”
The man’s smile widened, a cold laugh bubbling up from his throat as he stepped closer again, shadow looming over Max. And for the first time, he felt the full weight of the man’s power.
“I’m counting on it,” the man whispered dangerously, as his fingers ghosted over something tucked against his side. “But you, little prince, are far from your father’s reach now.”
The man tutted softly, like Max’s defiance was amusing, then pulled something from his side. It flashed faintly in the dim light—a small, dark glass bottle with a narrow neck. Max squinted, his body tensing as he tried to discern what it was, but the gloom of the room made it difficult to see.
Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
The man shoved the bottle toward his mouth, the motion quick and forceful. Panic surged through Max, adrenaline flooding his veins as he jerked his head back, straining against the man’s grip, trying to keep the object away from his lips.
He didn’t care what it was—he wasn’t going to let this man force anything into his body. Not without a fight.
“Stop resisting, you ungrateful brat,” the man snapped, irritated. His grip on Max’s jaw tightened painfully, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of his bruised cheeks, forcing his mouth open. “It’s medicine. Lord Jos wants you alive, for some unknown reason.”
Confusion briefly clouded his fear as the man tilted the bottle, pouring the liquid down his throat.
A bitter, metallic taste hit Max’s tongue as the liquid slid down, thick and burning. He gagged instinctively, trying to wrench his face away, but the man’s grip was unyielding. The fluid was cold, like ice water laced with acid, coating his throat as it forced its way down. Max’s body convulsed in protest, his stomach twisting as he struggled to break free.
Fury ignited in his chest.
He tried to shove the bottle away with a snarl, his arms flailing weakly in the man’s hold. Fingers scraping against the man’s wrist, he was too weak, too drained to push him off with any real strength. His body felt heavy, like the liquid was already working to sap what little energy he had left.
Sneering down at him, the man's grip was still firm as Max clamped his mouth shut. He forced the remaining contents of the bottle over Max’s face, the cold liquid spilling across his cheeks and chin, mixing with the blood and grime that clung to his skin. Sputtering, the young Torossian coughed violently as the liquid splashed into his nose and eyes, choking him.
Standing back, satisfied, the man released his hold on Max.
The young prince slumped forward, gasping for breath, small body wracked with shudders. His throat burned, and his vision swam as his legs fought the effects of the strange substance.
He could feel it coursing through him, numbing his limbs and dulling the edges of his mind, strength rapidly fading, ki betraying him as the drug took hold.
Max tried to glare up at the man, his defiance still flickering weakly within him, but his vision blurred, and his head lolled to the side, too heavy to lift. He could barely focus on the shadowy figure standing over him now, though he could still hear the man’s cold, satisfied chuckle.
“I hope you’re comfortable in your new home,” the man said, voice echoing in Max’s ears as he turned to leave. “Get some rest, little prince. You’ll need it.”
Max’s body trembled as he slumped against the wall, darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision. He fought to stay awake, to stay alert, but the pull of unconsciousness was too strong.
His last thought, before the void swallowed him, was a silent plea: Papa . . .
~~~~
Wide awake, Max watched Charles step out of their cabin that morning, the soft creak of the wooden door signaling his presence. The suns had just started to brighten over the lush landscape of Namek, casting a gentle haze across the vibrant greens of the planet. It never got completely dark, but there was a noticeable difference in what could’ve been called night versus day.
The prince had been stretching in the fresh morning air, trying to shake off the fear that had settled in his chest when he woke up from yet another nightmare. He was soaked in sweat, cold wet patches of the blanket sticking against his fevered skin.
That horrible taste still burned his throat, and George’s cruel laughter rang in his ears.
When he’d looked over at Charles, fast asleep beside him, he was grateful he hadn’t woken the Eldri. Charles had been working so much in the village and on his little garden lately, Max was concerned about his rest.
The prince had had nightmares every night since they’d left the PTO ship, but thankfully, no more hallucinations or outbursts like the one on the rebel ship. He, so far, had been successful in not disturbing Charles’ slumber too much, and he wanted to keep it that way.
These silly dreams were for children.
Sighing, the prince continued his warm up routine in preparation for the day’s training, trying to shake off the restlessness that had settled in his chest ever since they arrived. A deep tension had taken hold of him, despite the peace and quiet that surrounded them.
Everything was too still. Too . . . okay, and his spirit grew restless.
He’d gotten so used to constant conflict that in its absence, he felt like he was missing something. Something big. Like there was something he was forgetting or should've been doing. There was no schedule, no clock, no obligation. No war to plan and no being sent to decimate a planet of its innocent lives.
No one to answer to and no one watching him.
When Charles approached him, Max could tell there was something on his mind. The Eldri had that look—determined, yet a little hesitant, like he was trying to figure out the best way to broach a subject.
Max raised an eyebrow in curiosity, wondering what it could be about.
“Max, I need a favor,” Charles said, voice light but with a hint of seriousness.
Straightening up from his stretch, Max crossed his arms as he turned to face Charles fully. “What is it?” he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.
The last time Charles had a surprise for him, things hadn't gone so well.
Charles took a small breath, clearly choosing his words carefully, setting Max on edge. He hated that Charles felt like he couldn't tell him things, or feared his reactions.
He never wanted Charles to be scared of him again. Once was enough.
After he’d screamed at Charles that day in his room, realized what he’d said and what he’d done, the prince was beside himself with grief. He’d chased Charles away from his quarters. Crying and shaking, Max would never forget the look of horror on the Earthling's face.
And if Charles had never come back, Max wouldn’t have blamed him.
He was shocked when the Eldri came back after a few days. Charles had even brought him food, and refused to leave until he ate. Max didn’t deserve such kindness, and he wasn’t going to squander the second chance he’d been given.
He would never hurt the Earthling like that again.
“There’s an old man in the village, you know, the one who gave me those vegetables yesterday?” Charles held up an empty sack. “I need to return this to him and he mentioned some trees fell on his property during the last storm. He’s been struggling to clear them away. I told him I’d come by today to help, but those trees are pretty big. I could really use your help, especially if I want to be done in time to plant today.”
At the mention of the village, Max felt his chest tighten.
He’d been avoiding that place along with every other inhabited area on the planet since they’d arrived, not wanting to risk being recognized. Even though he’d kept a low profile and taken precautions, there was always a part of him that feared the reactions he would get from strangers.
The thought of going into the settlement, surrounded by people who could potentially recognize him as the fabled Torossian prince —Emperor Jos’ weapon of mass destruction—set him on edge.
“The village?” Max echoed, voice betraying his unease.
Nodding, Charles’ eyes softened. “I know you’re worried, but they don’t know who you are. To them, we’re just travelers who decided to settle down here. They’ve been nothing but kind to me, Max. I think it would be good for you to see that, to help you feel more at home here.”
Hesitating, Max flicked his gaze toward the village’s direction, jaw tightening as he considered the request. He knew Charles was right—the residents most likely didn’t know him, didn’t see the blood on his hands or the weight he carried. But still, the worry lingered, and the instinct to protect what little peace they had found was strong.
“Te veel ogen. Moet de Eldri veilig houden,” [Too many eyes. Must keep the Eldri safe] his Oozaru rumbled.
“Please, Max,” Charles continued, stepping a little closer. “We’ll just move some trees and head back. It won’t take long, and it would mean a lot to me if you came. Plus,” he added with a small grin, “I’m sure the old man would appreciate the extra help. He said the trees were too heavy for everyone in the village to lift combined, but that shouldn’t be a challenge for my strong prince.”
Max's Oozaru chuffed, standing a bit taller with its chest high, and the prince pursed his lips.
Squeezing his bicep firmly, Charles batted his long lashes at him, the sincerity in his request evident behind the playful smile. Unable to help the roll of his eyes, Max smiled.
He knew Charles was trying to build something here—a life, a future that was different from the chaos and violence of the PTO. And as much as he wanted to protect that, he also didn’t want to let Charles down.
The Eldri was building something similar to his life on Earth perhaps, and he wanted that for him.
Guilt still churned in his gut that Charles could never return there, so if this was as close as he would get to giving Charles the life he wanted, Max would do anything Charles asked.
Who was he kidding anyway?
Anything for his Charlie.
Tail running affectionately over Charles’ low back, the Earthling smiled a dimpled smile Max could get lost in. With a resigned sigh, Max nodded.
“Alright,” he agreed, though he couldn’t keep the reluctance out of his voice. “I’ll come. But we won’t stay long.”
The relief that flickered in Charles was evident, and Max couldn’t help but feel a little lighter seeing it.
“Thank you,” Charles said, giving Max’s arm another reassuring squeeze and a short peck on the lips. It was a small gesture, but it steadied Max’s nerves.
The two of them set off down the dirt path toward the village, the crisp morning air carrying the faint scent of dewy grass and wildflowers. Creatures reminiscent of birds chirped softly in the trees overhead, their songs blending harmoniously with the occasional rustle of leaves as a gentle breeze swept through the landscape. The sunlight dappled the ground beneath their feet, filtering through the canopy of trees lining the pathway.
Charles filled the quiet with chatter, tone cheerful as he described the projects he wanted to tackle back at their cabin. His excitement was infectious as he gestured animatedly, outlining the layout of the garden he envisioned.
“I was thinking we could plant some of those root vegetables near the edge of the pond and a few of the other seed varieties,” he said, glancing up at Max with a grin. “It’d be nice to have fresh ingredients close by.”
Max nodded, offering a faint smile, but his attention was divided.
His eyes scanned the dense foliage on either side of the path, hyper-aware of every shift of the leaves and every stray sound. The faint rustling of branches nearby made his muscles tense, his instincts sharp as he resisted the urge to flare his ki just in case.
Lost in his vigilance, Max almost didn’t notice the gentle tug on his hand.
Startled, he glanced down to see Charles’ slender fingers sliding between his, their palms meeting in a tentative touch. The Eldri’s skin was warm, his grip firm yet careful, testing the waters of something fragile.
Max looked up, his brows knitting in confusion as he caught the slight blush spreading across Charles’ cheeks. The Earthling bit his lip nervously, his gaze darting away like he was suddenly unsure of himself.
“Sorry,” Charles murmured. “On Earth, it’s . . . well, it’s just something couples do sometimes—”
He trailed off, pulling his hand away, movements hesitant and self-conscious. Max tilted his head, watching Charles closely, unsure why the simple gesture had embarrassed him.
Without thinking, Max reached out and captured Charles’ retreating hand, clumsily intertwining their fingers again. His movements lacked the grace of Charles’ touch, and his larger hand made the gesture slightly awkward, but he wanted to feel the warmth of Charles’ palm again.
He supposed maybe this was the Earth equivalent to holding tails with someone, and that thought almost had him blushing himself.
“What is a couple?”
Charles blinked, lips parting in surprise before a soft laugh bubbled up from his chest. His green eyes sparkled with amusement as he adjusted their hands, guiding Max’s fingers into a more comfortable position.
“Yes, like that,” he said, voice light and bubbly. “And a couple, I suppose, is like when you’re seeing each other in a romantic way. Or you’re interested in having intimacy with that person. That would be considered a couple.”
Max was caught a bit off guard at that, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “It is like courting then? A pair showing their mutual interest in one another?”
Charles’ blushed deepened and the prince worried he’d jumped to conclusions.
He hadn’t yet worked up the courage to discuss Torossian courting with the Eldri, and he had no idea how to bring up an official mating ceremony . . . or if Charles would even want such a thing. His Oozaru already considered Charles their mate, even without his tail and ability to wear a Torossian mating band on it.
Trying to pivot, Max held up their joined hands. “What does this mean for a . . . a couple?” he asked, deep voice tinged with curiosity. The word felt strange on his tongue.
He studied their joined hands with an intensity that had Charles chuckle again, the prince’s blue eyes narrowing slightly he tried to decipher some hidden meaning behind the custom.
“It’s . . . a way to show affection,” Charles explained. “To say that you care about someone, without using words.”
Max’s grip tightened slightly, and he looked up to meet Charles’ gaze. The morning light danced in Charles’ hair, casting a glow over his face as a smile curved his lips.
“Then we must do this more often,” he said simply, low and sincere.
Charles’ laughter quieted, replaced by a tender sigh as they continued down the path, hand in hand.
The tension Max had carried earlier seemed to dissipate, his focus no longer on the rustling trees or imagined dangers, but on the warmth of Charles’ touch and the way his presence made everything feel just a little lighter.
They neared the settlement and Max’s steps slowed, scanning the area cautiously. He could hear the faint sounds of the villagers starting their day—the low hum of voices, the occasional clatter of tools. The sight of the small huts nestled among the trees and the smoke rising gently from the chimneys was so peaceful, it almost seemed surreal to him.
This was like night and day from the harsh environments and brutal conditions he had known for so long.
Most of the places he’d visited were hostile to his arrival—for obvious reasons—and he’d never been able to observe a planet's inhabitants enjoying their normal routines for an extended period of time. He actually found culture and geography interesting, studying field maps and memorizing unit formations against terrain in his spare time.
As they walked, Max kept his head down and maintained a slow gait to appear as normal as possible, but he still felt a gnawing discomfort growing in his gut. He was wearing clothes they’d found on the rebel ship, choosing neutral tones to not stand out too much.
Immediately gravitating to a tighter pair of black pants that hugged his thighs, the prince picked out a beige colored shirt as well that left most of his arms exposed, and a circle of fabric resting low under his throat. Charles had gone with looser fitting clothes and a more oversized thicker garment over his chest and arms.
Max had tried a garment similar to the one Charles wore, but found it tactically impractical. The loose material left him open to attack from behind, giving an enemy a hand-hold or leverage to use against him, and the baggy clothes affected the flow of his natural movements. He was much more partial to the feeling of a second skin.
He felt Charles squeezed his hand for reassurance, and the pair entered into the heart of the small community.
Soon after they’d entered the village, Max felt it.
It started out as a small twinge, something he could’ve easily dismissed as nerves, but it quickly escalated into a full-blown awareness that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
At first, it was just a few cautious glances from the villagers as they passed by, nothing out of the ordinary. People were naturally curious about newcomers, especially in a small, tight-knit community like this one.
But then Max began to notice the subtle shifts in behavior.
A woman, who'd been sweeping the front of her home, abruptly stopped when her eyes fell on him, her movements freezing mid-sweep. She quickly gathered her broom and disappeared inside, closing the door with a soft click that seemed to echo in Max’s ears.
Ahead of him, Charles pulled his hand out of Max's grip to wave to a villager, and continued on, blissfully unaware. Max immediately missed the feeling of Charles' fingers, and he was unsure what to do with his hands.
Opting to look non-threatening, he tucked his hands in pockets of his pants.
The Eldri was in his element, waving and smiling at everyone they passed, his cheerful demeanor lighting up the path like a beacon. Charles was the very picture of friendliness, completely oblivious to the changes in the villagers’ behavior just behind him—so at ease, so comfortable among these people who were now casting fearful glances in Max’s direction.
Charles was in a completely different world, one where everything was fine, and nothing could go wrong.
A world that Max didn’t belong in.
He watched as a mother yanked her child away from an open doorway, her mate's scolding words carrying on the breeze. The child had been staring at Max, wide-eyed with a mixture of something like awe and fear, and the mother’s reaction was swift, protective.
Max’s steps faltered slightly, his gaze sweeping over the small dwellings lining the narrow street, and one by one, the villagers began to retreat. Fathers hurried their families inside, doors shutting with an urgency that made Max’s heart pound faster.
Even the animals in the village seemed to sense the tension—small yapping creatures that had been lazily lounging in the sun scurried away, and a few aerial species took flight from the rooftops, their wings flapping frantically.
Charles, still walking a few paces ahead, didn’t seem to notice the shift in the atmosphere. Remaining as bright and open as ever, his presence was like oil and water to the growing unease that surrounded them.
Max, on the other hand, could feel every pair of eyes on him, could sense the fear that seemed to radiate from the villagers like the blanket of death.
His Oozaru paced back and forth, on full alert with the delicate situation, tail tightening around his waist, tucked up under his shirt. Max had hidden it just before they reached the village, hoping to blend in more and look like Charles.
As they passed by a small group of Namekians, Max caught the way their expressions changed when they noticed him. One man, older and grizzled, narrowed his eyes suspiciously and took a step back, his hand tightening around the handle of a tool he was holding. The woman next to him quickly turned away, pulling her garment tighter around her shoulders as if to ward off a chill.
Max’s discomfort morphed into something deeper—an old, familiar feeling of alienation. He'd felt this before, many times, in the presence of those who feared or despised him for what he was, for what he’d been forced to become under Jos’ rule.
Really, it wasn't that simple. Max hadn’t chosen this path, and would do anything to change his past, but wishing had never done him any good.
Wishes were for fools.
He'd heard a lot about wishing over the years. People praying and crying to their gods upon his arrival. No amount of wishing had ever changed the outcome of what he'd been sent there to do, and no amount of wishing would change what he was. Even his prayers to the Godin van de maan felt like a hopeless errand.
But this here, on this peaceful planet far outside of the empire's bounds, was a wakeup call that no matter how far he ran, no matter how much he tried to start over and keep this from Charles, the past would always follow him.
A past Charles still didn’t know the extent of yet.
The villagers’ reactions were like a mirror reflecting his own fears—the anxiety that he was still the same cold, ruthless warrior they all saw him as, no matter how hard he tried to change since his teenage years.
He kept his face neutral, but inside, his mind was racing. He could feel the distance between himself and Charles growing, not in physical space, but in understanding. Charles, with his kind heart and warm spirit, didn’t seem to grasp the weight of what was happening, or maybe he was simply too trusting, too hopeful.
The Eldri saw the good in everyone, always extending a hand in friendship, while Max had learned to be wary, to expect the worst. As they approached what he guessed was the old man’s property, Max’s unease reached a peak.
The village, once bustling with activity, had grown eerily quiet, the sounds of daily life absent, replaced by a tense, watchful silence. The prince’s eyes flicked to the side, noticing more than a few window coverings twitching as the villagers peered out from behind the safety of their houses.
By the time they reached their destination on the opposite outskirts of the village, Max’s shoulders were tight, a migraine building behind his eyes.
Charles, still oblivious, called out a friendly greeting to the old man who looked up from where he’d been tending to a small extinguished fire pit, turning over cold ashes. The elder, reportedly so welcoming the day before, now eyed Max with a mixture of caution and something else—something Max recognized all too well.
Fear.
The further they’d walked into the village, the more pronounced the collective fear had become, and Max had seen it in the eyes of every villager who dared to look at him for more than a second. The fear wasn't just surface level—it was primal, an instinctual reaction to something they perceived as a threat.
Max didn't need to guess who that threat was.
He could feel it in their gazes, in the way they recoiled from his presence, as if he carried death with him wherever he went.
In reality, he did.
But Charles didn’t know that.
Max kept his eyes forward, trying to avoid eye contact, but the feeling was suffocating, and made him more aware of the scars that marked his body, of the blood he’d shed, and of the title he carried—one that he would never escape.
It didn't matter that he was here with Charles, a golden ray of pure sunshine, or that he was trying to leave that life behind.
To these people, he was a monster.
Charles turned back to Max with a smile, clearly expecting him to come up and engage with the old man or be friendly, but Max’s gaze remained hard, fixed on the elder, reading the apprehension in his posture, the way he hesitated before responding. Max forced himself to smile, a tight, controlled expression, but he didn’t step any closer to the property’s edge.
For a moment, Max even considered turning around and just leaving, sparing them all the discomfort. But the thought of leaving Charles here alone, even for a second, after he promised to help was enough to keep him rooted in place, Oozaru unwilling to leave the Eldri undefended.
He just hoped Charles wouldn’t be too upset when he realized what had happened.
Still blissfully unaware, the Earthling stepped onto the property like he owned the place, his usual confidence radiating from him. But the old man held out a long wooden tool in front of him in a threatening manner, his eyes narrowed and filled with suspicion.
"Stop right there," the old man commanded, voice gravelly and firm.
Charles halted in his tracks, confusion written all over his face. "What's wrong?" he asked, clearly not understanding the shift in demeanor.
But Max understood immediately.
Without a second thought, he moved to position himself between Charles and the old man, his Oozaru instinctively going into protective mode, muscles tensed, ready for any sign of aggression from the alien holding the sharp weapon.
The old man's gaze flicked between Max and Charles, the stick in his hand trembling slightly as he tightened his grip. "I don't know who you are, but you're not welcome here," the old man said, directed at Max, voice filled with a mix of fear and resolve.
That was . . . new.
Max had assumed they all must've known his reputation to react the way they did. If they didn’t recognize him, then how did they know to be afraid of him?
Charles looked from Max to the old man, still trying to piece together what was happening. "Wait, he's just here to help me with the trees. Remember? You asked me for help, and we came—"
"Not him," the old man interrupted, eyes locked on Max. "You can stay, boy, but he needs to leave. I don't know what he's done, but his energy is troubled . . . tainted. A great evil dwells within him."
Max remained silent, his eyes narrowed and his stance unyielding. He could feel Charles' confusion and hurt beside him, but this was something he had expected.
It wasn't the first time he had been treated like this, and it likely wouldn't be the last.
The scars, the aura of power, the blood he’d shed—it must've been all too easy for any particularly sensitive species to pick up on, even if they didn't know his full story.
That realization twisted ugly in his gut. Max had hoped that his energy wasn't affected by the weight of his past, but clearly, his hope had been in vain.
If this alien could feel evil in his ki . . . that meant that Charles could feel it too—
"He isn't a threat," Charles tried to argue, voice laced with frustration and disbelief. "This is my . . . this is Max. I told you about him, the one who lives with me? We're just here to help—"
"No," the old man said sharply, gaze never wavering from Max. "I don't want him here. Not on my land, and you should steer clear as well. Have you been tricked by this beast, boy? Do you need—"
Growling deep in his chest, Max's tail wound tight around Charles’ waist, Oozaru not about to let anyone take the Eldri from them. He shifted so he was entirely blocking Charles from the old alien’s view.
Forcing his way forward and around Max's blockade, Charles’ livid energy wafted off of him in waves, strong enough for even Max to sense. “You can’t be serious!?”
The Eldri tried to step forward and Max gently placed a hand on Charles' shoulder, a silent signal to stop. There was no point in arguing. He knew when he wasn't wanted, and forcing the issue would only make things worse.
"It's fine, Charles," Max said quietly despite the turmoil inside him. "I’ll just go back."
"Absolutely not—" Charles snapped, but Max shook his head, giving him a look that said it all.
This wasn't Charles’ fight, and it wasn't worth pushing.
Casting one last glance at the old man, Charles spat, “Then we are both leaving. Move the trees yourself!” and he turned to follow Max back down the path they'd just walked, the weight of the villagers' fear hanging heavily between them.
Max kept his gaze forward, thoughts swirling with frustration and resignation. This was the price of his past, and it was one he would always have to pay.
He knew coming here was a bad idea.
Fuck.
He should’ve just stayed at their cabin.
As they made their way back, the tension between them was thick. Charles’ usual light-hearted demeanor had shifted, replaced by a stormy expression that Max hadn’t seen often.
The prince, on the other hand, kept his gaze down, his shoulders slumped as they walked in silence, hoping to make himself seem smaller as they passed through the village again. He wanted to hold Charles' hand again, but maybe it would be best if he didn't look that . . . involved with Charles. Give the Earthling plausible deniability when it came to him.
The scene from their earlier journey replayed in Max’s mind, over and over.
He felt too exposed, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes flicking over his scarred arms on display, a longing for his PTO bodysuit catching in his throat. It was long and covered everything, a high neck and long sleeves down to the wrist.
No one ever got to see what was hidden beneath it, the evidence of his past brutality.
Running his hand down the uneven skin of his arm, Max’s thumb traced down the nasty scar on his left forearm he got from his purge of planet Vampa. There were enormous wild beasts there, so big they disguised themselves as part of the land and a few were even bigger than Jos’ private travel ship.
They weren’t an entirely sentient species, but enough to use ki. Max had suffered the scar after being caught in one of their ground blanketing attacks.
At the tail end of the scar was Charles’ bracelet, still adorning his undeserving wrist. The soft twine of it in some way almost made him feel worse.
Charles laying claim to something he didn’t fully understand.
When they finally reached the cabin, Charles burst through the door, his anger evident in every movement. Max followed quietly, feeling the full weight of what had just transpired, sensing the upset radiating off Charles, making him feel even more ashamed.
“Can you believe that?” Charles spat, as he threw the small vegetable sack onto a nearby chair that he was supposed to return to the old man. “The way he looked at you, what he said. Some kind of–of evil . . . What the fuck is wrong with them?”
Max stood by the door, unable to drag his eyes off the floor. He felt a pang in his chest at Charles’ words.
Evil.
He’d been called that many times before, and the villagers’ reactions had only reinforced that belief. He really had just wanted to help, to show that he wasn’t a threat, but all he’d done was scare them.
“I shouldn’t have gone,” Max muttered, voice barely audible. “I shouldn’t have gone into the village.”
Charles whirled around to face him, eyes blazing. “What? No, Max . It’s not your fault. They’re the ones who were wrong, not you. They don't even know anything about you? About what you've endured. But I do. I know who you are.”
A deep ache churned in his gut at Charles’ false words.
Shaking his head, the prince’s shoulders slumped further. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve specifically been avoiding the village because I feared this reaction or something similar, and I was right. I don’t belong there, and I won’t go back. You’re happy here and I can’t risk them turning against you because of me.”
Charles’ anger faltered for a moment, replaced by a look of hurt. “Max, that’s not—”
“They’ll still be kind to you,” Max interrupted, resigned, taking a step back from Charles’ outstretched arm. “I’m sure they won’t hold it against you, but I’m not going back there. I don’t want to cause any more problems for you.”
Charles opened his mouth to argue, reaching out for his hand again, but Max didn’t wait to hear what the Eldri had to say. He just turned away from Charles, back to him as he took a shaky breath.
“I’ll get us some wood for later tonight,” he said softly and disappeared out the door before the Earthling could say another word, fully intent on stopping by their ship first.
He needed to put on a different shirt.
Chapter 37: Let Him Run
Summary:
George and Carlos make due when a situation goes from bad to worse, and the Emperor has a new task for Commander George.
Notes:
Plot doing some plotting
Chapter warnings: Mentioned death, violence, all my regular bullshit when Jos is involved
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Carlos grunted with exertion as he clawed his way forward, every movement a struggle under the heavy debris on his back. The air was thick with smoke and sand, making it almost impossible to breathe, and his muscles ached from the strain of supporting the weight.
He was still reeling from what had just happened. George barely gave him enough warning to cover the damn tracker, let alone brace for a complete meltdown of the rebel base.
He’d stayed still for several minutes after the explosion, waiting to see if the rubble above him would shift or collapse further, and willed away his memories of Merc. The heat radiating from the wreckage was intense, making his movements sluggish and his thoughts hazy.
When he finally felt confident enough to move, he braced himself and pushed upward, gritting his teeth as he used all his strength to dislodge a large piece of stone pinning him down.
The slab shifted and rolled off with a heavy thud, and Carlos immediately broke into a coughing fit, the fine dust and ash in the air choking him. Gasping for breath, the Torossian’s lungs burned as he blinked through the haze, trying to orient himself.
Slowly, he rose to his knees, grimacing as the pain in his shoulders and back flared. His cloak was shredded, bodysuit underneath ripped exposing his bruised and bloodied skin, and his tail twitched weakly behind him, the fur singed and matted with soot.
One at a time he moved his limbs to confirm nothing was broken and that he felt no pain in his tail.
With trembling hands, Carlos uncurled the tracking unit he shielded against his chest, and relief washed over him when he saw that it was intact, the device miraculously unharmed despite the blast. He cradled it for a moment, breathing heavily as he processed what had just happened.
The ache in his back told him he had taken the brunt of the explosion to protect the precious piece of tech. He hoped there wasn't any heat damage to the internal mechanisms.
Carlos’ gaze flicked upward, scanning the devastation around him.
The compound was reduced to little more than a smoldering heap of rubble, fires still burning in scattered pockets. Through the dark haze, he spotted a figure moving toward him, walking with the casual confidence of someone who owned the ground beneath their feet.
George.
Crazy bastard was out of his mind.
The commander’s pristine appearance was infuriating. Despite the chaos and destruction around them, George strode through the debris without a scratch, his white chestplate somehow untouched by the carnage, golden plating reflecting the firelight in the darkness.
His sharp jaw and tousled hair caught the subtle glow of it all and he looked almost like an angel.
Albeit a fallen one . . .
The commander was still smiling and Carlos shook his head, dispelling the absurd thought that it actually suited him.
“Where are you Carlos?” The commander yelled. “Come on. We don’t have all day.”
Pressing his lips into a tight line, Carlos dragged himself to his feet with a grunt. His body screamed in protest, but he refused to show weakness, holding up the tracker for emphasis, he said, voice rough with irritation, “You could’ve given me more warning.”
George stopped a few feet away, his beaming smile pulling back down to his usual neutral expression as he looked Carlos over. There was a glint of amusement in his sharp eyes, like the Torossian’s battered state was entertaining.
“Oh good, you're alive,” he said smoothly, tone light. “And we both know the rebels don’t have weapons strong enough to seriously hurt either of us. Were you actually worried about that deadman switch?”
Carlos narrowed his eyes, tail flicking in agitation despite its very minor injuries, Oozaru growling softly. “That’s not the point,” he snapped, more out of exhaustion than anything else. “A little consideration wouldn’t kill you.”
Chuckling, a low, patronizing sound that made Carlos’ blood boil, George said, “Consideration?” the smirk on his face widening. “You’re still alive, aren’t you? And the tracker is intact. I’d say everything worked out perfectly.”
Carlos bit back a retort, rolling his eyes.
His arrogance was astounding, infuriating smugness making a headache pound behind Carlos’ eyes, but he knew better than to challenge George outright. Instead, he focused on steadying his breathing, the tracker still clutched tightly in his hand.
“What about Lance?” Carlos asked, looking around, spotting what he assumed were pieces of the young rebel strewn amongst the devastation. “Lawrence will surely find out about this.”
George turned away, surveying the ruins of the compound with a casual air, like the destruction was nothing more than an inconvenience. “Harboring traitors to the emperor was enough just cause. That and his blatant greed. The boy was never getting out of this alive.”
The callousness with which the commander spoke gave Carlos pause.
This really had always been his plan then.
“Let’s move,” George said over his shoulder, launching into the air. “We have a monkey to catch, and I don’t intend to waste any more time.”
Carlos glared at the back of the commander’s head before forcing himself to follow, his steps heavy and uneven, the ache in his back surely not going anywhere anytime soon as he took flight.
Barren landscape blurring beneath them, the pair flew quickly in the direction of their pods ready to quickly depart from the planet and—
“Wait!” Carlos yelled, the urgency in his voice making George slow slightly ahead of him. "Where are we going? Jos said he’d kill us if we went back without Max.”
George turned his head just enough to glance at him. “We have to go back to the base ship regardless,” the commander replied. “The tracker was still moving. The prince could change his trajectory by the time we reach that location on the outer rim and we would lose even more time.”
Carlos clenched his fists as he flew beside George. He didn't have a good response to that, but that didn't mean he liked the idea. “But what about Jos? He’s not exactly forgiving, and I doubt he’s going to let us waltz back in there after seeing Max isn't with us.”
“You leave the emperor to me,” George said simply, the confidence in his voice doing little to ease Carlos’ growing anxiety.
Before Carlos could press the issue further, George slowed down to an abrupt halt, causing Carlos to nearly collide with him, turning just in time to fly several lengths past the commander. Squinting ahead, Carlos’ sharp eyes caught sight of their PTO pods in the desert clearing just ahead, and he also caught sight of what had startled George.
Suddenly accelerating, the commander's energy spiked as he rushed to the scene unfolding by the pods. Carlos sped after him and struggled to keep up, but his stomach dropped when he saw the figure hunched over one of the pods—Jeice.
The innkeeper was ripping components out of the back of the pod with an almost drunken fervor, wires and panels spilling onto the ground around him.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Carlos muttered under his breath, his earlier frustration flaring into rage.
Without hesitation, he poured every ounce of his ki into his flight, propelling himself forward like a missile in front of George, world blurring around him as his focus zeroed in on the disheveled man sabotaging their only way off the planet.
“Hey!” Carlos bellowed, voice echoing off the rocks and sand as he slammed into Jeice from the side, sending them both crashing to the ground.
The force of the impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air, scattering debris from the pods across the clearing. Jeice groaned in pain as Carlos pinned him to the ground, his hands gripping the man’s collar with a strength born of pure desperation.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Carlos growled.
“Where's—” Jeice gasped, struggling against Carlos’ grip. “My money—”
“There is no money,” Carlos snapped, slamming Jeice back against the ground, the impact sending a dull thud reverberating through his arms. His tail lashed angrily behind him as his ki flared, lighting up the area with a pale yellow glow. "There never was you idiot! Jij liet ze wegkomen!” [You let them get away!]
Jeice squirmed beneath him, hands clawing at Carlos’ arms, shoulders digging into the sand, but the dark-haired Torossian didn’t budge, feeling nothing but the anger and fear coursing through his veins like fire. The thought of being stranded here, and losing his chance to find Max fueling his actions.
A sickening snap echoed through the clearing, and Carlos froze, breath hitching as he looked down, realizing his hands were still clenched tightly around Jeice’s collar. The innkeeper’s head lolled to the side, his neck bent at an unnatural angle, lifeless eyes staring blankly into the distance.
Carlos’ heart pounded in his chest as he slowly loosened his grip, hands trembling as he backed away from the body.
“Carlos!” George’s voice cut through the haze. The commander was standing a few feet away, his cold gaze flicking between the Torossian and the lifeless form of Jeice. “Get up. We don’t have time for this.”
Staggering to his feet, his tail coiled tightly around his waist as he tried to steady his breathing, forcing his Oozaru back in its cage. “He—he . . . I didn’t think,” he said, voice shaky but defensive. “We would’ve been stranded—”
“You think I valued his life above ours?” George interrupted, tone dismissive as he turned his attention back to the pods. “What’s done is done. Check the damage and see if the pod is still operational.”
Carlos swallowed hard as he approached the pod Jeice had been tampering with, crouching beside it. His hands still shook as he inspected the exposed wires and panels, adrenaline pumping through him.
After a few moments, it was obvious the pod was toast, his fingers tracing the melted edges of wiring. The faint smell of burnt components still lingered in the air, mixing unpleasantly with the metallic tang of Aston's arid night.
The internal damage was worse than he had initially thought. Guidance circuits were charred beyond recognition, and the fire that had spread through the pod had warped and deformed the warming units beyond repair.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his dark hair. This trip could not get any more out of control, and his growing frustration threatened to boil over.
Behind him, he heard the heavy footsteps of George approaching, the sound of shuffling sand shifting on the ground.
"Can you fix it?" the commander asked, tone brisk as he knelt down beside Carlos, gaze scanning the wreckage with a critical eye.
Sighing heavily, he sat back on his heels. “Not here. No,” he admitted, gesturing to the mess of melted wires and warped metal. “I’d need several days back on the base ship, a full repair bay, and a stockpile of replacement parts to even begin untangling this mess.”
George pinched the bridge of his nose, expression darkening as he absorbed the news. "What about the other one?" he asked, not even bothering to hide the impatience in his voice.
Standing up, Carlos dusted off his hands on his ripped pants and made his way over to the second pod. His heart pounded as he approached, silently praying it hadn’t met the same fate.
Bending down, he unclasped the back panel with care, his hands steady despite the tension coursing through him.
If this pod was in a similar state to the first one, they were completely screwed.
Surprisingly, the internal systems blinked back at him, untouched. The wiring was intact, the components neatly in place, and the casing showed no signs of tampering. Relief flooded through him like a cool wave, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“It’s fine,” Carlos announced, glancing back at George, who had already risen to his feet. “No damage, no signs of tampering.”
George’s stern expression softened, just slightly, though his sharp gaze lingered on Carlos for a moment before shifting to the functional pod. “Good,” the commander said curtly. “Then I'll take this one. Prepare it for launch immediately.”
What?
His mouth dropped open before he could stop it. “What do you mean you will take this one?” Carlos sniped. “What about me?”
“I'll send another one back for you from the ship.”
“Like hell you will,” he said. “You can't even access the information on that tracker without integrating it into the nav deck mainframe. Care to explain how you’re going to do that without your best mechanic?”
George looked exasperated, setting his hands on his hips. “Then what do you suggest, Carlos?”
He stared at the one pod for a moment, an idea coming to mind. “Max and Charles made it here in one—”
“Absolutely fucking not,” George cut him off.
Carlos crossed his arms over his chest, jaw tightening as he glared at George. “Why not? It’s not like we have a lot of options,” he shot back.
George took a slow, deliberate step closer, his smaller frame still imposing with his height. His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Because, Carlos, I'm not being stuck in a one-man scouting pod with you.”
“What's wrong commander? Afraid you'll like it?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“So what’s your plan then?” he demanded, pointing at the functional pod. “Leave me stranded here while you run off to collect your worthless praise from the emperor? You’re going to need me if you want any chance of finding Max with that thing, and you know it.”
George’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers flexed at his sides. “And if the pod malfunctions mid-flight because of the added weight? Or the systems fail under the strain? If we crash, we’re both dead, and then Jos will personally see to it that no one so much as whispers our names ever again.”
Scoffing, Carlos refused to back down. “Oh come on, the weight of the two of us isn't more than the weight of the prince and Charles. You’d really risk losing the only person who can make sense of the tracking unit because you’re too stubborn to share a pod with me? If that’s your idea of strategy, then we definitely need to find Max.”
Eyes flashing for a moment, George looked at him much the same way he always had, like a lesser species not even worthy of sharing the same air as him. The look made him feel oddly defensive, stripped bare and conflicted with George's other actions.
“You just don't want to have to touch a ‘filthy monkey’, ” he said, looking back at the complicated stare meeting his.
But instead of retaliating, George tilted his head slightly, his lips offering a small smile. “Fine,” he said, voice cold and cutting. “But you are not sitting on me.”
Swallowing, Carlos felt a small victory in the concession, though George’s glare made it clear this wasn’t a win he should celebrate. “I’ll adjust the pod’s systems,” he said quickly, stepping toward the open hatch. “Recalibrate the weight distribution and boost the power to the stabilizers. It won’t be a smooth ride, but it’ll hold. Stasis sleep will get us through it anyway.”
“You’d better hope it does,” George muttered, watching him closely as Carlos climbed into the pod to make the necessary adjustments. “If you breathe one word of this to anyone else when we get back, you’re going out the airlock.”
Carlos huffed a laugh, ignoring the commander’s taunts as he worked. “Yes, commander.”
The cramped interior of the pod was stifling, and the thought of sharing it with George for however long this flight would take didn’t exactly thrill him. But he wasn’t about to let the commander take off without him—not when Max was still out there.
Not when he had a chance to set things right.
“Done,” he said finally, wiping sweat from his brow as he stepped out of the pod. “Systems are optimized for two. It’s not perfect, but it’ll get us there.”
George inspected the pod before nodding. “Let’s hope you’re as good as you think you are,” he said, climbing into the pod and gesturing for Carlos to follow. “Because if this thing so much as hiccups, you’ll wish you stayed on Aston.”
Carlos exhaled sharply as he climbed into the single seat, locking his eyes on George, shooting the commander a defiant look. “Let’s not drag this out. Just try not to enjoy it too much.” He patted his lap with exaggerated flair. "Come to Daddy.”
Arching an unimpressed brow, George didn’t take the bait, settling himself into Carlos’ lap, muttering something about an animal under his breath.
As the hatch hissed shut, Carlos instantly became hyper-aware of how tightly they were pressed together. George’s back molded against his chest, his legs snug against Carlos’, and his weight settled firmly on Carlos’ thighs.
"Comfortable?” Carlos muttered, trying and failing to keep the tremor out of his tone.
"Not remotely," George replied flatly, sharp voice brushing past Carlos’ ear.
He shifted slightly, adjusting his position in the cramped space, and Carlos gritted his teeth as George’s narrow hips brushed too close to his groin, bodysuit skin tight around his ass. The heat radiating between their bodies was unbearable in the confined space, made worse by the scent of George’s skin—sharp and clean, with a faint metallic undertone.
Carlos stiffened, his hand hovering awkwardly before finally resting on George’s waist. He didn’t dare place them anywhere else, but the touch only made him more acutely aware of the situation. His tail, unhelpfully twitching beside him on the seat, betrayed his discomfort.
"If you get hard right now," George warned, voice low and ice-cold, "I will personally ensure neither of us survives this flight."
"Then stop grinding on me," Carlos snapped, his own voice uneven, betraying his growing frustration. He shifted slightly, trying to create even the slightest bit of distance between them, but it was impossible, only bucking up against the commander’s firm ass.
The pod's seat was designed for one, and the proximity was maddening.
George clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in a dismissive, almost amused gesture.
“Torossians,” he muttered under his breath, the word carrying just enough condescension to light a fire in Carlos’ chest, along with other unwanted feelings. “Keep your tail to yourself.”
Looking down, Carlos tightened his grip on George’s waist, biting back a growl as he removed his tail from George's leg. He mentally smacked his agitated Oozaru, but he had to agree it was hard to focus on anything other than the feel of the subtle strength in the commander’s lean frame, every slight movement sending unwelcome sparks of awareness through him.
“Just sit still,” Carlos growled through gritted teeth, “I’m starting to think you want me to get hard.”
The pod jolted as the engines roared to life, and George shifted again, his back pressing harder against Carlos' chest, hands braced against the sides, robotic feminine voice beginning the launch countdown. “Careful there, General, ” George quipped. “I can feel your heart racing.”
Carlos rolled his eyes, praying the blush creeping up his neck wasn’t obvious. “Maybe it’s the overwhelming joy of having you so close, commander.”
“Mm-hmm,” George hummed dismissively, clearly entertained by Carlos’ irritation. “Focus on the launch sequence. Let me know when we’re out of the atmosphere—assuming you can concentrate and think with the head your brain is in.”
Carlos’ tail flicked with irritation beside George’s thigh, and he clenched his jaw as he focused on the nav screen. The pod shuddered, rising off the ground as the launch sequence kicked in, each subtle movement sending a fresh wave of tension through his body as George adjusted slightly to counter the vibrations.
Could this asshole not just sit still!? He was practically fucking himself back onto Carlos’ groin.
The atmosphere outside grew thinner, the pod rattling as it ascended into the dark expanse of stars, and Carlos focused on the data flashing across the screen in front of him, desperate for any distraction from the pressure against his front.
By the time the vapor bath started, Carlos gulped in the chemical mist, deciding he was certain of two things. The first, being he hated how smug George looked, eyes closed and perfectly tousled hair rubbing against his shoulder, and the second, he needed this flight to end as soon as possible to stop thinking about how the commander's waist fit his hands perfectly.
_____
– PTO Base ship –
George’s polished boots struck the metal floor with a sharp clack, each step hurried as he marched down the corridor. The familiar tang of burnt metal and the faint iron of blood clung to the recycled air of the PTO base ship, but he barely registered the scent, nose full of Carlos’ musk.
His mind replayed the events of their approach and the situation he now found himself navigating.
The pod’s automated voice had jarred him awake, its monotonous tone announcing their imminent docking at the base ship. George had blinked against the red glow of the pod, forcing himself to sit upright, only to find he couldn’t move as freely as he intended.
He glanced down, sharp gaze narrowing as he realized the reason for his restricted movement—Carlos’ arms were draped around his waist, the dark-haired Torossian’s tail lazily coiled around his ankle, and steady breath puffing against the back of his neck. George’s brow creased deeply in irritation, though a more complicated emotion flickered at the edge of his mind, one he quickly smothered.
Looking out the small, red-tinted viewport, he caught sight of the base ship’s docking port rapidly approaching.
Exhaling, low and controlled, the Elysian was relieved to have this ordeal almost behind him. He wasn’t fond of tight quarters or prolonged contact—especially not with someone like Carlos—but there was no denying the Torossian’s argument regarding competence.
He was useful, if nothing else.
Behind him, the Torossian groaned softly, shifting as he began to wake, thighs squeezing around the commander, arms pulling him tighter against Carlos’ broad chest. George stiffened slightly, the warmth of Carlos’ arms and the casual intimacy of the situation becoming abruptly more noticeable. He felt the brush of Carlos’ lips move against his back, the weight of his limbs entirely too familiar in a way that made him bristle.
This animal surely had confused him for someone else.
Before the Torossian could fully stir, George shoved Carlos’ hands off his waist with more force than necessary. Unwinding from his ankle, the mechanic’s black tail flicked lightly against his skin before retreating, and Carlos mumbled something incoherent, blinking sleepily as he sat back.
George shot him a cold glare over his shoulder, masking the strange embarrassment bubbling under the surface, wet patch still on the back of his neck.
“Wake up,” George snapped, as he shifted his gaze to the viewport again. “We’re docking. Move.”
Carlos rubbed the sleep from his eyes, muttering under his breath but obeying without argument. George didn’t wait for him, pulling himself upright and preparing for the hatch to open.
The pod shuddered as it docked, the transition seamless, but George’s impatience burned hotter with every second spent inside the cramped space.
By the time the hatch hissed open, George was already on his feet, striding out onto the base ship’s docking platform with the kind of commanding presence that made crew members snap to attention. Some of them had shocked expressions, eyes darting between him and the Torossian exiting the pod behind him, and George made a mental note to give them all diversion team duty on their next assignment.
There must be no witnesses to the humiliation he'd just endured.
Carlos followed a step behind, still shaking off the remnants of sleep, usual bravado and uncivilized behavior somewhat muted.
George didn’t look back at the Torossian, but his mind lingered briefly on the moment in the pod. He’d shoved Carlos off without hesitation, yet the memory of those arms around him lingered in an unwelcome way, gnawing at the edges of his carefully constructed composure.
It was an annoyance. Nothing more.
His stomach twisted with hunger, and the grime of space travel clung to his uniform, but those discomforts were insignificant.
Nothing mattered right now except one thing—finding Max.
His very life depended on it after all, and he flat out refused to become the emperor’s latest chew toy.
The pair reached the navigation deck in record time, its bustling atmosphere abruptly silenced as the heavy door slid open. The chatter of the crew died mid-sentence, and all heads turned toward the commander. Shock and unease rippled through the room, the tension palpable as George’s presence filled the space like a storm cloud.
He didn’t waste time on pleasantries.
“Out. All of you,” he commanded, tone sharp.
The crew froze, hesitation flashing across their faces as they exchanged nervous glances, the air thickening. No one dared move.
“NOW!” George roared, his voice cutting through the pregnant silence.
The sharp edge of his words sent the crew scrambling to gather their things, shoving past each other in their haste to vacate the room. Chairs scraped against the floor, boots clattered on metal, and the room was empty in a matter of moments.
Just behind George, Carlos stood silently and watched the scene. “Was that necessary?” he asked, tail flicking behind him.
The sight of it pulled George’s mouth down into a frown, remembering the soft feel of it on his thigh and ankle.
Turning back to the room, “Yes,” he said curtly, attention already on the main console.
He strode over to it, and began swiping through the holographic interface with an ease that belied his urgency. Booted feet clicking behind him, Carlos sighed, and then leaned against the edge of the console as he crossed his arms.
“You do realize they could’ve helped, right? Isn’t that what they’re here for?”
George ignored the remark, sharp eyes scanning the streams of data flashing across the console’s screen. “I am not taking the risk of a leak with this information,” he said flatly, fingers moving deftly to bring up the nav logs and tracking data. “The only people who will know Prince Max’s location will be myself, you, and Emperor Jos.”
Carlos snorted and rounded the console to stand beside him. “And how, exactly, do you plan on running this entire ship with just the two of us? The control deck alone takes at least six men when running a skeleton crew, and that’s not including engineering or—”
“You will make do, Carlos,” he interrupted, turning to face the younger Torossian with a steely glare. The commander’s words weren’t loud, but the weight behind them silenced any further protests.
Carlos met his gaze with a frustrated sigh, but the fire in his eyes dimmed slightly as he pressed his lips together. George took the opportunity to extend the tracker toward him, the device’s faint glow illuminating the space between them.
“Interface this tracker into the main console computer.”
Examining it carefully, Carlos stared for a moment, turning it over in his hands. “The piece of junk looks like it's been cobbled together from at least three different systems. Could be tricky.”
Oh, this piece of—
George’s head stepped back to Carlos, folding his arms across his chest as he watched the Torossian intensely. “Can you do it or not? Or were you lying so I wouldn’t leave your ass on Aston.”
Carlos rolled his eyes but said nothing, focusing instead on the device in his hand. He crouched beside the console, prying open a panel to reveal a tangled mess of wires and circuits. Pulling a multitool from his chestplate, he began splicing and connecting wires, muttering foreign sounding curses under his breath as he worked.
Leaning against the back of one of the chairs, George regarded the Torossian while he worked. Carlos had his tongue pulled between his teeth, mouth quirked up in the corner, and his brows scrunched together.
He pulled open an additional panel on the console and hissed sharply, shaking his finger while muttering more strange words.
The commander huffed a half scoff at Carlos’ theatrics before straightening his posture, wiping the smile off his face.
Fuck, he really needed to get some proper sleep.
He was going crazy.
The faint hum of the ship’s systems and the occasional spark from Carlos’ work were the only sounds in the room, and George remained motionless, piercing gaze fixed on the console, patience wearing thin with each passing second.
They didn't have much time. The Emperor was surely made aware of their arrival and he would be expecting him in the throne room.
Finally, Carlos straightened, holding the tracker aloft like a trophy. “It’s interfaced,” he said begrudgingly, plugging it into the console with a satisfying click. “But don’t blame me if this old thing fries the system. Rebel tech isn’t exactly known for its reliability.”
Stepping forward, George leaned over the console to see the data feed in from the tracker. The screen flickered for a moment before stabilizing, displaying a series of coordinates and movement patterns.
“There,” he said, voice low and sharp, pointing to a stationary target. “We’ve got them—”
The navigation deck door slid open with a sharp hiss and a metallic thud, sending an icy gust of air spiraling through the room. George froze, his spine stiffening instinctively, every nerve in his body protesting the frigid blast.
The cold carried a presence with it, suffocating and oppressive, that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Before George could even turn to see who he knew had entered, a force like a wall slammed into him, lifting him clean off the ground and pinning him against the cold metal hull of the ship. His face mashed painfully against the unyielding surface, one cheek flattened against the vibrating steel, hands scrambling for purchase uselessly.
“I thought I made myself perfectly clear, commander,” came the icy, venomous voice in his ear, the words dripping with contempt. “You were not to return to this ship without the Torossian prince . . . yet here you are? Empty handed.”
The frost demon’s talon-like grip on the back of George’s head was firm, claws digging into his scalp just enough to send sharp spikes of pain shooting through his skull. His fingers squeezed tighter, pressing George’s face harder into the wall.
“My—my lord!” George gasped, voice strained as he tried to twist his head to no avail. His jaw creaked under the force, the metal of the wall cool and unyielding against his skin. “I know where h–he is!”
The room fell silent, the frost demon’s rage filling every molecule of air, dark and heavy. George felt his chest constrict as Jos’ ki surged, the tyrannical energy burning into his back. His breath caught in his throat, his ribs aching as even the shallowest inhale became impossible.
With excruciating effort, George cracked one eye open, and his vision was immediately filled with that unrelenting crimson glare. Jos’ eyes were alight with cold fury, twin suns of malevolence that burned into George’s very soul.
The frost demon’s grip didn’t lessen; if anything, it tightened further, making George’s vision blur at the edges. “Speak quickly, Commander, ” Jos hissed. “Before I decide you’re more useful as a mounted head on the wall of my bedchamber. Next to your father.”
George swallowed—or tried to, throat compressed so tightly it felt like his windpipe was on fire. “He—he stole a ship from the rebel lea—,” he croaked, every word an effort until Jos cut off his breath completely, crushing pressure increasing on his back.
A rib gave under the pressure, and he felt the soft crack spread.
Unable to speak, dark spots flooded his vision.
“We have the tracking data from their ship!” Carlos’ voice called out from behind them. “I–I can show you!”
Jos’ fingers twitched, the faintest movement, but the pressure eased just enough for George to draw in a shaky, painful breath. The reprieve was minimal—his chest still felt like it was caving in, and his limbs were trembling uncontrollably—but at least he wasn’t on the verge of blacking out anymore.
“What was that?” Jos spat as he twisted his head almost 180-degrees, all the way around, tone icy and devoid of patience.
Nodding as much as he could with the frost demon’s iron grip still holding him in place, George heard the dark-haired Torossian say, “Their ship . . . it’s enroute to the outer rim,” he stammered. “I’ve got the exact trajectory and coordinates. They’re—they’re sure to stop for supplies soon. I swear it, my lord. I can show it to you myself. Commander George has found him.”
Turning back to face him, gaze bearing down, George could practically hear the frost demon weighing the words, deciding whether or not Carlos was telling the truth.
Finally, Jos released him, and George collapsed to the floor in a heap, gasping for air like he’d been underwater for minutes, cheek throbbing where it had been pressed against the wall. The frost demon loomed over him, his presence still imposing despite no longer being physically restrained.
Was Jos really going to kill him just then? Not even giving him a chance to explain?
Gulping in air, George shook the spots out of his eyes, refusing to think about what could’ve happened without Carlos cutting in.
Fucking Torossian. Who did he even think he was? Swooping in like some grand savior.
He didn’t need saving. George had survived more than Carlos could even dream of.
The room was silent except for George’s ragged breathing when Jos turned, movement smooth, and floated toward Carlos. His taloned feet hovered inches off the ground, long, thick tail brushing the floor in near silence.
Still getting his breath back, the commander watched from the floor.
Carlos stood rigid, his tail wrapped tightly around his waist in a futile attempt to control the bristling fur that betrayed his fear. Despite his best effort to appear composed, George noticed the a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead as Jos invaded his space, crowding him.
The frost demon’s voice was low, smooth, and cold as death itself. “Where is he, monkey?”
George watched his throat bob as the Torossian fought to keep his voice steady. “The ship,” he said, forcing the words out, “is entering the atmosphere for a planet in the outer rim. On your order, I will set a course for their location.”
Jos narrowed his glowing eyes, the air around him crackling faintly with suppressed energy.
“How soon can you get us there?” Jos demanded.
Casting a quick glance toward him while he was still recovering on the floor, Carlos’ eyes silently pleaded for some sort of assistance or intervention.
Yeah right, George thought to himself.
Just because he’d stepped in for him earlier didn’t mean George owed Carlos anything in return.
When no help came, Carlos turned back to the frost demon and answered carefully. “Without the full navigation crew, it will take . . . considerably longer.”
Jos leaned closer, his face mere inches from Carlos’. “How long?” he ground out through gritted teeth, the menace in his tone enough to make the mechanic’s tail twitch.
“Several weeks,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t calculated the exact flight path duration.”
George finally managed to push himself upright, wincing as he held his side over his broken rib. Jos breathed deeply, making George uncomfortable at how well he mimicked that behavior, far more unnerving than it should've been.
The frost demon’s lips curled into a sinister smile, sharp and humorless. “So be it,” he said at last, voice calm. He straightened, turning his back on Carlos and floated back toward the main console where George now stood.
“I will not have the prince get wind that we know where they are headed,” Jos continued, tone casual but no less chilling. “Let him live in his false sense of security. Let him run.”
He paused, the smile widening into something predatory, crimson eyes glowing brighter as his indigo ki pulsed faintly around him. “I will enjoy the chase.”
_____
Carlos stood stiffly on the navigation deck, shoulders squared and his tail twitching slightly around his waist, betraying his otherwise stony facade. He kept his eyes fixed forward, trying to maintain a respectful posture, but his gaze darted every so often toward George.
The commander, now seemingly recovered, standing tall and collected as if the emperor hadn’t just nearly crushed the life out of him mere moments ago.
Jos pinning George against the wall so fiercely shocked him, and he knew he hurt something break.
He hadn’t known what to do in that moment, his instincts warring between survival and the insane urge to do something. Breath caught in his throat as he watched the frost demon apply bone-crushing pressure, George’s face turned an alarming shade of red.
The warlord’s deadly energy filled the room like an impenetrable fog, and Carlos had been certain the commander’s life would end right then and there.
But without thinking, he’d intervene.
The words burst from him in a rush, his voice strained but clear as he drew Jos’ attention away from George. It was only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough.
A gamble, Carlos knew it, interjecting himself into Jos’ wrath like stepping into the eye of a storm.
Why had he done that?
Clenching his fists at his sides, frustration prickled under his skin.
George had been nothing but cruel to him since they were first paired together for this impromptu mission. He’d mocked him, belittled him, and even threatened to leave him stranded on Aston rather than share a pod, the memory of that snide remark stinging under George’s disdain.
So why had he stepped in? Why had he risked angering Jos to save a man who probably wouldn’t have done the same for him?
For Max, he told himself. He needed George to get his prince back.
If Jos had killed him, and the tracker malfunctioned, they'd be back to square one without all of the commander’s resources and favors owed.
The image of George’s face, pressed painfully against the wall, the look in his eyes—sharp and determined even as he struggled for air, pulled Carlos’ lips into a frown, unknown feeling stirring in his chest.
It definitely wasn’t admiration, Carlos told himself firmly. It couldn’t be. But there was something about the commander’s unwavering confidence, even in the face of death, that had sparked a strange, inexplicable urge to intervene.
Even now, the selfish prick just stood there, so imperious it made Carlos grit his teeth.
Carlos let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, his tail flicking irritably behind him, thoughts abruptly cut short by the sound of Jos' voice, low and calm, carrying an eerie sense of control that made Carlos' skin crawl.
“I would like to offer you my congratulations on your promotion, General Carlos.”
The words hung in the air, taking a moment to fully register in Carlos' mind. He blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected statement, straightening up to attention.
Of all the things he'd anticipated, an official promotion was not one of them.
If he was honest, Carlos assumed George had been lying about recommending him for a promotion when the commander had mentioned it in his office.
Mouth going dry, he struggled to find the right response, the adrenaline in his chest battling with a spark of confusion.
"Th-thank you, my lord," Carlos stammered, trying to keep his voice steady. The honorific felt strange on his tongue, a forced expression of gratitude when all he felt was dread being this close to the frost demon.
Jos remained motionless, his eyes gleaming with a cold amusement as he watched Carlos closely.
"You should be proud, Carlos. You have done well here,” the Emperor said as he gestured to the console displaying Max’s tracking data. “Not many have the fortitude to rise through the ranks as you have. It seems you've proven yourself useful, and your mentor would be proud."
Carlos' heart pounded in his chest, the emperor's words doing little to soothe his proximal anxiety.
The mention of Alonso stung behind his eyes.
He knew better than to believe this promotion was purely a reward. Jos was not known for handing out accolades without a reason—there was always a catch, always a hidden motive, and Carlos could feel the weight of the warlord's gaze on him.
He thought he would be happier.
The idea of being made a general and having his rightful place at Max's side had sparked hope in him when the commander promised him the role in exchange for his cooperation. Now, standing before the frost demon with his shiny new title, he felt . . . empty.
The silence stretched on, and Carlos forced himself to speak again, desperate to maintain some semblance of dignity. "I'm honored by your confidence in me, sire."
Jos' lips curled into a faint smile, though there was no warmth in it. "I expect nothing less than your absolute loyalty—and your success in returning Prince Max to me.”
Failure was not an option, and disloyalty would be met with consequences far worse than anything Carlos could imagine. He felt a cold sweat break out along the back of his neck, the gravity of the demand heavy.
“Do not let anyone else in this room,” Jos pointed a clawed finger at him. “Tell no one of this and keep us on a steady course for the prince’s location. The nav deck if off limits to all personnel.”
Nodding numbly, Carlos watched Jos turned back to George.
"Come with me, commander," he said. The frost demon didn’t even spare him a glance as he locked his piercing crimson gaze on George instead. "I am in further need of your assistance.”
_____
George froze momentarily, his spine stiffening as exhaustion weighed heavy on him. His ribs ached from Jos’ earlier outburst, hunger gnawed at him, and all he wanted was three uninterrupted days of sleep.
But he didn’t dare let any of it show.
He shot a glance at Carlos, whose expression teetered between shock and thinly veiled relief now that Jos’ attention had shifted. Squaring his shoulders, George stepped forward, cursing the Torossian under his breath.
“Yes, my lord,” he said, voice tight.
He fell into step behind Jos, who moved toward the door with his usual slow, menacing grace. The frost demon’s energy lingered like a chilling fog, making the already cold air feel almost unbearable. As the door slid shut behind them, George’s mind churned, instincts sharpening.
The icy aura radiating from Jos bit at his skin as they walked. George had no idea what the warlord wanted now, and the uncertainty didn't mean anything good.
He knew better than to ask.
Jos’ wrath was swift, his punishments brutal, and any sign of hesitation could be fatal, seen as disobedience. Still, the commander’s gut told him to brace for the worst.
The corridors grew darker and more oppressive the deeper they went, the hum of the ship’s engines fading to a muffled thrum. It became clear where they were headed long before they reached their destination.
This wasn’t a part of the vessel George frequented—hell, it wasn’t a part of the ship anyone frequented.
As they descended into the ship’s labyrinthine interior, the walls seemed to narrow, the air heavier with every step. This place was shrouded in secrecy, a section of the ship far removed from the crew quarters and decks above, where few dared to tread and even fewer returned from.
Despite his calm exterior, George couldn’t ignore the creeping unease threading through him and Jos’ silence was more unnerving than his rage ever could be.
Finally, they reached a massive, foreboding door etched with faintly glowing glyphs. Jos didn’t slow, flicking his hand to open it and, a low hiss echoed as the door slid aside, revealing the space within.
George’s breath hitched.
He hadn’t stepped inside this chamber in years, and the sight of it brought a cold dread creeping up his spine.
The room was cavernous and foreboding, its sterile air thick with the sharp tang of ozone and an acrid metallic bite. Bluish lights embedded high in the ceiling bathed the space in a pale, clinical glow.
Strange, cylindrical machines lined the perimeter, their surfaces etched with alien patterns that seemed to writhe and shimmer as if alive, their faint hum just loud enough to be unsettling, a noise that resonated deep in George’s chest.
At the heart of the room stood the structure—a massive, fluid-filled cylinder pulsing with a harsh, icy light. Jos moved forward with an unhurried grace, his presence dominating the space as he stopped in front of an unassuming, small cell carved into the wall.
The sight of it made George’s stomach twist, memories from decades past surfacing.
The cell was cramped and primitive, its rusty chains dangling lifelessly from the walls like forgotten sentinels. A thin, worn mat lay abandoned in the corner, barely large enough for a child, and next to it, a bucket that had long since rusted through.
Above the cell’s heavy metal door, the number 33 was etched into the wall, its grooves filled with dark grime.
George’s breath stilled as more memories clawed their way to the surface.
He’d been here before. Could almost hear the faint echoes of screams, the heavy clink of chains, and the warlord’s calm, cold voice delivering orders that sent bile rising up the throats of even the bravest soldier.
“I want you to make some modifications, Commander,” Jos said softly, voice cutting through the eerie silence.
Swallowing hard, George bowed low, careful to keep his voice steady. “What kind of modifications, my lord?”
Jos descended slowly to the floor, movements unnaturally smooth and silent, as if gravity itself dared not touch him. “I need this room reinforced,” he replied, tone still unnervingly gentle. “And I want . . . enhancements to the security measures. Not just here.” He turned slightly, his glowing red eyes boring into George. “All systems on this ship. Overhaul them. I want robustness increased. I want fail-safes on top of fail-safes. Leave no weakness, no opening for him to escape again.”
George nodded stiffly, though his mind raced. “Understood, my lord. I will start right away—”
“Your new task is to ensure this ship becomes a fortress,” Jos interrupted, tone sharpening ever so slightly, the red glow of his eyes intensifying. “I expect no less than perfection.”
The frost demon’s gaze flicked back to the cell, and George felt the room’s already oppressive air grow colder. Whatever Jos had planned for the wayward prince, it wasn’t something George felt like he wanted to know.
The warlord’s calm demeanor often preceded something truly catastrophic.
“Yes, my lord,” George said quickly, bowing again. He cast a brief glance at the cell, his stomach churning, thoughts of the small boy that used to occupy it.
“And I want this,” the frost demon said slowly, reaching into his armor and producing a golden cylinder of some kind before handing it to George. “To have some modifications as well.”
George had never seen an object like it before, several inches long with a clasp on the side. It was maybe some kind of ornament or cuff? But he hadn’t the faintest idea what it was supposed to go on.
It was too big for a finger, too small for a wrist, and a clasp on one side with a symbol engraved on the golden surface. Running his thumb over the image, George knew he had seen that marking before, but he couldn’t place it at the moment.
“I want a copy made.”
Chapter 38: Then You'll Have To Kill Me
Summary:
The tensions between Carlos and George reach a peak and things are said.
Notes:
Ummmmm idk 🙃 just Georlos hate sex. That is all.
Still posting on Thursday!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
George had been working tirelessly for weeks, his every waking moment consumed by the overwhelming list of modifications Emperor Jos had demanded.
The surveillance systems had been completely revamped, their range extended and capabilities enhanced to monitor every inch of the massive base ship.
Docking ports were fortified with reinforced barriers and biometric clearance, ensuring only those with Jos’ direct authorization could come or go. Security clearance areas were recalibrated to include additional layers of scrutiny—retinal scans, ki resonance mapping, and encryption protocols that rivaled anything George had seen in his years of service.
The warlord was not taking any chances this time, and once they’d retrieved the prince, there would be no way to escape.
The heart of the overhaul, however, was the holding cell area.
George had personally overseen every detail of its transformation. The already foreboding cells had been reinforced with energy-dampening fields, upgraded containment locks, and automated defenses that could neutralize even the most powerful prisoner.
The work was grueling, meticulous, and left no room for error.
After days of relentless work, George had finally managed a few hours of sleep, though it had been fitful and far from restorative. His evening rations had been hurriedly consumed in the kitchens before he trudged down the corridor toward the nav deck, his steps slower than usual. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his frame, but the work couldn’t wait.
Not when Jos’ expectations loomed over him, critical eye checking his every move.
The nav deck was now restricted to only three people: himself, Carlos, and Jos. All other crew members had been banned from the area, their access revoked to prevent any possibility of a leak or sabotage.
It was both a blessing and a curse.
The solitude made the work easier to focus on, but it also meant the responsibility was squarely on his and Carlos’ shoulders, Jos retreating to his private quarters more and more as they approached their destination.
He hadn't actually seen the frost demon in a few days since he'd delivered the pair of golden cuffs to Jos, but George wouldn't complain about the respite from the emperor’s oppressive presence. He still had no idea what those were going to be used for, but he'd completed all the requested modifications in record time.
Whatever they were for, it wasn't going to be good, but that served the cocky bastard prince right.
The rebel tracking system they’d seized from Lance was functional but far from ideal. It interfaced well enough with the ship’s main guidance systems, but it was primitive in comparison to PTO tech. The lack of any interfacing with their autopilot trajectory tracker meant someone had to monitor it constantly, manually course-correcting for any changes in the prince’s movements.
It was tedious, delicate work, and it had to be done perfectly to avoid arousing suspicion or tipping Max off.
So far he hadn't moved, seemingly settled on a small planet beyond the outer rim.
A pity.
George assumed the prince would've been smarter than that.
Perhaps the regal Torossian had grown complacent in his dick-drunk stupor with that Earthling. George saw the appeal he supposed, but even he—known for dabbling in his vices—wouldn't be so stupid as to think he was safe from the Emperor’s reach.
Sighing heavily, George adjusted his grip on his assigned Torossian partner's rations as he approached the nav deck doors.
Three ridiculously large meals a day, without fail—if nothing else, Carlos was a creature of habit. George’s lip curled downward slightly as he thought of the dark-haired Torossian, who’d been grating on his nerves more and more since their return from Aston weeks ago.
Their interactions were strained at best, and George was unsure where all the sudden hostility came from with the younger man.
Carlos was capable, yes, but his brashness and general defiance had become increasingly irritating. Snapping at the slightest interruption and barely acknowledging him when he entered. George had had enough of the rude behavior.
Still, the commander couldn’t deny that Carlos’ skills were invaluable, especially when it came to navigating the finicky rebel tech, maddeningly broad shoulders and large hands doing such delicate work with ease.
He was ready to throw himself out the airlock every time he thought about those hands around his waist, which was embarrassingly often. Especially because Carlos hadn't even so much as looked at him since.
What was his problem anyway?
Had he just been using him this whole time to get the prince back on board? The sneaky bastard.
The doors hissed open, revealing the brightly lit Nav deck, the hum of the console filling the space with a quiet, persistent rhythm. Carlos sat hunched over the main controls, his tail flicking lazily behind him as he concentrated on the data scrolling across the screens, top-half of his bodysuit mysteriously absent. His sharp features were illuminated by the blue glow of the monitors, a frown etched deeply into his face, hair tousled and soft looking.
He wondered if it was as soft as the Torossian’s tail felt on his ankle—
George was going to fucking lose it.
“Still holding a steady course?” he asked, voice cutting through the silence as he stepped inside with the mechanic's food.
Carlos glanced up briefly, his expression neutral but his eyes betrayed a flicker of annoyance. “For now,” he replied curtly, turning back to the console. “But the tracker’s not perfect. It’s picking up interference from some kind of asteroid field near the outer rim. I’ve been trying to compensate, but it’s slow going. We should still be there in a few days.”
Starting to deposit the rations in his arms on the nearby table, George watched Carlos work. “Keep us on course,” he said. “The emperor isn’t interested in excuses and neither am I.”
Carlos muttered something under his breath, too low for George to catch, but the tone was unmistakably defiant. Patience already stretched thin from days of relentless work and Jos’ temperamental demands, the commander was nearing his breaking point.
He’d ignored the Torossian’s attitude since their awkward exchange in the pod, deciding that indulging in petty squabbles was a waste of time. But now, with anxiety gnawing at him and the weight of their joint assignment feeling heavy on his shoulders, he couldn’t let it slide any longer.
It was about damn time the monkey learned some manners, and they were having this out right now before they got to their destination.
George set the last containers of food down with a sharp clang, his expression hardening. “Here's your food,” he said, voice clipped and harsher. “Double portions of everything, as requested. Now come and eat it, so I can watch the console and then get back to my job. I don't have time for your shit today.”
The dark-haired Torossian didn’t even bother looking at him, focus fixed stubbornly on the scrolling data in front of him.
“Just leave it,” he said flatly. “I’ll eat later.”
The commander scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know you’re hungry. You eat more food than four men combined, and that’s on a slow day.”
“Torossians eat more for our high energy needs,” Carlos said dismissively. “Clearly it's not a problem.” Leaning back in his chair, the Torossian flexed his washboard abs, twisting his torso in George's direction to show off.
Like Carlos was superior to him.
George’s jaw tightened, throat suddenly dry. “Just eat the damn food and stop making this difficult,” he snapped, voice rising with irritation.
A burning headache had pulled the commander from his lackluster sleep early that morning, and he desperately wanted to shower and get more rest. Carlos being obtuse was only delaying him further.
Even if the dips of his toned stomach made George a bit lightheaded.
Head snapping up, Carlos’ amber eyes narrowed dangerously. “Me? I’m making this difficult?” He turned in his chair, tail flicking sharply behind him. “You’re the one who owes a show of gratitude. So take that huge stick out of your ass!”
Eyebrows shooting up, the commander's own temper roared to life. Owed him gratitude . . . for what? For the whole incident with Jos?
Grinding his teeth, George glared at the dark-haired Torossian.
He didn’t owe the little shit anything.
“Don't act like a petulant child,” he countered, taking a step closer. “Pouting because you think you are owed something you're not. Do you think I have time to coddle you while Jos is breathing down my neck? Just eat the damn food, Carlos.”
Standing abruptly, the Torossian’s chair scraped against the floor with a loud screech. He was shorter than George but no less imposing, his wide, muscular frame taut with tension.
“I don’t need to be coddled, and I sure as hell don’t need you micromanaging me every second.” He gestured at the console. “I’m stuck in here around the clock because you revoked everyone's access and barely assist. You’d be fucking dead right now if it wasn’t for me.”
George’s lip curled in a snarl. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Bristling, Carlos’ tail snapped to the side like a whip. “You’ve got some nerve, waltzing in here like you’re the only one pulling weight. I’m the reason this tracker is even functional. You wouldn’t have even gotten to Aston, let alone off it without me, and Jos would’ve crushed your head against the wall over there if I hadn’t been here either.”
“I can take care of myself,” George shot back, words feeling oddly defensive, even to his own ears. “I’ve been on this ship for longer than you’ve even been alive and I certainly don’t need an over zealous brute thinking he can step in to save the day, expecting to be treated like some kind of savior.”
Carlos’ eyes flared with anger. “You really think you’re untouchable, don’t you?” he snapped, taking a step closer to George, voice full of scorn. His index finger poked out, delivering a sharp jab to his chest. “You think because you're Jos’ second-in-command, you can run over everyone else, barking orders, pretending you don’t need any help, all while the rest of us clean up your messes? You were sent to deal with the Mercarian rebellion, just like Max.”
Oh this—
George straightened his spine, gaze icy and unyielding. “I don’t pretend I don’t need anyone,” he shot back full of venom. “I know I don’t. Least of all you, with your filthy mouth and too familiar tone. You forget your place, mechanic.”
“You’re so full of shit,” Carlos scoffed. “You’re just terrified of admitting you’re not special like the rest of us. Terrified of being vulnerable for even a second.”
George’s jaw tightened, the words hitting closer to home than he wanted to admit. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Torossian.”
“I know enough,” Carlos growled, stepping even closer until their faces were inches apart. His amber eyes burned with a challenge, bare chest heaving with every angry breath, jabbing a finger against the commander’s chestplate again. “I know you’d rather die than admit you needed my help, or that you’re scared, or lonely, or—”
“Don’t touch me,” George cut him off, pushing Carlos’ finger away from him, voice dangerously low. “You won’t like the outcome.”
Carlos’ lips twisted into a humorless grin, voice lowering to match George’s. “Oh, I’m counting on that.”
For a heartbeat, they stood there, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. The air felt thick, charged with an intensity that had little to do with their argument and everything to do with the unspoken pull between them since they first landed on Aston.
And then George moved.
Before he could second-guess himself, his hand shot out, grabbing the back of Carlos’ neck and yanked him forward. Their bodies collided, the force of it knocking the air from Carlos’ lungs, but the commander didn’t give him time to react, lips crashing against his.
The Torossian froze, clearly stunned by the sudden shift, eyes snapping open before shoving George away roughly, pupils blown wide as Carlos stared back at him, mouth agape.
Cocking his head slightly to the side, the Elysian bit his lip and let his eyes wander hungrily over Carlos’ exposed chest, pausing on the hard lines caging his hips, running below the waistline of his bodysuit pants.
They were even more impressive up close, a strange desire to know what they tasted like curling his toes.
Bringing his eyes back to meet those deep brown voids, George smirked as Carlos closed the gap between them, sealing their lips together again.
The kiss was furious, aggressive, a culmination of every unsaid word and well aimed jab. George’s fingers twisted in the Torossian's black mane of hair, his other hand finding its way to Carlos’ waist, pulling him closer,
With an animalistic growl low in his throat, Carlos surged further forward, meeting George’s fire with his own. His hands fisted in the fabric of the commander’s mantle, pulling him impossibly closer as their lips moved together in a battle of dominance.
The console beeped somewhere behind them, a reminder of where they were, but neither man seemed to give it much consideration. The anger that had fueled their argument now burned between them in a different way, a molten heat that neither was willing to pull away from.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their faces mere inches apart. George’s piercing gaze locked onto Carlos’, and for once, the commander didn’t have a snarky retort or cutting remark.
He simply stared, expression open, chest rising and falling with each labored breath under his chestplate, fingers tangled in the Torossian’s hair.
Carlos’ lips parted, like he was about to say something, but he closed them again, brow furrowing. His tail twitched behind him, betraying the whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t quite suppress.
Smirking, the faintest hint of satisfaction curled at the corner of the commander's lips. “You talk too much,” he murmured, voice rough but tinged with a strange, unspoken fondness.
Carlos snorted, hand still gripping George’s mantle. “You’re a dick.”
“Just . . . shut up,” George replied, smirk widening ever so slightly before diving back in.
While distracted, the commander roughly yanked Carlos down to the floor and pinned him down, hands holding onto both wrists before ki-binding them to the floor over his head. Eyes widening, Carlos only half heartedly pulled against the energy keeping him in place.
“Of course you'd be into some freaky shit—” Carlos said, before George added a band of green ki across his mouth, wrapping around tightly behind his head.
Carlos’ muffled protests turned into a low growl against the band of ki gagging him. His amber eyes blazed with defiance, even as his body betrayed him, muscles taut with a mixture of frustration and arousal, cock growing stiff under George’s ass, seated on his lap.
“Much better.”
The sight only fueled George’s smug satisfaction, a predator’s grin spreading across his face as he leaned closer, their bodies nearly flush.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and taunting as he squeezed Carlos’ hips with his thighs. “So full of fight. Always running headfirst into everything, just like your prince. You should learn to relax for once, Torossian. Not everything is about brute strength.”
Taking his time, George let his fingers ghost over the Torossians bare chest, light teasing strokes making Carlos shiver. Exploring lazily, he ran the tips of his fingers over Carlos' neck and down over a nipple, delivering a charged spark.
More muffled protests followed his unhurried exploration. Carlos’ skin, while scarred, was so soft. Smooth with just the right amount of character. The patch of thick black hair at the man's groin fascinated him as he tangled his fingers through the coarse strands.
As an Elysian, George didn’t grow hair anywhere other than on his head, and curiosity stirred by the vast amounts of hair on Carlos’ body. He'd imagined what it must feel like, but it was different than what he'd guessed.
Carlos had thick patches on his arms and legs, as well as the majestic crown of hair on his head—not to mention the area keeping George's wrapped attention now. It was well groomed, maintained in what he assumed was a natural shape for a Torossian and George wanted to see if there was more.
Making quick work of the dark-haired Torossian’s bodysuit pants, George tugged them down until Carlos’ manhood sprung free, slapping heavily against his belly lined with more dark hair. Smiling at his discovery, George gave him a few lazy strokes, fully aware he was too dry for much more.
Under him, Carlos groaned with the contact, arms twisting in his binds, pressing his face to his flexed bicep. “I said,” George drawled, lust clouding his voice, eyes locked on the Torossian's growing member. “Be quiet.”
Carlos’ tail thrashed against the floor beside him, the only part of him still free to move, its motions erratic as George’s hand tightened around his cock. The slow, deliberate strokes had the mechanic jolting underneath him despite his struggle to suppress any outward reaction.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you look at me,” George continued, tone breathy as he leaned in, lips brushing Carlos’ ear. “How you touched me in the pod. Not so cocky now are you . . . Daddy?”
Carlos’ muffled growl deepened, his body jerking against the bindings as George slid his own wet bodysuit briefs aside, positioning himself with infuriating slowness. The heat of their proximity sent a thrill through the commander, but he wasn’t about to rush.
No, he wanted Carlos to feel every second of his control.
Breath huffing from his nose, eyes glued to the rapidly shrinking space between them, Carlos could only watch as George, with a slow, measured motion, tossed his cape out of the way over his shoulder, and pressed his entrance against Carlos, the slickness of his anticipation easing the resistance as he sank down.
Carlos’ head fell back against the floor with a thud, eyes squeezing shut as a muffled sound escaped him, somewhere between a gasp and a curse.
“Hmm, what’s that?” George taunted in a husky whisper as he paused, savoring the way Carlos’ body shuttered beneath him. “I didn’t quite catch that, Torossian. Something you want to say?”
Carlos glared up at him, eyes full of fire, breathing heavy against the gag. His tail lashed wildly, coiling briefly around George’s thigh before slipping away, unable to maintain its hold.
The faint sheen of sweat on the Torossian’s chiseled chest glistened under the nav deck lights, and George felt deranged for wanting to taste it. Giving into the moment, the commander leaned forward, keeping Carlos inside him as he licked a thick stripe up the center of the pinned man's chest, biting down on his peck for emphasis as he finished his path.
A surge of satisfaction at the sight of him—powerful, proud, and now utterly at his mercy had George needing more. Leaning over Carlos’ face, George released the ki gag with a flick of his wrist, smirking as Carlos sucked in a sharp breath.
“You’re insane,” Carlos spat, voice rough with a mixture of feigned anger and something else George recognized all too well. “Completely fucking insane.”
“And yet,” George replied smoothly, rolling his hips slightly to emphasize his point, rocking firmly over the Torossian’s erection. Carlos’ body arched involuntarily, a low, frustrated sound rumbling in his throat that sounded an awful lot like a moan.
“Fuck you,” Carlos growled, words whiny as his resolve clearly faltered, tail wrapping tightly around George’s calf this time, holding him close. “Come on.”
Bucking up under him, George laughed with a low, throaty sound as he leaned closer, lips brushing against Carlos’ neck, leaving a trail of hot, teasing breaths along the Torossian’s flushed skin.
“Finally, something we can agree on,” he murmured with wicked amusement. “Now, be a good boy and stay still.”
With a gesture of his fingers, the ki gag snapped back into place over Carlos’ mouth, muffling any response. George wasted no time, shifting his hips and picking up a steady, rhythmic pace as he moved on Carlos’ firm arousal. Each rise and fall sent a shock of sensation through him, the stretch filling him perfectly in a way he couldn’t bring himself to resent, even as he hated admitting how good it felt.
He never let himself indulge in such acts, feeling that being on the receiving end of sex was beneath him, but the release he got from it was just what he needed right now, something to calm his agitated nerves.
It has been decades since he let anyone inside his breeder. Elysian biology was different from other species with the “research” he'd conducted on the ship. Most other beings had a distinction between male and female, and some having no distinction at all. But no other species he'd sampled was built like him.
The royal Elysian was special, having both options of giving and receiving without the use of his ass. A small concealed opening rested in the space behind his balls, but in front of his rectum, only noticeable if you knew what you were looking for. A thin membrane kept it hidden and protected, and all knowledge of his kind was lost with the demise of his planet.
The sensations of being penetrated there were unlike anything else, and George let himself indulge in this rare moment.
A quiet moan broke through his usual mask of composed arrogance, slipping just enough to reveal a glimmer of the pleasure coursing through him. He moved with purpose, each bounce aiming to send waves of pressure through his core, building with each thrust.
The fullness of Carlos’ girth was just enough to press against that perfect spot inside him, and George sighed in satisfaction as he rode the Torossian harder, his own aching arousal slapping hard and leaking against Carlos’ stomach.
Beneath him, Carlos grunted, the sound muffled by the gag, but his body spoke volumes. His flushed chest heaved, muscles taut as his bare back arched in a way that made George’s breath hitch, giving more length for the commander to ride.
Every movement was a fight, an unspoken war of dominance playing out in the heat of their entangled bodies, and George was on fire, blaze of his core burning brightly.
Curiosity flickered in George’s sharp gaze as he glanced down, noticing the furry length of Carlos’ tail coiled tightly around his exposed leg. A smirk curved his lips as he reached down, running his fingers experimentally through the soft fur, like he wanted to that day in the pod.
The reaction was immediate—Carlos moaned loudly against the gag, his hips jerking upward, driving deeper into George and sending a bolt of pleasure straight through him.
“Interesting,” he mused, tone mockingly contemplative even as his own voice trembled slightly from the impact of the motion. “Didn’t know your tails were so sensitive, Torossian.”
Carlos’ eyes rolled back as he continued to run his fingers through the fur, cock growing harder with each teasing stroke along his tail. George chuckled, a low, knowing sound as he tightened his grip on the appendage, raking his blunt nails under the fur with deliberate care.
Each touch elicited a muffled whine from Carlos, his head tossing back and forth against the floor as his body arched toward George, instinct and desire seemingly overriding his usual resistance to be close to the Elysian.
“You’re full of surprises,” George murmured, movements growing faster now, riding Carlos with an ungraceful fervor that made his own breath hitch.
His hands continued their exploration, one gripping Carlos’ tail firmly while the other trailed over the Torossian’s tense abdomen, reveling in the heat and power of the body beneath him.
Each roll of his hips, each brush of his hand, brought them both closer to the edge, the air around them thick with heat and tension. George’s focus wavered only for a moment as he savored the sight of Carlos beneath him—flushed, bound, and utterly at his mercy.
It was a view he wouldn’t soon forget, but George had no intention of indulging further after this tryst.
He just needed the stress relief.
Releasing Carlos’ tail with a smirk, he redirected all his focus, adjusting his angle more forward to push himself over the edge.
He moved with renewed purpose, pace quickening as he chased his climax, every bounce sending a wave of pleasure rolling through him. The tension in his core coiled tightly, heat building rapidly until, with a sharp gasp, George threw his head back, nails digging into the younger man’s chest, surrendering to the blinding ecstasy of release.
Stars exploded behind his eyes, the edges of his vision going white as he rode the powerful waves of pleasure.
His body shuddered with the intensity, muscles taut as he clenched down on Carlos, who groaned audibly at the pressure. The sound was primal, filled with a mix of frustration and desire as the Torossian trembled beneath him, still painfully hard and undoubtedly seeking his own release.
Stilling himself, George exhaled heavily, savoring the moment of satisfaction as his body slowly came down from the high, small rocking movements milking his orgasm for all it could. He glanced down at Carlos, who was glaring up at him, expression a mixture of disbelief and desperate frustration.
Carlos’ hips bucked beneath him, attempting to grind upward in search of the friction he so badly needed.
“Don’t fucking think about it,” George snapped, tone sharp and laced with finality. Planting his hands firmly on Carlos’ hips, he pinned them to the floor with his weight, effectively cutting off any attempt at movement. His lips curled into a smug smile as he added, “Your services are no longer required.”
Before Carlos could respond—or attempt to argue—George pushed himself up, sliding off Carlos’ engorged cock. He missed the feeling almost instantly, but time was ticking and he had a full list of ship security improvements to get to today.
Intending to stand, he barely got halfway when, in a flash, the tables were turned.
The ki binds released in the same instant, and Carlos moved like lightning, flipping their positions with a speed that left George momentarily disoriented. The next thing he knew, his back was pressed firmly into the cold floor, and Carlos loomed over him, chest heaving.
Powerful hands gripped George’s thighs with an almost bruising force, pinning them back against the cold, unforgiving floor, bending him practically in half. The position left George utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way that sent a strange thrill through him, though he’d never admit it.
Carlos loomed over him, hot pants puffing against his throat, dark eyes blazing with an untamed hunger that made George’s breath hitch. The heat radiating from the Torossian's body was almost unbearable, a contrast to the cool air of the room and George's much lower body temperature.
Releasing one of his legs, Carlos brought his hand down between them and George made a grab to stop him, squeezing the Torossians’ thick wrist. Opening his mouth to protest, words died in his throat as two thick fingers slid their way inside his entrance, curling slightly, deep inside.
George let out a strangled gasp, a string of Elysian curses on his lips.
“Well what do we have here?” Carlos rasped, trading his fingers for the head of his cock brushing against George's soaking breeder. “It seems we both are full of surprises.”
Beasts.
Torossians were nothing but primitive beasts, George thought bitterly, though the pulse of heat in his core betrayed him, nerves alight with the feeling of that scorching length teasing him.
Carlos growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through George’s body as the Torossian’s tail wrapped tightly around his neck. The pressure was immediate, cutting off any attempt at protest as George’s eyes glazed over, air flow restricted.
“Now I know why you’re so bitchy all the time. Just needed to get fucked nice and hard, fix that attitude right up.”
Leaning closer, Carlos’ breath was hot against George’s face, wild gaze locking onto the commander’s as if daring him to object.
George met his gaze with his own challenging stare.
Then, with one brutal thrust, Carlos pulled back and drove himself back inside, stretching George’s slick entrance with his full length. Back arching involuntarily, the commander's hands gripped Carlos’ wrists as he fought to suppress a whine.
He would rather die than admit he loved the sensation—the fullness, the heat, the way his body clenched around Carlos with each movement.
It was humiliating.
Maddening.
Delicious.
Carlos set a tentative pace at first, hips rolling forward with slow strokes, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air. Gritting his teeth, George was determined not to give the mechanic the satisfaction of hearing him moan from his efforts, even as his very being betrayed him, pleasure building with every thrust.
The tail around his neck loosened slightly, giving George just enough breath to rasp out, “If you’re going to fuck the attitude out of me, at least put your back into it.”
Carlos growled, a feral sound that sent a shiver racing down George’s spine.
The pressure on his neck returned with renewed force, and George’s vision blurred at the edges, his chest tightening. Carlos placed his hands on either side of his head for leverage, and a lopsided smile spread across his face despite the lack of air, satisfaction curling in his gut as Carlos drove deeper, the Torossian’s powerful thrusts shaking his entire body as he picked up the pace.
The tip of Carlos’ furry tail brushed against George’s lips, slipping past them without warning. George opened his mouth, tongue curling around the velvety appendage as he drew it in further, grazing his teeth lightly against it. Carlos hissed above him, hips stuttering for a moment before slamming back into him with a force that knocked the air from George’s lungs.
His hands clawed against Carlos' bare back, his chest heaving as he suckled on the tail, teasing it with his tongue while Carlos snarled above him, movements becoming erratic.
The raw, primal energy between them was electric, each thrust pushing George closer to the edge again, his body trembling beneath the Torossian's relentless assault.
Maybe this one was actually worth something after all, delicious cock stroking him in all the right places. He felt a quivering feeling in the man above him and George sucked in a short breath realizing the Torossian was close.
“If you come inside me,” he whispered against the squeeze in his throat. “I'll kill you.”
Quieting him with a bruising, open-mouthed kiss, George bit down on the younger man's wandering tongue as Carlos groaned, “Dan zul je mij moeten vermoorden.” [ Then you will have to kill me ]
Chapter 39: I Know Who You Are
Summary:
Max is well aware of the things said about him, whispered in the shadows. But no one has yet dared say it to his face.
Notes:
Max has more dreams and the boys meet a new character.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max was utterly helpless, chained to a cold, unyielding column in the center of the throne room. His wrists were raw from struggling against the heavy, binding chains, each link digging painfully into his skin.
A ki-inhibiting collar was tight around his neck, suppressing his energy, leaving him weak and unable to summon even the smallest spark of power. His pulse hammered against the metal, constricting his throat with every shallow breath. The frost demon's dark laughter echoed in the cavernous hall, reverberating off the walls.
Ahead of him, Charles stood frozen in place, his green eyes wide with terror, as his chest rose and fell rapidly while Jos’ cold, clawed fingers trailed lazily across his trembling form. The emperor’s long, lizard-like tail coiled tightly around Charles’ arms, pinning them cruelly behind his back, rendering him as helpless as Max felt.
His entire body was tense and rigid with fear: unable to move, unable to fight back.
Max's throat tightened painfully as he watched the horror unfold before him, eyes burning as he strained against his bonds in vain, as he was unable to tear his gaze away from Charles’ face. The fear was etched so clearly in every trembling breath, every terrified glance. The Eldri’s soft reddish-brown tail coiled tightly around his leg, squeezing hard to try and steady the younger man.
The sight made Max’s heart lurch with a sickening jolt.
“Please, stop,” Charles whispered, voice a shaky breath, barely audible in the vast room.
A whimper followed as Jos’ sharp talon slid slowly, torturously down the front of his body suit, slicing through the fabric like it was nothing. The sound of the tear was so loud in the quiet space, and Charles flinched violently, Jos’ grip tightening and pulling him closer.
“Beg for him, prince,” Jos sneered, voice dripping with cruelty.
He toyed with the fabric of Charles’ suit, peeling it back piece by piece, exposing his chest to the icy air. His nails left red trails in their wake, not deep enough to draw blood but sharp enough to sting, eliciting soft, scared whimpers from Charles.
The sound pierced through Max’s chest, twisting in his gut like a knife. Every whimper felt like a stab to his hindbrain, breaking Max more and more.
“Don't fucking touch him!” Max gasped, voice cracking, throat raw from earlier screams. His entire body shook with helpless rage, but the chains wouldn’t budge, keeping him pinned to the column. “I beg of you, Lord Jos. Whatever you're planning to do to him, do it to me. Please, just leave him alone!”
Jos tilted his head, looking at Max with cold amusement, red eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure. “Oh, but you can do better than that, can't you, Prince Max?” The frost demon hissed, his lips pulling back in a sinister smile. “I’ve heard you before, so pretty when you beg. I want to see that look on your face again. I want to see just how far you’re willing to go to save him. You like this one more than the last one. I can tell.”
The final remnants of Charles’ bodysuit were discarded carelessly to the floor, leaving him completely exposed in the dim light of the throne room, unblemished skin a canvas for the warlord's cruel art. The Earthling’s breath hitched in his throat, tears welling in his eyes as he shot pleading glances at Max. His cheeks flushed with humiliation and fear when Jos’ tail let go of his wrists to spread his legs wider, his gait unsteady.
Max felt his world closing in, panic rising.
His Oozaru bellowed for release, to rip Jos apart, to protect Charles at any cost. But they couldn’t. He was powerless, forced to witness his worst nightmare come to life.
“I said beg!” The warlord growled, voice sharp and venomous as he ran his talons down Charles’ bare chest again. This time deeper, as he drew out a soft cry of pain and trails of red.
Jos pushed them forward, stepping closer to Max. Charles’ back pressed against his chest, purple ki pinning Charles in place around his neck. The gray tail snaked between trembling thighs, lining up to cause untold damage while Jos held Charles by the hair.
“Stop! Please! Not him, please not him!” Max screamed, voice breaking into a desperate wail.
But it didn’t matter.
It never mattered.
His pleas always fell on deaf ears, drowned out by Jos’ calm, cruel words as the sadist breached him.
The warlord’s tail kept advancing, grotesquely forcing its way deeper into Charles. The sight of his mate’s body distorting made Max’s stomach churn violently, the bulge in his abdomen growing larger and more horrifying with each second.
Jos’ voice was a venomous whisper, mocking and cold. “This is what you wanted, isn't it?” he sneered. “You wanted to watch him swell with your pups, bred with your mongrel seed.”
Max’s screams were raw, his throat burning as he clawed at the collar holding him in place. He couldn’t move, couldn’t save Charles, couldn’t stop what was happening. Face contorting in agony, the Earthling’s soft green eyes dulled, the light fading as blood erupted from his open mouth and dribbled down onto his bare chest.
“It looks like you’re going to have a whole litter,” Jos said, tone chilling as he caressed the unnatural shape of Charles’ swollen belly with his palm.
Charles’ lifeless body slumped back onto the emperor, the final spark in his eyes extinguished—
~~~~
“CHARLIE!” Max's scream tore from his throat as he jolted upright in bed, the sweat-soaked sheets clinging to his trembling body. He ripped the covers off them both, hands shaking as he scrambled toward Charles’ sleeping form on his knees.
Charles’ startled gasp pierced the air as Max turned him over roughly, the Eldri’s tired emerald eyes wide and filled with confusion.
Unable to stop himself, Max clawed at the edge of Charles’ nightshirt, yanking it up aggressively.
“Max, what are you doing?!” The Earthling cried, voice high-pitched, panic threading through his tone as he tried to pull the shirt down again, only for Max to yank his hands away and pin them down. “Stop it! Let go of me!”
Undeterred, Max ripped the fabric of the flimsy shirt in half before pressing a quivering hand against Charles’ flat stomach. The prince’s eyes wildly searched for something—anything—to prove it wasn’t real, breath hitching when he felt only soft, unmarred skin beneath his palm.
No swelling, no distortion.
There was no blood around Charles’ mouth either. Just parted, panting lips as they met each other's gaze, Max kneeling over him.
It was just Charles, perfectly whole, perfectly alive.
A broken sob escaped Max as tears welled in his eyes, and he choked on a gasp, body trembling as the realization settled in that it was just another nightmare. He’d woken Charles up from a dead sleep, restrained him, torn off his shirt and ignored his cries . . . because of another fucking nightmare.
Charles lay frozen beneath him, chest rising and falling rapidly, his own hands clutching the sheets in a white-knuckled grip. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his shaking told Max all he needed to know.
“Max?” the Eldri whispered, voice soft but filled with fear.
The sound cut through him like a knife, and he quickly pushed away, scrambling backward off the bed until his back hit the wall.
His hands flew to his face, palms pressing hard against his eyes as he squeezed them shut, trying to chase away the lingering images of the nightmare. But they wouldn’t leave.
“Max,” Charles tried again, this time more firmly, though his voice still wavered. “What’s going on? Talk to me. Please.”
“I—I can’t,” Max choked out, voice barely audible. “I couldn’t—”
Charles sat up slowly, his hands quaking as he pulled his tattered nightshirt back down over his unblemished stomach. He didn’t move closer, didn’t reach out, but his eyes stayed on Max, filled with worry.
“You’re scaring me,” he admitted quietly.
“I didn’t mean to. I–I’m sorry,” Max whispered, voice cracking as the tears spilled over. “I–I didn’t mean to wake you. I . . . Air. I just need some air—”
Moving away quickly from the scared Eldri, Max put as much distance between him and Charles as he could in their small sleeping quarters.
Fuck, he was such a mess, and embarrassed beyond belief.
Charles’ brows knitted together in confusion, but he didn’t press for answers. Instead, he shifted onto his knees at the end of the bed, holding out his hand, curling to make himself smaller.
“It's okay. I’m okay. Whatever it was—it wasn’t real. I’m here.”
Max’s chest heaved as he fought to calm his breathing, his Oozaru rumbling in his mind, desperate to comfort their scared mate, but the prince was unable to break through the chaos of the nightmare.
And Charles was trying to comfort him.
He'd just scared the man half to death, and the Earthling was still trying to help, to make it better. Max was such a piece of shit. A royal piece of shit.
“Just go back to sleep, Charles,” Max said more firmly, and quickly paced through the small cabin and out the door into the cool night air, needing to get a grip before he hurt the Eldri.
Max spent the rest of the night tossing and turning after he crawled back into bed, tail between his legs, curled around his thigh. The shadows of his nightmare clung to him long after he’d jolted awake. The vivid images of Jos and Charles haunted him, the grip of his night terrors tightening with every passing night.
Despite Charles now sleeping soundly again beside him, Max couldn’t find any peace in the dark hours, unable to stop checking the Earthling’s lips for even faint traces of blood.
He thought he was getting better. Thought the dreams would stop after they'd found somewhere safe, but he was wrong.
As more light filtered through the small cabin’s window, he gave up on sleep entirely.
Slipping out of bed as quietly as possible to not wake Charles, Max padded over to the small pot of soup that had been left from the night before beside the cold fire. It was the same blend of stewed vegetables that Charles made the other day, still hearty and comforting in a way that Max loved.
Maybe it was because Charles had made it, or maybe it was just the warmth it brought to his chest, but it had been one of the few things that settled him the previous evening after their disaster in town.
Looking out the window and running a hand through his bedhead, Max’s mind wandered back to the villagers they'd encountered yesterday.
A long sigh left his chest.
Their trip to the small town went about as well as he'd expected, and Charles was beside himself about how the old alien had reacted.
But Max couldn’t stop thinking about everyone else.
The way they had looked at him, their eyes wide with fear. How they’d hurriedly retreated into their huts as if he was there to slaughter them. At one point in his life, Max would've reveled in their fear, fed on it to fuel his rage.
But now he just felt . . . embarrassed. Embarrassed that Charles had to see what his actions had wrought, and even more so, that his past actions now affected the Eldri's peace.
Charles hadn’t noticed—of course, he hadn’t.
The Earthling had been too focused on the task at hand, too eager to help. But Max had seen the change and it had unnerved him. He couldn’t stand to listen to Charles talk about how wrong they all were either.
They had a pile of wood to last over a month, but he used his ki to slice through dozens more, downing tree after tree, needing to keep his hands busy. He’d covered his arms fully with a new shirt that clung to him tightly, and he was still wearing it now, not comfortable enough after yesterday's events to sleep exposed.
Charles had never seemed to mind his many scars, but the regal Torossian plainly felt better having them hidden, almost as a security.
Outside of the cabin once again, the prince started the routine he’d developed for these early morning hours.
He quietly poured some of the soup into a small dish and breathed in the crisp morning air before going to meditate by the water. This small act helped chase away any residual feelings from his dreams, and helped quiet his Oozaru for the day.
He'd spent much of his time as a young man alone, waiting for his next assignment, his next test. In those moments, he'd learned to center his mind to keep his resolve in tack, getting in sync with his Oozaru.
An act he'd been struggling with lately.
Sitting down and tucking his legs up underneath him, arms relaxed over his knees, the prince inhaled deeply through his nose and unraveled his tail to begin.
An hour later, Max opened his eyes, mind much quieter than when he'd first emerged from the cabin, though not completely at ease. The little cat always joined him about halfway through his exercise, but he was almost finished and hadn't seen the little animal at all.
He wasn’t sure why he was so drawn to the small creature, but there was something about its quiet presence that calmed him.
The prince sighed, insidious thoughts telling him the cat was just like the villagers—deciding he was evil and something to stay away from.
Animals always did have a keen sense of things to stay away from.
The early light bathed the landscape in a gentle, golden hue as he glanced around, looking for the small feline, but the yard was eerily still. The usual morning chorus of birds and rustling leaves was absent, replaced by a heavy, unsettling silence.
Had it been like that all morning?
Max hadn’t noticed.
Deciding to have a look around, Max stood and walked around the perimeter of their cabin, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of the cat. But there was nothing—no movement, no sound. He’d even reached out with his mind, trying to sense anything in the area, but the only faint spark he felt was Charles, still peacefully sleeping inside the cabin.
Still in the infancy stage of his skills, he’d practiced every day to try and hone his ki sensing abilities, but he hadn’t advanced past feeling anything besides Charles just yet.
Perhaps he could ask Charles to feel out for the small creature?
Frightened green eyes and tousled brown curls were burned into his brain from this morning, and Max didn’t dare wake the Eldri again.
Fucking hell.
The empty yard only added to the uneasy feeling that crept up on him ever since they arrived on Namek, the sense that something wasn’t quite right, that the peace they’d found here was too fragile, too fleeting.
As he wandered further away from the cabin, Max’s concern grew.
The cat had been so friendly over the last weeks, almost as if it had adopted them. He’d half expected it to be waiting outside, ready for breakfast this morning. But now, there was no sign of it.
The bowl in his hands felt heavy as he continued his search, footsteps slow, but his efforts were in vain.
Max sighed. Maybe the cat had just wandered off, finding a new place to sleep. Or maybe it really had sensed the same unease that the villagers had about him.
Either way, it was gone, and the soup he had brought out for it felt pointless now.
Setting the bowl down on the ground, just in case the cat returned later, the prince stared at the empty yard for a few more moments, the stillness of the morning giving him pause.
With a heavy heart, he turned back towards the cabin, his mind still tangled in the dark thoughts that had kept him awake all night.
_____
Charles’ feet dragged along the well-worn path leading to the village.
Each step felt heavier, weighed down by the thoughts of the events from the previous day playing on repeat—a constant, unsettling loop he couldn’t seem to understand. He'd been so excited to have Max join him in town, getting the older recluse out of his shell a bit, but that excitement had soured into something much darker as he witnessed the old villager’s reaction to Max’s presence.
It had been so strange and out of place for the kind old alien, and no one else in the village seemed to mind, still smiling brightly at him and waving hello as they arrived.
Sure, the village seemed oddly quiet on their walk back, but Charles had been too absorbed in his outrage at the old man to really think much of it.
Were they all just reacting to Max?
No, that would be ridiculous.
Max had even moved between them quickly, shielding him from the fire stoker the old alien pointed at him. His Eldri purred at the memory and Charles wanted to tell it off, annoyed at the disembodied voice.
This wasn’t the time to think about that, though his stomach did a few little flips.
This whole thing was just a huge misunderstanding, and the old man didn't even know Max for fuck’s sake.
None of them did.
No one else seemed to see the kindness in his eyes or the loyalty in his heart. Or just how scared he was to let his guard down. Yes, his aura had twists of pain and suffering, but there was goodness buried within, locked away and kept safe.
Why could no one else see it but him?
The result was the same as on Aston. The crowd, angry and baying for blood, had immediately backed away and looked fearful when the prince uncovered his face. All they saw was a former prince of the PTO, a symbol of the empire that had caused so much pain across the galaxy. And that hurt more than Charles cared to admit.
He had to fix this.
Charles was determined to speak with the old man again today, to make him understand that Max wasn’t part of the PTO anymore, that they weren't the warlord’s soldiers that oppressed worlds. They were here for peace, to live quietly, away from all of that.
But how could he explain that? How could he make them believe it?
The villagers had no reason to trust him or Max. Not if they’d heard stories—perhaps even lived through horrors brought on by the PTO’s forces.
Still, he had to try.
Max was a good person and he just needed to be given a chance.
It didn’t really matter what he’d done anyway; Charles didn’t need to know all his wrongdoings to feel like the prince had changed for the better. Alonso had even said as much, telling him Max had lost his way for a while.
The thought of Max on the way home last night, silently walking behind him, growing more and more uncomfortable with each step, made Charles’ chest ache that he'd been so unaware at the time.
He'd been too focused on his own outrage, completely missing the turmoil in Max’s ki, plainly obvious.
As he neared the village, the familiar sounds of daily life greeted him—people talking, the clatter of tools, the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Charles squared his shoulders and picked up his pace. He had to set things right, for Max’s sake. He would speak to the old man, explain everything, and maybe they could begin to change the way the village saw Max.
As he entered the village, he felt the familiar sense of peace that usually washed over him whenever he visited. He kept his smile bright, waving to the villagers as they went about their daily routines.
However, today, something was different—there was a noticeable coldness in the air that he couldn’t quite place at first.
He called out a few cheerful greetings, "Good morning!" and "Hello there!" to people he’d become accustomed to seeing.
But instead of the usual nods and smiles in return, he was met with downcast eyes and stiff, uncomfortable stances. The village, which had always seemed so welcoming, now felt distant, its warmth replaced by something more unsettling.
Charles slowed his pace for a moment, glancing over his shoulder and around the houses before turning his attention back to the path ahead, trying to dismiss the growing discomfort in his chest, a feeling like a splinter beneath his skin.
The further he walked, the more the uneasy silence thickened.
Charles waved to a few more villagers, but none of them returned his greeting. One woman, who'd always smiled at him, didn’t even glance his way as she quickly closed the shutters on her window.
The smile faltered on Charles’ lips, and he felt a small knot of confusion form in his stomach.
What was going on?
By the time he reached the far side of the village, where the old man lived, Charles was sweating. He hurried his steps, eager to reach the elder and hopefully return to some semblance of normalcy.
The village's icy reception was beginning to weigh on him, and he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something had changed in the short time since his last visit.
When he arrived at the old man’s property, Charles felt a sense of relief seeing the elder standing just inside the fence, leaning on his staff, his wrinkled face set in a neutral expression as if he'd been waiting for him. His dark eyes watched Charles approach, and the Earthling hesitated.
The old man’s gaze seemed more . . . expectant than usual.
"Good morning, sir!" He called out, voice clinging on to its cheerfulness.
He gave a small wave, hoping to dispel some of the tension that had been building during his walk.
The old man didn’t return the smile, and didn't respond right away. He just stood there, his gaze flicking between Charles and the village behind him, a knowing look in his eyes that made Charles feel as though he had walked straight into something he wasn't prepared for.
“I just wanted to apologize—,” cheerful expression faltering slightly when the elder raised his hand, cutting off any pleasantries before they could start.
The old man’s face was lined with age, weathered and wise, and his eyes, though gentle, held a firmness that Charles hadn't seen before. There was something in his demeanor that felt off—a coldness that hadn't been there during their previous interactions.
"Charles," he began, voice rough and tired. "I won’t waste time with small talk. The village elders met after you and your partner left yesterday, and we've come to a decision." He paused, glancing at the sky before continuing, voice unwavering. "You both need to leave Namek at once."
The words hit Charles like a slap to the face, and he just stood there, stunned.
"What? What are you talking about?" he asked with disbelief.
His gaze darted from the old man back to the village, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed as he waited for the explanation he knew was coming.
"It’s the prince," he said plainly, gesturing toward the direction Charles had come with a slight nod. "As you learned yesterday, we Namekians can tap into the aura of an individual. It's a skill we are inherently born with, and we all couldn't help but feel his evil energy."
Charles' heart dropped into his stomach. "No," he blurted out, shaking his head. "No, you've got it wrong. Max—he’s not like that anymore. He's—he's changed, been through so much. I promise, he's not the person he used to be."
The old man sighed heavily, the weight of the decision clearly wearing on him, but his expression remained resolute.
"Charles, evil doesn't simply change overnight after defecting, and his reputation precedes him, whether he likes it or not. The people of this village—they have spoken. We cannot harbor someone who has caused such pain and destruction."
"Please," he pleaded, stepping closer to the old man. "You don't understand. We have nowhere else to go. He’s fought so hard to free himself from that life, but he still has a lot to learn. He’s gentle and kind—"
"I know you care for him,” he said, gaze softening, but only slightly. "And I can see that he’s important to you. But the decision wasn’t mine alone. The elders have spoken, and the village is united in their ruling. We won't risk having him here."
Charles's frustration bubbled up inside him, desperation clawing at his insides.
"There has to be something I can do. Let me take responsibility for him," he urged. "Please, don’t do this. Don’t punish him for a past he's trying to leave behind."
The old man hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking to the sky again. "There is one option," the elder finally said. "You have the right to appeal the village elders' decision to the Grand Elder of Namek himself. He’s the only one who can overturn a ruling."
He blinked, caught off guard by this glimmer of hope. "Appeal?"
The old man nodded. "Grand Elder Perez is wise beyond measure. If you can convince him that your companion has changed, he may grant you both the right to stay. But be warned, Perez is not easily swayed. He's seen much in his lifetime, living longer than the stars themselves, and it will take more than words to persuade him."
"Then we’ll appeal," he said firmly. "We'll speak to Perez."
Studying Charles for a moment, the old alien nodded slowly. "Very well. I will arrange for you to meet with him today. But understand this, Charles—if Perez upholds the village’s decision, you must leave Namek, and you must do so immediately."
Charles swallowed hard but nodded. "I understand."
With that, the old man stepped back, his expression once again unreadable. "I hope, for your sake, that the Grand Elder sees what you see in your prince."
Charles stood still for a moment, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders.
What a mess.
He had no idea how Max would react to something like this and the prospect of having to tell the regal Torossian he was going to be judged suddenly made him feel very tired.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Charles let out a long sigh before opening his eyes. The old man had turned away and was walking back into his hut when Charles shouted, “How do I find him?” Causing him to turn around again.
“I will meet you outside your cabin when the third sun has waned and take you to his temple high on the mountain. Bring the prince with you.”
_____
Max stood beside Charles, staring out over the still waters of the pond, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
The Namekian suns dipped low on the horizon, and the cooling breeze rustled through the blades of grass, carrying with it the scent of damp dirt and the faint, rhythmic sound of water lapping against the shore. It was a tranquil scene, deceptively calm, but it did nothing to soothe the roiling burn in his gut.
His gaze remained fixed on the pond, posture tense, every muscle coiled tight in defensiveness. His Oozaru paced in its cage, unsettled and restless, and he struggled to rein it in, to keep both of their anger from boiling over.
Since Charles had returned from the village, bringing news of the decision of the elders, Max’s mind had been spinning, the tense silence between them suffocating.
He didn’t know what to say, or maybe he did, but didn’t trust himself to speak—afraid if he opened his mouth, everything he’d been holding back would just come pouring out in a wave of anger and spite directed at the one person he never wanted to hurt.
It took everything in him not to fly to the village and torch the place. Who did those weak, pathetic freaks think they were anyway to judge him so harshly? He was the Prince of Torossians for goddess’ sake.
The most feared warrior in the universe.
Charles’ words echoed in his mind, clashing against the serene sounds of the evening. Max had been in the middle of his training routine, shirtless, muscles tense and glistening with sweat as he executed his movements with sharp, precise control.
The drills were ingrained in him since he was young, and now they were his way of maintaining focus, a way to avoid thinking too much about everything that was going on around them. But the moment he had sensed Charles approaching, that focus had shattered.
Even now, he was trying to piece together what had gone wrong.
He was getting better at sensing ki, improving every day with the Eldri's endless patience, but he hadn’t expected to feel that.
He'd picked up on Charles’ presence easily, yet what he'd felt wasn’t the usual warm, steady energy. It was agitated, almost panicked, and that had made Max’s pulse quicken in response. His relief had quickly given way to concern at the sight of Charles approaching.
“What happened?” he’d asked, the urgency making his voice come out sharper than he’d intended. He’d dropped down from his handstand push-ups mid set, stepping toward Charles, eyes searching his face for any sign of injury. “Are you hurt?”
Charles hadn’t been able to answer right away. He’d just stood there, shaking his head, looking utterly defeated. That expression had cut Max deeper than any blade ever could.
The Earthling wasn’t physically hurt, but it was clear that whatever he’d faced in the village was not what he'd expected, and Max had felt his own chest tighten in response.
He'd tried to imagine what had happened—had they threatened him? Had someone insulted him or thrown things at him?
The thought of anyone here daring to hurt Charles made his blood boil, and his instincts screamed at him to protect . . . to destroy.
But Charles had spoken before he could say anything else, and what he’d said had made Max’s heart sink. As Charles explained, detailing the village elder’s disapproval, the harsh consensus, and everything that had been said, Max’s frown had deepened with each word.
Clenching his jaw, Max's eyes narrowed as he thought about the cowardice of it all. After everything Charles’ had done . . . after the countless hours he'd spent doing their bidding.
He glanced briefly at Charles, standing beside him, eyes fixed on the horizon, and felt a surge of something raw and painful twist in his chest.
The Eldri liked it here on the planet. He was happy and safe.
That's all he'd ever wanted for Charles, and yet it felt like every step he took toward that goal was pushing them further into danger.
And now this?
Another wall, another obstacle that threatened to keep him from fulfilling his promise he'd made to get Charles to safety.
Heaven was trying everything to keep him out.
It was infuriating . . . and the worst part was that Max could see how much the whole situation was hurting Charles, how much it was weighing on him. He could sense the tension in the way Charles stood, the subtle way his shoulders slumped, the slight tremor in his ki that betrayed his own turmoil, chewing on the skin around his thumb.
It made Max’s heart ache, but he didn’t know how to fix it.
A flicker of movement in the distance caught his eye, and he turned his head, spotting a small figure approaching on the horizon. Silhouetted by the rays of the setting suns, the figure trudged slowly towards them, and as they drew closer, Max recognized the old villager from the day before.
His eyes narrowed, hands tightening into fists.
Is this it? he thought bitterly. Is this going to be the moment Charles realizes he isn't worth all the trouble, or will this be just another useless conversation that leads nowhere?
He hated feeling like this—so out of control, so helpless and beholden to another. He was used to taking control of every situation, to fighting his way through problems, but this . . . this waiting, this uncertainty of what this “Grand Elder” would say, stuck like a thorn in his side.
The man moved slowly, his form hunched with age, yet there was a distinct purpose to his movements. His robes, worn and faded from years of use, swayed with the gentle breeze as he made his way down the small path toward them.
As the old villager finally neared them, Max took a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever came next. He was done letting the universe tear apart what little happiness they'd found, and no matter what the elder decided, Max would find a peaceful place for Charles.
Even if it meant burning a few worlds to ash in the process.
When the old man finally arrived at the edge of their homestead, his gnarled hands gripping a wooden staff for support, he stopped just short of the cabin, casting a glance in Max's direction.
His deep, gravelly voice cut through the stillness, loud but not unkind. “Come,” he called. “I will take you to see the Grand Elder.”
Max’s eyes shifted briefly to the old man, acknowledging his presence, but he didn’t move an inch from where he stood. There was a flicker of resistance, a deep-rooted wariness that made him reluctant to follow.
Part of him wanted to turn around and leave, to take Charles and run as far away from this place as possible.
Why did everything have to be so hard?
Things had been going well. For once, he’d allowed himself to feel content—maybe even happy? Charles was safe, and for a short time, Max could almost pretend they had a future together, something beyond the constant struggle.
They'd made love by the fire light outside their cabin, held hands in an Earth custom, and shared stolen kisses without fear of being seen.
How was he supposed to give that up?
Because of his damned reputation, that fragile peace was shattering, and they were right back in the middle of it all.
His Oozaru raged behind his eyes, but a part of him knew that it wasn’t just about the elder's decision. He was angry at himself, at the universe, at everything that kept pushing him into corners he couldn’t escape.
“Vermoord hem gewoon,” [ Just kill him ] his Oozaru spat like poison in his skull. “De Eldri is hier gelukkig. Hij wil blijven.” [ The Eldri is happy here. He wants to stay ]
Max pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, only making his Oozaru more agitated with the lack of response and action.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charles watching him, concern etched across his face. The Earthling was just trying to understand, to shoulder some of the burden with him, but that only made it worse.
An Eldri should never have to face such hardships.
He should've listened to his instincts, just stayed back and kept to himself, not gone to the village. If he had, they wouldn’t be standing here, preparing for yet another uphill battle.
Max’s throat tightened as he fought to keep his emotions in check, to keep the walls up so Charles wouldn’t see just how scared he was of losing everything they had built so far.
It wasn't much, but it was theirs.
This fear was beneath him—
A flutter of movement broke through his thoughts, and he felt Charles step closer.
“Max,” he heard him say softly, almost pleadingly, the words barely audible over the rustle of leaves and the soft sigh of the evening breeze. “Everything will be fine, I promise.”
He didn’t respond.
The words hung between them, delicate and fragile, like something that could shatter if he dared to reach out and grasp them. His heart ached, torn between the desire to believe Charles and the bitter, cold reality he’d grown used to.
Everything was not going to be fine . . . It never was.
He knew Charles meant well, that he truly believed what he was saying, but Max had learned the hard way that promises like that didn’t hold, not when there was so much at stake.
Keeping his arms crossed over his chest, the prince's fingers dug into his forearms to anchor himself.
For a brief, agonizing moment, he considered ignoring Charles’ words, clinging stubbornly to the anger that was easier to manage than the fear beneath it. But when the Eldri tugged at his hand, pulling it away from his chest to entwine their fingers, he met Charles' gaze and saw something there that made him pause.
Charles’ green eyes were wide and earnest, filled with a quiet determination that tugged at something deep within Max. There was reluctance, yes, but also strength—strength that Max had come to rely on, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.
The Earthling was scared, but he was standing by him, and that was enough to make Max’s Oozaru cease its constant pacing. He let out a soft, barely perceptible sigh, feeling some of the tension seep out of his shoulders.
The Eldri ran his thumb over the top of Max's hand, calming him even further.
It was baffling, really. One look from those eyes and the universe suddenly felt right, like the Eldri was fixing parts of Max that he hadn't even broken.
With a reluctant, almost resigned air, Max squeezed Charles’ hand back and turned away from the pond, expression still hard but softened by a flicker of exhaustion. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to take a step forward, to follow Charles’ lead this time.
The old villager watched them, his wrinkled face calm and knowing, like he'd seen this scene play out many times before. Max felt a surge of irritation at the man’s quiet, almost smug understanding, but he swallowed it down.
There was no point in fighting this.
The elder gave a small nod, his gaze drifting between the two of them, acknowledging the silent exchange. Turning on his heel, he began to walk, his figure slowly receding down the narrow path that led away from the village and toward the distant mountains where the Grand Elder awaited.
Max hesitated for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on the overgrown path ahead, and then he followed. As he walked, he felt Charles fall into step beside him, hand in hand. It was a small gesture, barely noticeable, but it steadied him, reminded him of why he was doing this.
Even if he hated it.
The path wound through the outskirts of the village, past small huts and fields, bathed in the deepening colors of the closest thing to dusk Namek had to offer. The sky above was a tapestry of purples and reds, and the first stars had begun to twinkle faintly in the darkening heavens.
Max moved silently, his focus locked on the path ahead, even as the light around them softened and began to fade. His mind was a mess, a churning sea of conflicting thoughts and emotions that he struggled to keep under control with his stressed Oozaru.
"Waarom vermaak je dit? Deze dwazen zijn geen god.” [ Why are you entertaining this? These fools are no god ]
“We are on their land,” Max answered in his head. “We must respect their customs.”
“Zwakte.” [ Weakness ]
Max chuffed and covered the primal noise with a cough.
He knew he'd been unusually quiet since his and Charles’ conversation that afternoon, and that silence only made the tension worse, like a knot tightening in Max’s chest with every step.
He caught Charles stealing glances at him, but he kept his gaze forward, not trusting himself to look at the Eldri right now without showing too much on his face.
The anger he’d felt had only grown, simmering deep, but there was also something else—a feeling of helplessness that he hated. It wasn’t often that he found himself unable to solve a problem, but this was different. This was out of his control, and that frustrated him more than anything.
The weight of everything Charles had told him started to pound behind his eyes, a burning migraine just starting to tip into pain.
He felt Charles’ anxiety without even looking at him. It was there, crackling like electricity in the air, and it made the prince's own emotions harder to rein in.
He wanted to tell Charles that it would be okay, that he would fix this somehow, but he didn’t know how, and he found himself getting angrier the more he thought about it.
How dare they judge him? Him, the Prince of Torossians.
How dare they make decisions for them, as if they knew what was best?
The village elders had no fucking clue what they’d been through, and Max wasn’t going to let them dictate the future he was trying to build.
The journey across the plains had been mostly quiet, with only the sound of the wind rustling through the long grass and the soft crunch of their footsteps breaking the stillness. The looming cliffside, jagged and imposing, grew larger with every step they took, and soon they reached its base.
The old villager’s voice cut through the silence, and Max’s ears pricked up. “The Grand Elder knows why you have come,” the man said, not even bothering to turn around. “He has seen this moment. He will guide you—but be prepared. The answers he gives may not be what you seek.”
Max’s jaw tightened, the cryptic tone grating on his already frayed nerves, and he didn’t have the patience for it. He barely registered the way Charles slowed, his eyes tracing the long, winding staircase that stretched endlessly up the cliffside, disappearing into the shadows.
He stayed a few paces behind, body taut. The twilight sky above felt stifling, like he was wading through invisible chains trying to pull him back, to keep him from facing whatever lay at the top.
The staircase felt like an insult, a tedious, winding path meant to remind him of how far he had yet to go or how beneath this being he was.
As if he needed any more reminders.
“Let’s just get this fucking over with,” he said, voice cutting through the quiet, sounding cold.
There was no patience left, no room for any more riddles or stalling. He was here to be judged, and he was done pretending otherwise.
Before Charles could say a word, Max’s feet left the ground, and he let his ki surge, propelling him upward, hand slipping from Charles’ grip. The air rippled around him, a rush of wind cutting through the stillness, and he shot into the sky, a streak of speed and energy.
He didn’t look back, didn’t check to see if Charles was following, unable to see the worry that he knew would be etched on his face. Instead, he focused on the climb, on the dark summit looming above, and forced himself to drown out everything else.
The wind whipped against his skin, cool and biting, but it did nothing to ease the heat seething inside him. He pushed harder, flying faster, like he could escape the frustration, the fear he was trying so desperately to bury.
Even as he ascended, the cliff face blurring past him, he couldn’t escape the nagging thought that this might all be for nothing. That the Grand Elder would judge him the same as the villagers, only leading to more questions, more pain.
Would he ever find a place where he was accepted? Unburdened by his reputation?
It didn't matter, he thought bitterly. His mission was to get Charles to safety, nothing more.
As long as Charles was safe, Max would lock himself away inside their cabin forever, never to see another living soul if that is what it took. At least until Charles grew bored of the constant problems he caused.
If it wasn't his nightmares, it was stupid bullshit like this.
The answers may not be what you seek, Max thought and he gritted his teeth.
What did they know about what he sought? What did the Grand Elder understand of the choices he'd had to make, the impossible decisions that haunted him every moment?
War was ugly and raw. Lives were lost in wasted seconds.
The truth was they all had no idea what it was like to carry this weight, to be constantly torn between what was right and what was necessary.
In a burst of speed, he reached the top, hovering for a moment before lowering himself down onto the rocky ledge. His boots touched the ground, and he straightened, shoulders tense, eyes narrowed as he scanned the area.
The wind was harsher up here, tugging at his hair, but he barely felt it. All he could think about was the confrontation ahead, the answers he would demand, and the fury he would unleash if those answers weren’t enough.
Behind him, he heard the faint flutter of Charles’ approach, the gentle hum of his ki as he followed, slower, more cautious. Max closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing it all down.
He had to hold it together, for Charles’ sake if nothing else. But the moment he opened his eyes again, all he could see was another temple of stone. Another figure of “authority” waiting to give him punishment.
Another throne that meant nothing.
The cliff’s summit was wide and flat, with ancient stone pillars scattered around the edges, weathered by time but still standing tall. At the center of the plateau stood a modest structure—an ancient looking temple of some kind, simple in design but emanating an undeniable sense of wisdom. The air around it almost hummed with a quiet energy, like the land itself was alive with the presence of the Grand Elder.
Max halted a few paces away from the entrance, back turned to Charles, his gaze locked on the temple’s archway. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, shoulders rigid, his posture screaming defiance. Every inch of him felt coiled.
His skin itched with restless energy. The sight of the temple, so calm and indifferent, only heightened the sick feeling building within him.
“Max,” Charles said, almost hesitant as he landed behind him. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”
The prince didn’t respond. He couldn’t bring himself to.
Without a word, Max finally moved, his feet carrying him forward, past the ancient sentinels of stone that flanked the temple’s entrance.
Inside, the air shifted.
It was cooler, almost freezing, with the faint scent of burning wood mingling with the cold. The moment Max stepped through the archway, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, reminding him of the cold emptiness of the Emperor's throne room.
There was an unsettling stillness to the space, a quiet that was too absolute, the room itself was holding its breath. His eyes flicked around, scanning every corner, every shadow.
He didn’t trust it. He didn’t trust any of this.
The room was vast, the high ceiling lost to darkness, and pillars lined the walls, each one etched with symbols that meant nothing to Max, but felt important, ancient. The faint, flickering light from the fires cast long, distorted shadows that twisted across the stone floor, making the room seem even larger, more cavernous.
The place was a void, swallowing sound, swallowing light, swallowing him whole. And still, Max’s senses were on high alert, his eyes darting over every surface, searching for a threat.
He hated it here.
Hated the emptiness, the quiet, the way it made him feel so damn small.
Max’s gaze was drawn forward, to the far end of the hall, where an enormous throne sat against the back wall. It was massive, hewn from dark, unyielding stone, and for a second, he thought it was just part of the wall itself.
The design was brutal, imposing, like something that had been carved out of a mountain. But what commanded Max’s attention wasn’t the throne. It was the being that sat atop it.
The Grand Elder.
Max’s breath hitched, but he quickly masked it, expression hardening. The Grand Elder was enormous, a hulking figure that seemed to blend with the shadows, his skin a deep green that made it difficult to tell where the shadows ended and he began.
He was larger than anything Max had ever seen—larger than even the most formidable Torossian warriors.
Broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms rested heavily on the throne’s armrests, each hand as massive as a boulder. His face was lined with age, every wrinkle and crease telling a story, yet his expression was blank, unreadable. Eyes closed, Max wondered if he was even awake—if he was even alive.
The fires crackled softly, but even that sound felt distant, as if muffled by the sheer weight of the stillness that hung in the air. Coming to a stop, the prince's tail wrapped tightly around his waist.
He made himself look at the Grand Elder, forcing his expression to remain indifferent, but inside, his mind was a whirlwind of agitation and unease. His tail bristled slightly, a subtle, involuntary twitch that betrayed his tension.
The past several weeks had him more relaxed with his signature Torossian feature, though training himself completely out of protecting it at all times was impossible.
Max sensed Charles’ presence beside him, felt the way he hesitated, eyes wide as he took in the sight of the massive figure, but the prince remained steadfast. It was just like the war council meetings, he told himself. Just another opponent to outmaneuver, another mind to read and manipulate.
Max’s hands clenched tighter around his arms, knuckles white, refusing to meet the Eldri's gaze, ashamed of causing this mess.
The silence stretched and Max’s eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on the unmoving form of the Grand Elder. Then, out of nowhere, a deep, rumbling sound reverberated through the vast space—a sound so powerful it seemed to shake the very bones of the temple.
Max’s head snapped up, eyes widening slightly.
“Come.”
The word crashed over them like a wave, a single command that filled every inch of the room. It wasn’t just a voice; it was a force, immense and unyielding. The walls seemed to vibrate with it, and Max felt the ground tremble beneath his boots, like the temple itself was breathing.
For a heartbeat, he was reminded of the way Jos spoke, the way his voice could bend others to his will, but this was different.
This wasn’t just power and fear. This was ancient, primal authority.
Max's jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as he fought the urge to react. His tail flicked sharply behind him again, but otherwise, he was still—a coiled spring.
The Grand Elder’s eyes opened, and Max’s breath caught in his throat.
Those dark brown eyes glowed softly, an ethereal light that cut through the shadows, making the already dim room feel even darker. They locked onto him, piercing through the mask he wore, and Max felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t felt in years.
Like those glowing eyes could see every corner of his soul, unearthing the parts of himself he'd buried deep, the parts he kept hidden even from Charles.
Even from himself.
Max’s hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms, but he didn’t flinch. He wouldn’t give this being the satisfaction of seeing him falter. He'd faced monsters most wouldn't believe were real before. He’d survived Jos’ cruelty for twenty years, and survived worse than this.
The prince wouldn't be made to feel small and insignificant, like a child being scolded.
Beside him, Charles moved, stepping forward cautiously and Max placed his hand on his arm to stop him.
"Grand Elder Perez," Charles spoke, voice calm, steady, though Max could hear the slight tremor beneath it. "We’ve come seeking your counsel."
The great being's eyes flicked to Charles, then back to Max, moving slowly, studying them both with a gaze that felt like a scorching fire. Max’s tail bristled slightly, wrapping tighter around his waist, but he held his ground, keeping Charles back.
"You have come far," the Grand Elder said, the booming voice softening, though it still echoed through the hall.
There was a hint of something else there now, a note of curiosity, maybe even amusement. Like he was assessing them, testing their resolve, seeing if they would cower or stand firm.
Max’s gaze hardened at the thought.
He wouldn’t cower. Not now, not ever. To nothing and to no one.
If this creature thought he could intimidate them, he was wrong.
But Charles . . . Charles stepped forward again, making Max's pulse pound so loud he swore the Earthing could hear it.
“My name is Charles, and I am from a planet called Earth,” he said, louder this time, like he was trying to project confidence he didn’t quite feel. “We don’t mean any harm to the people of this place, and we intend to live in peace.”
Max’s lip curled slightly, a small, almost invisible gesture. He admired Charles’ courage, admired the way he spoke even when he was scared, and admired the strength of his mate.
He was so strong, in spirit and in mind. Max was unbelievably lucky to have his care and kindness.
A lump formed in his throat at the Eldri's words. Max couldn’t promise peace with what he knew was chasing them. Part of him wanted to step forward, to correct Charles and make it clear that they weren’t here to beg, but to survive.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he stood there, silent, letting Charles take the lead to see how this played out. Charles was trying so hard to make things right, to be the voice of reason, though Max knew the truth.
There was no peace where he was concerned. Not as long as Jos was still out there, hunting them. And not as long as the darkness inside Max still burned, waiting for an excuse to explode.
Max’s gaze slid back to the Grand Elder, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t care about peace. He cared about survival, about making sure Charles was safe, even if it meant tearing this world apart.
The Grand Elder’s eyes shifted to Max, narrowing slightly like it read his mind, and Max felt the weight of the scrutiny. He hated it. Hated being examined like some kind of specimen, as if this old, ancient being could see right through him.
"There is great darkness in this one," the elder finally said, voice low and heavy, tinged with something that almost sounded like pity. "Pain and power intertwined."
Darkness. Pain. Power.
Like he hadn’t heard that a thousand times before. Like it wasn’t etched into his skin with every scar, every bruise, every drop of blood he’d shed.
Rage sparked inside him from his Oozaru, seething, boiling just beneath his skin. Max’s tail unfurled and lashed out behind him, a low, guttural snarl rumbling up from his chest.
“You don’t know anything about me ,” he snapped, voice sharp and cutting, a dangerous edge lacing each word.
The disrespect was purposeful, a challenge, and he felt Charles stiffen beside him, breath catching at his tone.
He didn’t care. Let this elder see the fire burning in him since he claimed he already knew everything. Let him know that Max wasn’t afraid, that he wouldn’t be prodded or judged or treated like a damned child.
“I am Max, Prince of—”
“I know who you are,” the Grand Elder interrupted, his booming voice echoing through the room, louder than it had been before, reverberating off the stone walls with a force that made Charles flinch.
Max’s own words died in his throat, caught off guard by the sudden volume, and his tail flicked sharply, bristling in agitation.
“You are Max Emilian, firstborn son of King Christian, fourth ruling generation in the house of Toro. A proud Torossian prince,” Perez began, tone carrying both reverence and condemnation.
The elder leaned forward, his massive frame shifting, causing the throne beneath him to groan ominously. Instinctively, Max stepped closer to Charles, placing himself between the Grand Elder and the Earthling. His stance widened, shoulders squared, his protective instincts roaring to life.
Perez's piercing gaze bore into him, unyielding and ancient.
“You are arrogant . . . Bitter, due to your lost race's treatment and servitude under the Emperor, Lord Jos. Your royal blood has given you an inflated sense of superiority, seeing yourself above all you encounter.”
Max's lips parted, but no words came. He felt paralyzed, rooted him to the spot. A flash of shame burned in his chest, but he quickly buried it beneath years of hardened pride.
“You are immensely proud of your Torossian heritage and believe your race produced the most powerful beings in the universe, though you have been shown evidence to the contrary. You are gifted, Prince Max. Blessed by your goddess of the moon. Despite all this, you have let the cruelty of your captor mold you, changing your very essence, your very being.”
Max’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he fought the urge to retaliate. The elder’s words were more than criticism—they were an unflinching mirror, forcing Max to confront parts of himself he’d long avoided.
“You are pain. You are suffering. Murderer to untold worlds, poisoner of wells, bringer of famine, plague, and scourge. The grinding of bones and the gnashing of teeth. The wailing of the innocent and the fear of the flesh. Your aura is corrupted. Ki an abomination.”
Each word felt like a blow, and Max's knees threatened to buckle under their weight. His blue eyes flicked to Charles for a brief second, hoping beyond hope that the Eldri hadn't heard or understood, but his companion was just as stunned, expression one of shock and confusion.
“Your name is whispered in the shadows. Feared by all. Known across the universe as a symbol of destruction and malevolence.”
Don't say it, Max thought. Not in front of Charles.
“I am very well aware of who you are, Max Emilian. You are the Prince of Death.”
The words hit like a slap, and the air was sucked out of the room. Max’s mind went blank, the title echoing in his head, reverberating over and over.
He knew the name, knew the rumors and whispers that had followed him through the years, but hearing it here, from this being’s mouth, was something else entirely. His whole life had been defined by pain and violence—reduced to a title, a moniker that encapsulated everything he hated about himself.
It was unbearable.
He felt Charles’ eyes snap forward, stunned, but Max’s own gaze didn’t waver, didn’t flicker. Instead, his ki surged, pulsing around him, a dark blue wild energy that crackled and snapped, like a storm building strength.
The elder’s gaze softened slightly, though his voice remained firm. “This is what you have allowed yourself to become, Prince Max. A shadow of what your heritage and goddess intended. You are more than this.”
Max’s throat tightened, his jaw working silently as he tried to summon a response. But nothing came.
What could he say?
The Grand Elder had laid him bare, exposed his deepest fears and insecurities, and left him with nothing but the bitter taste of truth.
A soft hand touched his back. Gentle, barely there, but it was enough to pull him back from his thoughts.
"Max," Charles said, voice low and soothing, careful not to challenge or provoke. Just enough to remind Max that he was there, that he wasn’t alone.
The hand shifted to his arm, a light, calming touch, and Max felt the unspoken plea in it.
Please. Don’t .
For a moment, Max’s vision was red, rage blurring everything else, but then his eyes flicked to Charles, and he saw the concern, the anxiety etched in his face, and the storm within him lessened, just slightly. His tail stilled, curling around Charles’ leg.
The need to protect, to shield Charles from this elder, from everything, won out over his own fury, if only for a moment.
"Prince of Death," Max muttered, more to himself than anyone else, the words bitter and twisted on his tongue.
He could taste the disdain in them, the way they had been used to define him for most of his life. To paint him as something dark and monstrous, a weapon rather than a person.
Turning his gaze back to the Grand Elder, Max's eyes were hard, unyielding, but there was a flicker of something else there, something raw and wounded.
“I am well aware of the bastardization of my title,” he growled, each word laced with venom. “Whispered in the shadows by cowards, but no one has yet dared say it to my face.”
The elder’s expression remained unchanged, unreadable, but the weight of his gaze felt like he was peeling back layers, trying to see what lay beneath. Max’s pulse thundered in his ears, a drumbeat of rage and defiance as he stood his ground, shoulders squared.
He wouldn’t be judged.
Not by this elder, not by the people of this planet, not by anyone.
He had survived too much, fought too hard, to let a few words define him. Max's pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out everything around him. Every word, every accusation, every flicker of pity in the elder’s gaze felt like a slap to the face.
He'd always known how people saw him, how they whispered behind his back—Jos' weapon, a monster. But hearing it now, spoken aloud, right in front of Charles, ignited something volatile inside him.
Charles at his side urgently tried to defuse the situation, but it was like trying to put out a wildfire with a single breath. The Earthling’s voice was shaky, stumbling over his words, pleading with the elder to see beyond the reputation that clung to Max like a second skin. But the elder’s cold, piercing eyes stayed fixed on him, unyielding and unmoved.
"The scars of his past are written in his soul, plain for all who can see."
Max’s nose flared, chest tightening as those words echoed in his head.
Scars.
Was that all they could see?
He had fought so hard, done so much, and still, it was never enough. His past was always there, a shadow he could never outrun, and it followed him even here, to this distant planet, this place that was supposed to be a fresh start. And now, even this elder—this being who knew nothing of his suffering—dared to pass judgment on him, as if he could possibly understand.
Max's hands curled into fists, sparking with energy that crackled and hissed, the tips of his fingers trembling with barely contained power. He felt his lips pull back into a snarl, teeth bared, and the rage he had been holding back surged forward, threatening to consume him. He would make the elder feel the weight of his pain, his anger, and show him that he was not some weak, broken thing that needed to be "fixed."
“Come child,” the Grand Elder’s voice cut through the haze of fury, calm and resolute. “Perhaps I can unburden some of the weight around your soul.”
Unburden .
Like he was some charity case, something to be pitied and coddled. The suggestion was an insult, an attack on his pride, and it stung more deeply than he wanted to admit. His tail lashed out, whipping angrily behind him, and he felt his ki spike, a surge of power that sent a pulse of heat through the room.
“Neither of us are going anywhere near you, asshole.”
The words came out like a growl, low and dangerous, vitriol dripping from every syllable. He felt his own rage twisting his voice, making it hard and sharp, and he welcomed it, let it burn through the fear and pain, leaving only cold, seething anger.
He didn’t care if the elder could sense it, didn’t care if he was overstepping—he was done playing nice, done letting others dictate who he was and what he was worth.
Before he could do anything rash, he felt the gentle pressure on his arm increase. Charles’ hand, soft and warm, grounding him, and Max’s eyes flicked down to him, momentarily disarmed.
Charles stepped forward, placing himself between Max and the elder, blocking the elder’s view of him. Max’s rage wavered, flickering like a dying flame, as he stared at the back of Charles’ head, the way he stood so resolutely in front of him, his posture strong yet gentle.
He'd seen this before in his dreams, Charles standing resolute between him and the corrupted version of the emperor in his nightmares. This would end the same, and his own weakness brought a burning to his eyes.
"Please," Charles said, voice soft but insistent, trying to reach past the anger swirling inside Max, trying to calm the storm. "Give us a chance. We don’t mean any harm."
Max’s breathing was heavy, ragged, and he clenched his fists even tighter, feeling the ki crackling beneath his skin.
The silence that followed was all-consuming, stretching out in the space between them, and kept his gaze fixed on the elder, blue eyes blazing, daring him to say something, to push him over the edge.
Finally, the elder sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to echo through the entire room, reverberating off the walls. "It is not for me to grant you peace, prince," he said, tone carrying a note of finality. "Perhaps, if you can prove yourself worthy, you may find it . . . but not here."
Max’s heart dropped, a cold, hollow feeling spreading through his chest.
Not here.
The words were like a door slamming shut, cutting off the fragile hope he hadn’t even realized he was holding on to. He barely heard Charles' voice, the way it wavered with desperation, trying to plead with the elder one last time.
“But Grand Elder—”
“You may stay as long as you would like, Charles of Earth, but your companion must leave this planet within a week’s time.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and final, and everything went silent.
Max’s mind went blank, a numbness settling over him, emotions forcibly severed, Oozaru in disbelief.
It was always like this. He didn't know why he expected any different. Unwanted everywhere and by everyone.
Without a word, he turned sharply and shot out of the temple and into the sky, a streak of energy tearing through the darkening evening.
The wind howled around him as he ascended, the chill biting against his skin, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He didn’t care where he was going, didn’t care that he was leaving Charles behind, because right now, all he wanted was to escape. To get away from the elder’s judgment, from the suffocating stillness of that temple, from everything that had been thrown at him.
You are the Prince of Death.
The words echoed in his head, a taunt, a curse, and Max clenched his teeth, his ki flaring as he soared higher, faster, trying to outrun the very air around him. He could still feel Charles' hand on his arm, could still see the way he had stood in front of him, so earnest, so unbreakable.
He hated himself—hated that he was too weak to protect Charles from this, hated that he was running when he should be fighting, hated that no matter how hard he tried, he could never escape the darkness that clung to him.
But the wind couldn’t erase the words, couldn’t take away the feeling of failure clawing at his chest. So he flew, pushing himself harder, faster.
Maybe he could fly far enough to forget.
Chapter 40: Is It Slavery?
Summary:
Just as he was about to turn the screen off, something caught his eye—an unfamiliar section of the interface, with words written in a script he didn’t recognize. The characters were strange, curving lines and angular marks that meant nothing to him.
Max had tried to explain how the navigation console functioned, the prince picking it up easily, much like everything else he’d tried, but he didn’t show him anything else in the system other than the maps and a few reading levels for oxygen and food.
Charles frowned, his curiosity piqued.
Notes:
Charles learns the truth.
Chapter warnings: Death, violence, genocide, infanticide, cannibalism, mentioned; torture, physiological conditioning, child abuse, psychotic break . . . (hide ya kids, hide ya wife, it's all kinds of bad)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
This was not going well . . .
Charles needed to de-escalate, and shift the focus. "Please, Grand Elder," he stumbled over his words. "Max has seen and done things under the order of Emperor Jos, but he’s not the monster everyone says he is."
The elder’s piercing gaze regarded Charles. "And yet, it is not my imagination that brings forth such an accusation. The scars of his past are written on his soul, plain for all who can see. Those choices were his own."
Charles’ heart sank.
He knew the elder wasn’t wrong—Max carried so much darkness with him, the pain of his past, the horrors he had endured and caused. But he was so much more than that. The beautiful golden center, trapped and kept safe.
Surely this grand being could see it too.
"We’re here to start fresh, to build something different. Max—" He glanced at the prince again, pleading with his eyes for Max to follow his lead and drop his energy. "We’re both just looking for peace."
The prince was about to lose it with his unstable ki, and Charles didn’t know what else to do.
The elder remained silent, ancient eyes still studying Max. The prince’s breathing was heavy, energy volatile, and Charles saw the way his hands started to spark, a snarl curling dangerously on his lips.
“Come child,” the grand being said, flicking his eyes back to rest firmly on Max. “Perhaps I can unburden some of the weight around your soul.”
If the words intended to soothe, they had the opposite effect on the prince. His whole body stiffened, energy spiking. The snarl on Max’s lips deepened, his teeth bared now, eyes strikingly blue. The mere suggestion of being “unburdened” clearly was taken as an insult, his pride delicate.
Alonso’s words fluttered in Charles’ mind at the sight. “The prince is stubborn and prideful, with a head made of stone and the heart of a lion. He will not accept pity and demands respect.”
Just when Charles thought this couldn’t get any worse, “Neither of us are going anywhere near you, asshole.” Max growled, voice low and dangerous, venom practically oozing from his words.
Fuck.
Charles seized an opportunity, stepping fully in front of Max now, blocking the elder’s view of the prince’s fury. "Please," he said again, voice softer but no less sincere. "Give us a chance. We don’t mean any harm." His eyes searched the elder’s face, silently pleading for understanding, for mercy.
There was only silence, the elder’s gaze finally shifting from Max to Charles, his expression indifferent, and Charles held his breath, hoping against hope that his words had gotten through.
The Grand Elder sighed, a deep, sorrowful sound that echoed in the room. “It is not for me to grant you peace, prince,” he said at last. “Perhaps, if you can prove yourself worthy, you may find it . . . but not here. Your journey has only just begun.”
Mind spinning, Charles’ mouth hung open in disbelief. “But Grand Elder—”
“You may stay as long as you would like, Charles of Earth, but your companion must leave this planet within a week’s time.”
Without a second glance, Max turned around sharply and took off at breakneck speed out of the temple and into the sky.
“Max!” Charles’ voice echoed through the cavernous temple, reverberating off the ancient stone walls. But the prince was already gone, a streak of blue energy that quickly vanished into the distance, leaving Charles standing alone in the wake of his frustration.
Heart aching for the prince, fueled by the Grand Elder’s calm yet unsettling words, Charles’ tail scar throbbed painfully, his own fury reaching a peak. Spinning on his heel, Charles stormed toward the massive throne, fists clenched at his sides, mind a whirlwind of anger, worry, and protectiveness for his mate.
"You're wrong!" he shouted, voice trembling. "You have no idea what that monster Jos did to him or even a glimpse into what he's endured!" The words spilled from his mouth faster than he could control, raw and unfiltered, a torrent of fury and desperation. “Max has been through hell! He’s been tortured, beaten, manipulated, ra—”
Images of the blood on Max's legs in the med bay and the scouter evidence choked the word in his throat, palm slapping over his mouth. The prince had lived the ultimate nightmare, and Charles couldn’t even bring himself to say it.
Tears free flowing now, Charles raged on. “He was used as a toy for most of his life. How can you sit there and act like you know anything about him? Say that he is unworthy of peace? Say all those horrible things as he stood before you in surrender?”
Remaining motionless, the Grand Elder’s eyes, glowing faintly in the firelight, watched Charles with an unwavering calm.
He didn't interrupt, didn't raise a hand or a voice to stop the Earthling’s outburst. He simply listened, allowing Charles to release the flood of emotions that had been building inside him for so long.
Charles paced in front of the throne, his tail scar burning hotly beneath his shirt, the pain almost unbearable as his anger grew. He hated feeling so powerless, so incapable of helping Max in the way he needed.
His Eldri had busted its enclosure wide open, pacing just as fiercely as Charles in his mind.
The prince always acted like he could carry everything on his own, but Charles knew the weight of his pain was far greater than he let on. He saw it in his restless sleep, in his tired eyes, and in the flinches when Charles’ touch surprised him.
“I don’t care what you think you know,” he snapped, eyes blazing with defiance as he paused in front of the throne. "You’re wrong! All of you!"
At last, when the Eldri had said all he could, the Grand Elder spoke again, voice low and serene like a calm breeze.
"I am aware of the prince’s great suffering," he said, tone steady and filled with wisdom. "He has endured many great horrors that would have broken a lesser man. But that fact does not change my decision. There is much you do not know, Charles of Earth. That is why you are here. That is why Brother Nail sent you here.”
Breathing so deep, the fires in the room all bent toward the Grand Elder. “Perhaps it is still too soon for you to see the truth.”
Scoffing, the Eldri crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture that was all too familiar, a posture Max himself often adopted when he felt cornered. Frustration flaring again, his mind held fast, unwilling to accept the Elder’s rebuke.
"I don’t care," he muttered, petulant. "You’re wrong."
The Grand Elder’s ancient eyes were full of understanding and compassion, but Charles had already made up his mind, the look of pity only enraging him further. Without another word, he turned and launched himself into the air, the force of his takeoff sending a gust of wind swirling through the temple, causing the fires to flicker.
The cool night air hit his face as he soared into the sky, the stars above gleaming like scattered diamonds against the dark canvas. Body tense, muscles coiled with both anger and worry, he pushed forward, mind focused on finding the prince.
As he flew, Charles reached out with his senses, feeling for Max’s ki.
It wasn’t hard to find—the prince’s energy was like a raging storm on the horizon, volatile and erratic, crackling with power and pain . . . just like the Grand Elder had said.
The intensity of it made Charles’ heart ache.
Max was hurting, more than he ever would show to anyone, and Charles knew that whatever had been said in the temple had triggered something deep within the proud Torossian.
The landscape below blurred as Charles sped forward, his eyes scanning the terrain for any sign of the prince. The dark, rocky cliffs stretched out beneath him, illuminated only by the soft glow of the stars.
The energy signature he tracked grew stronger, and soon he saw a distant figure perched on a high, jagged outcropping, staring out into the endless expanse of the starry night.
Charles felt a mix of relief and anxiety as he closed the distance between them, landing softly on the rocky ledge just a few paces behind the prince. Not turning to acknowledge him, Max kept his back to Charles, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself before speaking. “Max, you can’t keep running from me like this. We promised that we wouldn't wander off, remember?”
The Eldri closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around the prince’s waist from behind, hiding his face in Max’s shoulder. The Torossian’s musky scent invaded Charles' nose through his tunic, his Eldri fluttering in response, Max's tail wrapping around him.
The wind had picked up, and the air almost smelled like rain, a storm on the horizon darkening the dim sky despite Namek’s ever present three suns.
For a long moment, Max stayed motionless. Only acknowledgment that of his Oozaru tightening his tail around the younger man.
His shoulders remained rigid, and the faint whistling of the wind swept across the cliffs. Slowly, Max turned his head just enough to look over his shoulder, his eyes hard and distant, the usual fire in them dulled by something deeper.
“You’re right. No more running. Just . . . let me be alone for a while, Charles,” he said softly. “Please, I'll come to the cabin later. I promise not to take long.”
As much as it pained him, the Eldri decided he could give the prince some much needed space. Since they’d left the PTO ship, they spent almost every waking hour together when Charles wasn’t in the village getting supplies or helping out, and Max always did value his privacy.
“Okay,” he said and placed a gentle kiss on Max's shoulder before letting go, fingers petting over the prince’s tail around him. “We’ll find somewhere else to stay. I can be ready to leave as soon as tomorrow.”
“You want to leave?” Max whispered. “You want to leave with me?”
Charles froze mid-step, the gentle breeze tugging at his hair. His eyes widened, unable to comprehend the question that had just fallen from Max's lips. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the raw, uncertain tone behind them that sent a pang through his chest.
Turning back to face Max fully, he studied the prince’s profile, his sharp jaw clenched, gaze fixed on the horizon as if he couldn’t bear to meet Charles’ eyes. The usual strength that radiated from Max seemed diminished, his broad shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and his tail, usually lively and expressive, hung limp at his side.
“Of course I want to leave with you,” Charles said, his voice soft but steady. He took a step closer, his hand hovering near Max’s arm before letting it rest there gently. “Max, where else would I go?”
“I thought . . .” the prince rasped, voice hoarse. “I thought you’d want to stay. You’ve made friends here, helped the villagers. You belong here in a way I never will. I can’t give you that, Charles.”
He blinked, stunned by the vulnerability in Max’s words.
How could Max not see it? How could he not realize that the reason Charles had started planting roots here was because he was here?
“I belong with you,” the Eldri said firmly, hand sliding down to grasp Max’s wrist, grounding them both. “I didn’t come to Namek for the villagers or the cabin or anything else, Max. I came because you brought me here. I stayed because I want to be with you. None of that changes just because Perez told us we have to leave.”
“He didn’t say you had to leave. He said I have to—”
“Max,” Charles continued, stepping closer until he was nearly chest-to-back with the prince again. “I know you’ve lost so much. I know your journey has given you every reason to doubt people’s loyalty, to think you’re destined to always be alone. But I’m not leaving you. I’ll follow you wherever you go,” Charles said. “Even if it’s the farthest corner of the galaxy. Even if it’s somewhere as empty as deep space. If you’re there, that’s where I want to be.”
Max’s hand twitched at his side before it slowly rose to rest over Charles’, the prince’s fingers trembling slightly as they curled around his.
“Why?” Max whispered, almost to himself. “Didn’t you hear the Grand Elder? He spoke the truth. Why would you do that for someone like me?”
Charles smiled softly, his other hand rising to cup Max’s cheek, thumb brushing gently across his skin. “Because you’re not ‘someone like you,’” he said, tilting his head to catch Max’s eyes more fully. “You’re my prince. My Max.”
The prince closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a shaky breath. “You’ll regret this,” Max murmured, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.
“Never,” Charles replied instantly, his voice firm and sure. “Not in a million lifetimes.”
For a moment, they stood there in silence, the wind carrying on the rocky cliffs. Finally, Max gave the smallest of nods, his tail brushing against Charles’ leg in a subtle yet telling gesture.
“Tomorrow, then,” Max said quietly, voice still laced with uncertainty but tinged with the faintest edge of hope. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”
Charles squeezed his hand. “Tomorrow,” he agreed, and started his slow descent down to the valley below, walking slowly toward their cabin to rest before packing in the morning.
It was well past their designated time for bed by the time Charles returned to the small home Max had built. The air outside was cool and still, the dark stormy sky above a blanket of clouds, only a few stars peaking through, their faint twinkling reflected in the dark surface of the pond just outside the window.
The gentle lapping of water against the shore was the only sound that reached his ears; a soft, rhythmic melody that should've been calming, but tonight, it only seemed to amplify the emptiness Charles felt.
The cabin was quiet, too quiet without Max.
There was a hush over everything outside, a stillness like the calm before a storm on the mountain near his old Earth home.
Charles lingered for a moment in the doorway, his hand resting on the wooden frame as he stared into the dark main room. It felt strange to be here without Max’s presence—without the steady, if often guarded, energy that filled any space he occupied.
The prince’s absence hung heavy in the air, leaving an unsettling hollowness that Charles hated.
He let out a frustrated sigh and stepped inside, but the moment his feet crossed the threshold, he knew sleep was out of the question. His mind was too tangled with thoughts, heart too weighed down with worry for Max.
The events of the evening replayed in his head—Max’s anger, his pain, the cold distance that had grown between them despite Charles’ best efforts to reach him.
Running a hand through his hair, Charles paced the small room, unsure where to start.
Every corner of it seemed to remind him of Max—the chair by the window where he’d seen the regal Torossian sit and brood in silence, the table where they had shared a few quiet meals, even the bed that now felt too big, too empty.
He needed to do something—anything—to keep his mind from being idle.
Charles paused in front of the small wooden door that led outside, his hand lingering on the doorknob. He might as well get started.
It wasn’t like they had very much to pack anyway.
With a determined breath, he turned around and headed back outside, the cool night air washing over him like a balm, a few light sprinkles of rain rippling on the pond surface. His eyes were drawn to the sleek, dark shape of the ship they had arrived in, parked a short distance away at the edge of the field.
The ship was mostly empty now, but there were still a few supplies that hadn’t made it into their cabin. He decided he’d check what was still on board and make a mental list of things they would need to take with them—a task that Charles suddenly felt a desperate need to complete. The busy work would keep his hands moving, give his mind something to focus on other than the ache of Max’s absence.
The grass crunched softly under his boots as he made his way toward the ship, the moonlight casting long shadows across the ground. The ship loomed larger as he approached, its dark surface gleaming faintly in the silver light.
“Open,” Charles said, and the hatch underneath hissed unsealed, revealing the small haven they’d had only a short while ago. The memories with Max on the ship brought a smile to his face, the long talks and the even longer sessions of toe curling intimacy.
He climbed aboard, the metallic walls cool beneath his touch. The interior of the ship was dim, the soft hum of the control systems and rain starting to fall on the hull the only sounds that broke the silence.
Charles wandered to the small, mostly empty kitchen space and opened one of the crates of supplies—a little lighter on goods than he remembered, but still a good start. As he took tally of the supplies, his thoughts never left the prince, the look in his eyes when he had flown off earlier.
He’d always been guarded, always carried his burdens alone, but tonight had felt different—heavier.
Charles had seen something in Max’s eyes that unsettled him, something that went beyond the usual anger or frustration. It was like those words the Grand Elder said stirred something deep in Max's soul.
The Prince of Death.
That's what he'd called him.
Setting the crate down by the table, Charles took a moment to decide which one to open next, wiping the rain from his brow. His arms felt heavy, not just from the physical exertion of flying earlier, but from the weight of his thoughts.
What a horrible thing to call him. And if he was honest, not very imaginative. Max's energy had reacted so strongly to the name, Charles wondered who gave him that title and if it held more meaning than he was aware.
He opened another half-full crate and started the tally process again, this time noting a lighter bundle of blankets and a few personal items they had with them. Charles made some more bracelets to pass the time on the ship and had altered a few garments for Max. They didn’t have much to work with but he made due with small bits of things he’d found on the ship.
Distracted by the material in his hands, Charles found himself glancing over at the cockpit, deciding to take a short break.
He settled into the captain’s chair, the familiar hum of the ship’s systems greeting him, the low vibration beneath his fingertips a strange comfort in the quiet night. He leaned back, head resting against the back of the chair as he stared up at the cockpit’s console, running a hand over his damp face.
The memories in this chair brought a flush to his face; Max's lips on his neck, hands spreading him wide, tail and cock stuffed inside him. What he wouldn’t give to just go back to those days.
Maybe that's what they should do?, he thought. They could start over again, travel the stars until they found a new place to settle.
Charles rather liked the idea the more he thought about it.
The screens were dark, but the ship’s systems could spring to life with just a touch. Sighing, he ran his hand up through his curls, scrubbing his face hard in an attempt to shake off the exhaustion and the lingering frustration from earlier.
His mind was still buzzing with thoughts of Max—wondering how he was, and if he’d even come back tonight like he said.
The prince showed him the planets he'd looked at for viable options before they arrived here, and Charles decided to look and see if any were reasonably close to their current location.
Tapping lightly on the main console, the ship’s systems flickered on, the dark screens coming to life with a soft hum. He watched as the navigation map unfolded before him—a holographic display of stars, planets, and galaxies, the same route they had taken to reach Namek still active on the screen.
The stars, little 3D dots glowing faintly, floated in the virtual map, a representation of the cosmos that felt strangely detached from the real thing outside.
Charles stared at the map, his mind a bit numb. He swiped around on the map, pushing the stars aside with a lazy flick of his hand. It felt oddly satisfying, like wiping away the confusion in his head, even if only for a moment.
He suddenly realized he had no idea how to work this thing and he wished he'd paid more attention as Max showed him the controls.
Just as he was about to turn the screen off, something caught his eye—an unfamiliar section of the interface, with words written in a script he didn’t recognize. The characters were strange, curving lines and angular marks that meant nothing to him.
Max had tried to explain how the navigation console functioned, the prince picking it up easily, much like everything else he’d tried, but he didn’t show him anything else in the system other than the maps and a few reading levels for oxygen and food.
Charles frowned, his curiosity piqued.
He leaned closer, squinting at the unfamiliar text, trying to make sense of it. It seemed odd that this part of the console was still in the system default language after Max said he’d changed all the outputs.
The memory resurfaced of Max mentioning the ship’s systems were designed to respond to Galactic Standard commands, and he could show him how to fly the ship if he wanted.
So, maybe if he gave it the right instruction . . .
Charles hesitated for a moment before pressing on the icon, then spoke clearly into the quiet of the cockpit, “Translate into Galactic Standard.”
Obeying the command, the words on the screen shimmered and rearranged themselves before his eyes. The alien script morphed, twisting and shifting until recognizable words appeared in their place.
PTO service files.
Charles froze, his heart skipping a beat as the words settled on the screen. He hadn’t expected anything like that and assumed it was just some old navigation data or ship logs.
The acronym “PTO” stood out like a beacon, a chill running down Charles’ spine as the reality of what he had stumbled upon began to sink in.
The Planetary Trade Organization—Jos’ empire.
This ship had once belonged to the rebel group, and that leader—Lawrence—already told them that they had access to PTO databases. Whatever these service files were, they’d surely been stolen.
His fingers hovered over the screen, his breath catching in his throat. Part of him wanted to close it, to pretend he hadn’t seen anything, but another part—his curiosity, his need to understand what everyone else knew about Max that he didn’t, whispered in his ear.
Charles tapped on the screen again, opening the documents.
The system whirred softly as it processed his request, and a list of documents and records appeared before him, all labeled with cold, official titles. It was a strange bit of the bureaucracy that must've governed the lives of those under Jos’ rule—nothing but numbers and names to be cataloged and controlled.
His eyes scanned the list quickly, searching for something that might shed light on Max’s past. There were files on various planets, notes on conquests, resource reports, and lists of personnel. Charles scrolled through them, feeling a growing sense of dread as he delved deeper into the records.
A name jumped out at him.
Fernando Alonso, General—09614.
Charles hesitated for a second before clicking on it, pulse racing as the file opened.
The file was detailed, filled with records of battles, missions, and tactical reports. Alonso’s service history was long, stretching across multiple campaigns and conquests under the PTO’s command.
He scanned through the information quickly, his eyes flicking over the names of planets he recognized—some he’d heard the elder Torossian speak of, others he hadn’t. Each entry was clinical, cold, and detached, a record of victories and losses, of strategic maneuvers that had brought worlds to their knees.
The first section of the file painted a portrait of Alonso as a formidable leader—one who had climbed the ranks of the PTO with unyielding determination and tactical prowess. It was almost clinical in its tone, listing his accomplishments like bullet points in a resume: Risen through the ranks, from infantry soldier to esteemed general. Tactical brilliance. Exceptional combat skills.
The language was dry, but the details were staggering.
It spoke of Alonso’s ruthless efficiency, his ability to strategize on the fly, and his uncanny knack for turning the tide of battles that seemed lost. He’d been a pivotal figure in many campaigns, the kind of leader who could command legions and emerge victorious even when outnumbered or outgunned.
Charles could almost picture it—the elder Torossian, younger and perhaps a bit less gray, leading the charge into battle with the same unyielding presence that he carried with him. A sad smile tugged at Charles’ mouth, remembering the Elder’s firm, guiding hand.
He didn’t know if he would even still be alive right now if it hadn’t been for the Torossian’s quick thinking and strategy, and Charles hoped his soul was at rest.
Alonso had been one of the most highly ranked officers in Jos’ empire, even noted as a loyal servant who carried out orders without question. The Earthling chuckled at that, knowing just how well the old man played the game they were dealt, and manipulated things behind the scenes for Max’s benefit.
There were mentions of his exceptional skill in combat, his strategic mind, and the numerous times he'd turned the tide of a battle in favor of the PTO. Many of those times it seemed was on the diversion team’s behalf.
It was all laid out, clear as day, painting a picture of a man who was feared and respected, and a man who could be relied upon. But Charles knew there was so much more to Alonso than these cold, factual entries suggested. Each victory, every commendation, had been another step in a larger game, one that Alonso had been playing not for the PTO’s glory, but for Max's safety.
Curiosity got the better of him, and Charles continued skimming the file, his eyes scanning the screen for anything that might reveal more of the truth.
That’s when he stumbled upon something unusual. There were several additional logs, odd notes that felt out of place among the typical bureaucratic entries.
Charles clicked on one of them.
General Fernando Alonso - Personal Log - Sector 72.
Charles hesitated, his brow furrowing. Personal log? Why would such a thing be included in a PTO service file?
It didn't make sense. Intrigued, he scrolled further through the attachments, expecting to see more of the same clinical recounting of facts, but he was greeted with a small blurb that made his stomach twist. The text was short, vague, but ominous. It talked about a covert operation, a mission that Alonso had undertaken without explicit orders from higher command.
Unknown insurgent activity detected in Sector 72. General Alonso instructed to observe and report.
It didn’t say much more, but there was a subtle implication in the language, an unspoken suggestion that this had been something outside of normal protocol.
Scrolling further, Charles’ hand froze when he stumbled upon another attachment. The title alone had his mouth dropping open: “General Alonso is not seen as a threat at this time for rebel intervention. The Torossian General is vital to maintaining the stability of the Torossian Prince and furthering rebel sabotage efforts.”
His heart skipped a beat, and suddenly everything made sense. These weren't just PTO records and stolen files. They were rebel reconnaissance with added intel that the rebel forces had managed to get their hands on. Things they thought were important and notes on anyone they felt like could be sympathetic to their cause.
The logs weren't there to praise Alonso's loyalty to Jos; they were there to monitor him, to keep tabs on him and gauge how much of a threat he was to the rebel group’s mission.
It appeared Alonso had been under suspicion, and yet, according to this, he was still considered too valuable to act against. The rebels needed him—needed his presence to keep Max in line.
But why?
Why did everything always come back to Max’s past?
He clicked through more of the attached files, piecing together a picture that was slowly coming into focus. The rebels had known something was off, that Alonso’s loyalty might not have been as ironclad as the PTO claimed in their files, and he could be exploited.
Yet they’d chosen to turn a blind eye.
As long as Alonso kept Max under control and he continued to serve as a buffer between the prince and whatever it was they were doing, they were content to let him play his games. It was a dangerous dance, one that Alonso had somehow managed to perform without slipping for years.
The more Charles read, the more his admiration for the old Torossian grew. There were detailed surveillance reports, intercepted communications, even notes about meetings between Alonso and other high-ranking PTO officials. All of it carefully documented, all of it hinting at a man walking a razor's edge between serving Jos and sabotaging him.
Alonso had been carefully balancing his loyalty to Max against his obligations to Jos, and all the while he'd been feeding the rebellion just enough information to keep their hopes alive. It was a delicate balancing act, one that could have easily gotten him killed at any moment.
And he’d done it anyway, for Max’s sake.
Hovering back over that personal log, Charles clicked on it. The log was dated years ago, but as the text unfolded on the screen, Charles could almost hear the general’s voice, calm and measured.
“They call me ruthless, and perhaps they’re right, but there’s no other way to survive in this empire. The frost demon demands loyalty, strength, and the ability to do what must be done, no matter the cost. I’ve seen so many men—stronger than me—broken under his rule, seen them turn into something unrecognizable because they couldn’t bear the weight of their own actions. It’s easier to be ruthless. It’s easier not to care.”
The words were cold, but there was a hint of something else beneath them. He scrolled down to the next entry, unsure of what he would find.
General Fernando Alonso - Personal Log - Sector 34 (Torossian prince mentioned)
Charles' breath hitched at the inclusion of Max's name. The date on this entry was much older than the first and he hesitated for a moment, then continued reading.
“The prince is powerful, more than any of us could have imagined and truly blessed by the goddess herself. But he’s still just a boy, not even fully coming of age yet. Jos sees him as a weapon, a tool to be sharpened and used. I see it in his eyes—the confusion, the fear. He’s kept away from me, in some place deep in the heart of the ship, under constant surveillance and guarded around the clock. He doesn’t understand what he’s being made to do, and I don’t have the heart to tell him. It would be easier if he didn’t care, if he didn’t question, but he’s not like the others here. He feels too much, and that’s dangerous in a place like this. Goddess, give me strength.”
Blinking his eyes a few times, dispelling the mist gathering in the corners, Charles read on to another entry dated almost a year later.
“The Emperor is pleased with Max’s progress and has demanded another gift from King Christian to appease rebellion rumors from Toro. I can’t imagine another child of Toro being put to the same unbearable torture as the prince, but the child will be arriving today. Maybe they might even lift the prince’s spirit?”
Charles’ heart twisted at the entry. He knew what was coming next when he saw another entry dated the next day.
“My heart bleeds for General Bianchi, though I know this was his doing. Jules would’ve never let someone else’s son pay the price for our failures to defeat the emperor, but that doesn't lessen this pain. He’s a far stronger man than I, and I will perform the same duties with Carlos as I do for my prince. His youngest sent off to an unknown planet to conquer for the warlord, and now his eldest son is here on this ship of horrors.”
Eyes scanning the last line again, the Earthling lingered on the words: youngest son. He hadn't known his birth father, but he was clearly a good man. Strong and loyal.
“The prince wept at our short meeting today, throwing his arms around his old training partner. It took everything within me not to let my Oozaru kill them all. I’m ashamed of my own weakness.”
Charles’ own heart was bleeding at the mention of his father and brother. While there was no love shared between them, Carlos was still his brother and he was saddened that the dark haired Torrosian had suffered so much. The idea of Max weeping at seeing his lost friend burned the back of the Earthling’s nose.
The next entry was a few years later and had a decidedly different tone to it.
“I’ve tried to guide him, tried to make him understand the world he’s been thrust into, but I’m failing. Jos is pushing him harder, turning him into something I don’t recognize. The boy who once looked at the stars with wonder now sees only targets. I don’t know how to reach him anymore.”
The sadness and resignation in Alonso’s words hurt him deeply. Alonso had tried to help Max, tried to protect him, but he'd been powerless against Jos’ influence. Charles’ heart ached as he imagined the young prince, forced to grow up in a world that demanded nothing but brutality, with no one to truly guide him.
The injustice of it all coiled in his chest, solidifying his resolve that whatever Max had done, it wasn’t his fault.
As he continued to scroll, he found another log, this one marked as “Confidential.”
General Fernando Alonso - Incident Report - Sector 89.
Charles hesitated, his finger hovering over the screen. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was in this file, but he needed to understand the full picture. With a deep breath, he clicked on it.
"I tried to stop him today. My prince . . . he was so different. Cold, calculating. Jos sent him to ‘dispose’ of a settlement, and he did it without thought. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, and continued long after they'd surrendered. When I tried to pull him back, he looked at me with eyes that weren’t his. Eyes that were empty, hollow, black. I don’t know what Jos has done to him, sick experiments warping his mind, but he’s slipping away, and I can’t stop it."
Charles' heart pounded in his chest, the words blurring on the screen as tears welled up in his eyes. He could feel the despair in Alonso’s logs, the helplessness of a man who had tried to do the right thing but found himself powerless to change anything.
Hand’s trembling, he closed Alonso’s file, mind reeling. He felt sick, his stomach churning with a mix of sorrow and anger. The picture that had been painted was more complex than he had imagined, and it left him with more questions than answers.
As he scrolled back to the main directory, his eyes landed on another file.
Max Emilian, Prince of Torossians—00331.
Charles’ heart stopped.
Without thinking, he tapped on the file, opening it in a rush. The screen blinked, and then a detailed report appeared before him. It was very different to the file he’d just read. More clinical, cold, written in the detached tone of someone who had viewed Max as nothing more than an experiment.
There were no accolades or great victories mentioned, grand strategies or conquests. Only failures and botched exercises.
His eyes scanned the text, barely processing it at first.
Words like “combat training,” “ki manipulation,” “pain tolerance calibration,” and “psychological conditioning” jumped out at him, each one a new stab of horror.
But the more he read, the worse it became.
“Subject exhibits enhanced combat abilities at a young age. Displays extreme aggression under stress. High potential for ki-based destruction. Psychological profile indicates a high risk for disobedience. Recommend intensive reconditioning.”
Charles swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he scrolled through the file.
It detailed Max’s upbringing under Jos—his training, his conditioning, the brutal tests he’d been subjected to—all accompanied with photo evidence. Every word and still image was a new piece of a puzzle Charles wished he could unsee.
This wasn’t just about Max’s strength or his power—this was about control. Jos had molded Max into a weapon, a tool to be used and discarded at will like Alonso said. The photos were compiled and sent back to planet Toro, and Charles couldn’t imagine a father having to see their son like that.
It was evil. Heartless.
But there was something even darker beneath the surface of the report. As Charles reached the end of the file, he found a section labeled, “Behavioral Modifications.”
His stomach twisted as he read the details—horrific methods used to break Max’s spirit, to force compliance, to strip him of his will. There were more photos attached and the Eldri couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t bear to see his prince like that.
Scrolling further, Charles came across even more attachments and addendums with the prince's name on them, formatted similarly to the ones the rebels noted on Alonso’s file. They looked like video files, and Charles swallowed hard, reading the rebel notes, “War crime evidence for the Prince of Torossians.”
This was it.
This is what everyone knew that Charles didn't. He clicked on one before he could stop himself.
As the video file began to load, his heart pounded in his chest, a sickening knot twisting in his stomach as he waited for the footage to start. Part of him wanted to close it—turn it off before he saw anything more—but his need to understand, to know what Max had been through, kept him rooted to the spot.
Maybe if he knew more, he could know how better to help Max move on?
The screen flickered to life, the grainy image shaking slightly. Clearly filmed from a scouter, the angle was rough like the viewpoint of a soldier or officer, and the footage focused on a vast, barren field.
In the distance, an army—massive, disciplined, and intimidating looking—stood in tight formation, stretching out across the horizon. Their armor gleamed in the bright sunlight, and their high ki signature readings scrolled quickly across the scouter screen.
Some had levels in the hundreds, a few in the thousands.
Charles had no idea what that meant, never associating a number with someone's energy. He just knew how it felt, if it had good or bad intentions.
The camera panned slowly across the scene, scanning the horizon before focusing on a small group standing alone on the opposite side of the battlefield. It was an odd sight—where one side held a massive force, the other had only a handful of figures.
Charles squinted, his breath halting as he tried to make out what was happening. There was something unnerving about the emptiness of one side, the way the army seemed poised to unleash devastation on just a few individuals.
Then the camera zoomed in, locking onto one of the figures from the smaller group.
A boy.
Blond hair glinting in the harsh sunlight, casting a golden halo around him. He strode forward with a confidence that seemed entirely misplaced given the circumstances.
He was young— so young —but the way he moved was familiar, calm, his every step filled with purpose. He wore a simple navy bodysuit with no other covering, nothing like the regal armor Charles had seen him wear as an adult. Body leaner, still growing, still developing the strength that would come later, but there was no mistaking him.
It was Max.
The realization hit Charles and he leaned in closer to the console. This was footage of Max as a teenager—barely older than a boy—marching alone across the battlefield, facing an army that outnumbered him a thousandfold. Charles’ mind raced, trying to comprehend the sheer magnitude of what he was seeing.
Why was Max there? Where was everyone else? Where was Alonso or Carlos? There were thousands of fucking soldiers on Jos’ ship, how could he be alone?
And why did he look so . . . calm?
Charles' eyes darted back over to the rebel notes labeling this as “war crimes” evidence. Ridiculous. Anyone with eyes could see that the only crime being committed here was sending a young child into battle, alone.
The camera’s focus remained on Max as he walked forward, the distance between him and the army closing with each step. Charles heard faint voices in the background of the video, distant and distorted, but they sounded excited, eager, like this was some kind of twisted spectacle.
As the boy approached the center of the field, the army on the opposite side remained still, their weapons at the ready but waiting for something—some unseen signal to attack.
Stopping at the midpoint between the two forces, Max stood alone, his arms relaxed at his sides. He didn’t seem afraid. In fact, there was something terrifyingly resolute in the way he held himself, like he knew exactly what was about to happen.
Charles leaned even closer to the screen, his heart hammering in his chest. He could barely breathe as he watched Max stand there, utterly alone.
Without warning, a voice boomed across the battlefield—harsh and commanding, filled with malice.
"Kill them all."
Charles flinched at the sound, recognizing Jos’ voice, and his blood ran cold as the order was given.
The camera panned back to the army, and in an instant, the ground shook as they surged forward, charging toward the lone figure in the field. A wall of soldiers, each one powered by deadly ki, rushed toward Max with terrifying speed, their combined energy overwhelming even through the screen.
But Max didn’t move.
He stood there, his eyes fixed on the oncoming horde, expression unreadable. The wind whipped through his blond hair, face set in stone. For a moment, it seemed like the army would overrun him—like there was no way a single person could possibly stand against such overwhelming odds.
Until Max raised one hand.
The air around him exploded with power, a blinding flash of blue energy erupting from his body like a shockwave. The ground beneath his feet cracked and splintered as his ki surged, sending out a wave of force that rippled across the battlefield.
Charles watched in stunned silence as the soldiers closest to Max were thrown back, their bodies sent flying through the air like ragdolls. With a flick of his wrist, another wave of ki blasted forward, cutting through the ranks of the oncoming army like a blade through paper.
The soldiers didn’t stand a chance.
They were torn apart by the sheer force of Max’s energy, their bodies disintegrating into nothingness as the boy unleashed a power far beyond what should have been possible for someone his age. Charles had trained his whole life with Master Vasseur. Been to countless tournaments and competitions.
He’d never seen anything like this.
The camera shook violently as the scouter’s wearer struggled to keep up with the chaos unfolding on the battlefield, voices shouting from behind the camera, energy level reading well over the original scanned numbers when directed at Max.
“It's over nine thousand!” Someone yelled.
Screams echoed faintly through the video, mingling with the sound of energy blasts and the deafening roar of destruction. Charles watched, horrified, as Max—no older than thirteen—systematically decimated the army before him, face blank, devoid of emotion.
It wasn’t a battle. It was a massacre.
Max’s energy flared brighter, more intense with every passing second, until the entire field was engulfed in blue flames of ki. Soldiers were vaporized in an instant, their lives snuffed out without a trace.
The power radiating from Max was suffocating, consuming everything in its path. Even through the video, Charles could feel the weight of it—the terrifying, uncontrollable force that Max wielded.
The footage zoomed in again, focusing on Max’s face as he stood in the center of the devastation, eyes cold, distant, like he'd detached himself from the destruction around him, in a complete dissociative state.
There was no triumph in his expression, no anger, no hatred—just emptiness.
Charles felt his stomach turn, his heart breaking for the boy he saw on the screen. This wasn’t the Max he knew—this was someone who had been pushed too far, who’d been molded into something unrecognizable.
This was a weapon, a tool of destruction, and Charles could hardly bear to watch.
As the last of the army fell, the camera panned back, revealing the full scope of the devastation. The battlefield was littered with bodies, the once-massive army reduced to nothing more than ash and smoke. And there, standing alone in the midst of it all, was Max, his body glowing with residual energy, drenched in red.
The video transitioned seamlessly into a different clip, the abrupt shift in scenery jarring. Charles blinked, cheek resting on his palm. A sense of dread keeping him rooted in the chair, eyes locked onto the screen.
This scene was different, but the figure in the center was unmistakably Max, still a teenager, standing alone amidst chaos.
But this time, something was off.
The cold, emotionless mask that Charles had just seen on Max during the first video was gone. In its place was something far more disturbing.
Max wasn’t just calm.
He was smiling.
Charles’ breath hitched in his throat, head popping up as he watched the younger Max stand at the heart of a burning city, the flickering light of the flames casting eerie shadows across his face. His expression—a broad, wide smile—was one of pure, sadistic glee, eyes gleaming with a twisted kind of satisfaction, teeth bared as he laughed.
He was laughing.
The people around him—civilians, ordinary people—were scrambling away in terror, some trying to flee while others stood frozen, paralyzed by fear.
They were no soldiers, no army charging at Max. They were just people, innocent and terrified, their faces etched with panic as they stumbled over one another in their desperate attempt to escape.
Charles’ hands squeezed the tops of his thighs, knuckles turning white as he leaned forward in his seat. His stomach twisted in disgust, mind racing to make sense of what he was seeing.
“Stop, Max,” he whispered to the screen. “God, what are you doing?”
The young prince looked around at the crowd, seemingly reveling in their fear, his smile growing wider as his eyes scanned the chaos. His blond hair was matted with sweat and ash, bodysuit scorched from the flames licking at the nearby buildings, but he didn’t seem inconvenienced.
He looked in control, fully aware of what he was doing—and enjoying it.
Charles’ heart pounded in his chest, breath shallow as he watched Max raise his hand, a glowing ball of blue ki forming in his palm. He twirled it casually for a moment, toying with it, before launching it into the crowd with an almost lazy flick of his wrist.
The blast tore through a group of fleeing civilians like a knife through butter, obliterating everything in its path. The explosion rocked the screen, buildings crumbling in the distance, and screams filled the air—screams of terror, of pain, of lives snuffed out in an instant.
Charles shot to his feet as he stared at the footage in horror.
His entire body trembled, a sickening knot forming in his gut. This wasn’t an enemy army. These were regular people —men, women, even children—running for their lives, and Max was destroying them with the same ease, the same lack of mercy, that he'd shown on the battlefield.
But this time, there was no cold detachment. No vacant stare.
There was only cruelty.
Charles felt a wave of nausea rise in his throat, mind struggling to process what he was seeing.
This wasn’t the Max he knew.
This couldn’t be the same person who had saved him, who had fought alongside him, who had protected him with such fierce loyalty. This wasn’t the same man who touched him so tenderly, made love to him under the stars by their small fire and held his hand. This wasn’t the Max he had grown to care for—this was someone else entirely, someone monstrous.
His heart ached, torn between disbelief and the undeniable truth playing out before his eyes.
How could Max, even at such a young age, have done something like this? How could he have enjoyed it?
The screen flickered again, the camera focusing back on Max as he stood amidst the burning wreckage, his smile fading slightly as he surveyed the destruction he'd wrought. His eyes gleamed with a dark satisfaction, lips still curved in that unsettling grin.
The camera sputtered for a moment, blurring and distorting the image as it refocused. Charles leaned heavily with one hand on each side of the console, eyes narrowing in confusion. But when the screen cleared again, his heart dropped into his stomach, and a cold, paralyzing dread swept over him.
The footage was so much closer now—no longer from a distance, observing Max from afar. The view shifted abruptly, and Charles realized with horror that whoever was filming was standing directly in front of Max.
Arms outstretched from the edge of the frame, gripping Max's shoulders to shake him, trying to snap him out of a trance.
Charles’ chest tightened.
He hadn’t noticed it on the other footage, but now, displayed clearly in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, was a name.
General Fernando Alonso.
Pulse quickening, the Eldri's hands trembled. This wasn’t just any scouter footage—this was Alonso’s scouter. The elder Torossian had filmed this.
Alonso had been there. He had tried to stop it . . .
Thoughts flashing to his file, the date timestamp matched up with the date of one of the entries he’d read. Charles swallowed hard, his throat dry as the familiar deep voice of Alonso cut through the cockpit’s speakers, echoing with an authority that felt almost desperate.
“My prince, enough! This planet has already fallen.”
The words were calm, which was insane in itself, as he tried reason with the prince who was no longer listening. Charles watched, stomach dropping, as Alonso’s hands gripped Max tighter, trying to shake some sense into the young prince.
But Max didn’t react.
His expression didn’t change.
Face, so warm and familiar to Charles, now bore that cruel smile, twisted and unnatural, his eyes glowing with a manic energy. But it wasn’t just the smile—it was the black rims around Max’s golden eyes, a obsidian glow that Charles had only ever associated with one thing.
The frost demon.
Max had black tinting bleeding into his eyes and a pang of horror shot through Charles as he struggled to understand what was happening. The look in Max’s eyes was eerily reminiscent of the frost demons’ horrid red gaze, and the gold he'd seen in Max's eyes when he’d burned his arm on the PTO, the same cold cruelty, the same bloodthirsty madness.
He was unrecognizable. Warped and twisted into something evil.
How was that possible? What had Jos done to turn Max into this?
And Charles trembled at having seen glimpses of this in Max even now.
Was he still capable of this? Did this still lurk inside him, somewhere Charles couldn’t see?
The memories of Max charging at him with the same golden eyes on the screen sent a bolt of visceral fear through him, finally connecting that piece of the puzzle that had been missing.
The camera jerked suddenly, the view shaking violently as Alonso shoved Max back, trying to break whatever hold had taken over the prince. The elder general’s voice was more urgent now, bordering on furious.
“How sad,” Alonso growled, filled with a mix of frustration and sorrow. “I didn’t think you were weak enough to let yourself be controlled.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and accusatory, but Max didn’t respond. His smile remained fixed in place, yellow eyes gleaming with that same unsettling, predatory light. There was no recognition in his gaze, no acknowledgment of Alonso’s presence or his words, like the prince didn’t even hear him.
Alonso’s fist shook in front of the camera as he tried once more to reach the young prince. “Answer me, Max!” he shouted, voice raw with emotion. “Do you let yourself be a slave!?”
Max’s left arm leveled out at a perfect 90-degree angle, his movements slow, almost mechanical. His eyes, cold and unfeeling, locked onto the camera with an intensity that made Charles’ skin crawl.
The next moment, a massive surge of blue ki erupted from his palm, the blast tearing through the crowd of civilians beside them trying desperately to flee the destruction. Their screams cut through the air, the sound of their terror blending with the distant chaos.
Charles watched in dismay, chest tightening as the scene unfolded, his stomach twisting with each passing second. But it wasn’t just the violence that disturbed him—it was Max’s voice.
So calm, so detached, yet somehow so achingly familiar. The voice that once sent a comforting warmth through Charles’ tailspot was now hollow, twisted into something unrecognizable.
“Tell me, old man,” Max spat. “Is it slavery when you get what you want?”
The words were chilling, spoken with an atrocious kind of indifference.
Max’s head tilted slightly to the side, his gaze never breaking from the camera, issuing a silent challenge to the elder Torossian who stood just out of frame. The implication was clear—if Alonso thought he could stop him, he was welcome to try.
Heart racing, Charles’ body trembled as he watched the scene spiral further into chaos. Screams filled the air, mingling with the sound of buildings crumbling into dust, their once-sturdy foundations reduced to rubble as the sky above blackened with smoke.
It was carnage—utter, inescapable carnage—and Max stood at the center of it all, unmoved, his eyes gleaming with that same awful, sadistic pleasure.
“Do something Alonso?” Charles pleaded with the screen. “Help him. God do something!”
But the camera never wavered. Alonso didn’t move.
The feed stayed locked on Max’s face, capturing every nuance of his tyrannical smile, every flicker of dark amusement in his golden eyes, whistling while delivering more blasts into the crowd.
Just as Max fired more blasts, the camera feed cut out.
The screen went dark for a moment, leaving Charles in the suffocating silence of the cockpit, his heart still pounding in his ears. He blinked, barely able to process what he had just seen, before a new scene unfolded before him.
The setting was different again, but the apprehension was no less visceral.
Max, a little older now, was sitting atop an alien corpse in the middle of a decimated battlefield in a forest. The ground around him was littered with bodies of all shapes and sizes, a wasteland of destruction and death. The sky overhead was thick with smoke, casting an ominous red glow over the scene, trees still burning in the background.
But it wasn’t the battlefield itself that made Charles’ blood run cold—it was what Max was doing.
The alien body beneath him was face down in the mud, lifeless, its back twisted at an unnatural angle. Max, perched on top of the corpse like it was nothing more than a throne, reached down and grabbed one of its arms.
For a moment, Charles thought maybe Max was searching the body, trying to pillage for supplies or something, but with a sickeningly casual motion, Max yanked the arm away from the trunk of the body, pulling it clean off.
The noise was horrific.
A grotesque, wet tearing sound filled the cockpit, the sound of flesh and bone being ripped apart like it was nothing more than fabric. The screen shook slightly with the force of the pull, but Max’s expression didn’t change.
Calm blue eyes returned.
There was no hesitation, no flicker of regret or disgust. He simply tore the limb from the body and held it up, examining it with a strange, detached curiosity.
Charles’ breath hitched, his hand flying to his mouth in shock and revulsion. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing—couldn’t believe that the man he knew, the man he loved, could do something so monstrous.
And then Max did something even worse.
Sniffing it lightly, he brought the exposed severed limb to his mouth and took a bite.
The sound of his teeth sinking into flesh was unbearable, a slippery, crunching noise that echoed through the cockpit. Max chewed idly, like he was eating a piece of fruit, expression unchanging, cerulean eyes cold and distant.
Blood dripped down his chin, staining the front of his bodysuit and white chestplate as he chewed and swallowed, not even pausing to consider the horror of his actions before tearing off another piece.
Charles’ stomach lurched violently, the bile rising in his throat so fast he didn’t have time to stop it. He pushed away from the screen, stumbling backward as his back collided hard with the metal wall of the cockpit.
Collapsing to his knees, Charles was unable to hold back the wave of nausea that overtook him, more tearing and munching sounds filling the cockpit.
He vomited.
The sound of retching filled the small space, body heaving as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. His hands shook uncontrollably, vision blurring as he knelt there, the acrid taste of bile burning in the back of his throat. Mind spinning, reeling from the sheer abhorrence of what he had just witnessed.
How could Max—how could anyone —eat another . . . ?
Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his forehead against the cold metal floor, his chest heaving with silent sobs. The image of Max, sitting atop that corpse, chewing on flesh, was burned into his mind, a grotesque nightmare that he couldn’t blink away.
Thoughts of the meals they'd shared together fought to make him sicker. The prince casually mentioning he’d, “eaten some very questionable things” once as they dined.
God, Charles was going to puke again.
The footage must have changed to something else as more yelling and maniacal laughter filled the small space, and Charles put his hands over his ears. He wanted to scream, to cry, to make it all go away—but there was no changing it. There was no way to unsee what he had just seen.
Was the Max he cared about even real? Had he never even existed at all?
Maybe that was the real prince, this twisted person with a complete disregard for common decency, hiding the entire time.
The bile continued to rise in his throat, but Charles had nothing left to give. He just knelt there, trembling, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he tried to hold himself together, dry heaving.
His mind was fractured, broken by the weight of the truth.
The man he thought he knew was a monster. And Charles didn’t know how to come back from that.
The screen flickered again, the footage shifting to yet another grim scene, but Charles couldn’t bear it anymore. The screaming and the crying was like knives in his back, and he eyes squeezed shut, body trembling as he knelt on the cold floor of the cockpit, covering his ears.
He had seen enough—too much.
The images were burned into his mind, the grotesque actions of Max tearing apart everything he thought he knew. The bile still lingered at the back of his throat, the bitter taste of revulsion refusing to fade.
Max’s recorded voice filled the cockpit once more, cutting through the devastation in the Eldri. Charles froze, his entire body going rigid as he listened, unable to move or breathe.
“What are you doing?” Max’s voice was cold, devoid of anything remotely familiar to Charles.
There was no warmth, no concern—only the voice of someone who had long abandoned compassion.
“Overseeing the disposal of this sector like Commander George ordered, my prince,” came the reply from a familiar voice.
His brother, Carlos.
Charles felt his heart shatter a little more with each word exchanged. He could barely comprehend what he was hearing.
“Your men are wasting time and ammunition like that,” Max’s voice came again, calm and callous, like the judgment of an executioner. “We don’t have time to fuck around. The women will be quieter if you let them hold their children.”
Charles’ eyes shot open, unable to stop himself despite the deep-rooted fear of what he knew he’d see next. Tears blurred his vision as he looked at the screen, breath frozen in his throat. His heart pounded, pulse roaring in his ears as the camera picked up the sight of a small alien child being lifted by an unseen hand and placed into the arms of a terrified, screeching alien woman.
The feed came from a scouter just like all the others, and in the bottom corner of the display, the name that appeared made Charles’ heart drop into his stomach.
Prince of Torossians.
The footage was from Max’s own scouter.
Charles sobbed, his body shaking violently as he saw through Max’s eyes—through the cold, uncaring gaze of the prince as he carried out the atrocities Jos had conditioned him for. This wasn’t some distant third-party recording, this was Max, his Max , committing these horrors firsthand.
Max was better than this, Charles thought, a spark of anger igniting. The prince didn’t have to do this.
Before Charles could process the full weight of that realization, the next moment unfolded on the screen in excruciating detail.
A small, coin-sized beam of ki shot from Max’s hand, piercing through the back of the child in the woman’s arms. The beam passed cleanly through, hitting the mother as well, and both fell to the ground in an instant, dead before they even realized what had happened.
Charles let out a choked sob, his hands flying to his mouth as the tears spilled down his cheeks uncontrollably. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing—what Max had done.
He’d killed them both, without a flicker of remorse, without a second thought.
“You see,” Max’s voice came again, still devoid of emotion, filling the cockpit with an eerie calm. “Much more efficient.”
“Yes, my prince,” Carlos answered.
Charles’ vision blurred again, mind and heart shattering under the weight of the truth. He’d known Max’s past was dark, had known he’d been shaped by Jos into something inhuman, but this—this was beyond anything he had ever imagined.
The cold, methodical way Max had taken that child’s life, the detached efficiency with which he had carried out the killing was—
“System off,” a voice said suddenly from behind Charles, cutting through the horror unfolding on the screen.
Charles whipped around on his knees as he saw Max standing in the corridor just outside the cockpit, his silhouette framed by the dim lighting of the ship. There was no mistaking the intense expression on his face as Charles met icy blue eyes, lips pressed into a firm thin line.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
Chapter 41: Lost
Summary:
“Sometimes, the hardest thing is deciding what you’re willing to forgive—and what you’re not."
Notes:
Damsel in distress no more.
Chapter warnings: Violence, blood
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max flew through the cool night air, his body heavy with exhaustion and his mind buzzing. The meeting with the Grand Elder had been nothing short of a farce, just like he knew it would be, and a complete waste of time that only left him feeling more raw and angry.
He’d barely been able to contain his rage when the massive Namekian used that title he despised, the one that haunted him from the dark corners of his past.
The words echoed in his mind, a poison that seeped into his thoughts.
It had been given to him almost a lifetime ago by some ruler of a forgotten planet he was sent to purge. Word spread fast like it always did in the PTO, and he'd lamented the title since.
He’d heard it too many times before, whispered in fear and reverence by the subjugated worlds of the PTO, murmured by the soldiers and officers who’d served under Jos' iron rule. It wasn’t a title of honor—it was a curse, a reminder of what he’d been shaped into, what he’d once represented.
And the Grand Elder, that enormous freak , dared to utter it as if he had any right to speak to Max that way.
Clenching his fists as he flew, the muscles in his jaw tightened before relaxing again.
Charles still believed in him.
The thought brought a sting to his chest that wasn’t entirely unpleasant—a pang of something between gratitude and guilt. He’d expected Charles to hate him after Perez’s judgment, to recoil in disgust after learning the truth. Yet, somehow, the Eldri had come after him, still looking at him as if he were more than the sum of his sins, still touched him with a gentleness that Max felt he didn’t deserve.
It was incomprehensible, but the prince clung to it like a lifeline.
They were set to leave in the morning, and he thanked the goddess quietly, still sure he was undeserving of such devotion.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he'd been an idiot for keeping a big part of his past from Charles. He thought back to the secrets he’d kept, the parts of himself that he’d concealed from Charles under the guise of protecting him.
In reality, it had been fear. Fear that the Earthling would look at him differently if he knew everything—if he truly understood the depths of the cruelty Max had been conditioned to inflict under Jos’ control.
But Charles wasn’t just anyone. He was an Eldri, made for him. Their compatibility was undeniable, their bond already deeply entwined. If anyone could understand and not turn away, it was Charles.
He’d been through his own trials, carried his own burdens. If anything, Max realized now that sharing the truth earlier might have brought them even closer, instead of creating the distance he feared.
A small, hopeful thought began to bloom in his mind. Maybe . . . they could start over? Not as two men running from their pasts, but as something new.
He thought about what their future could look like. Maybe they wouldn’t need to settle anywhere permanently. They could drift among the stars together, free from obligations, free from the expectations of others. Max could picture it so vividly: lazy mornings in the quiet hum of their ship, shared meals prepared side by side, and nights spent tangled together in the dim glow of starlight filtering through the viewport.
A life with no one but each other. No kingdoms, no rebels, no war. Just them.
The thought brought a rare smile to his lips, fleeting but genuine.
But there was still so much to do before they could leave. His mind shifted back to the practicalities, snapping out of his daydreams. The ship needed to be checked—fuel levels, supplies, navigation settings. He’d have to chart their course carefully to avoid drawing attention. They should have enough fuel to get off Namek and reach a neighboring star system, but he couldn’t afford any missteps.
He made a mental note to ensure they had enough rations and spare parts. The last thing they needed was to get stranded somewhere with no way to repair the ship. The thought sent a flicker of anxiety through him, but he pushed it aside. He could handle this. He would handle this.
And then there was Lawrence. The rebel leader might have information on Jos’ base ship, or at the very least, tracking data on its movements. If the rebels had been monitoring the frost demon’s activities like they said, they could use that to stay one step ahead.
It wasn’t a conversation Max was particularly eager to have—he wasn’t keen on drawing more people into his problems—but it might be a necessary risk. He couldn’t leave anything to chance.
His feet touched down softly on the grass outside their small dwelling, the familiar surroundings doing little to calm his new sense of urgency. Sighing heavily, the prince ran a hand through his disheveled, windswept hair.
The night air was still, the only sound the faint rustle of leaves in the nearby trees. He took a moment to steady himself, letting the coolness of the night wash over him, but it wasn’t enough to fully dampen the fire that burned inside.
He was ready to move on.
As he turned toward the cabin, Max noticed something strange.
It was dark—completely dark.
There was no firelight flickering from within, no warm glow spilling through the windows. The sight gave him pause, a knot of unease settling in his gut. Charles said he would be there, waiting for him, or at least keeping the fire going.
Max pushed open the small wooden door, the hinges creaking softly in the stillness. The cabin greeted him with nothing but shadow, the familiar space now cold and empty. His sharp eyes scanned the interior, but there was no sign of Charles—no light, no sound, no presence.
"Charles?" Max called out, voice low, cutting through the quiet.
Only silence answered him.
Stepping fully into the cabin, Max’s frustration bubbled as he tried to reach out with his senses, focusing on Charles’ ki. It still didn’t come naturally to him, this ability to track another’s energy using only the mind, and he cursed himself for not practicing this more.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus.
Senses stretching out, the prince felt the faint flickers of the background life around him—the distant hum of Namek’s wildlife oddly still, the pulsing life force of the planet itself. It took longer than it should’ve, much longer than it would’ve taken Charles, but Max found what he was looking for.
The Earthling.
He wasn’t far, just in the direction of the ship they arrived in. He’d probably had the same thoughts as Max had about needing to start packing, but something was wrong.
Max’s brow furrowed, his pulse picking up as he concentrated on the Earthling’s ki. It was erratic, unstable, fluctuating wildly like a beacon of distress. His Oozaru stirred restlessly in the back of his mind, a low growl rumbling in his skull at the odd sensation of Charles’ energy.
Without hesitation, Max shot out of the cabin door, his feet barely touching the ground as he launched himself into the sky. He flew the short distance to the ship, mind still tracking the Eldri as he neared. The hatch underneath was open, and Max’s eyes narrowed.
He called out loudly, voice carrying over the night air. “Charles?”
There was no response.
Max’s heart clenched as he descended, landing swiftly beside the ship. He called again, louder this time, “Charles!” voice on the edge of panic now.
Still nothing.
Mind racing with possibilities, the prince moved quickly. Had Charles hurt himself? Was he stuck somewhere or was someone with him?
Without wasting another second, he climbed inside the ship.
The interior was dark, and the faint sound of retching reached his ears, coming from the direction of the cockpit. Max’s heart sank as he hurried toward the source of the sound.
Was the Eldri sick? Torossians didn’t get sick.
But as he approached, something made him stop dead in his tracks in the main corridor.
His own voice.
“Your men are wasting time and ammunition like that . . . ”
Max’s breath caught in his throat, a lump forming as he heard the familiar words echo through the ship’s speakers. His hands shook slightly as the words continued, dredging up memories he’d long tried to bury.
“We don’t have time to fuck around. The women will be quieter if you let them hold their children.”
Max’s stomach twisted violently, remembering that conversation, the cold, calculated cruelty of his younger self, and panic surged through him with the weight of his past that he’d run from.
The thought of Charles hearing those words or seeing the monstrous things Max had done made him feel sick, hollowed out by guilt and shame.
He was ready to share details about what he'd done, but not like this.
Stumbling forward, the prince desperately tried to figure out what to do. The sound of retching grew louder, as Max neared the cockpit, and his heart shattered when he saw Charles, smelled the bile on the floor in front of the younger man.
Kneeling, body trembling, tears streaked down the Earthling’s face as he spat onto the cold metal floor. His breaths were more like panicked gasps, and his entire body shook with the force of his heaving.
Max stood frozen in the doorway, brain whiting out trying to process what he saw. The cockpit’s screen was illuminated by some scouter footage, a horrific scene from his teenage years under Jos playing loudly.
By the goddess, what else had Charles seen? What others of his darkest moments had been played out in excruciating detail for the Eldri to witness?
For a moment, Max couldn’t move. His chest ached with the weight of everything—guilt, shame, fear. He’d worked so hard to bury that part of his past, to keep it locked away, and now it had been laid bare for Charles to see.
And Charles . . . Charles looked broken.
Swallowing hard, forcing down the rising panic in his chest, he took a hesitant step forward into the cockpit, voice soft but full of guilt.
“System off.”
The Earthling spun around at the sound of his voice, tear tracks glistening down his pale cheeks, green eyes wide with horror and surprise. His expression was raw, filled with emotions that Max couldn’t fully read.
Neither spoke for a few seconds, the prince at a loss for what to say, and nothing reasonable came. How could he even begin to explain what Charles had just seen? How could he justify those words, those actions, that part of himself that he’d tried so hard to forget?
Max swallowed hard, voice unsteady as he finally broke the silence. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said softly, the words barely escaping his lips. “None of it.”
Fuck, what was he doing? That was definitely not the right thing to say, and a good explanation just wouldn't form on his lips.
Charles stared in silence.
He just knelt there, his tear-filled eyes a mixture of revulsion and something far darker—something Max had never seen in him before. His usually bright, expressive gaze now looked hollow, like the foundation of everything he’d known had crumbled before him.
Max’s heart clenched painfully as Charles shook his head slowly, that unfamiliar look still lingering in his eyes. The distance between them felt immeasurable, and it terrified Max. He took a slow step closer, his hands outstretched, desperate to fix it, to explain, to make Charles understand.
“That—that wasn’t me,” Max said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes pleading. “I swear, Charles. That was . . . I was—”
But instead of closing the distance like he had on the cliff, Charles stood, taking a step back, his expression twisting, pulling away from Max's hands. “Was that real? Did you . . . ?”
The unfinished question hung in the air and Max felt his stomach drop. The look on Charles’ face—the way his voice trembled. He wasn’t just asking if it was real. He was asking if Max had really been that person, if Max had truly done those unspeakable things.
Max swore his heart stopped in his chest as he met Charles’ lost gaze. Throat tightening, the prince’s mouth was dry, feeling truly vulnerable. He’d fought countless battles, faced enemies who could destroy entire planets, but nothing had ever terrified him more than the look in Charles’ eyes in that moment.
“I . . .” Max started, but the words felt like cotton in his throat and he didn’t know how to answer.
Yes, it was real. Yes, he had done and said those things.
Taking a deep breath, voice rough with desperation, Max tried to explain. “I—I was so lost, Charles. But I—I didn’t know how to be anything else. War is about survival—”
Before Max could finish, the force of a sudden shove knocked him off balance. One moment, Charles had been standing across the cockpit, devastated and silent, and the next, he was moving with an intensity Max hadn’t expected.
The shove sent Max stumbling backward, arm and shoulder smashing into the corridor wall as the Earthling shoved past him. Calling out, the prince watched in stunned silence as Charles bolted down the corridor toward the exit hatch.
“Charles?” Max yelled, the sound of his voice echoing through the narrow hallway, but the Earthling didn’t stop. He was already out of sight, their distance growing with each step. Panic surged through Max’s chest and without thinking, he sprinted after him, feet barely making a sound as he rushed through the ship’s interior. “Charles, wait!” Max called again, but the Earthling was already out the hatch, the cool night air from outside seeping into the ship.
Heartbeat pounding in his ears, the Torossian closed the distance, and just before Charles could fly off, he reached out, his hand wrapping around Charles’ wrist in a desperate attempt to stop him from leaving.
“Charlie, please—” Max’s voice cracked, the plea hanging in the air between them.
Spinning around abruptly, the Eldri's wrist was still in Max’s loose grip, and the look in his eyes made Max’s stomach drop.
There was no sadness left in those green eyes—only fury. A fire burned behind Charles’ gaze, hot and intense, the kind of fury Max had never seen from him before, not even during a spar.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Charles roared.
Before Max could block it, Charles’ fist came crashing into his face. The impact was swift and brutal, the punch landing squarely against Max’s jaw, knocking him off his feet. The world tilted violently as he fell, body hitting the ground with a hard thud.
Everything spun, Max’s mind reeling from the blow, head ringing as he lay on the ground, momentarily dazed. His cheek throbbed where Charles’ fist had connected, and he tasted blood in his mouth, the metallic tang sharp against his tongue, lip split.
Blinking, the prince tried to regain his bearings, but the shock of it all—the video, Charles’ anger, the sudden violence, the overwhelming guilt—left him paralyzed.
Standing over him, the Eldri’s chest was heaving, face flushed with anger and pain, fresh tears starting to trail down his cheeks. His hands were clenched, red-orange ki burning brightly, his entire body vibrating with barely-contained rage. The fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed, and Max was speechless, cheek on fire.
Kneeling quickly, the Earthling hauled him up to sitting by the front of his shirt, right fist connecting with his nose and face again.
“Children, Max!?” Charles shouted, voice breaking this time but no less furious, breath ragged from the intensity of the blow. “Women and children!?”
Max closed his eyes, not fighting the outburst, resigned that this was the reaction he always knew was coming. The reaction his actions deserved. Blood poured from his nose and split brow, running into his eye as he struggled to breathe between Charles’ punches.
The physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in his chest. Charles looked disgusted—truly disgusted—and there wasn’t anything Max could say. He had no idea what Charles had seen, but he could imagine from his worst moments.
The betrayal in those green eyes cut deeper than any punch ever could. Charles could've been digging a grave for him by hand and all Max would worry about was if the Eldri's fingers hurt.
Charles’ ki flared again, expanding around them, crackling like wildfire with a righteous anger that made Max’s heart break. The Earthling looked like he was on the verge of exploding, the energy radiating from him in waves that Max felt in his core.
“I’ve defended you this whole time!” Charles screamed, voice raw and filled with pain as he shook him. “To everyone! Everyone who told me I should be careful, that I didn’t know who I was involved with. You've had every opportunity to tell me the truth! How—” Charles choked on a sob, “How could you lie to me? Hide those things from me?” His voice cracked again, the words hitting Max like a blow to the chest. “I’ve been so fucking blind!”
Max’s stomach twisted as Charles’ energy continued to surge, the air around them crackling with tension. Pulling him up to meet his eyes, Charles paused, face inches from Max's swollen nose.
“And the worst part . . . They were right! I have no idea who that man is,” Charles spat, pointing back toward the ship with a shaking hand. “That man who could . . . who could do something like that! Could eat—”
His ki flared again as Charles shoved him, the prince flopping back into the dirt with a groan. He'd put up no defense, hands laying limp at his sides during the entire assault, tail loose around Charles' ankle attempting to offer comfort.
Max’s Oozaru was silent, watching their mate in a similar stunned state as the prince.
Back on his feet, the Eldri ripped his leg away from Max's tail, pulling harshly. The sharp tug made Max wince, but he kept still. Leaning over, his hands on his knees heaving, Charles’ red-orange tendrils of energy expanded outward like an uncontrollable blaze, wrapping around him as he squinted at Max through tears.
Heart breaking in his chest at the harsh words, Max stood slowly from the ground, head spinning, hand trembling and outstretched. “Charlie—”
“No! You stay away from me. You’ve had so many opportunities, but you just let me look fucking stupid!” Turning around quickly, Charles put his back to him, “Don’t you dare try and follow me,” and took off at breakneck speed away from the ship.
The sudden rush of wind from his departure sent a wave of pressure through the clearing, his ki flaring brightly as he disappeared into the night sky, leaving Max standing there, alone, beaten, and heartbroken.
Max helplessly watched through blood soaked lashes as Charles disappeared from sight, falling onto his knees, spitting red on the ground.
“Wait—”
_____
Charles' chest heaved as he launched into the air, his boots crunching softly against the grass, breath coming in ragged gasps. The cool night air did little to soothe the fiery storm within him, and his mind replayed those horrifying words, over and over, the sound of Max’s voice burned into his thoughts.
“Is it slavery when you get what you want!?”
He couldn’t unhear it, couldn’t unsee the images from the scouter footage that had been spliced with the service file. The carnage, the cold efficiency with which Max killed—it churned in his gut like a poison, spreading its venomous tendrils into every part of him.
Did Max really want to do those things?
Had he enjoyed it?
The questions clawed at him, relentless and merciless. The prince he’d come to care for so deeply—the man who had held him, kissed him, protected him, been inside him—was he even real?
A pang of unease joined the torrent of emotions inside. Max had confessed so much, started to open up about his past, about the horrors he’d endured under Jos’ thumb. But had all that been an elaborate lie to gain sympathy?
Alonso had even questioned him. Told him to stop. Said that he was losing control, and Max only smiled back—an evil, twisted display of teeth and rage.
Flying aimlessly, Charles barely noticed the lush landscape of the village’s outskirts passing below him, bathed in the dim light of the twin moons. His chest tightened with every meter he put between himself and the cabin, yet the distance did nothing to ease the suffocating truth he now knew.
Eventually, his flight slowed, and he found himself at the far edge of the village, feet touching down on soft dirt. His body moved on autopilot, mind too fractured to focus. He barely registered the cold grass beneath his boots or the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze.
All he knew was that he couldn’t go back—not after what he’d seen, what he’d heard.
His eyes darted around, searching for something familiar, and before he knew it, his feet carried him to an old wooden door, the weathered planks dark and uninviting. No light spilled from the windows, no sign of life from inside the dwelling.
Charles hesitated for a moment, his fist raised but trembling.
Where else could he go? Who else could he turn to? The prince had been his sanctuary, his protector—and now, he wasn’t sure what Max was.
With a sharp inhale, Charles knocked on the door, the sound echoing in the still night air.
His bruised and bloody hand lingered on the wood for a moment, his knuckles brushing against its rough surface. The swelling from punching the prince’s iron jaw already started to take shape, painful as he bent his fingers.
A lump rose in his throat as he realized just what he'd done, how alone he felt, standing there in the dark, seeking solace in a place he didn’t even know would welcome him. His thoughts spun in an endless loop, the fragments of his shattered trust cutting deeper with each turn.
“Please,” he whispered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he was pleading with whoever might be inside—or with himself to hold it together just a little longer.
The door creaked open just enough for Charles to meet the weary, lined face of the old man, his piercing gaze softened only slightly by the haze of sleep. The man studied him, brow furrowed deeply.
Charles swallowed hard, trying to compose himself, but his tear-filled eyes betrayed him, glistening in the dim moonlight. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or ashamed to see the elder—relieved because he wasn’t turned away outright, ashamed because of how utterly broken he felt standing there.
"Are you alone?" the old man asked, voice a deep, gravelly rumble, tinged with exhaustion.
It wasn’t an accusation, nor was it particularly welcoming—it was cautious, guarded, much like the man himself.
Charles nodded, his throat constricting painfully, the lump of unshed tears making it impossible to answer aloud. The elder's eyes lingered on him for a long moment, studying him, before flicking to the empty yard behind.
Finally, with a low sigh, the man opened the door fully and stepped aside. He gestured for Charles to enter, weathered hand extending toward the darkened interior.
Charles hesitated for a split second, his feet feeling rooted to the spot.
Why was he letting him in?
The thought lingered as he stepped inside, shoulders hunched, his head bowed in apology. The warmth of the small home wrapped around him like a blanket, the faint smell of wood smoke and herbs wafting through the air.
He hadn’t realized until now how cold he was, thin shirt and light pants all that separated him from the night air. But the heaviness in his heart refused to let him feel any comfort. Glancing at the man, guilt pricked at the edges of his thoughts. How presumptuous of him to expect this, to assume the old alien would let him in just because he knocked.
He realized he'd done it again—made assumptions about someone else’s intentions, just like he had with Max.
And look where that had gotten him.
His stomach twisted with self-loathing and the weight of his mistakes. They were supposed to leave tomorrow . . . Him and Max.
God, what was he going to do?
"Sit," the old man instructed, voice curt but not unkind.
He motioned toward a modest wooden chair by the hearth. Charles obeyed silently, perching on the edge of the seat, hands fidgeting in his lap, fingers knotting together tightly as he tried to pull his swirling thoughts into some semblance of order.
The elder shut the door with a quiet thud, the sound somehow amplifying the silence that followed. Shuffling over to a small cabinet, the man retrieved a chipped mug, and filled it with something steaming from a pot that sat on the dying fire. The man handed it to Charles without a word, then lowered himself into a chair across from him, gaze steady and penetrating.
"Drink," he said simply, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest.
Charles wrapped his hands around the warm mug, the heat seeping into his chilled fingers. He took a tentative sip, the liquid earthy and bitter, but soothing all the same. They sat in silence, the crackling last few embers of the fire the only sound between them. Charles felt the elder’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze.
"You bear the weight of the stars’ wrath, boy," the man said finally, tone softening. "But I suspect you’re carrying more than just your own burdens tonight."
Charles pinched his eyes shut, the words striking a chord he hadn’t expected. His throat tightened again, but this time, he managed to whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.”
After a long pause, the old alien leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Then you’ve come to the right place," he said. Charles took another tentative sip from the mug, letting the earthy warmth spread through his chest. “Are you hurt?” he asked, voice carrying the weight of genuine concern beneath its gruffness and gestured to Charles’ joined hands. “Let me see.”
Shaking his head, the Earthling was unable to summon words to explain what had happened just yet.
“You're bleeding.”
“It’s not mine,” Charles said numbly, avoiding looking at the prince’s blood on his knuckles.
Humming, the elder’s shoulders eased, his posture becoming a touch less rigid. “I take it Perez did not give you the answer you were hoping for?”
The mention of the Grand Elder made Charles' chest tighten. That encounter felt like it had happened days ago, not just a few hours earlier. The memory of the Grand Elder’s booming voice and the harsh judgment passed down on Max replayed in his mind.
Charles clenched his hands around the mug. Anger, confusion, betrayal, helplessness—all swirled together, leaving him drained.
“No,” he finally said, glancing down at the swirling liquid in his mug, reflection rippling on its surface. “The Grand Elder said Max has to leave by the end of the week.”
The old man didn’t react right away, his expression carefully neutral, but his sharp eyes betrayed a flicker of understanding. He hummed again softly, leaning back in his chair. “And you’re angry about that,” he observed, not as a question but as a quiet statement of fact.
Charles shook his head again, this time more firmly and opened his mouth to speak, but he hesitated, the words caught in his throat. Finally, he forced them out, though they came in a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t understand it at first,” he said. “The looks on the ship, all the crew avoiding him, the Grand Elder’s judgment, the things people said about Max, the way everyone in the village hid from him on our way home . . . I thought they were just being unfair. I–I thought you were being unfair.”
Remaining silent, the old man let him continue.
“I thought you couldn’t see what I saw. I thought everyone didn’t know him.”
“And now?”
Charles took a shuddering breath, the tears he’d been fighting against finally pooling in his eyes. “And now,” he said, voice trembling, “I don’t know what to think, or what I saw in him.”
“What changed?” he asked, voice calm but probing. “The boy who told me to handle my own trees is very different from the one in front of me now.”
“I found his service file,” Charles admitted, the words falling heavily from his lips. His fingers clenched tightly around the mug, the smooth, brown stone warm against his skin. “I found some reports and footage from the PTO rebels. Some kind of—of war crimes log they were keeping on him with . . . the things he’s done. The things he’s said.”
His voice cracked, and he pressed his lips together, trying to keep himself from crying again. “I thought it was different or that he was made to do those things with force, Jos with him. I thought—I thought I could help him, do something . . . ” He trailed off, shaking his head as more tears spilled over onto his cheeks. “Now I don’t even know if I can look at him.”
The elder’s gaze remained steady, and he tilted his head slightly. “What did you think you would find?” he asked, tone neither accusing nor kind—just honest.
“I don’t know,” Charles admitted. “We planned on leaving tomorrow.”
“That’s a hard truth you’re facing,” the elder said. “But the question isn’t just about what he’s done, or what he’s capable of. It’s about what you believe is possible. Do you think he has changed, or can? Do you think he wants to?” Does change even matter to you?
Charles didn’t have the answer to any of those questions.
The elder nodded slowly at his silence, gaze thoughtful. “Sometimes, the hardest thing is deciding what you’re willing to forgive—and what you’re not. No one can answer that for you, boy. You have to decide for yourself.”
Swallowing hard, Charles’ thoughts were too tangled to form coherent words. Instead, he stared into the mug, the reflection of his tear-streaked face wavering on the surface.
What the fuck was he supposed to believe?
The old man let the silence stretch between them, the room heavy with unspoken words until he said, “Whatever you choose, make sure it’s a choice you can live with. For your sake, not his. Stay here for the night, and go see the Grand Elder again in the morning. He will help guide you on your path.”
Charles nodded slowly, though he wasn’t sure he could do that either. Not while his heart was still torn between the man he thought he knew and the reality he’d just uncovered.
Chapter 42: Birthright
Summary:
Charles makes his choice, but is it already too late?
Chapter Text
Max sat on the cool grass outside the cabin, knees drawn up and arms resting loosely on top of them as the first streaks of pink and orange painted the sky. The sunrise felt cold and distant, its beauty wasted on him.
He hadn’t moved from his spot since Charles had stormed off the night before, leaving Max alone with nothing but the hollow echo of the Eldri's shouts and the crushing weight of silence.
That and a busted lip, brow, and bloody nose, his face surely a rich variety of colors.
He’d waited all night, not really bothering to clean the blood off his face. He waited for the familiar sound of Charles’ soft footsteps on the dirt path, for the cabin door to creak open and for the Earthling to return to him, even if it was just to yell and punch him some more.
But Charles didn’t come back.
The stillness of the night was unbearable. At first, Max had sat quietly, willing himself to stay calm, to give Charles the space he’d asked for. But as the hours dragged on, the silence began to crawl under his skin, setting his nerves on edge.
He’d paced endlessly in front of the small pond, the reflection of the twin moons taunting him with their companionship. Every so often, he’d stop and focus, pushing out with his mind as far as he could, trying to find the familiar warmth of Charles’ energy. His abilities were rudimentary, but he could usually pick up on Charles without much effort.
Yet every time he reached out, he was met with nothing. Just the blank, static hum of the surrounding landscape.
It drove him to the brink of madness.
Max’s fists clenched as he stared at the horizon, his matted hair falling into his face. He was too far away. The thought was a knife to his chest, twisting deeper with every passing minute. If he couldn’t sense Charles, it meant the Eldri was far beyond his reach—both physically and, he feared, emotionally.
How could he let this happen?
The image of Charles’ face as he stood over him burned in Max’s memory. The look of betrayal, of horror, of disbelief—it was a wound that cut deeper than any physical pain Jos had ever inflicted.
He’d tried to explain, to tell Charles that those atrocities weren’t truly his, that they had been forced upon him and he wasn’t like that anymore, but the words had gotten stuck in his throat.
Really, Max should've prepared. Charles was always going to find out, and his lack of a ready, thought-out explanation was a testament to just how complacent he'd gotten.
But how could he explain that he was being watched?
That every purge and assignment he'd been given was recorded and reviewed by the emperor, critiqued and judged. Every movement measured for efficiency, every attack assessed for maximum damage. Even when he'd completed his missions in record time, or beaten all the targets that had been set for him, Jos always found something that needed improvement.
Coaching, adjusting, retraining, recalibrating, reconditioning.
Even when no other soldiers in Jos’ army could do what he could do, Max still wasn't good enough.
After a while, it was just easier to give in, to let his Oozaru run wild and recede into the background of his own mind, becoming what they all said he was. That was one of his hindbrain’s primary functions after all, to take over when Max couldn't handle it. When the stress and trauma was too much.
His Oozaru had taken most of the abuse he'd suffered as a child, all the torture and pain. It made his instincts harsher, more violent than they should've been, but Max never blamed it for that. He would've broken a thousand times over if he didn't have an Oozaru, with what he'd been made to endure.
And no non-Torossian would understand the difference. They only saw Max . . . Jos included. It didn't matter if he wasn't in control or not.
After Daniel's death left him shaken and vulnerable, Alonso had helped him see the error of his ways, break through his brainwashing and help Max retrain his Oozaru back into submission.
It was a delicate balance.
As much as the Oozaru was a gift, it was also a liability, a constant presence that needed to be controlled and tamed. Madness was never too far away, but Torossians knew how to control that, how to harness that for their benefit.
It's what made them the strongest warriors in the universe.
All he needed was for Charles to listen, to believe him, but Charles had run, leaving Max with only the fragments of what they’d built together.
Max guessed he should've expected that.
The light of the rising suns crept closer, inching toward him like an unwelcome guest. Max's tail lay limp behind him, curled dejectedly against the ground, his Oozaru quiet, nothing to offer against its past actions.
They had already had that conversation, and nothing changed now. Max was alive because of his Oozaru, and without it, goddess only knows what kind of state he'd be in.
He felt like a hollow shell, the fire in his soul extinguished.
He thought about everything they’d shared—the quiet mornings at the cabin, the laughter, the stolen moments of peace. He’d thought they were building something real, something strong enough to withstand the weight of his past. But as the dawn broke over the horizon, he wasn’t so sure.
Had he been selfish to think Charles could accept him, past and all? Had he been naïve to believe that their bond could overcome the horrors?
Max's gaze dropped to the ground, his fingers digging into the dirt as guilt clawed at his insides. The Eldri deserved better than this. Better than him. The thought was unbearable, and yet, he couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t stop imagining Charles somewhere far away, free from the shadow of Max’s sins, living the peaceful life he deserved.
“Charles,” he whispered, the name barely audible over the breeze. His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay put. “Please come back. I'm sorry.”
The sun climbed high into the sky, its relentless heat bearing down on the clearing around the cabin. Max stood frozen in place, his heart pounding as he stared out at the distant horizon.
Charles still hadn’t returned.
Midday had come and gone, and the longer the Eldri stayed away, the more Max’s anxiety ran wild.
Was this Charles’ way of sending him a message? Was he telling Max that he’d had enough? That he didn’t want this life with him anymore? That he didn’t want him anymore?
Fuck, he now felt like a complete coward every time he'd fled from the Eldri, no doubt causing Charles a similar anxiety.
How could he have been so blind?
Max shook his head sharply, trying to banish the thoughts, but they lingered, persistent and insidious. He wanted so badly to respect Charles’ request for space, to give him the time he needed to process everything. The Earthling had done the same for him countless times, standing by quietly whenever Max needed to brood, offering him patience and understanding.
But this was different.
This time, the stakes felt impossibly high, and every fiber of Max’s being screamed at him to go and find Charles, Oozaru included. He’d launched into the air several times already, his instincts driving him to search, but each time, he forced himself to descend back to the ground.
“No,” he muttered aloud, pacing back and forth in front of the cabin. “No, let him be. He said not to follow him.”
“En wij luisteren naar zo'n verzoek?” [And we're listening to such a request?] his Oozaru growled from deep within, its voice thick with disdain. The beast’s tail lashed furiously in the recesses of his mind, matching his own tail's movements.
The prince clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. His Oozaru’s impatience was only making it worse. “Don’t you think you've caused enough trouble?” Max spat, pausing his pacing.
Crossing its arms over its chest, his Oozaru chuffed but quieted down.
This anxious attachment he’d developed toward Charles was tearing him apart, making it impossible to focus on anything else. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe without the Earthling on his mind.
His tail flicked erratically behind him as he scrubbed his hands on his rough pants, muscles taut with barely restrained energy. “He’s fine,” he told himself, though the words felt hollow. “He’s fine. He just needs time.”
But even as he tried to convince himself, his instincts betrayed him. His legs tensed, and before he could stop himself, he was airborne, rocketing up over the cabin. The wind whipped through his hair as he scanned the horizon, heart thundering in his chest.
For a brief moment, he thought he felt something—a flicker of Charles’ ki on the edge of his senses—but it was gone as quickly as it came.
“Fuck,” he hissed, voice trembling with frustration. “Stop, Max. Just stop!”
Hovering above the cabin, he buried his face in his hands, ignoring the burn from his healing brow.
His Oozaru snarled within him, shouting for him to move, but Max shook his head vehemently. “No,” he whispered. “He asked me not to follow him. I have to trust him.”
But trust was hard to muster when every fiber of his being screamed that something was wrong. Desperation churned in his gut, and he drifted slowly back down to the ground, landing unsteadily on his feet. He resumed his pacing, eyes darting to the path that led to the village, half-expecting Charles to appear at any moment.
Why was he like this?
His heart felt like it was being squeezed, every breath he took shallow and unsteady. He ran his hands through his hair, gripping the golden strands tightly trying to wring the panic from his mind.
Goddess, he prayed, despair gnawing at his chest. He was just so . . . scared.
The constant ache to know where Charles was, to make sure he was okay, was consuming him. It wasn’t just about knowing his location—it was about knowing if Charles was safe, if he was hungry, if he was cold, or hurt, or—
Max stopped pacing, breath hitching as a horrible thought crossed his mind. What does Charles think of him now?
Had Charles looked at him last night, after reading the service file, and finally seen him for what he truly was? A monster? A broken, cruel creature molded by Jos’ hands? The thought made Max’s stomach churn, his legs threatening to give out beneath him.
Was Charles ever going to come back?
His hands dropped to his sides, trembling, and his gaze fell to the red twine wrapped around his wrist. Slowly, he brought his fingers to the delicate thread, thumb and forefinger twisting the small gold chain nestled against it.
The bracelet Charles had given him—the only physical tether he had left of the Eldri. For a fleeting moment, the familiarity of it soothed him. The prince held his wrist close to his chest, like clutching the bracelet tighter might bring Charles back to him. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to will away the fear.
He just wanted to know if Charles was okay. That was all. Just to know if he was safe, or if he needed anything.
But Max wasn’t fooling himself. It wasn’t just that.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He shook his head, his cheeks burning with shame. This was getting embarrassing.
He hated feeling like this—so exposed, so raw.
What would Charles think of him if he could see him now, pacing like a madman, his emotions a tangled mess of fear and longing? The Eldri would probably lose all feelings for him, if he hadn’t already.
A pang of sorrow cut through him at the thought. What if Charles had already moved on? What if he was out there, somewhere, deciding that Max wasn’t worth the pain?
Max’s hand tightened around the bracelet, his knuckles white.
He was terrible at this—at love.
How was he supposed to give someone space when every fiber of his being screamed to close the distance? To hold Charles close and never let go? His entire existence felt like it was unraveling without him.
“What is wrong with me?” Max whispered, voice breaking as he sank to the ground, his legs folding beneath him.
His tail curled tightly around his waist.
He’d never felt this needy before, this adrift. He was Max Emilian, the prince of Torossians, trained to endure pain, loss, and unimaginable hardship. But none of that training had prepared him for this.
For love.
And now, as the sun started to dip in the sky and the cabin remained empty, Max felt like he was drowning in it.
_____
In the early morning hours, Charles began his solitary journey to the Grand Elder’s temple, the cool air heavy with the promise of another scorching Namekian day. His steps were slow, weighed down by his mind.
He had barely slept, the uncomfortable mat on the floor of the old villagers' hut had done nothing for his back, but it had given him plenty of time to think and plan his trip.
He could've flown, reached the plateau within minutes, but instead, he'd decided to walk, suppressing his energy signature down to match that of the locals, ensuring Max couldn’t find him—or feel him.
Charles needed the distance to think.
The thought of Max lingering at the cabin, restless and undoubtedly aware of his absence, made Charles’ chest tighten. The prince had kept to their grounds, respecting Charles’ demand not to follow, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t come searching eventually.
And Charles wasn’t ready to face him. Not yet.
He needed time to untangle the chaotic web of his emotions, to reconcile the man he knew—the man he loved—with the monstrous truths he’d uncovered in the service file.
The climb to the plateau was grueling, the ancient stone steps winding up the side of the mountain like an unrelenting trial. Each step was a physical challenge, steep and uneven, forcing Charles to focus on the burn in his legs and the strain in his arms and eventually resort to crawling on his hands and knees.
Sweat dripped down his face, matting his hair to his forehead as the suns climbed higher in the sky, their heat oppressive.
The physical pain grounded him, giving him something tangible to latch onto amidst the turmoil in his heart. It was like doing the same drill in his training over and over again, repetitive motions chasing away the unsettled presence of his Eldri calling out for their mate.
Falling into practiced routines, Charles ignored it.
Finally, after what felt like days, Charles reached the top. His chest heaved with exertion, and he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, eyes scanning the plateau. The temple loomed before him, its ancient stone walls weathered but resolute, an unchanging sentinel against the shifting sands of time.
The fires that had blazed during his last visit with Max were extinguished, the brazier pits cold and still. The atmosphere, though heavy, lacked the weight it had held before, and for a moment, Charles wondered if that was a good or bad sign.
Drawing a deep breath, he stepped into the main chamber.
The room was cavernous and silent, save for the faint echo of his footsteps against the smooth stone floor. Grand Elder Perez sat motionless upon his throne, his massive form blending into the shadows like a statue carved from the mountain itself. His stillness was unnerving—so absolute that Charles again questioned if he was even alive.
The Earthling hesitated in the archway, heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure where to begin.
The weight of everything he’d learned was so immense it felt like it might crush him entirely. His throat tightened, and tears stung at the corners of his eyes, the overwhelming emotions he’d been holding at bay threatening to break free.
He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms as he struggled to compose himself.
Charles hated this. Feeling so out of control and confused. He simply refused to cry.
Keenly sensing his turmoil, Perez’s eyes opened slowly, glowing faintly in the dim light. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the chamber like a thunderclap. “Your soul is burdened with the weight of the truth,” the Grand Elder intoned, gaze piercing. “Come, child.”
Charles swallowed hard, legs feeling like lead as he took a hesitant step forward, vision blurring with unshed tears, hands trembling at his sides. For all his determination to seek answers, to make sense of what he now knew about Max, he suddenly felt like a child standing before an omnipotent judge, unworthy and insignificant.
This must've been how Max felt coming here to be judged.
All the fire and fury he’d had the last time he was here—rebuking the elder’s judgment of the prince—was long gone.
“I don’t know where to start,” Charles admitted meekly. He stopped a few feet from the throne, gaze dropping to the floor as he fought to hold himself together. “I thought . . . I thought I understood him. I thought I knew who he was.”
Perez regarded him silently for a moment, presence an immovable force in the room before he leaned forward with a slow movement, massive hands resting on the arms of his throne.
“The truths we seek often reveal more than we are prepared to accept,” he said like the rumble of distant thunder. “But to walk forward, one must confront the darkness, not run from it.”
“He lied to me,” he said, voice breaking. “About who he is. About what he’s done. How can I trust someone who’s capable of . . .” He trailed off, unable to say the words aloud.
The images from the service file were burned into his mind, each one more horrific than the last, the sound of tearing flesh and chewing ringing in his ears.
Perez’s gaze didn’t waver. “And yet, here you are,” he said, tone not unkind. “Seeking understanding, not condemnation. Tell me, Charles of Earth. What is it you wish to know?”
Charles’ knees nearly buckled under the weight of Perez’s question, the enormity of it feeling too great.
What did he want to know? Why had Max done those things? Whether he was truly the monster the galaxy whispered about in hushed tones? Or if there was something—anything—left of the man Charles had grown to love?
That golden center he knew was still there. The man who'd shown him kindness, who'd protected him so fiercely, and who'd bared his vulnerabilities to Charles in rare, fleeting moments.
Could those glimpses of goodness be enough to outweigh the horrors he’d seen in the service file? God knows what else he didn't even bear witness to.
“I don’t know,” Charles whispered, voice raw and trembling, the admission alone enough to tear him apart. “I—I . . . I don’t—”
Perez’s towering figure seemed to soften, expression shifting into something almost paternal. His glowing eyes held a wisdom and empathy that made Charles’ heart ache, missing the wise stare of Alonso.
“He never lied to you.”
Charles’ gaze snapped up, breath catching. “What?”
“The Prince of Torossians is many things, but a liar is not one of them. He spoke the truth,” Perez said with quiet certainty. “He told you what he could, in the ways he knew how. The frost demon shaped him, molding his young mind into something it was never meant to be. Something his soul was never meant to bear. Your prince was indeed lost in a labyrinth of pain.”
The words struck Charles, shattering some of the bitterness and doubt that had taken root in his heart. He thought back to those moments when he'd asked the prince a question he clearly didn't want to answer, and instead of covering his answer with an obvious lie, he'd simply said, “do not concern yourself.”
That was the prince's way of trying to protect him, while not dismissing him outright.
“How—” Charles swallowed hard, throat tight. “How do you know that?”
“The stories of one’s past are written in their aura,” he explained, voice calm and steady, resonating through the chamber. “A continuous scroll of experiences, trials, and triumphs. Prince Max’s aura is etched deeply into his soul, twisted and troubled. It is the worst I have seen in all my years.”
Charles’ chest tightened. He thought back to the moments when Max’s defenses had crumbled—those rare instances when the prince’s pain bled through his carefully constructed walls. The sleepless nights, the nightmares, the hallucinations, the distant look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching.
It all made sense, and yet . . .
“If you knew about his past,” Charles countered, voice shaking, “and that he was forced to commit those—those heinous acts, then why did you deny our request to settle here? Why didn’t you give him the chance to heal?”
Perez’s glowing eyes met Charles’, and the weight of his wisdom calmed something deep inside the Eldri. “Because your journey together is beyond just this moment. The prince is not ready,” the elder said firmly, though his tone held no malice. “He still carries the chains of his past, and until he learns to face them, he cannot escape them. Hiding here is not the answer. There is yet much healing and growth that he must endure before he can stand in the light without fear of his own shadow and become worthy of true peace.”
Charles stared at Perez, his thoughts a whirlwind of anger, confusion, and desperation. “But how can he do that if no one gives him a chance? If no one helps him?”
“Will you give him a chance?” Perez inclined his head slightly. “Do you expect others to do what you are not willing to do yourself?”
Fuck. Charles bit his lip.
“He must learn to trust, to see that there is good in people—and that there is good inside himself. Only then will he be able to face the darkness without succumbing to it. That is a journey only he can take.”
The words stung, and Charles clenched his fists. “And what about me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “How am I supposed to help him if I don’t even know if I can forgive him?”
Perez regarded him for a long moment, a still silence ringing in Charles’ ears. “You must decide,” he said, voice calm but resonant. “Everyone comes into a relationship burdened with a past. Some burdens are heavier than others, and they can obstruct one’s ability to fulfill their true purpose,” Perez continued. “But with the right partner, those burdens can be lifted. A true match helps you shed what no longer serves you, freeing your soul in the process, for a tortured soul does not build walls by accident.”
Charles blinked, his heart twisting at the mention of walls.
“Those walls built by the prince exist not to keep you out, but to show you how deeply he needs you. They are there to protect what remains of his fragile spirit. The prince’s walls are not a fortress for his sake—they are a test for yours. They are built to stop those who do not care enough, who will not fight to reach him. They are there to keep out the unworthy.”
The words struck Charles deeply, and he felt his breath catch, a few moments he'd shared with Max replaying in his mind—the small acts of kindness the prince rejected. Charles blindly tried to help Max that very first time in the Torossian suite, then trying to restitch his hip or cleaning blood from his brow after Jos beat him. The way the proud prince turned away from him in the med bay, not wanting Charles to see him in such a state.
The reserved Torossian even tried to cover his nakedness whenever he thought Charles might’ve been looking, the guarded expressions, the way Max looked at him like Charles was the only thing holding him together.
More images of Max's battered face from the emperor seeped up from his memory like oil out of the ground, mixing with the fresh images of his own fist snapping the prince's head to the side.
God, what had he done?
Perez’s voice softened further. “Love is not about seeking perfection. It is about embracing imperfection and finding beauty within. It is about seeing the cracks and scars and cherishing them, because they tell a story of sacrifice and survival. The question is not whether Max can be redeemed, but whether you can see the beauty in his struggle and stand beside him, as his mate.”
Charles stood in stunned silence, the Elder’s words sinking into him like water on parched soil. His mind was a storm of doubt, fear, and longing, and he wanted so badly to believe in Max’s redemption, and he himself hadn’t even given Max the chance to explain. He’d been so consumed by anger and hurt, so focused on the horrors in that service file, that he hadn’t truly seen Max in that moment.
The memory of Max’s eyes when he found Charles in the ship’s cockpit burned in his gut—the raw pain, the desperation, the silent plea for understanding.
It was obvious Max wasn’t that man anymore.
He was fighting tooth and nail to leave that life behind, to start anew, and Charles had seen it in every action, every word, every look the prince had given him since their escape. Max was pained every time someone curled away from him in fear, and the shame of his given title was obvious for anyone to see who cared to look.
It was a cruel label given to him by those who didn't care to look beyond, and Charles was just as bad as the rest of them.
“In peaceful times, a warrior will attack himself without a clear enemy. The Prince of Torossians must learn to live without war.”
With a deep breath, Charles resolved to hear Max out. He owed him that much, and if there was even a sliver of hope for them, it started with listening.
That's what had endeared the regal Torossian to Charles since the beginning.
Hours and hours of him talking while the prince listened in his private quarters, recovering from his injuries. Max had never interrupted him and even recalled things from those long days of Charles rattling on about anything he could think of to keep Max in bed.
He'd always listened, giving Charles the chance to complete his thoughts, soaking up all he could learn from what little the Earthling had to teach.
A small smile played on his lips as he thought about the times Max surprised him with his memory of their talks, asking deep questions about his battles and childhood. Max had even prepared him some kind of eggs because he remembered Charles said he liked them, piles and piles of other attempted dishes the evidence of how much he cared. How much he wanted to show he was listening.
How could Charles not have done the same?
“The decision is yours to make,” the Elder said, kind eyes giving a knowing look.
“Thank you,” Charles replied, a new found urgency to return to the prince, heart already feeling lighter with the decision.
But before he could take a step to leave, Perez’s voice stopped him, apparently not finished with him just yet. “You are not whole, young Torossian.”
Charles froze, his brows furrowed.
Perez extended his massive hand, motioning for Charles to step closer. “Come,” he said, voice gentle but firm. “Let me right a great wrong that has been done to you.”
Swallowing hard, Charles hesitated before taking a tentative step forward. Perez hovered his immense palm over the Earthling's head, and a soft glow emanated from it, bathing the room in warm, golden light. Charles glanced up nervously, but before he could ask what was happening, a deep energy enveloped his body, a searing pressure erupting at the base of his spine.
He gasped, knees buckling as the burn intensified, radiating outward like fire coursing through his veins. His hands shot out, gripping the edges of Perez’s throne for support.
“What—what’s happening?” he managed to choke out, voice trembling with both fear and pain.
Perez didn’t answer, expression serene yet focused, eyes closed. The glow from his hand brightened, and Charles felt the sensation shift—not just pain anymore. It was something deeper, something primal, as if a part of him long buried was being unearthed.
“It is time for you to reclaim what was taken from you,” Perez said solemnly. “Your heritage. Your birthright.”
Charles’ eyes widened with the pain and an odd pulling sensation bordering on the line of agony as he yelled, and then he could feel it—something stirring at the base of his spine, a pressure building as if his very body was remembering something it had forgotten.
The burning sensation peaked, and then, with a sudden release, he felt it. A weight, a presence, a part of him that had been missing for so long.
His tail.
It unfurled behind him, weak and trembling but unmistakably there. Charles turned his head slowly, tears streaming down his face as he saw the dark auburn, furred appendage swaying gently. His heart felt like it might burst from the sheer emotion of it all—relief, joy, and an overwhelming sense of completeness.
Perez’s hand lowered, the glow fading, and he smiled faintly. “You are whole again, Charles of Earth. Carry this gift with pride and use it wisely.”
Charles couldn’t speak, his throat too tight with emotion. He simply nodded, hand reaching back to touch the tail to confirm it was real. It was soft and warm as it coiled instinctively around his wrist, and he felt a surge of energy he hadn’t known he was missing, a reserve waiting to be tapped into.
For the first time in a long time, Charles felt like himself before darkness started to close in. The open chamber spun, vision blacking out from the weight of the new sensations overwhelming him, legs failing as muffled voices shouted from behind.
“Max?”
Arms wrapped around him before his face connected with the cool stone of the temple.
_____
The sun had slipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a deep, inky blue. The stars began to emerge, dotting the night with their cold, distant light, but Max barely noticed.
The chill of the night air seeped through his thin tunic, but it was nothing compared to the cold that had settled in his chest. He sat by the small pond, its surface dark and still, reflecting the faint light of the stars.
The water barely rippled, like even the elements were holding their breath, waiting for something to change, for something to happen. But Max knew there was nothing left to wait for.
Charles was never coming back.
The Earthling had learned the truth about him—about the things Max had done, the blood on his hands that would never wash away, and Charles, with his kind heart and endless compassion, couldn’t bear to be near him anymore.
“Stay away from me!” he'd said.
The message was pretty clear.
They were supposed to leave today, find a new home or a place where they could be free. The Eldri surely no longer wanted those things with him.
Max didn't blame him; he didn't deserve that kindness, not after everything. But knowing that didn’t lessen the pain. It was a searing, hollow ache that pulsed through his entire being, overshadowing everything else. His mind was consumed by a single, agonizing thought: Charles was gone, and it was all his fault.
Staying by the pond, the prince refused to step foot into the cabin, where every corner, every shadow would remind him of what he had lost. The cabin, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cruel mockery of the life he had tried to build.
The shared bed that now only served to remind him of nights spent with Charles curled up against him, warm and safe. The window where Charles would sit and make bracelets, sometimes glancing up to smile at Max, now stood empty, like a blank slate that had been wiped clean of all joy. The fireplace, once a place of warmth and comfort, was now filled with cold, dark ashes, long extinguished.
Max’s hands trembled as he buried them in the short strands of his blond hair, gripping so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He felt like he was suffocating under the weight of his own guilt, his Oozaru thrashing wildly in his mind, a constant, seething presence that wouldn’t be silenced.
Its reflection stood over him in the pond, wild tendrils of black smoke wafting off its back, golden eyes shining in the water's surface.
"Sta verdomme gewoon op!” [Just fucking get up!] it roared, voice echoing in the dark recesses of his thoughts, each word laced with fury. "Vind hem! Doe iets. Iets! Hij is onze maat!" [Find him! Do something. Anything! He is our mate!]
But Max didn’t move.
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t.
What was the point? Charles had made his choice, and it was one Max could never argue against. Why would Charles forgive him? Why would anyone, after everything he’d done?
The dull ache in his cheek from Charles’ fist was all the reminder he needed.
The prince’s lips twisted into a bitter smile, even as his heart clenched painfully in his chest. He was fooling himself to think he could have something so pure, something so good.
The twine bracelet on his wrist felt heavier than it should, like it was weighing down his entire arm. It felt like a lie. A gift given under the guise of a false promise, one that had never truly belonged to him.
Charles had placed it there, a symbol of affection, of trust, and Max had cherished it. He’d tried to believe it meant he could be worthy of someone like Charles.
But now, it only reminded him of how deeply he had failed.
He had tried to warn Charles early on. Tried to tell him that he wasn’t a good man, that he was dangerous, that Charles should keep his distance. But Charles had been so stubborn, so insistent on seeing the good in him, and Max had been too weak, too selfish to push him away. He’d held onto that light, that warmth, even though he knew he was never meant to have it.
He thought if Charles saw something good in him, something worth saving, then maybe there really was something left to save.
But he was wrong.
With trembling hands, Max slowly slipped the bracelet off, the red twine gliding easily, leaving his wrist bare and cold. He held it in his palms for a moment, staring down at the glinting gold chain that shimmered faintly in the starlight.
It reminded him of the tiny specks of gold that danced around Charles’ pupils, a rare and beautiful detail that Max had loved to get lost in. Those eyes could swallow stars, galaxies, and universes. What hope did Max really have to not be swallowed by them too?
But he had no right to hold onto this now.
He set the bracelet down on the damp grass beside the pond, placing it carefully as if it were something fragile, something precious. Something not meant for him.
It never had been.
Max’s shoulders shook as he rocked back and forth, trying to keep his emotions at bay, but it was a losing battle. He could feel the tears building, threatening to spill over, and he hated himself for it. Hated that he was weak enough to break down, even now. What good were tears when there was no one left to comfort him? What good was regret when it changed nothing?
His breath hitched, and he dug his nails into his scalp, trying to distract himself from the pain in his chest. He was so lost in his despair, so consumed by his own self-loathing, that he almost didn’t notice it at first.
The air around him changed, the stillness replaced by something cold and heavy, something that sent a chill down his spine. Max’s breath stilled as he felt it—a ki so immense, so dark , that it seemed to freeze the very atmosphere around him.
It was a presence that was impossible to ignore, one that was suffocatingly familiar.
How had he not been able to sense it before? How had he not realized it was there, creeping closer, like a shadow looming over him?
Slowly, Max lifted his head, eyes wide with shock, heart pounding wildly in his chest. The oppressive, malevolent energy washed over him, making his skin crawl. It was the kind of ki that could only belong to one being—a being that had haunted his nightmares, that had controlled his every move for so many years.
"Jos."
The name slipped from his lips, barely more than a whisper, but it felt like a death sentence. The emperor was near. He had come, and Max didn’t need to guess why.
He was here to collect. To take back what was his.
For a moment, Max couldn’t breathe. He should’ve been prepared for this, should’ve known that Jos would never let him go, would never allow him to find peace. But still, the reality of it hit him harder than he could have anticipated.
Max's Oozaru surged within him, a deep, primal growl reverberating in the back of his mind. “We moeten de Eldri vinden.” [We must find the Eldri.]
He jumped to his feet, turning his face towards the sky. There was no time left to think.
Only time to run.
Chapter 43: Let's Go Home
Summary:
The Earthlings have arrived . . .
Notes:
After 43 chapters, they finally made it!!
Chapter warnings: Blood and violence
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
-Earlier that day on the Capsule Corp ship-
The green and blue expanse of the planet's surface loomed larger with each passing second, its serene landscape starkly at odds with the tension simmering in the cockpit. Lando’s fingers drummed against the armrest, his heart thundering in his chest.
The steady beeping of the tracker echoed through the small cabin, each pulse signaling that Charles was down there somewhere, waiting to be found—or worse, rescued.
Beside him, Lewis and Hannah shared his intensity, their gazes fixed on the viewport as the alien terrain unfurled before them. The trip had been grueling, the cramped quarters and endless hours of travel wearing on all of them, but Lando felt a surge of resolve well up inside.
They were close now, closer than they’d ever been to bringing Charles home.
The Capsule Corp ship’s onboard computer interrupted his thoughts, its calm, automated voice at odds with the urgency.
“Touching down in five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . ”
With a gentle thud, the ship settled onto the surface, and Lando barely waited for the craft to stop rocking before unbuckling his safety restraints. The release was swift, the sound of the buckles snapping open like a starting pistol as he shot out of his seat, heading straight for the exit hatch.
“Lando, hold on,” Lewis called after him. “We don’t know who or what’s out there. Let’s be smart about this.”
Stopping short, Lando's hand hovered over the release lever for the hatch. He glanced back at Lewis, jaw tightening. “Oh now you want us to wait? I didn’t listen to months of your bitching to let you stall us at the last hurdle. I’m not wasting another second—”
“He’s right, Lando,” Hannah interjected, rising from her seat and strapping a small pouch of supplies to her hip. “We have the tracker, and it’s pointing us in the right direction, but we need to make sure it’s safe first.”
“The longer we wait, the more time that creep has to hurt him—or run.” Lando spat and yanked the lever, the hatch hissing open with a blast of cool, alien air.
He stepped out first, boots crunching against the soft blue grass, and scanned the horizon. The sky above was a muted green, a cluster of suns making him squint. It was beautiful in a way, but Lando barely noticed, focus laser-sharp, eyes darting between the tracker in his hand and the endless expanse ahead.
The atmosphere seemed stable enough, and the readings on his suit told him the air was breathable for humans. Disengaging the air-tight seal, Lando reached up to his neck, and pulled off his helmet, tight fireproof headpiece following after, running a hand through his messy hair.
The scent of damp dirt and faint minerals flooded his senses, enhancing the reality of where they were. The sprawling field stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with rolling hills and the occasional patch of tall, spindly trees.
It was quiet, the kind of stillness that set his teeth on edge.
“Lando!” Hannah shrieked from behind him. “Don’t take your helmet off! I haven’t fully scanned the air quality!” Quickly making their way out of the ship, the pair rushed over to him, Hannah working furiously with a handheld device, spinning it in a circle. “Are you out of your damn mind!?”
Lando sighed, reluctant to say he’d probably rushed that action, but he was tired of delays. “It’s fine, Hannah. If it wasn’t I’d be dead already.”
The device in her had flashed with a few lights, before a green indicator light turned on and Lando smiled to himself, a bit smug. Lewis and Hannah, satisfied that it was safe, removed their helmets as well, setting them back inside the ship.
“Tracker’s locked,” Lando said, holding up the device as Lewis and Hannah rejoined him on the field. “Charles is due north. We’re close.”
Lando soared higher, the cool air whipping past his face as he honed in on the blinking signal on his tracker. The skinny trees and rolling hills blurred beneath him, their vibrant greens and blues melding together as he pushed himself to fly faster.
In the distance, a large structure came into view—a massive edifice, its jagged edges suggesting it was made of stone or some alien rock.
The signal’s beeping grew louder, more insistent, and Lando’s pulse quickened. Charles was so close.
Behind him, Lewis flew steadily, holding Hannah in his arms in a bridal carry. He'd barely spared them a glance at first, too focused on the tracker and the terrain ahead, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the way Lewis curled Hannah closer, how she pressed her face into his neck, the smirk on his face smug and irritating.
A familiar burn of jealousy twisted in Lando’s gut, making his chest tighten, and he tore his gaze away, snapping his eyes forward, adjusting his altitude higher to avoid any confrontation—or distraction.
The steady beeping of the tracker urged him onward, body instinctively picking up speed as he heard the air shift behind him, Lewis struggling to keep up.
“Slow down, Lando!” Lewis shouted, voice carrying over the rushing wind. “We’re all going the same direction, idiot!”
Lando ignored him, the signal’s increasing frequency fueling his urgency. The towering structure ahead loomed larger now, a tall plateau capped with a winding set of stairs leading to the top. The edges of the plateau were rough and uneven, like it had been carved by ancient hands or by nature itself.
With a sharp descent, Lando landed on the plateau first, boots crunching against the rocky ground. The signal was strongest here, the beeping so loud he had to mute the device to not give himself a headache. He'd just started to take in his surroundings when Lewis landed behind him, setting Hannah down gently on the uneven ground. She stumbled slightly, her hair windswept and face tinged with green.
“We are not doing that again,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair as she hunched over her knees, trying to catch her breath. “Next time, I’ll walk back.”
Stepping toward her, Lando's concern momentarily overrode his desperation to find his missing friend. He placed a hand on her back, rubbing it in small circles. “Are you alright?”
Hannah shot him a glare, her deep breaths still uneven. “Jerk,” she snapped, shoving his arm away. “We didn’t have to fly that fast—”
The rest of her sentence died on her lips as a blood-curdling scream ripped through the air, freezing all of them in place. The sound was raw and desperate, filled with a kind of anguish that made Lando’s blood run cold.
His heart dropped into his stomach . . . He’d know that voice anywhere.
“Charles,” he whispered, body moving instinctively toward the sound, tracker forgotten in his hand. “Charles!”
Hannah straightened up, her face pale, and Lewis tensed beside her, his head snapping toward the towering structure. They exchanged a quick, alarmed glance before following Lando, who was already halfway across the plateau, steps frantic as he searched for the source of the scream.
Darting inside the dimly lit temple, Lando froze, his boots skidding slightly on the smooth stone floor as his brain struggled to comprehend what in the world he was looking at.
At the far end of the cavernous chamber, bathed in an eerie glow, was a massive green alien seated on a throne that looked like it weighed ten tons.
The being was impossibly large, easily towering over anyone Lando had ever seen, with a broad, muscular frame and an aura that radiated power and wisdom. His colossal hand was outstretched into the room, its massive palm resting atop Charles’ head like a crown.
Charles stood rigid beneath the giant’s touch, his back arched unnaturally, his mouth thrown open in a wordless scream that sent Lando’s panic into overdrive. His friend’s entire body trembled violently, a bright glow emanating from where the alien’s hand met Charles’ head.
The light pulsed, growing brighter with each passing second, and Lando’s heart thundered in his chest as fear surged through him.
“Stop!” Lando wailed as he moved to step forward, only to be jerked back by the collar of his spacesuit.
“Wait,” Lewis hissed, grip firm as he yanked Lando backward. “We don't know if there are guards here—”
“What the hell is happening to him?!” Lando shouted, struggling against Lewis’ hold, eyes wide as they darted back to Charles.
Almost in slow motion, Lando’s gaze dropped to Charles’ exposed lower back, where something impossible was happening. A long, furry, reddish-brown tail sprouted from Charles’ spine, unfurling and swaying behind him with a life of its own. Lando’s mouth dropped open in shock, his breath catching in his throat.
“Oh my God—” Hannah’s voice trailed off, a mixture of confusion and fear as she stared at the unfolding transformation before them.
“You are whole again, Charles of Earth,” the alien boomed, voice deep and resonant, reverberating through the chamber like a drumbeat. The words carried an otherworldly authority, filling the space and leaving no room for argument. “Carry this gift with pride and use it wisely.”
As the alien’s hand lifted away, the light surrounding Charles faded.
For a second, his body seemed to relax, shoulders sagging like a great weight had been lifted, gingerly touching his new tail, but then his knees buckled, and Charles crumpled forward, trembling hands failing to catch himself before he hit the ground.
“Charles!” Lando ripped free from Lewis’ grip with a strength he didn’t know he had and sprinted into the room, boots pounding against the stone floor. He reached Charles just as he collapsed, dropping to his knees and sliding his arms under his long-lost friend.
“Hey—hey, I’ve got you,” Lando said, voice cracking as he cradled Charles’ limp body against his chest.
The Monégasque was lighter than he remembered, his frame leaner with more defined muscles, still trembling. Behind him, Lewis and Hannah edged cautiously closer, their expressions a mixture of awe and unease as they stared at the massive green alien seated on the throne.
“Is he . . . is he okay?” Hannah asked, voice unsure as she reached out but hesitated to touch him.
“I don’t know,” Lando said, his own voice shaking as he adjusted Charles in his arms. “Charles, come on. Wake up, mate. Wake up!”
“He is restored,” the massive alien intoned, startling the group. “Take him and go far from here. You do not have much time.”
The alien’s booming declaration echoed in Lando’s ears as he cradled Charles tightly, his friend’s limp form sagging against him, head on his shoulder, breathing shallow.
Hannah took the tracker from him wordlessly, wide eyes darting nervously between Lando and the alien on the throne. “Is he breathing?” she whispered.
“He’ll be fine,” Lando said, though his voice betrayed his uncertainty. “We just need to get him back to the ship.”
The towering figure on the throne leaned back, his colossal frame seeming to fuse into the stone. His eyes closed, expression serene as he rested his hands on the wide armrests, retreating into deep meditation, presence still commanding despite his retraction into stillness. The silence in the room was oppressive, the air thick with a strange, lingering energy that made Lando’s skin crawl.
“Go. He has come.”
That was all the permission Lando needed, even if he didn't know what the alien was talking about. He adjusted Charles in his arms, grip firm but gentle as he moved toward the exit, careful not to touch his tail hanging down from his friend's back. “Let’s go,” he muttered.
The group moved as one, their footsteps echoing softly in the reverberant chamber as they approached the doors. But just as they neared the threshold, Lewis froze in place, his expression twisting into one of alarm.
“Do either of you feel that?” he asked with a shocked whisper.
Lando stopped dead in his tracks, entire body going stiff.
At first, he wasn’t sure what Lewis was referring to, but then it hit him—an immense, oppressive energy rolling toward them like a rogue wave in the distance. It was cold, freezing cold, and utterly malevolent, twisting and curling around every energy signature in the area.
“What is it?” Hannah whispered, clutching the tracker tightly as her eyes darted nervously around the room.
Lando momentarily wished he couldn't feel energy, like her. This was a ki he would be happy to never feel again for the rest of his life.
The headache forming deep in Lando’s skull throbbed with every pulse of the approaching ki. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before—monstrous, evil, and impossibly vast. It was like the very air had turned against them, every breath a struggle against the overwhelming presence closing in.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, arms instinctively tightening around Charles. “But we need to move. Now.”
They hurried out of the chamber into the open air of the plateau, the fading sunlight doing little to ease his discomfort. The source of the ki was closer now, its power rippling through the atmosphere like a storm ready to break.
Lewis stepped up beside him, gaze lingering on the inky horizon for a moment longer before he nodded. “Let’s go. The longer we stay here, the worse this could get.”
“Lewis, grab Hannah. We have to move fast.”
“Don't you dare!” She yelled, but Lewis just nodded grimly at him, scooping a shouting Hannah up into his arms again as they took off, flying as fast as they could manage with their burdens.
Charles stirred faintly in Lando’s arms, his eyelids fluttering as he let out a weak groan. “M-Max . . . ?” His voice was barely audible, and Lando’s heart clenched at the sound.
“It's Lando. I’m here, mate,” he said softly, grip on Charles tightening. “You’re okay. We’re getting you out of here.”
“Wh-what . . . what happened?” Charles mumbled, voice slurred and his head lolling slightly. “What're you doing here? Where is Max?”
“We’ll explain later,” Lando said, forcing a reassuring smile even though his mind was racing with questions of his own. Was Max the person who took him? That dark haired figure from the satellite footage? Were they the source of that awful ki? “Just rest for now. We’ve got you.”
“Let’s pick up the pace,” Lewis said, tone clipped as he cast a wary glance back at the towering structure behind them. “I don’t like the feel of any of this.”
Lando couldn’t agree more.
Hugging Charles closer, he quickened his speed, eyes locked on the Capsule Corp ship in the distance. The sooner they were off this planet, the better.
_____
Max's pulse thundered in his ears as he sprinted toward the ship, the open hatch a beacon in the fading light. He had to reach the cockpit before his resolve faltered.
The options that whirled through his mind were all grim, but he had to make a choice, and fast.
There were three paths he could take, and none of them were easy.
The first: go after Charles. Track him down, find him in whatever corner of this planet he'd hidden himself . . . but then what? Charles didn't want anything to do with him anymore and Jos was already on his way. If Max found him, then they would both be captured.
Or worse.
He could already picture the horror on Charles' face and the way Jos would smirk, delighted at having them both at his mercy.
The very thought made Max’s blood run cold.
The second option: stay and fight. The last time he fought Jos he was fourteen, and he'd thought he was doing well until the frost demon made it clear that he'd only been toying with him. The warlord was unimaginably powerful and fighting wasn't an option, even after all these years of training. And if he tried to hide, Jos was a predator. He would sniff them out, never stop hunting them until he had them in his clutches.
Hiding was a temporary fix, nothing more. It would only delay the inevitable.
That left the third option, the one that lodged a painful knot in Max's throat: he could run . . . Alone. He could launch himself into the vastness of space and draw Jos away, leading him on a chase that would keep the frost demon's attention far from this serene world that Charles had come to love.
It was the only choice that made sense.
If he could lure Jos away, then maybe Charles would have a chance to live, to find some semblance of peace. Max’s heart twisted at the thought, but he forced himself to face it.
The Grand Elder had already ordered him off the planet, and this would fulfill that mandate. At least this way, his departure could serve a purpose, could protect the person he cared about more than anything in the universe.
Even when Charles didn't return the same feelings anymore.
Breathing heavy, he reached the ship, feet barely touching the ground as he scrambled aboard and closed the hatch for takeoff. The interior was cold, sterile, and dark, but he paid it no mind.
Every second counted.
He hauled himself into the cockpit, hands moving on autopilot as he fired up the thrusters, fingers flying across the controls, running a swift launch diagnostic to make sure everything was still operational after the long weeks the ship had been idle. The display blinked green.
Systems functional. Thrusters online.
“Wat ben je aan het doen!?” [ What are you doing!? ] His Oozaru roared, burning in the back of his skull. “We kunnen hem niet achterlaten!” [ We cannot leave him! ]
The smell of bile flooded his nose, and Max squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to look at the evidence of how his past made Charles feel.
“I'm not leaving him,” he said firmly. “I'm saving him.”
He didn't waste a second, initiating the launch sequence, bypassing every warning and safety protocol, silencing the automated countdowns that usually ensured a smooth takeoff.
He didn’t have time for smooth.
He needed speed, and he needed it now.
The engines roared to life, vibrating through the entire vessel as Max strapped himself into the seat. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the rough jostle of the ship as it began to lift off, the thrusters burning bright against the darkening sky. He felt the ship straining against the sudden acceleration, fighting against the pull of this planet's gravity as it tore free from Namek's atmosphere.
Climbing. Climbing. Higher and higher.
He was almost out, only the last few layers of the atmosphere remaining until he could put the ship in a deep burn.
Just as he started to breach the upper limits of the sky, Max glanced out of the viewport, and his heart sank. In the distance, barely a glint against the black expanse of space, was the PTO base ship, its massive form cutting through the void with terrifying speed.
The frost demon was coming–faster than Max thought.
He just needed to lead him away, to keep Charles safe. Jos didn't care about Charles, just like he didn’t care about Daniel. The warlord only wanted Max back, but he wouldn’t hesitate to use the Earthling to torture Max if given the chance.
Throwing the thrusters into overdrive, the engines screamed in protest, but he didn’t relent. He just needed to get Jos away from Charles. Nothing else mattered.
Max pushed the ship to its limits, hoping that if he could just get far enough, Jos would follow him. Even from this distance he could practically feel the cold, menacing ki of the frost demon, like a dark cloud roaring over the horizon, threatening to consume everything in its path.
An alarm sounded–a deafening, piercing wail that cut through the cockpit, and Max’s eyes snapped to the display indicating an incoming projectile. The screen flashed red, the warning lights bathing the cockpit in an foreboding glow.
Taking a slow, measured breath, Max forced his heartbeat to steady, counting the sharp, rhythmic beeps of the tracking system. The projectile was closing in fast, screaming toward him at a velocity that sent every alert in the cockpit blaring in warning.
Not yet.
His grip on the controls tightened, fingers slick with sweat. He held his breath, waiting until the absolute last second, red lights on the console blinking in unison to indicate proximity.
Now.
Max yanked the throttle back hard, cutting power to the main engines, and twisted the ship violently on its side. The sudden stall sent his stomach lurching, the artificial gravity systems struggling to compensate. The projectile screamed past the rear of the ship, missing him by mere meters, its white-hot glow fading into the darkness beyond.
For a fraction of a second, relief surged through him, a rush of adrenaline that nearly made him dizzy.
He’d done it.
A sharp exhale left his lips as he slammed the throttle forward again, engaging deep burn. The ship shuddered under the sudden acceleration, its engines roaring back to life as he blasted through the final layers of Namek’s atmosphere.
Open space stretched before him, vast and endless—a moment of fleeting victory.
Then the impact alarm screamed through the cockpit.
Max’s blood ran cold, eyes snapping to the tracking display, pupils constricting as the avoided projectile spun back around, its trajectory locked onto him once more.
“No, no, no . . . !”
Fingers flying over the controls, Max jerked the ship into evasive maneuvers, pushing the engines to their limit. He twisted, dipped, spiraled—desperation clawing at his chest—but it was too late.
A deafening explosion rocked the entire vessel.
The shockwave slammed through the hull like a battering ram, sending a cascade of violent tremors through the cockpit. Metal groaned under the force, the entire frame of the ship rattling as something struck the rear thrusters with devastating precision.
Max’s world pitched violently forward, restraints cutting into his chest as he was wrenched against them, vision swimming from the force of the impact. Sparks burst from the control panel, and the ship was in freefall, spinning wildly as alarms shrieked around him.
He barely had a moment to process what had happened before pain exploded across his scalp, taloned fingers burying themselves in his blonde hair, raking against his skin. Max felt the warm trickle of blood running down the back of his neck as he was yanked out of his seat, restraints sliced off, the sudden violence of the movement making his head spin.
The air was torn from his lungs as he was pulled upright, body twisted and turned until he was face-to-face with the one being he hated most.
Those eyes.
Those horrible, gleaming red eyes stared at him with a mixture of delight and malice, like a predator that had finally caught its prey. Jos' black lips curled into a smile, sharp and mocking, as he tightened his grip, dragging Max closer. The frost demon's breath was cold against his skin, the cruel lines of his face illuminated by the flickering red warnings still blaring inside the cockpit.
"I have missed you, my pet." Jos' voice was a low, venomous hiss, each word dripping with sadistic pleasure. "Did you really think you could escape me?"
Max saw dark spots, head pounding from where Jos’ claws had torn into his scalp. He tried to gather his ki, but the disorientation and pain made it difficult to focus. Charles, the name flitted through his mind, a desperate plea, even as Jos' mocking laughter echoed in his ears. The frost demon was too close, his presence suffocating, grip unyielding.
Max felt like a child again, powerless and trapped, and it took every ounce of his will not to let fear consume him.
This was good. If Jos stayed focused on him, he would leave Charles alone.
Jos’ eyes glinted, a flicker of something darker behind the amusement. “I told you, didn’t I? I promised you a fate worse than death if you tried to escape again.” He dragged Max’s head back, forcing the prince to meet his gaze, the talons digging deeper, blood seeping from the fresh wounds.
“Let's go home.”
_____
Charles’ blinked heavily as he adjusted to artificial light streaming down on him, the cool recycled air contrasting the confusion rising in his chest. His legs wobbled as he tried to steady himself.
He could barely register the sight of Lando setting him down on the ramp, looking at him with an expression of relief and concern. A Capsule Corp ship loomed in the background, its reflective surface like a beacon of safety, but safety wasn’t what Charles felt.
Far from it.
“You’re okay, Charles,” Lando said, voice cutting through the whirlwind of thoughts in Charles’ head. “Let’s get you back to Earth.”
Back to Earth .
The words echoed in Charles’ mind like a death sentence. His eyes snapped wide open, and his heart began to pound.
Earth wasn’t safe. Nowhere was safe. Not while Jos was hunting him.
“No!” he exclaimed, pushing himself free from Lando’s grasp, movements frantic. His feet hit the ground off the side of the ramp unsteadily, knees nearly buckling, but he forced himself to stand upright. “I can’t go back to Earth. Max—” His voice cracked as he spun in place, searching the horizon desperately. “Where is Max? Is he with you?”
Lando frowned, and held his hands up in a placating gesture, brows furrowed. “I don’t know who Max is, Charles, but don’t worry. We’re here to take you home. The man who took you can’t hurt you anymore.”
The words felt like a slap in the face.
“Hurt me?” he questioned, panic clawing up his throat as his hands balled into fists at his sides.
Charles didn’t remember how he got here. The last thing that came to mind was his discussion with Perez and then an odd sensation in his back—
Spinning around in a circle, the Eldri stopped dead when his eyes landed on his auburn tail flitting behind him, swaying in the breeze. Touching it softly, Charles gasped and ran his fingers against it gently, a smile pulling deep dimples into his cheeks.
Slowly, Charles tested a movement, and his tail curled toward him before straightening back out.
Impossible. His tail was back. He had his tail again.
An overwhelming joy spread through his chest and Charles couldn’t wait to show the prince . . .
Fuck.
Max.
God, he was such an idiot. He had to apologize immediately, had to check on the prince, make sure he hadn’t hurt him too badly. “I have to find Max. He’s hurt, I–I . . . ”
“It’s just a classic case of Stockholm syndrome, Lando,” Hannah interjected in a smooth but sympathetic tone as she walked closer, holding her arms out. “Come on, Charles. It’s okay. We’re your friends, remember? And we need to go before anything else happens—”
“What?” Charles snapped, voice rising in disbelief. “You think I’ve been brainwashed? You have no idea what you’re talking about or what I've been through!” His gaze flicked back to Lando, desperation etched into every line of his face. “I can’t go back to Earth. The emperor will find us there. He’ll find me, and he’ll—he’ll destroy everything and everyone. I’m not going.”
“What are you even talking about?” Lewis chimed in, stepping closer, wider frame imposing as he crossed his arms. “Charles, you’re not making any sense. The emperor? What emperor? The only thing you need to focus on is getting back home and getting away from whoever has been messing with your head.”
“No, you don’t understand!” His voice cracked under the weight of his emotions. “Max saved me! He—he’s trying to protect me from Jos, from the emperor. If I go back to Earth, it’ll lead Jos right to him. Right to all of you! The Earth will be sold to God knows who and we’ll all be dead!”
The three of them exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsure of what to make of his panicked ramblings. Charles felt like he was going insane.
Hannah sighed, rubbing her cheek, changing her tone like she was trying to soothe a frightened animal. “Charles, hey. Come on. You’re okay, everything is okay. No one is selling the Earth.”
Charles’ head snapped toward her, tail puffing up, ki flaring instinctively, though still weak. “I’m not going anywhere,” he warned, voice low and deadly serious, eyes burning with determination that had the three of them taking a step back. “I’m not going anywhere until I find—”
Words failed him as he felt it.
The air felt electric, a sharp prickle with the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as his senses locked onto the chaotic signature of Max’s ki, drowning in the looming presence of the emperor. His breath caught, heart hammering in his chest and he couldn’t waste another second.
Without hesitation, Charles launched himself into the air, the screams and protests of his friends quickly fading behind him as the wind roared past his ears. Max’s energy was frantic, a wild storm of desperation and fear, and Charles felt an icy knot form in his stomach as he tracked the dark ki trailing closely behind the prince.
Jos.
The frost demon’s energy was radiant with its vengeful intent, a firm pressure on Charles’ mind, and it was gaining ground.
Charles gritted his teeth, body straining as he pushed his ki to the limit, cutting through the air like a bullet. He didn’t have much time. Jos was headed straight for Max, and Charles couldn’t let him reach the prince.
Max couldn’t face Jos alone. He had to get there first.
The wind stung his face as he soared higher, squinting against the rushing air. His mind zeroed in on Max’s location, guiding him like an invisible thread toward the small forest where their cabin was nestled. Charles could already picture it, the familiar clearing just beyond the tree line.
He wasn’t far now. Just a little further.
The cabin’s outline was barely visible through the swaying trees and relief bloomed in his chest, but it was fleeting. Before he could adjust his trajectory, a crushing weight slammed into his back, driving him off course, the force sending him hurtling toward the ground, body crashing through branches before slamming into the dirt, carving a long, jagged trail in the Namekian surface as he skidded to a stop.
Coughing, body trembling from the impact, Charles struggled to push himself up onto his hands and knees, dirt and leaves clinging to his clothes. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Lewis hovering above, face set in a furious scowl.
“Are you fucking crazy!?” the older man shouted, voice shaking with anger. He dropped down to the ground, glaring at Charles. “Whatever that thing is, we don’t want to be anywhere near it!”
Charles shook his head, ignoring the sharp ache in his back as he staggered to his feet. “No!” he said, voice hoarse and urgent. “I have to get to Max. Jos is going to kill him!”
“Then let him!” he snapped, grip firm as he spun Charles around to face him. “You want to throw yourself at that monster? Be my guest! But you’re not dragging all of us into this nightmare, and I’m not dying for some brainwashed fool. I haven’t been stuck on that stupid ship for months with Lando just to fail at the last hurdle.”
The words burned, stoking a fiery mix of rage and desperation in Charles’ chest. Jerking his arm free, his ki flared in defiance, crackling in the air around him. “Then don’t follow me!” he shouted, voice raw, shoving the man back.
Lewis’ energy surged brilliantly as he lunged, tackling Charles to the ground. The impact sent a shockwave through the clearing, dirt kicking up around them as Lewis pinned Charles beneath him.
“We didn’t come all this way just to let you get yourself killed,” he growled, voice low and furious. “Stop fighting me.”
Charles struggled against Lewis’ hold, muscles straining as his Eldri screamed at him to get free, tail quickly wrapping around Lewis’ throat, squeezing hard.
Their mate was in danger, and Charles’ tail moved with a life of its own. Panic clawed at his chest, every fiber of his being echoing that time was running out. Jos’ icy ki was closing in fast, its suffocating presence filling the air.
Desperately, Charles craned his neck, gaze snapping upward through the trees. The ship he and Max had taken from Aston was high above the tree line, rolling violently on its side, engines flaring as it rocketed high into the atmosphere.
“MAX!” Charles screamed, voice tearing through the air like a raw, broken plea.
He pushed against Lewis with all his strength, every ounce of his ki pouring into the effort, and his vision blurred with the strain, heart hammering wildly.
He threw the older man off and made it halfway to standing when a sharp, searing pain exploded up his spine, ripping the air from his lungs. Charles crumpled, his body sagging against the ground like his energy had been drained in an instant. His breath hitched, tears springing to his eyes as he turned his head, vision swimming.
“I’ve got him,” Lando’s voice cut through the chaos, calm but firm.
Charles couldn’t breath as he saw his friend gripping the shaft of his tail with both hands, squeezing tightly. The pain was excruciating, a white-hot burn that traveled like fire up his spine. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt since he was a child, a vulnerability he'd nearly forgotten.
“St–stop,” Charles blubbered, tears spilling over as betrayal twisted like a knife in his chest. His voice wavered, weak and trembling. “Lando, please—”
“Stay quiet, Charles,” Lando replied. “We don’t want whatever that thing is to know we’re here. Lewis, come on, help me carry him.”
Charles could do nothing as Lewis lifted him up, slinging him over his shoulder with little effort. Lando’s grip on his tail didn’t waver, the pressure keeping Charles immobilized as they moved.
From his vantage point, Charles’ blurry vision caught the scene unfolding above the forest. His heart shattered as Jos’ dark, icy ki collided with their ship like a meteor, sending it careening violently toward the ground, using his grey body like a missile to pierce through the hull of the ship.
“Holy shit,” Lando yelled with a mix of fear and awe when the ship started to free fall. “We need to get out of here.”
Charles barely heard him, throat tightening as his gaze locked onto the frost demon emerging from the rapidly descending ship. Jos hovered ominously in the air, his clawed hand gripping Max’s golden hair like a vice as he dragged the prince from the damaged ship. The sight of Max’s limp body, arms hanging low, sent a fresh wave of anguish crashing over Charles.
This wasn’t happening. It should’ve been him, not Max. He should’ve never left the prince alone, should’ve been captured alongside him, or at least been there to cradle his body if Jos had already killed him.
“Max . . .” Charles whispered, the word barely escaping his raw throat.
His tears fell freely now, streaking his dirt-covered face as he watched Jos ascend, pulling Max toward the looming silhouette of the PTO base ship.
He tried to feel out for the prince's energy, but he couldn't feel anything over the pain from his tail. The frost demon’s chilling laughter echoed faintly through the air, carrying with it the weight of Charles’ worst fears.
“Lando, move!” Lewis barked, breaking Charles’ trance, but Charles couldn’t look away. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, and his heart shattered as the prince disappeared into the shadow of the Hell ship, taking a piece of the Eldri with him.
Chapter 44: Ashamed of You
Summary:
“Your efforts in this retrieval will be rewarded, General Carlos.” Jos’ voice was smooth and venomous, like silk wrapping around a poisoned dagger. “The disposal of the Earthling shall be your honor.”
Carlos’ heart stopped. He was stunned, speechless with the blatant admission of his involvement in this in front of Max.
“Th–thank you, my lord,” he forced out finally, voice mechanical, void of emotion. He bowed deeply, hiding the turmoil roiling beneath his skin.
The words tasted like ash in his mouth.
Notes:
Apologies for the delay! Life is just ridiculous right now 😭
Chapter warnings: Blood, violence, death, and the regular things
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Carlos stood at attention, rigid and motionless as Jos strode onto the launch deck. The dark-haired Torossian had seen many terrifying things during his time under the PTO’s command, but nothing compared to the sight of Emperor Jos dragging Max onto the ship behind him.
The prince’s once-regal demeanor was gone, replaced by something raw and desperate, clawing at the frost demon's arms, Oozaru roaring in Max’s throat. Maybe no one else would notice such a detail, but Carlos couldn’t unhear it: the guttural deep tone different from Max's usual cadence.
His golden hair was matted with blood and his face pale and gaunt with Jos’ hand wrapped tightly through his hair. The emperor’s sharp claws were digging into the prince’s scalp, leaving streaks of red in their wake. His lip was scabbed over, his brow deeply cut, and many bruises still clearly healing.
Carlos forced his eyes to stay forward, body locked in a disciplined stance, but his heart was hammering in his chest. He wanted to look away or shut out the sight of his prince being paraded like a broken trophy, but the scene was impossible to ignore.
Playing this right was paramount.
When the airlock sealed with a sharp hiss, Jos released Max with a casual shove, sending him stumbling into waiting guards.
“Take him to his cell,” Jos commanded. The quiet calm in Jos’ tone was somehow worse than his infamous outbursts of rage.
The two guards moved to grab Max, but the prince resisted, twisting out of their grip with a snarl, tail lashing out. His ki flared hotly, heat felt lightly against Carlos' face, but it wasn’t enough—one of the guards quickly locking a thick metal ring around his neck.
Carlos flinched as the sound of a shock feature activated, electricity arcing across the collar. Max’s roar of pain echoed through the deck as he crumpled to the ground, body convulsing under the steady current.
“Stop struggling,” one of the guards muttered, yanking Max to his feet. Blood smeared the metal floor where the prince had fallen, stark against the polished silver surface.
Max was wearing strange clothes: a loose pair of dark pants and a light colored long-sleeved shirt. It didn't suit him, Carlos thought, much more partial to the prince in his full body armor. He was the prince of their people; common clothes didn't belong on him.
Jos’ expression remained eerily calm as he watched the scene unfold. “I want him ready for this evening,” he said, voice devoid of any emotion. “Clean him up.”
What did that mean?
Carlos didn’t want to know, but his imagination betrayed him, painting vivid, horrific possibilities of what Jos had planned for his prince. He wouldn’t kill him though, George had agreed to that in his stipulations in exchange for Carlos' help.
“Yes, my lord,” George replied, bowing deeply beside Carlos.
Carlos barely heard him, eyes glued to Max, slumped between the guards, head hanging low, red trailing down his cheek and neck. The shock collar was still sparking faintly, smoke curling from the edges where it met his skin.
Straightening from his bow, George’s expression was unreadable as ever. The commander was a master of masking his emotions, but Carlos swore he caught a flicker of something in George’s eyes. Annoyance? Pity? Resignation? Whatever it was, it vanished in an instant, replaced by that same cold professionalism that George wielded like a weapon.
He swore he felt a hand graze his tail wrapped around his waist, the commander's eyes darting to him for a second, and the conflicting emotions inside him reached a fever pitch.
Over the past week, George had brought him his evening meals right on time, but it was always well into the night before he could actually eat it, food cold and long forgotten. The commander was insatiable, greedy hands on him the moment the nav deck doors slid shut, claiming he needed the “stress relief” or whatever bullshit excuse George called it.
Carlos couldn’t deny the thrill and the mind numbing ecstasy of it all, seeing the arrogant man fall apart beneath him night after night. He couldn't leave the nav deck apart from short trips to relieve himself and shower, which greatly limited their options, but the pair made due.
They'd used almost every square inch of the control deck’s consoles, and the cot Carlos had to sleep in while on night duty. He'd decided that was his favorite, having George bounce steadily up and down on him, straining the metal frame to its limits.
It felt strange to be with someone else so intimately besides his prince. Carlos would deny until his dying breath that it felt so much better being on the giving side, still convinced nothing would be better than sex with Max.
That was what all of this was for anyway.
Keeping in the commander and the emperor’s good graces, and successfully retrieving the wayward Torossian. Apart from that, nothing else mattered.
The sound of Max’s labored breathing, the scuff of his boots dragging against the floor, and the faint hum of the shock collar as it discharged again sent a fresh wave of nausea through Carlos. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, using the sharp pain to ground himself and keep his expression in check.
Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and Carlos wished they hadn’t. The raw betrayal in Max’s gaze, mingled with confusion and pain would haunt him for the rest of his days.
It was unbearable.
“Carlos?” Max rasped, voice barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears. “Ik dacht dat je dood was?” [I thought you were dead?]
The sound of his name, spoken with such raw desperation, made Carlos’ stomach churn. He wanted to move, to do something to help Max, but his body betrayed him, staying rooted to the spot, nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists tightly at his sides.
He couldn’t face Max like this, nor could he bear the weight of that broken rasp calling his name, struggling to reconcile the fierce, indomitable prince he’d grown up admiring with the battered figure being hauled away to goddess-knows-what horrors.
His thoughts were shattered by Jos’ imposing form gliding effortlessly above the floor to a stop directly in front of him, drawing his gaze away from Max. Carlos swallowed hard, meeting that red stare.
“Your efforts in this retrieval will be rewarded, General Carlos.” Jos’ voice was smooth and venomous, like silk wrapping around a poisoned dagger. “The disposal of the Earthling shall be your honor.”
Carlos’ heart stopped. He was stunned, speechless with the blatant admission of his involvement in this in front of Max.
“Th–thank you, my lord,” he forced out finally, voice mechanical, void of emotion. He bowed deeply, hiding the turmoil roiling beneath his skin.
The words tasted like ash in his mouth.
He should’ve been proud. Proud to have succeeded in his goal of bringing Max back, to be recognized by the emperor himself. Instead, he felt hollow. The weight of Max’s broken voice rasping his name gnawed at him, the prince’s shattered state a reflection of the cost of Carlos’ actions.
But Max had shattered him first. Left him to rot.
Letting out a deep breath, Carlos straightened up from his bow. “I will not fail you.”
“Waag het niet!” [Don't you dare!] Max’s roar cut through the air like a whip, raw and furious, a sound that made Carlos’ knees nearly buckle. "Jules zou zich voor je schamen!” [Jules would be ashamed of you!]
The guards didn’t hesitate at Max's outburst. A sharp crack echoed in the launch deck as the shock collar activated again, silencing Max’s voice with a pained cry.
Carlos kept his eyes on the warlord.
“Away with him,” Jos commanded with an almost bored wave of his hand.
The guards dragged Max away, his feet barely brushing the floor, leaving a streak of crimson as they moved. Carlos couldn't bear to watch as Max’s weak struggles slowed to nothing, and the corridor swallowed them, more Torossian curses filling the air.
But the prince’s voice lingered, a phantom echo in the otherwise silent room.
He stood there, drowning beneath the weight of it all, the sharp sting of guilt and anger digging into his chest like claws. His father’s name burned in his stomach, and he clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms until the pain brought him back to the present.
Jules would be ashamed of you.
George’s sharp gaze flicked toward him again, eyes betraying a soft fondness there that made him queasy, but the commander said nothing. Instead, George turned on his heel, falling into step behind the frost demon as they exited the room, followed by the rest of the group.
Carlos was left standing there alone, his jaw clenched so tightly it felt like it might snap. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth where he’d bitten his cheek, but he didn’t care. His prince was back with him.
He took a deep breath, trying his best to empty his mind of all these confusing emotions. He would deal with those later. Right now, he had a job to do, and he wasn’t going to waste any more time.
The Earthling was his, the cause for this entire mess, and for the ruin he'd brought to their family. Carlos resolved to make sure Charles answered for it all.
The door to the lower launch deck hissed open, cold recycled air rushing past Carlos as he moved quickly toward the open pod waiting for him. The mechanical hum of the ship’s systems droned in the background, accompanied by the rhythmic blinking of the overhead lights. Jos wasn't wasting any time putting distance between the base ship and Namek, his orders to leave coming swiftly and without explanation.
Carlos exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he stepped up onto the ramp, fingers flexing at his sides. His muscles were still sore from his late night on the nav deck, but exhaustion was irrelevant now.
He had a job to do, an assignment he was going to savor.
Just as he reached for the pod’s controls, the heavy hiss of the deck entrance opening behind him made him pause. He turned his head slightly, his jaw tightening when Commander George strode in with brisk, purposeful steps.
Carlos straightened but didn’t speak as George approached, the commander’s expression unreadable, save for the slight tension in his shoulders. Without breaking stride, George reached for the pod’s console and, with a few quick taps, paused the launch sequence.
Carlos’ brows furrowed.
“I'll go,” George said, tone calm but leaving no room for argument.
Blinking, the Torossian was momentarily thrown. “What?”
“You've been on round-the-clock nav duty for weeks,” George continued, voice steady, as if his reasoning was obvious. “Take your rest. I'll handle the Earthling.”
Carlos’ confusion quickly turned into irritation. His tail flicked sharply behind him, a growl rumbling in his throat.
“Fuck off,” he spat, stepping closer, nostrils flaring. “The emperor gave me this honor, and I plan to enjoy tearing that little bastard to pieces—”
“Carlos.”
The Torossian froze at the sharp edge in George’s voice.
Before he could react, George’s hand shot out, gripping Carlos' wrist with surprising force.
Breath catching, his entire body tensed at the contact. George’s grip was firm, unwavering, and his teal eyes bore into Carlos’ with an intensity that sent something uneasy twisting in his gut.
They stared at each other, the silence between them stretching.
Carlos’ mind raced. Did George think he couldn't handle it? Did the commander—one of the most ruthless men on the ship—think he was too weak for an execution assignment?
No. It wasn’t doubt.
It was concern.
Carlos' lips parted slightly, realization dawning on him. George was worried about him.
Goddess, what the fuck was happening. His throat tightened, but he shoved the feeling down, and wrenched his wrist free, glaring at the commander.
“The fuck is your problem?” he muttered, shaking off the lingering sensation of George’s touch. “I can do my damn job.”
George exhaled through his nose, something flickering behind his sharp gaze, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he simply straightened his uniform and stepped back, his expression returning to that cold, unreadable mask Carlos had grown so used to.
“Then do it quickly,” George finally said, his voice neutral, but Carlos knew better than to think there wasn’t something deeper buried beneath.
Scoffing to cover his own discomfort, Carlos turned back to the pod. “Like I’d drag it out.”
“Be sure to record evidence and confirmation of his death for your report. We can’t afford any more mistakes,” George said as Carlos fastened his harness.
“I'll be back before you can miss me,” he said with a wink. George scoffed, light patches of pink dusting his cheeks and turned on his heel, mantel flapping behind him while the pod hatch hissed shut.
_____
Charles gasped for air, his chest tightening as tears blurred his vision. Every jostle, every agonizing squeeze of his tail sent bolts of sharp pain zipping up his spine, but none of it compared to the ache in his chest. Each step Lewis and Lando took dragged him farther from the PTO ship, farther from Max, who was disappearing with it.
“Let me go!” Charles rasped, fighting for breath, voice raw and broken. “Max! I have to—please, let me go!”
The PTO ship grew smaller in the sky, a shrinking dot that burned itself into his memory. His arms hung uselessly, his strength sapped by the unbearable pain in his tail. Gentle sobs racked his body, each one leaving him weaker, more helpless.
“Charles, stop it!” Lando barked, voice edged with more frustration than concern. His grip on Charles’ tail tightened, and the pain flared again, sending a fresh wave of lightning up his back.
“Max!” Charles wailed, thrashing weakly in Lewis’ hold, head twisting to catch one last glimpse of the ship. “I can’t—I can’t let him go back! Please, let me go after him!”
“You’re not going anywhere!” Lewis shouted back. “You’ll just get yourself killed, and that won’t help anyone!”
Charles couldn’t breathe.
The weight of his mistakes crushed him, a suffocating miasma that made his limbs heavy. He’d promised Max they would be safe together, that they’d find peace, and that he would always stay with him.
But he wasn’t with him.
He'd run away. Left Max at their cabin alone, vulnerable and devastated. What if he'd been there? He could've helped, could've done something to stop this.
Now . . . now he was too late.
“Charles, stop fighting us,” Lando said, tone softer now but no less firm. “We’ll figure this out, but not if you get yourself killed acting reckless.”
The Capsule Corp ship loomed ahead, its sleek outline barely registering in Charles’ tear-soaked gaze. By the time they reached the ramp, his strength had completely given out. He sagged against Lewis’ back, body trembling as he sobbed openly.
“Please,” he choked out, his voice barely audible. “He needs me.”
“Get him inside,” Lando said sharply, tone clipped.
As they entered the ship, the pressure on Charles’ tail eased, and the sudden relief was almost dizzying. Lando let go, but his hands lingered on Charles’ shoulders, steadying him as his knees buckled, Lewis setting him down to stand.
The moment his feet touched the floor, Charles crumpled to his shins, body folding in on itself as he buried his face in his hands. His sobs echoed in the small space, raw and heart-wrenching, and his fingers clawed weakly at the floor beneath him.
Lewis placed a steady hand on Charles' trembling shoulder, but it felt like stone, lacking the fiery heat of the prince's skin. Charles barely registered it, his world narrowing to a single image—Max’s battered, lifeless form being dragged away.
“Charles,” Lewis tried again. “Tell us what’s going on. Who is Max?”
How could he even begin to explain? So much had happened, too much to make them understand. Even thinking back on some of the memories with the prince made him feel like his chest was ripping in two.
Before Lewis could press him further, Hannah burst into the room, her face a mix of concern and fury as she shoved both Lewis and Lando aside with surprising force.
“Back off, both of you!” she snapped, glaring at them. “Can't you see he's been through enough!”
Dropping to her knees in front of him, she cupped his tear-streaked face with a cool, steady hand, her touch grounding him just enough to make him lift his glassy, red-rimmed eyes to hers.
“Charles, it’s okay,” said softly. “You’re okay now. It's alright—”
“I love him,” Charles murmured, voice a fragile whisper, his gaze unfocused. He had to make her understand as tears welled up again, spilling over as he stared at her. “I can’t lose him. I love him.”
When they were younger, they'd talked about him being alone, never dating or being remotely interested in anyone. Many nights they'd talked under the stars of his cabin after his Earth father had passed away. Hannah had always been the person he could tell his secrets to and he trusted her to keep them.
The admission felt heavy, something she would know he would never say lightly.
Hannah’s eyes widened as they stared at each other, Charles willing her to understand what he was trying to say. Recovering from the momentary shock quickly, she nodded as she brushed a hand through his hair in a soothing gesture.
Before she could say more, Lewis let out an impatient grumble behind her. “We don’t have time for this,” he said sharply, crossing his arms and shifting his weight.
Hannah shot to her feet in a blur of motion, gripping the front of the older man’s suit, glare fierce, voice venomous as she snapped. “Listen, you muscle-brained assholes!” Her gaze flicked between Lewis and Lando. “We’re not going anywhere until we understand what just happened. So go beat each other senseless or whatever it is you two do to burn off your testosterone, and leave me to sort this out.”
The room went silent, Lewis’ stunned expression mirrored by Lando. Without waiting for a response, Hannah shoved him and turned her back on them to kneel in front of Charles again, this time gentler, softer, voice dropping to a soothing cadence as the sound of retreating footsteps faded down the corridor.
“Charles,” she began, hands resting lightly on his knees. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I need you to give me something. I need to know this isn’t some kind of hostage psychosis situation or . . . something worse.”
Charles blinked slowly, her words filtering through the haze of his grief. His breathing began to steady, though the anguish in his chest remained. Hannah didn’t push him, simply waiting patiently as her presence worked to calm his frayed nerves.
“I—I can’t explain now,” Charles rasped, voice cracking with desperation. “But I swear, I’m not brainwashed or delusional or suffering from some kind of breakdown. I’ve been through so much, learned so much about who I am and where I came from. I promise I’ll tell you everything—anything you want to know—but right now, we have to find that ship. We can’t lose track of it. If we do . . .” His voice broke, chest heaving. “If we do, I’ll never find him again.”
Hannah’s expression shifted, a complicated mix of skepticism and concern warring with her evident desire to trust him. Finally, she let out a breath, shoulders relaxing slightly as she nodded.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I can work with that. But you have to let me help you. Can you stand?”
Charles gulped in air, relief flooding through him that at least someone was willing to listen. He nodded shakily, accepting her hand as she helped him to his feet. His legs trembled under his weight, but he managed to stay upright, wrapping his tail tightly around his waist to shield it from further pain. His hand curled protectively over the tip of it, a subconscious gesture of vulnerability he hadn’t realized he was doing.
The image of Max's tail, always tight around him, broke his heart, suddenly realizing why the prince rarely let it loose, but trusted him enough to do so with him. Max knew Charles could hurt him badly, but love was giving someone the power to destroy you, and trusting that they won't use it.
Charles squeezed his tail tighter around him.
“Come on,” Hannah said, as she guided him out of the room. “Let’s get to the control deck and see if we can pick up their signal. If it’s still in range, we’ll find it.”
The control deck hummed softly as they entered. Hannah moved quickly, bringing the ship’s radar systems online. Charles sank heavily into one of the chairs, body slumping as exhaustion and grief made it hard to think.
He focused intently on the blinking lights and rapidly changing displays on the screen, heart pounding, praying they would find something.
Every second felt like an eternity.
The soft beeping of the radar filled the silence, and Charles’ fists clenched tightly against the armrests of the chair, his nails biting into his palms as he willed the radar to show something.
Hannah glanced at him briefly as she worked. “We’ll find him,” she said, tone firm. “But I need you to keep it together, okay?”
He nodded stiffly, throat too tight to respond.
Hannah leaned closer to the monitor, hands still moving quickly over the controls as the radar image sharpened. A small light blinked on the screen, but it was moving at an alarming speed, a blur of energy. Hannah’s lips pressed into a thin line as she worked, brow furrowed in concentration.
“There it is,” she said finally, pointing at the screen. “I’ve got it. But it’s moving fast—really fast.”
Charles sat frozen, staring at the blinking light. His heart sank like a stone in his chest. “Fast?” he whispered, voice trembling. “How fast?”
“Enough that we’ll never catch it,” Hannah admitted reluctantly. “Damn it, Charles. They’re headed in the opposite direction of Earth, and they’re leaving us in the dust.”
“We have to follow it,” he murmured, shaking his head.
Hannah bit her lip, glancing at him with sympathy. “Charles . . . this ship can’t go that fast. Even if we push it to its limits, we’re not going to keep pace.”
His chest tightened, pulse pounding painfully as his Eldri slammed against its cage in a rage, yelling and growling. Placing his hand on the back of his head, Charles pulled on the hair at the nape of his neck, willing the voice away.
Another light appeared on the radar screen, catching his attention. It blinked sharply, distinct from the PTO ship and Charles’ eyes snapped to it, confusion mixing with a flicker of hope.
“What is that?” he asked, voice cracking as he pointed at the screen.
“Another ship,” she said, tone filled with disbelief. “It looks like it launched from the bigger ship. And—it’s coming back this way.”
Charles stared at the new blip, mind racing. Why would a ship break off from the PTO vessel and head toward them? The emperor already had Max. Was it some kind of an attack—
“Oh my God,” he said urgently, voice filled with panic. “It's a purge pod.”
“A purge pod? What’s a purge pod?”
“That big ship,” Charles pointed to the radar. “It has an army on it with hundreds of smaller travel pods. The Emperor sends teams of soldiers to planets to kill their population and then sells the decimated planet for its resources.” Turning his head to meet Hannah’s startled gaze, Charles added, “If that is a purge pod, I’m going back out there. The Namekians were nothing but kind to me and can’t fight at all. They are a peaceful species—”
“Are you kidding me?” a voice sounded behind him, Lewis and Lando coming into the control deck. “You want to risk getting yourself killed again!?”
“Wait,” Hannah interrupted, holding up a hand. “It’s really not moving like an attack craft. It’s coming fast, but—it’s almost like . . .” Her words trailed off.
“Like what?” Charles demanded, his heart pounding.
“It’s moving similarly to the ship that took you from Earth in the first place.”
Lando cut in, “If it's that asshole who took you, I’ve been dying to get a piece of him.”
“Not you too,” Lewis pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just go—”
“I’ll go with you on one condition,” Charles said, the other three all turning to look at him. “I’m not letting the Namekians get killed because of me. We deal with whoever is on the purge pod, and then . . . I’ll leave with you.”
Exchanging a look, Lewis sighed. “Deal. But if it’s that freezing ki from earlier—this emperor or whatever—I’m leaving the three of you here and going back to Earth by myself.”
_____
Carlos descended rapidly through the atmosphere of Namek, his pod rattling violently with the force of reentry, coordinates he assumed set for the prince's last known location. Mind churning, his thoughts collided like a storm.
Max’s battered form flashed behind his closed eyes, his prince being dragged away to face Jos’ wrath, helpless and beaten for a mistake. Carlos ground his teeth, willing the memory away, but the image burned in his mind like a brand.
The pod’s impact alarm jolted him from his thoughts, the shrill sound adding to the ache in his skull. A few moments later the pod slammed into the ground with a bone-rattling crash, the impact jarring his spine and sending a sharp ache through his back.
He'd badly injured it many years ago on an ice planet while taking fire during a scouting trip, and ever since, it'd acted up at the worst possible moments.
Hissing in discomfort, he punched the emergency hatch release with more force than necessary, and the hatch hissed open, screaming voices flooding through the opening. He wasted no time, leaping out into the humid air of Namek, a cool breeze brushing against his face, carrying with it the faint tang of burnt metal and ash.
It looked like he’d landed in the middle of some kind of primitive grouping of houses, small green aliens all running away from the impact crater.
Carlos was so used to that kind of reaction to his arrival that the shrill voices didn’t even phase him.
Namekians—dozens of them—stood frozen in place, their wide, wary eyes locked on him, bodies rigid with fear. Some clutched at each other, protective arms pulling the youngest behind them. Others simply stared, their gazes filled with a quiet but firm resistance.
Using his scouter, the Torossian quickly scanned for energy levels, hoping to get this over with quickly. Charles surely wasn’t far from where Jos had found the prince.
He picked up only a few readings that could be the wayward Torossian, none close. Carlos rolled his shoulders, the weight of his armor pressing against him as he spread his feet apart in a stance of absolute authority. His tail flicked once behind him, curling in irritation.
“I’m here for the Earthling known as Charles,” he announced in galactic standard to a small crowd of aliens watching him, frozen in fear. “Produce him if he is hiding amongst you.”
No one moved.
The only sound was the faint whistle of the wind as it rustled through the strange blue grass, the scent of moisture heavy in the air. Carlos' amber eyes narrowed.
Cowards.
A murmur spread among them, hushed words passing between the villagers. The hesitation in their posture, the quick glances they exchanged—it was obvious. They knew where Charles was.
Carlos clenched his fists, stepping forward. “I don’t have time for this,” he snapped. “Where is he?”
Still, no answer.
Growling low in his throat, the Torossian was about to charge forward and start tearing through their weak little homes himself, when a voice—low and aged—rose above the hushed murmurs.
“What are your intentions with him?”
The crowd parted, and from their midst, an elderly Namekian emerged. He was hunched, his frail frame wrapped in a simple, flowing robe, his weathered skin darkened by sun exposure. A tall wooden staff, worn smooth with time, supported him as he took slow steps toward Carlos, his deep-set eyes unreadable.
Carlos smirked, folding his arms over his chest. “That is my business,” he said smoothly, tilting his head. “Now, where is he? I don’t have time for childish games.”
The old Namekian stopped a few feet away from him, his gnarled fingers tightening on his staff. His gaze—piercing and unwavering—raked over Carlos as if searching for something buried beneath his skin.
“I sense evil in your purpose here,” the elder said, voice unshaken, despite the clear threat standing before him. “Leave at once.”
Carlos stilled, something dark and furious unraveling inside of him.
A slow, wicked smile stretched across his lips, but there was no humor in it.
“Wrong answer,” he murmured, ki flaring violently to life around him.
The force of it was immediate—an explosive shockwave that sent dust and debris whipping through the village, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. Gasps and shouts erupted as villagers stumbled back, shielding their eyes against the sudden gust. The old Namekian held his ground, but even he wavered slightly, the wind tugging at his robes.
Carlos raised a hand, palm outward, ki building rapidly in his grasp.
“If you won’t hand him over,” he growled, voice laced with venom, “then I’ll burn this entire fucking place to the ground.”
And then, he unleashed hell.
Trudging toward the small dwelling structure in the distance, the former village behind him nothing more than a smoking crater, Carlos’ boots crunched against the blue-hued grass. His gaze flicked toward the horizon, where wisps of smoke curled upward from the wreckage of Max’s stolen ship. The sight made his stomach twist, a bitter reminder of how close he had been to losing Max again.
But now the prince was back where he belonged, back with him.
Lost in thought, he felt something hard clink under his boot. Carlos froze, gaze snapping downward. Amidst the soft blue grass, something small and metallic gleamed faintly in the firelight behind him. Kneeling down, he brushed aside the blades of grass and plucked it from the ground.
It was a thin circle, gold metal framing a delicate weave of red twine. The craftsmanship was simple but striking, the vibrant red contrasting sharply with the muted tones of the alien terrain. Carlos turned it over in his hand, brows pinching as a flicker of recognition tugged at the edge of his mind.
He’d seen this before—but where?
A low growl rumbled in his throat as realization struck him. His grip tightened around the trinket as the memory surfaced. This was the bracelet that had adorned Max’s wrist after that harlot gave it to him on the base ship, the one he never seemed to take off.
Carlos had seen it several times, a quiet, unassuming accessory that Max had treated with uncharacteristic reverence.
His heart thudded violently in his chest as he stared at the fragile bracelet in his palm. The red twine and gold band seemed so innocuous, yet it radiated an infuriating intimacy—a bond that he wasn’t a part of.
His teeth clenched, rage bubbling to the surface like magma.
With a snarl, Carlos crushed the bracelet in his hand, the red threads fraying under the pressure before snapping entirely. The gold band bent and twisted, its shine dulled as it crumpled against his palm.
How dare he. The thought pounded in his skull like a drumbeat.
How dare Charles try to claim Max like that.
Unable to contain his fury, Carlos hurled the broken remnants of the bracelet towards the small dwelling by a pond, tail lashing behind him like a whip before he curled it tightly around him.
Of course the freak had to give Max something worn on the arm. Tailless himself, Charles couldn't even give Max a proper mating band.
That thought gave him a twinge of satisfaction.
Stalking toward the small dwelling, its structure standing defiantly amidst the serene landscape, the sight of it only stoked the fire in his chest.
It was small but sturdy, built with care and precision—Max’s handiwork, without question. The garden just beyond the cabin’s perimeter was neatly tended, rows of alien crops freshly planted in the fertile soil.
Carlos stopped at the edge of the garden, his jaw tightening as he stared at the quaint little home. It was so achingly familiar, the resemblance to the Earthling’s hut on that cursed planet almost unbearable. The memory surfaced—the first time he’d found Charles living in that secluded cabin, the way the Earthling had looked so content, so peaceful.
Hands curling into fists at his sides, Carlos’ nails bit into his palms. How he wished he could go back to that moment, to undo it all. He should've turned around, reported nothing, and left that wretched place untouched.
If only he’d never laid eyes on that damned cabin in the woods, everything would be different.
The rage clawed at his insides, his Oozaru roaring to life within him, its primal fury demanding more release. Carlos tilted his head back, a guttural growl rumbling from his throat as his ki surged. This life of peace, this existence with Max—it was meant to be his.
Stolen from him. His birthright, taken by that cursed Earthling.
Carlos raised his arm, energy crackling as a bright sphere of ki formed in his palm. The light illuminated his snarling face as he leveled his aim at the cabin, vision narrowing on the front door. Without hesitation, he unleashed the blast, a beam of destructive energy tearing through the structure with a deafening roar. The door splintered, the walls buckled, and the interior erupted in a flash of yellow flames.
The cabin groaned as the fire consumed it from within, the blaze devouring the simple furnishings and Max’s painstakingly built walls. Carlos stood motionless, his chest heaving, as the inferno raged before him. The heat licked at his face, the pungent scent of burning wood and ash filling the air.
This life that Max and Charles had shared—it was an insult, a mockery of everything Carlos had worked for.
This should have been his—
“Carlos!?”
A voice cut through the crackle of the flames, and Carlos seethed at its familiarity. His teeth gritted and tail puffed around him. He turned slowly, his dark eyes narrowing as he saw Charles land in the clearing, flanked by three others.
The sight of something caught his eye immediately . . .
A tail. A soft reddish-brown tail drifted in the wind behind the Earthling, motions displaying his surprise and horror.
That sealed it, Carlos thought.
Charles was clearly what he'd suspected all along. “Bedrieger,” [Deceiver] his Oozaru rumbled in his skull. “Vormveranderende succubus.” [Shape-shifting succubus]
The others were not a threat. One was an older man with longer, braided black hair, a stern and commanding presence. Another was a tall woman, her sharp features set with concern, and the last was a younger man with short floppy brown hair, brow furrowed as he looked between Carlos and the smoldering remains of the cabin.
His scouter quickly read them all and their energy levels would be no match for him. Reaching up to his ear, Carlos turned off his scouter. The honor of disposing of the Earthling was for his eyes alone.
And he was going to enjoy it.
Charles took a shaky step forward, his gaze locked on the burning structure. “No—” he gasped, voice cracking as he tried to rush toward the flames. The older man grabbed him by the arm, holding him back.
Wrestling against the hold, Charles shoved the man’s arm away. “Let me go!” he shouted before stepping into the clearing. The lines of anguish on his face quickly hardened into something else as he turned to face Carlos, expression taut with anger. “What are you doing here, Carlos?” he demanded. “Max thought you were dead!”
Carlos’ lips curled into a sneer, ki beginning to ripple visibly around him like a storm waiting to break. “I’m sure you both hoped that was the case,” he spat, cold and venomous. “When you fled like cowards and left me behind.”
Charles looked confused, his eyes searching Carlos’ face as if trying to piece together the venom in his words. “Carlos, that’s not—”
“Save it!” he snarled, cutting him off. The dark-haired Torossian stepped forward, aura flaring brighter, the ground beneath him cracking under the force of his ki. “I don’t give a damn what excuse you have to give. As you can see, I’m very much alive.” His lips twisted into a feral grin, his energy surging violently around him. “Unlike your alien friends from the village, and unlike you, when I’m through with you.”
The shock on Charles’ face was fuel for his fire as Carlos’ ki exploded around him, a blazing, fiery aura that lit up the clearing. The air grew heavy with tension, the atmosphere charged with the weight of the confrontation.
“Carlos, stop this!” Charles shouted, voice rising above the roar of the flames and the hum of Carlos’ energy. “Whatever you think—it's not true.”
But Carlos wasn’t listening. His focus was locked entirely on Charles, the half-brother he’d despised for so long. His fingers curled into fists, ki sparking dangerously around him like wildfire.
“You’ve taken everything from me,” Carlos growled with unrelenting rage. “My family. My place. My prince.” His words dripped with bitterness, each syllable carrying the weight of years of resentment. “And now, I’m taking it all back.”
Two of Charles’ companions stepped forward, their own energy flaring in warning. The older man’s voice cut through the tension. “I don’t know who you are, but stand down. You don’t want to do this.”
Eyes flicking to the group briefly, his lips pulled back into a feral snarl. “You can die just as easily. I suggest you stay out of this,” he snapped. “This is between me and him.”
Charles took another step forward, hands raised slightly, trying to diffuse the situation. “Carlos, please,” he said, voice softening, pleading. “I don’t want to fight you.”
The woman of the group bolted into the tree line, her form disappearing between the thick foliage, while the younger man stepped forward, his posture confident and his ki flickering faintly around him.
“I’ve been looking forward to kicking your ass for months,” he taunted, tone smug and condescending while cracking his knuckles. “There are three of us and only one of you. The way I see it, you’re outnumbered.”
Carlos let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Awe how sad. You don’t even know how to count,” he sneered, eyes narrowing. “There are only two of you.”
The trio exchanged confused glances, uncertainty flickering across their faces. Carlos didn’t give them time to dwell on his words. In a flash, his tail shot out from his waist.
The impact was instantaneous.
The young man didn’t even have time to block before the black tail struck him square in the chest, sending him hurtling backward at breakneck speed. He crashed through the trees with a sickening crack, the sound echoing in the clearing. The forest swallowed his body, and silence followed for a moment, the air heavy with tension.
Charles’ growl broke the silence, deep and primal, as his own energy began to flare around him. The crimson aura enveloped his form, the intensity of it casting a red glow over the clearing. His tail unwrapped from his waist, snapping sharply in his rising fury.
“See?” Carlos said with a smirk, gesturing toward the trees where the young man had vanished. “Only two.”
The dark-skinned man didn’t waste time. He charged forward, his movements swift and calculated, his own ki rising in response to Carlos’ taunts. His first strike came in fast, a glowing fist aimed at Carlos’ midsection.
Carlos shifted effortlessly, his Oozaru instincts guiding his movements. With a quick sidestep, he dodged the attack and used the man’s momentum against him, grabbing his wrist and twisting it sharply. The man let out a grunt of pain but quickly recovered, pivoting on his heel and throwing a powerful kick toward Carlos’ ribs.
The Torossian caught the kick with one hand, his grip like iron. “Not bad,” Carlos said. “For an amateur.”
He yanked the man off balance and slammed him into the ground with a thunderous impact. Dust and debris flew into the air as the man groaned, struggling to push himself back up.
Carlos didn’t let him recover.
He was on him in an instant, pinning the man to the ground with his knee pressed firmly against his chest.
The dark-skinned man fought valiantly, strikes fast and precise, showing evidence of solid training as they moved together across the ground. He'd even managed to land a glancing blow on Carlos’ jaw, earning a slight grunt of acknowledgment. But he was no match for the raw strength and ferocity of a Torossian warrior. Carlos easily overpowered him, his movements a blur of calculated brutality.
With one final strike, Carlos drove his elbow into the man’s sternum, knocking the wind out of him. The man collapsed onto his back, coughing and gasping for air as Carlos stood over him, triumphant.
“Pathetic,” Carlos muttered, gaze shifting back to Charles. His ki flared brighter, more intense, as he raised his hand and aimed a glowing palm directly at his fallen opponent. “Let me show you what happens to those who stand in my way.”
A flash of light streaked past Carlos’ head, the intense heat singing the edge of his hair. Snapping his gaze to the source, he saw Charles standing firm, crimson energy crackling around him like a storm barely restrained.
"Leave him alone," Charles said, voice low but resolute. "You want to fight me? Then let's have it."
Carlos smirked, his Oozaru growling in approval at the challenge. “Finally,” he said, flexing his fists as he took a ready stance. “I'm going to enjoy this.”
For a long moment, they stared each other down, the tension between them thick and crackling. Then, as if on an unspoken signal, they charged forward, in sync. Their ki exploded as they collided in mid-air, fists meeting with bone-shattering force, the ground below cracking from the sheer power of their clash.
The battle was ferocious, the air ringing with the sound of impacts and the crackle of energy. Charles’ strikes were faster and sharper than Carlos remembered from their first fight back on Earth. His training with Max and Alonso was evident in the precision of his movements, each blow carrying more weight, more force than Carlos had anticipated.
But Carlos had been ready for this. He’d spent his whole life at war, studied patterns, and prepared for the inevitable showdowns it always brought.
This was no different.
Charles was emotional—angry, distressed, desperate.
His ki flared erratically, wild and unrestrained, a chaotic tempest that drove his attacks. He came at Carlos with everything he had, swinging hard and fast, his energy scorching the ground beneath their feet.
But that recklessness cost him. His strikes lacked coordination, his movements were wasteful, and Carlos capitalized on every opening.
"You're still as sloppy as ever," Carlos taunted, ducking under a wide swing and driving his fist into Charles’ ribs with enough force to send him skidding across the dirt. “It seems you really didn't do any training that wasn't on your back.”
Growling, Charles pushed himself up, wiping blood from his split lip. He charged again, his crimson aura burning brighter as he launched a flurry of attacks. Carlos blocked and deflected each one with calculated precision, his tail snapping behind him as he drove Charles back across the open landscape.
Their battle tore through the terrain, uprooting trees and carving deep ruts in the ground. Each strike sent shockwaves rippling through the air, the land bearing the scars of their clash. Charles was relentless, refusing to give up despite the odds. His determination was admirable, but Carlos could see the cracks forming in his resolve.
As the fight wore on, Charles began to slow.
His movements grew sluggish, his attacks less precise. Sweat dripped from his brow, mingling with the blood running down his face and staining the ground beneath him. Carlos smirked, sensing his advantage. He had conserved his energy, waiting for this moment, and now he tapped into his reserves, his ki surging around him.
“You’re out of your league, Charles,” Carlos said, cold and taunting as he darted forward. “I've trained as a Torossian warrior from birth.”
In a blur of motion, Carlos closed the distance, his strikes hitting harder and faster than before. Charles tried to counter, but his attacks were clumsy, overcorrected in his desperation to regain control. Carlos ducked under a wild punch and drove his knee into Charles’ gut, forcing the air from his lungs with a choked gasp.
Charles staggered, and Carlos didn’t give him a chance to recover. He swept Charles’ legs out from under him and slammed him into the ground, pinning him down with a brutal efficiency. Dust and debris flew into the air as Carlos pressed his forearm against Charles’ throat, his weight keeping him firmly pinned.
“Hoe durft hij jou boven mij te verkiezen,” [ How dare he pick you over me ] Carlos sneered, bloodied and breathing heavily but still firmly in control. “You are nothing.”
Carlos raised his free arm and charged a blast as he stared down at Charles, his arm trembling under the strain of holding the energy ball aloft. The glowing sphere pulsed in his palm, humming with lethal power, illuminating the blood and dirt smeared across Charles' battered face.
His half-brother lay beneath him, barely conscious, one eye swollen shut, the other cracked open just enough to reveal a glimmer of defiance amidst the pain.
This was it.
The moment to end everything—to sever the ties that had brought him so much anguish. To destroy the constant reminder of his father's betrayal, the mistake Jules had inflicted upon their family when he brought Charles home.
The memory of that night surfaced. Jules' face lit with joy as he rocked the tiny bundle in his arms, his voice soft and warm as he introduced the infant as Perceval. Carlos' young heart had clenched with confusion and anger then, unable to understand why his father could love something that wasn’t entirely theirs.
Jules said they'd be brothers, a bond like no other. One to watch the others back, unbreakable tie in blood.
Tears pricked at Carlos' eyes, the heat of them blurring his vision.
He grit his teeth, trying to shake the thought away, but it clung to him, a stubborn weight. His father’s voice, his laughter, his unshakable pride in them both—those things had always been there, even if Jules had kept secrets.
His gaze dropped back to Charles, to those familiar eyes.
Jules' eyes.
Carlos faltered, his breath catching in his throat.
Why did Charles have to look so much like him? The thought twisted in his chest, wringing out years of pain and confusion, tangled in the echoes of Max's voice.
“Jules would be ashamed of you!”
The words reverberated through him like a thunderclap, breaking the dam of his resolve. His father’s pride, unwavering expectations—it all crashed down around Carlos, suffocating him in the unbearable truth.
Jules would be ashamed. He already was.
Carlos froze, the energy in his palm flickering and dimming. He stared down at Charles, at the rise and fall of his chest, shallow and weak, at the blood streaking his face, and the unmistakable pain that matched his own.
All Carlos had to do was let it go. Just release the energy.
It would be over. So easy.
And yet, his arm wouldn’t move. His fingers wouldn’t loosen.
The glow in his palm faded completely, dissipating into the air.
Charles opened his good eye a sliver further, confusion etched into his features. His voice cracked as he tried to speak, but nothing came.
Bringing his fist down, Carlos landed a final punch squarely on Charles’ jaw, knocking him seemingly unconscious, eyes closed and mouth open, red spilling from inside. Pressing the transponder on his scouter, Carlos scanned Charles’ energy signature, getting a reading of zero.
Even now, after all these years, the fool still had an energy barely worthy of being called a Torossian.
After snapping his evidence, Carlos switched off his scouter again.
Leaning back, his weight shifted just enough to keep an arm pressed against Charles' throat but easing the crushing pressure. “I spare your life for our father alone,” he said, words firm and reverent. “I dishonor his memory if I kill his son.”
Standing slowly, his gaze lingering on Charles for a moment longer. His half-brother looked broken, bleeding, barely breathing, but still alive. There was no triumph in Carlos' heart, no relief—only a hollow ache that twisted deeper with every passing second.
“I don’t ever want to see your face again,” Carlos growled, voice trembling despite the venom in his tone. His hands clenched into fists, and his tail lashed behind him, the tension in his body barely restrained. “And don’t you dare look for Max. This is your end with him.”
He stepped back, leaving Charles sprawled in the dirt, before turning on his heel and rushing away.
Notes:
Hoping the source material crowd appreciated the several nods to canon material in this chapter 😅
Only 1 more chapter until the end of part 2! I will have a break before I start posting part 3, similar to the break between part 1 and part 2.
Comments are always welcome. Come say hi on Tumblr or discord
Chapter 45: Never Belong To Another
Summary:
If he was ever going to beg, it had to be now.
Notes:
Info about part 3 in the end note.
Chapter warnings: why ruin the surprise
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max groaned, his head lolling to the side as he blinked into the suffocating darkness, body throbbing with pain, cold air seeping into his bare skin like ice. He tried to move, but his muscles screamed in protest, and he quickly realized why.
His arms were stretched above him, bound tightly by heavy shackles around his wrists, their edges biting into his skin. There was some kind of casing covering his hands, surrounding them as he pressed his fingers against the insides.
The weight of his body pulled at his shoulders painfully, and the cursed shock collar clung to his neck, digging in just enough to lightly restrict his breathing. A firm metal muzzle encased his mouth, pressing against his jaw, molding up onto his cheekbones and forcing his breathing to come in sharp, shallow bursts through his nose.
Gritting his teeth behind the muzzle, Max shifted, trying to ease the strain on his arms. He planted his feet under him with effort, toes brushing the freezing floor as he pushed up enough to relieve the weight from his wrists. His back pressed against the frigid metal wall, every inch of his body trembling from the cold.
His breathing was ragged, chest heaving against the icy air, and as his mind clawed its way out of the haze, fragments of memory started to surface.
The village.
The service file.
Charles.
The flash of red eyes against the darkened sky as Jos descended upon the ship as he tried to flee.
Max squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the memory was relentless. He could still feel the frost demon’s fingers twisting in his hair, dragging him out of the cockpit with a cruel laugh, the fear in his heart haunting him.
Max’s lips pressed hard against the muzzle, jaw tightening in helpless rage. Jos had toyed with him, battering him against the ship like a plaything, and Max had been powerless to stop him as he was dragged back on board the base ship.
Powerless to protect Charles.
And then there was Carlos, his own best friend. The betrayal he felt cut deep. “You will be rewarded for your efforts in this retrieval,” Jos had said. Max's ears were ringing, unable to hear another word. He'd thought the man was dead, as well as Alonso—
Was Alonso still alive? By the goddess, where was he? Was he being tortured, or held in a similar state as him? Would Max not be allowed to see either of them just like when he was younger?
Max was ashamed that he hoped Alonso was dead, not trapped in some cell, rotting in a similar fate as his.
He shook his head sharply, trying to clear it.
Dwelling on any of that wouldn’t help him now.
He forced his breathing to steady, but the oppressive silence of the cell had his ears ringing. Every sound felt amplified—the drip of water somewhere in the distance, the hum of the ship’s engines vibrating through the walls, the faint buzz of the shock collar lying dormant for now, but ready to ignite at the slightest provocation.
Max’s thoughts turned to his current predicament.
Stripped of his clothes, his pride, and his freedom, the humiliation was a weight as crushing as the shackles binding him. The frost demon had left him here to stew in his prison, the cold and silence a deliberate torment to break him before the real pain began.
And it would begin . . . there was no doubt about it.
He flexed his fingers again, feeling the rough edges of the shackles dig deeper into his skin. Poetic, Max thought. Under normal circumstances, simple metal would never be enough to hold him, but with the apparent inability to summon his energy, these primitive bindings were just to serve as an insult.
The chains rattled faintly with the movement, and Max froze, listening intently for any sign of life beyond the cell.
Nothing.
For now, he was alone in the dark.
But for how long?
Jaw clenching, a deep, simmering anger replaced his despair. If Jos thought he’d broken him, he was wrong. The warlord might’ve recaptured him, stripped him of his strength and dignity, but Max was not beaten.
Not yet.
Charles was still out there. That singular thought burned like a small flame in Max's chest, a faint glimmer of hope that he clung to despite everything.
He was so smart, resourceful, and capable. The Earthling would feel Carlos coming, be able to escape or defend himself. He was strong. Stronger than anyone gave him credit for.
Charles could handle this.
For now, all Max could do for him was hope he'd bought Charles enough time to run.
The Namekians had taken to the Earthling quickly, their kindness and acceptance a balm Max could never hope to replicate. They would help Charles in as one of their own.
He would be fine.
He could be happy somewhere, safe and free, without Max dragging him into his endless storm of chaos and failure.
The prince's chest tightened painfully. His mind, never merciful, turned against him with a cruel precision, forcing him to confront the truths he'd buried, Oozaru remaining silent in the back of his mind.
Who was he kidding, thinking he could ever be happy and free with Charles?
He’d taken the Earthling into one of the most dangerous settlements in the universe, a cesspool of violence and depravity, where Charles had barely survived. He’d promised to protect him, to keep him safe, and what had he done?
Almost gotten him killed.
The narrow escape from the rebel base, the fear in Charles’ eyes, the way the Earthling had held onto him as if he was the only thing keeping him tethered to life.
He’d sworn then that he would do better, but he’d failed again.
He’d taken them to Namek, hoping for a fresh start, a chance to build something new. And what had he given Charles? A pitiful shack cobbled together from scraps, a mockery of a home for someone as sacred as the Eldri. Charles deserved a palace, a kingdom, not some shabby hut in the middle of nowhere.
The villagers had seen through him too, seen the monster lurking beneath the surface. He’d scared them, alienated Charles, and ultimately gotten himself exiled as a result. He couldn’t even provide for Charles in the simplest way, couldn’t offer him a place where he could feel safe and cherished.
Max’s breath hitched, his chest heaving as the weight of his failures sank in his stomach.
And then there were the nightmares.
His childish, pathetic nightmares that plagued him like a curse, bleeding into reality and leaving Charles frightened and wary.
"You’re scaring me," Charles had whispered, voice trembling with a fear Max would never forget.
The memory twisted like a knife in his gut, Charles’ torn shirt in his hands as he realized, too late, what he’d done. He’d hurt him, scared him, driven him away with his madness.
Charles had run from him. Taken one good look at the things he'd done, the crimes he'd committed and . . . ran.
Max’s head fell forward, the chains around his wrists rattling softly in the silence. He was a failure. A disgrace. A prince unworthy of his title and unworthy of the man who had seen something in him worth loving.
Alonso was wrong about him. He was never capable of living up to his potential, of living up to his family name and continuing his hallowed bloodline.
Charles deserved peace, happiness, and a life free from the shadow of Max’s failures.
And maybe, if the goddess was merciful, he could give him that. Even if it meant staying in this frozen hell, enduring Jos’ torment, and letting Charles believe he was gone for good.
A faint sound echoed through the void, pulling Max's attention sharply.
His head shot up, muscles tensing instinctively as he strained his ears. Heavy footsteps followed—a measured cadence—and the soft scrape of something dragging along the floor.
Max straightened as much as his restraints allowed, his tail coiled tightly around him, covering his naked state. Whatever fresh torment awaited him, he would face it with the same defiance he'd clung to for years in his war of wills.
The war was not lost.
A second door creaked open, much closer this time. The sound was low, guttural, and Max turned his head toward it, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Oh my, Prince Max,” came the grating, mockingly sweet tone of Jos’ voice, a sound that slithered into his ears like poison. “I see they’ve left you in the dark. I remember how much that used to trouble you as a young boy. My sincerest apologies.”
Before Max could brace himself, blinding white light flooded the room, cutting through the pitch black like an exploding star. He clenched his eyes shut, a muffled grunt escaping behind the restrictive muzzle as his retinas screamed in protest.
“There,” Jos continued, tone familiar and condescending. “Much better.”
Max forced his eyes open, blinking against the harsh illumination until his vision adjusted. The scene around him came into focus, and dread coiled in his stomach like a serpent.
He recognized this place.
The metal walls were the same dull gray, cold and unyielding. The faint hum of machinery reverberated through the room, and the air carried a sterile, suffocating chill. The mat he'd slept on, and the bucket he'd had to relieve himself were gone, but these four walls were unmistakable.
His heart sank as his gaze darted to the familiar corners of the cell, memories flooding back with agonizing clarity.
The vile medicine forced down his throat, the nameless soldiers shoving their scouters in his battered face, taking proof of life photos to ensure his father's continued servitude. Hours of endless banging, peeling his own nails back as he clawed at the solid walls. Screaming and pleading to be let out. Staring at the same stain on the wall . . . waiting to die.
This was where it had all begun.
“I see you recognize your old accommodations,” Jos purred, gliding closer with a predatory grace. His crimson eyes glittered with malice, a sick satisfaction emanating from him. “What a tragedy it is, really, to find yourself back where we started so many years ago. So much history in this room, don’t you think? Our torrid little relationship began right here.”
Max’s blood boiled as the frost demon’s words cut deep, dragging him through the agonizing memories of his childhood. Shackled, beaten, starved.
Alone.
A growl rumbled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through the muzzle. His body tensed, every muscle in his frame trembling with restrained fury.
Jos tilted his head, smirking as if the sight of Max’s defiance amused him. “Ah, there’s that fire I’ve missed so dearly. Still snarling, still fighting, even now. You truly are the perfect pet, Prince Max.”
Max’s eyes burned with hatred as he locked his gaze on the frost demon, growl growing louder despite the restrictive collar and muzzle. He wouldn’t give Jos the satisfaction of seeing him break.
Not again. Not ever.
“I’ve decided to do things differently this time,” Jos purred, voice low and menacing as he stepped closer.
His claws combed through Max’s hair in a mockery of tenderness, the sensation sending a shiver of disgust down the prince’s spine. Max jerked his head away instinctively, lunging forward and gathering his ki, only to howl in pain behind his muzzle as the shock collar discharged violently against his raw, bruised neck.
“Now, now, Prince Max,” Jos chided with faux concern. “No sudden movements. That collar will automatically be triggered if it senses your ki building or detects any hostile movements.”
Max groaned through gritted teeth, body trembling as the aftershocks subsided. His piercing blue eyes never left Jos, radiating defiance despite the pain.
“I hope you are impressed,” Jos continued. “These upgrades were quite the undertaking. But as you can see, they’ve been well worth the effort. There will be no escaping this time.”
Max’s jaw clenched, gaze hard as he fought the rising bile in his throat. Jos leaned closer, his icy breath brushing against Max’s ear as he reached out, tucking a stray strand of blond hair behind the prince’s ear. Max turned his head sharply, refusing to meet the frost demon’s eyes, but the warlord was undeterred.
Jos’ cold, black lips pressed against the sensitive skin of Max’s neck, lingering in a sick parody of affection. The prince recoiled, his muscles tightening as a fresh wave of revulsion coursed through him.
“My fondness for you has grown over the years,” Jos murmured, lips curving into a wicked smile against Max’s skin. “Perhaps that has led to such leniency on my part. A mistake I won’t be repeating.”
Max’s fury ignited, instincts overpowering his better judgment, Oozaru rumbling in his neck. He brought one of his free legs up, aiming a swift kick at Jos’ chest, but the frost demon was faster.
He was always fucking faster.
Jos seized Max’s ankle in an iron grip, claws digging painfully into his skin. With a twisted smirk, he turned the limb just enough to make his threat unmistakably clear.
“Behave,” Jos hissed, red eyes glinting with sadistic delight. “Or I’ll break this again. And your little ‘assistant’ won’t be here to stitch you back together.”
Max gritted his teeth, biting back a growl as his leg throbbed in Jos’ unrelenting grasp. His chest heaved with the effort of keeping his rage in check, the shock collar’s cruel memory still fresh on his skin.
“Good,” Jos said, finally releasing Max’s ankle and stepping back, smirk widening. “Let’s see if this new approach encourages better obedience.”
Taking a further step back, Jos floated gracefully to the door, slow and unhurried. The prince’s sharp eyes followed him warily as the frost demon bent to retrieve a small, ornate box resting against the wall. Max hadn’t noticed it when Jos entered, his focus too consumed by the sudden flood of light that blinded him.
“I had a lot of time while you were away,” Jos said, tone disturbingly conversational as he cradled the box in his hands. “Time to consider our dynamic and make some . . . enhancements. These,” he continued with smug anticipation, “I’m sure you will appreciate.”
Max tensed, muscles coiling as he instinctively yanked at his restraints again. The metal bit into his wrists, unyielding and cold, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying. Whatever was in that box, he didn’t want to see it, much less have anything to do with it.
Jos hovered back to the center of the room, holding the box like it contained something precious. The frost demon’s lips curved into a cruel smile as he watched Max’s struggles with detached amusement.
“You Torossians,” Jos began, “are so fond of your traditions and customs. An endearing trait, though many of the finer details are shrouded in secrecy, lost to time with Toro's demise. Fortunately, I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.”
A pit formed in Max’s gut, heavy and cold, as the frost demon’s words sank in. He didn’t like where this was going, mind scrambling to decipher Jos’ cryptic tone.
“From the research I was able to conduct,” Jos continued, claws tracing the edge of the box almost lovingly, “this gift should be presented in my throne room, for all to witness. A grand ceremony, steeped in formality and reverence. But I find myself drawn to something more . . . intimate. This moment belongs to us alone, free from the distractions of prying eyes.”
Panic flared in Max’s chest, heart hammering against his ribs. He pressed himself as far back against the wall as his restraints allowed, breath hitching. His mind raced, unable to piece together what Jos could possibly mean, yet knowing with a sick certainty that it was nothing good.
The frost demon opened the box slowly, savoring the moment as he tilted it just enough for Max to catch a glimpse of its contents. The prince’s stomach churned violently as his eyes fell on a gleaming, circular object inside—a twisted, corrupted imitation of a Torossian mating band.
But not just any mating band . . .
His Father's.
Mind regaled with an image of it around his father's tail, mounted to the wall in the warlord's bed chambers like a dead snake, Max couldn't believe his eyes.
“Do you know what this is, dear prince?” Jos asked. “This is my pledge to you, an eternal reminder of your place by my side. It’s only fitting, after all. You were meant to be mine from the very beginning.”
Max’s heart thundered against his ribs, chest heaving with desperate breaths as pure panic consumed him. His arms burned fiercely, muscles trembling from the relentless effort to pull free from his unyielding restraints.
The cuffs bit cruelly into his wrists, the friction tearing at his skin, blood slicking the metal as he fought harder than he ever had before, legs pushing against the floor for leverage.
His tail, his last remaining instinctual defense, curled tightly behind his back, pressing against the freezing wall in a futile attempt to shield itself. The motion was involuntary, a primal reflex born of fear, but it did nothing to ease the icy dread spreading through his body.
This can’t happen. It can’t.
His mind raced, frantic with the knowledge of what the frost demon’s twisted ceremony would mean. To be bonded to Jos in this mockery of Torossian tradition—this sacred rite turned into a nightmare—was an existence too horrific to bear.
His muffled shouts echoed uselessly through the room, the muzzle ensuring no coherent sound escaped. Jos was unmoved, approaching with a steady calm, the gleaming tail cuff in his clawed hand catching the harsh light with every step.
If he was ever going to beg, it had to be now.
Max’s head shook violently, golden hair falling messily over his blood-streaked face as he squeezed his eyes shut. His lips moved in silent, desperate prayer, pleading with the goddess to intervene, to strike him down before Jos could bind him to this living hell.
Death would be a mercy compared to the alternative.
But the goddess was silent, and Jos was the embodiment of evil.
The frost demon reached out with unnerving precision, hand curling around Max’s tail with a grip like steel. The prince’s body jolted involuntarily, a muffled cry tearing from his throat as Jos yanked the sensitive appendage away from its protective position against the wall.
No, no, no . . . Max’s thoughts spiraled as he strained against his restraints, the sensation of his tail being held sending lightning bolts of pain and humiliation up his spine.
Legs kicking out, the prince's ankles were seized by the emperor’s snake-like tail, bones of his legs straining.
Jos stretched Max's tail out, holding it taut, a cold smile widening as he brought the cuff closer. Max’s struggles became more erratic, his pleas silent but visible in the raw emotion behind his cerulean eyes, now swimming with unshed tears.
Time seemed to slow as Max got his first clear view of the cuff in Jos’ hand, and nausea rose as he realized what he was looking at.
The inner lining of the cuff was adorned with barbs —small, vicious spikes that glinted wickedly in the light. Each one was angled precisely, designed to dig deep into the tender flesh of his tail and ensure no relief from the constant agony they would inflict.
The clasps, once simple mechanisms meant to symbolize trust and unity, had been replaced by a complex locking system. Heavy and industrial, it was a prison in itself, meant to ensure the cuff could never be removed without Jos’ explicit permission.
A choked sob escaped Max’s throat as Jos lowered the cuff, its open mouth poised menacingly at the base of his tail. Every muscle in his body screamed with resistance, his soul pleading for someone— anyone —to save him.
“Save your tears,” the frost demon grinned, sharp teeth peaking as he basked in Max’s suffering. “They mean nothing now.”
The sound of the cuff snapping shut echoed in the room like a death knell, the metallic click sealing Max’s fate.
Agony unlike anything he’d ever known erupted from the base of his tail, jagged and unrelenting as the barbs sank deep into the tender flesh. Max’s back arched violently, every muscle in his body seizing as his head snapped back, a guttural, primal roar tore from his throat, his Oozaru howling in shared torment.
He couldn’t breathe.
The pain was all-consuming, radiating out from his tail and flooding every nerve in his body. His vision blurred, the edges darkening as his entire existence narrowed to that singular, excruciating moment.
The cuff’s unyielding grip crushed the base of his tail, his most vulnerable point, and all the strength he’d fought so hard to preserve was stripped away in an instant. His legs gave out, and he sagged against the chains holding him aloft, arms burning with the weight.
Tears streamed down his face in hot, shameful rivers, carving tracks through the grime on his cheeks. His chest heaved with broken sobs, and he was too shattered to resist as Jos leaned in, cold, serpentine tongue trailing along Max’s cheeks to lap at his tears.
“You wear it beautifully, my prince,” Jos purred. “It looks far better on you than it ever did on him.”
Max wanted to scream, to fight, to do anything but endure this humiliation, but he was too weak, too broken. His thoughts were a fragmented whirlwind, scattered by the blinding pain and the overwhelming sense of despair.
This was sacrilege . . . blasphemous, to steal a fallen Torossian’s mating band, and any such union formed as a result would be cursed by the goddess.
Through the haze of agony, he barely registered Jos stepping back, turning to reveal his own tail. Max’s stomach twisted violently as he saw it—a much larger cuff, identical to the one now affixed to him, gleaming maliciously at the base of the frost demon’s tail.
He heaved behind the muzzle, body convulsing as bile rose in his throat, only to be forced to swallow it down. The burn, a cruel addition to his torment had Max closing his eyes tightly, praying to the goddess to end his suffering.
Kill me. Please, just kill me.
But there was no divine mercy, only the icy grip of Jos’ claws as they cupped Max’s face. The frost demon forced his head up, their eyes locking as Jos’ piercing red gaze bore into him.
“You will never belong to another,” Jos said, voice calm but laced with a chilling finality that sent a fresh wave of despair crashing over Max.
The words carved themselves into his soul, a cruel declaration that left no room for hope.
“You are mine.”
Notes:
Well here we are again, at the final chapter of a part for this story. 😭 Part 2 has been a wild ride and I couldn't be happier with how it turned out and the deepening of Max and Charles' relationship. Thank you so much for reading and sticking with this crazy piece for this long! Today is one day short of the 1 year anniversary of posting chapter 1🫣
I will be on a posting break for a few weeks as I get myself together and finish the 3rd and final part of this story. Similar to my first break, I will be posting part 3 snippets on my Tumblr and discord on Thursdays in place of ch posts. There is so much left still to resolve and a much needed reunion for our boys ❤️ I have mentioned a few times already, but I would like to restate here: There will NOT be on camera SA moments with Jos and Max like there was in part 1. Part 3 will be more focused on the rescue plan and story resolution, so hopefully that can relieve some anxiety for some after this chapter!
A few things to look forward to in part 3: Charles fully reunited with his Eldri and my does it have a lot to say, Carlos realizing what a huge mistake he's made, George questioning his loyalties, Charles experiencing some "interesting" symptoms away from Max, Hannah continuing to be a badass and the only voice of reason, and finally . . . some long awaited ends of some very unsavory characters.
Comments are always welcome. Come say hi on Tumblr or discord
Chapter 46: Part 3 - Echoes
Summary:
As Charles tries to process how everything went so wrong, the Earth group comes up with a plan.
Notes:
Welcome back everyone and thanks so much for your patients while I got my shit together ❤️
Chapter warnings: None, just some sad Charlie
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
- Capsule Corp ship, somewhere in space -
The steady, warm glow of Charles’ Veyöra pulsed rhythmically in his palm, the soft light giving crimson reflections across the walls of his small room. The ship was silent around him, steady vibrations from the engine barely distracting him from the turmoil in his chest.
It had been weeks since they’d left Namek—sixteen days to be exact with Charles counting them painfully one by one, hour by hour. He'd been marking them off in a ship log, tracking the almost 42 days left in their voyage.
Two months.
It had taken his friends just over two months to find him on Namek, and it would take another two to get back to Earth, a blur of chaotic emotions and hastily made plans driving the ragtag team forward.
It all felt oddly reminiscent of when he was taken onto the PTO ship the first time, lost among strangers, just as powerless as he was then.
Now, en route to Earth, Charles felt more uncertain than ever.
He tightened his grip on the Veyöra, his red ki intertwining with the stone’s calming energy as he tried to center himself, craving that empty feeling the stone always left him with.
The draining sensation tingled all the way up his arm to the back of his head, less erratic and hostile than before when he'd used it on Namek, but no less strong. There was an odd twinge at the base of his tail now when he “trained” with it, and his new limb would jerk and puff up on its own, sometimes even smacking against his back.
The damn thing was uncontrollable.
He still had no idea what he was doing or how to use the stone, but after letting it drain him, he would sleep for long stretches of time, allowing him to escape the nightmarish reality he was living in.
He couldn't sleep without it. Couldn’t sleep without the prince beside him, warm steady presence soothing and keeping him safe.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw Max, his smile, his blue eyes wrinkling at the edges, his expression calm as they laid together on the Namekian grass under the stars. All of it only imagined until those ocean eyes morphed into a gaze of twisted pain and fear as Jos’ red eyes honed in and dragged a lifeless Max away while he was reaching out to him.
Calling for him.
He didn't even know if Max was still alive. He'd tried to reach out and feel him in his mind, find that familiar ki in the void of space, but he couldn't. All he felt was the hole where his heart used to be, echoes of what once was.
Chest aching, Charles tried to refocus on the stone, but the harder he focused, the more elusive the peace he sought became.
His breathing was labored, heart thumping as his thoughts spiraled uncontrollably, squeezing the stone in a white knuckle grip. And just when it felt like his chest would cave in from the draining pressure, he let go, setting the stone down with trembling hands, collapsing onto his side.
The bunk was cold and unforgiving, the thin mattress doing little to ease the ache in his body or soul, but it was comforting.
Max's PTO bed had felt like this, though it was missing the musky scent of the prince in its sheets.
A soft sniffle, followed by a muted whine.
He curled into himself, staring blankly at the glowing stone on the edge of the bed as his breathing slowly evened out, tail limp behind him.
Everything had happened so fast. He’d had no time to even process having his tail back or the strange swishes and gestures it made at odd moments, doing little more than distracting him. It was almost painful to look at, reminding him too much of the soft blond tail that had often held him close.
At the time, he'd been so excited to show Max, imagining the look on the prince's face. Now, he'd do anything to go back and stop himself from ever going to see the Grand Elder in the first place.
What a colossal mistake that had been.
Squeezing his eyes shut, the memory of Namek’s final moments washed over him.
After Carlos had left him alive—a mercy he still didn’t fully understand—Charles had dragged himself through the smoldering remains of his and Max’s cabin. The air had been thick with ash, the stench of burnt wood and memories clinging to him as he ground over charred debris.
He hadn’t known what he was looking for. Maybe something left? Maybe closure? Maybe something to prove that the life he and Max had shared, however brief, had been real?
He’d been awash in uncertainty.
But his knees had given out when he’d found it.
Nestled among the ashes and twisted rubble had been Max’s bracelet—the one Charles had given him before his deployment. The red twine had now become black and shredded, the gold half bent and tarnished, but it had been unmistakably the same.
Had Max taken it off? How had it ended up in the cabin and not with the prince?
Tears had streamed down his soot-streaked face as he’d clutched the mangled trinket to his chest, sobs echoing into the desolate silence around him. The bracelet had been a symbol of his love for Max—still unspoken then—a fragile hope they’d dared to nurture together.
He’d had no other possessions to give, nothing to show Max how much he’d cared. And now, just like their cabin, it was broken beyond recognition. Even if it was a stupid superstition, a part of Charles always had felt better knowing Max had had it with him, protecting him in ways the Eldri couldn’t.
It hurt to know Max was out there somewhere, alone.
The sound of a door whooshing open and shut down the hall drew his attention, footsteps walking to his door before pausing. He felt Lando’s energy just on the other side, and he held his breath, hoping if he stayed perfectly still his old training partner would just think he was asleep.
The steps retreated down the corridor after a moment and Charles let out a breath.
Rolling over onto his back in the bunk, he thumbed over the bracelet he'd done his best to repair, the twisted gold cool against his wrist and fingertips. He pulled it off carefully, eyes stinging as he traced its warped edges.
This was all he had left of Max—a man who’d fought so hard to protect him, to build something together, only for it all to be ripped away by the merciless hands of fate.
With a deep breath, Charles placed the bracelet beside the Veyöra on his bunk, their combined light flickering softly in the dim room.
Hold on, Max, he thought, the ache hardening in his chest.
Their plan to rescue the regal Torossian was a fragile thing, cobbled together from desperation and tenuous hope. Every idea they had carried with it the weight of potential failure—a failure Charles knew he would never forgive himself for.
True to their word, Lando, Hannah, and Lewis had helped stop Namek from being purged—as much as they could anyway. It had been too late for the village near their cabin, but the other pockets of life on the planet remained intact, as well as the Grand Elder’s temple.
It was horrifying, the devastation in the small, peaceful village, but Charles had no answer for his role in its demise. He couldn’t even bring himself to venture over to the burnt remains of the old villager’s hut, small sections of fence the only thing left standing of the dwelling, stones of the hearth that had kept him warm and safe the night before scattered across the ground.
There was nothing left to do but hold up his end of the deal and return to Earth with his friends.
Boarding the Earth ship quietly, Charles had gone straight for the control deck where the radar still indicated Jos' ship was headed in the opposite direction of Earth. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of it until the radar lost signal, the PTO base ship having finally gone too far out of range.
When that soft beeping stopped, Charles felt a piece of him die with it, along with any chance he had of finding Max.
But he would never give up. He'd even made one last attempt to argue going after the base ship.
“You can’t be serious, Charles!” Lando exclaimed, voice echoing in the confined space, his expression a mix of disbelief and frustration as he threw his hands into the air. “You need to come home with us! Look at you—you’re beat to hell, barely standing, and completely out of your mind! That guy wiped the floor with us and you want to go for round two?!”
“With you,” Lewis corrected. “He wiped the floor with you. At least Charles and I put up some form of a fight. But then again, you never were very good under pressure.”
The bickering grew to a fever pitch, and the base of Charles’ skull rattled violently. A growl rumbled from his chest and his tail bristled, silencing the group from shouting at each other.
“I’m not leaving Max behind,” he said, lips pulling back in a snarl. “I’ll fucking interstellar hitchhike if I have to. So either you’re here to help me or you leave without me.”
“Charles, please,” Hannah begged. “This isn’t just about you. We all came here to rescue you, braved months of unplanned space travel, but this Max is—”
“Max is everything to me,” Charles snapped, cutting her off. His eyes burned with unshed tears, hands shaking at his sides. “Don’t you get it? I love him! I’d rather die here than leave him to whatever horrible things Jos has in store for him. I have to find him before it's too late.”
Lando rubbed his face. “Did you not feel that thing’s ki?” he shouted. "As much as I’d love to do some kind of smash and grab style rescue, that just isn’t an option with that monster that took your precious ‘Max’ or the kind of insane technology that their ship has. I mean come on, it was pure frozen death! Not even a free wish from the orbs could make me go anywhere near that thing again!”
A collective silence descended over the group, wary glances exchanged.
“What?” Lando asked, looking around.
Freezing the breath in his lungs, Lando’s words struck a chord deep in Charles, heart thudding painfully as a single word echoed in his mind.
Orbs . . .
And suddenly, the Eldri had hope.
How could he have been so stupid and forgotten? He'd even told Max about them during one of their late night conversations.
His gaze snapped to Hannah's, the unspoken question on the tip of his tongue passing between them.
Would that work? Could they use them to get Max out of this mess?
She looked just as astounded by the idea as he felt.
“What are these goddamn orbs?” Lewis barked, frustration boiling over. He crossed his arms, glaring between Hannah and Lando. “You two blew me off about this back on the lookout before we left. Someone better tell me what the fuck they are, right now.”
Charles stepped back, synapses firing rapidly.
The more he thought about it, the more he was sure. This was it, this was his answer. He could go back to Earth, gather the orbs, and use his wish to get Max out of that prison. No one would have to get hurt trying to break in, and it kept not only him but everyone else away from Jos’ clutches.
It was actually brilliant, damn Lando not even realizing what he’d said.
“We’ll explain on the way,” he'd said quickly, verging on desperation. “We need to get moving. Now.”
Stunned, the three just stared at him, feet rooted to the floor of the flight deck at his change in tune.
“Come on!” He shouted, and without another word, the group hurried to prepare for their departure, the ship rumbling to life as they took off for Earth.
Rolling back onto his side again in his bunk, pulling the blanket up over his exhausted body, Charles closed his eyes, pleading for sleep to take him and stop his overactive mind. They were losing so much time, the Capsule Corp ship woefully inferior to the PTO base ship in terms of its travel speed.
Moaning, the Earthling’s memories continued.
It was during the first meal on the journey that the tension had finally broken, when Hannah took it upon herself to explain the plan further.
The four of them had been huddled together in a small booth, the table cluttered with trays of synthesized food and half-empty cups. Leaning forward, Hannah had rested her elbows on the table and glanced over at Charles as he sat in silence, hand twisting tightly in his lap.
The scent of Hannah’s coffee made him queasy, flashes of the commander’s office threatening to break free in his mind.
He still had no idea how there was coffee in space.
“Alright,” she cleared her throat. “Let me fill you in, Lewis.”
Eyeing them with annoyance, the older man chewed silently.
She took a deep breath, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the tabletop. “The wish orbs are the stuff of legend back on Earth. Seven spheres, scattered across the planet. No one knows what they're made of or how they came to be, but when brought together, they can be taken to a hidden temple that houses an ancient being who is rumored to grant any wish you ask for . . . Anything.”
Lewis arched an eyebrow, his skepticism clear as he stabbed a piece of pasta too hard with his fork. “You expect me to believe there are some pretty rocks that grant wishes? What kind of fairy tale nonsense—”
“It’s real,” Charles cut in. “They're real and this is going to work. It has to.”
Hannah reached over and grabbed his hand, stopping him from picking at the skin around his thumb. He hadn’t done that in several months, the old nervous habit impossible to suppress with his current stress.
“Lando and I grew up thinking it was just a myth too, Lewis, but then Charles proved us wrong.”
“How? You just so happened to have one of these magical billiard balls?”
Charles nodded, finally lifting his head from staring at Hannah's hand over his. “It was my adopted father’s most prized possession,” he said. “I didn’t even know what it was at the time. It just sat there, collecting dust on a shelf in our mountain hut. A smooth, polished rock with a weird orange glow. It had four red stars inside it.”
“Adopted father?” Lando said, eyes snapping to him. “Herve? So what Seb said was true? You’re from some—somewhere other than Earth?”
“I'm Torossian,” Charles said firmly, a tightness in his throat at the word. “A race of proud warriors from the planet Toro. My birth name was Perceval, Max and Carlos explained the whole situation to me and how I was sent away from our home planet. They knew that because Carlos . . . is also my brother.”
“That fucking psycho who beat the shit—”
“Lando,” Hannah snapped.
“I don't care about any of that,” Lewis said. “Get back to these orbs. What exactly is your plan?”
“Right. Well, when Charles showed us the orb Herve had during a sleepover, that’s when I realized the stories were true. Charles had one of the seven balls, just sitting in his home for years. After that, we decided to go looking for the other six. The radar I used to get us here—reading Charles’ bio signature—its original design was to track the wish orbs. It was built to locate similar energy fields like the one the 4-star ball emitted. We were only able to locate two more back then, leaving four yet to be found.”
Lewis leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he absorbed the information. “So . . . what? You’re saying if you can find these things, you can just wish this Max guy out of there? Why not wish for something more practical, like to kill the thing that took him in the first place? Or to never have Earth be visited again by these freaks?”
“Prince Max,” Charles growled, momentarily silencing the group. “He's a prince. My prince.”
Glancing at Charles, "It's not that simple,” Hannah admitted. “But we also aren't sure what is theoretically possible or what falls within the parameters of the wish. We just need to figure out where the rest of them are and then Charles can try.”
“Are you people out of your damn minds?” Lewis half laughed, incredulous. “You want to bring an alien who kidnapped you to Earth? Bring whatever was chasing you and him to our home!? Seb will never allow this.”
Hannah rubbed her temples, the tension in the room thick, as Charles picked at his thumb again. “Nobody said anything about threatening the Earth, Lewis,” she shot back. “We’re talking about saving someone’s life—”
“And risking all of ours in the process!” Lewis countered, slamming a hand on the table. “Everyone on Earth would be at risk, and you don’t even know if these orbs will work. What if it backfires? What if it brings that thing—that frost demon thing—straight to us?”
Tail lashing against the back of the bench, Charles bristled. “I’m not asking for your permission. I'm not asking for anyone’s permission. I'll use the orbs to wish Max to Earth myself.”
“Why not wish him to wherever you are from?” Lando added. “What did you say the name was? Toro—”
“Toro was destroyed by the Emperor. There are only a handful of Torossians still alive.”
“I rest my case,” Lewis guffawed, leaning forward with a challenging glare. “Seb will never agree to this, and as the Guardian of Earth, he has final say about matters like this.”
Charles’ eyes would have set Lewis on fire if they could’ve, and he stood abruptly, hands planted on the table as he leaned toward Lewis. “You think I care about what Seb says? He’s not the one who was there. He didn’t see—”
“Stop it!” Hannah interjected, standing up and putting herself between the two men. “Both of you, stop it. This isn’t helping.”
“Why are we even discussing this?” Charles growled, gaze darting between them. “Max is out there, suffering—”
“And if you keep thinking with your dick and not your head, we’ll all be suffering too,” Lewis snapped back. “You think I don’t feel for the guy? You think I don’t want to help? If I didn't, I wouldn't have come all the way out here, missing the start of my race season to save your sorry ass. But this isn’t a decision for you or any of us to make.”
Hannah raised her hands, palms outward in a placating gesture. “Okay, let’s all take a breath,” she said firmly. “Lewis is right about one thing: this isn’t a decision any of us can make alone. Seb is the guardian, and if anyone has the knowledge and authority to greenlight something like this, it’s him.”
Charles hesitated, breathing uneven. He hated it—hated the idea of putting Max’s fate in someone else’s hands, because that had worked out so well for Max on Namek . . . putting his fate in the hands of the Grand Elder. But he knew she wasn’t wrong.
Hannah was almost never wrong.
“Seb will help us,” Lando chimed in. “He’s not heartless, Charles. You've known him longer than any of us. If you tell him everything, I’m sure he’ll agree.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Charles whispered, unable to let that thought fully form.
“Then we figure out another way,” Hannah said firmly. “You've saved our asses plenty of times. If this prince is that important to you, we at least have to try.”
Lewis exhaled heavily, leaning back in his chair again. “Fine,” he muttered. “But I’m telling you right now, if Seb says no, that’s the end of it. I want no part in this.”
Biting back a retort, the Edri's fists clenched on top of the table. He nodded stiffly. “Fine. But if Seb doesn’t help, I’m still going after Max . . . with or without any of you.”
Hannah sighed, clearly relieved that the argument had reached some semblance of a resolution. “Now let’s just focus on getting home and then finding the rest of those orbs. The sooner we have them, the better our chances of convincing Seb.”
The bunk creaked softly as Charles shifted again, staring at the ceiling of the small room. He rubbed his thumb over his eye, exhaustion warring with the restless thoughts churning in his mind, time standing still even as they traveled at incredible speeds.
The plan was flimsy at best—chasing a faint hope of finding the ever elusive orbs to get Max off of that ship—but this was the only option they had. Yet knowing that didn’t ease the gnawing uncertainty of it all.
He sighed, rolling onto his back and letting his hand fall to the edge of the bunk.
His Earth friend group may have welcomed him onto their ship, but just because he decided to go with them didn't suddenly mean he felt like he belonged.
He felt like he barely knew his friends anymore, bewildered and confused at their seeming inability to listen to him or think he was capable of rational thought. Or perhaps worse, that they barely knew the real him at all.
The easy camaraderie they'd once shared felt alien to him, and he struggled to find his place.
Several times, Lando had come to see him, asking if he’d like to spar or train a little, but Charles had turned him away, preferring to keep mostly to his room, unable to forgive his friend just yet for grabbing his tail, no matter how well meaning his intentions had been. Hannah had also given him almost a week into the journey before she came to him too, only she was not so easily dismissed.
Unable to sleep, he'd been lying awake in the dark while his mind replayed every painful moment since Carlos had appeared on his farm in Eze, much like he was now. She'd knocked softly on his door before stepping inside, her presence a surprise but not unwelcome.
Hannah sat on the edge of his bunk, expression open and gentle, the smell of coffee filling the space. “I brought you something to eat since you've been skipping dinner,” she said quietly. “And I'm not leaving until you have some. You look thin.”
The Eldri felt tears well up in his eyes quickly, remembering when he'd said a similar thing to the prince in his private quarters on the PTO ship.
Hannah looked alarmed by his tears and put a cool hand on his cheek. “Charles, please. Talk to me. What happened out there? I know there's more you aren't telling us.”
For a long moment, he didn’t respond, unsure if he could trust himself to speak. But when he finally did, the words just spilled out in a torrent he couldn’t stop.
Charles just started sharing—about Carlos confronting him on his farm, about Max’s confident stride into the med bay that day, and about the whirlwind of events, truths and lies that had torn his life apart. His voice trembled as he recounted the secrets, the betrayals, and the fragile, fleeting moments of peace he’d shared with Max.
His mate.
Hannah listened intently, her eyes never leaving his face, letting him stop to eat between his words. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t press him for more than he was ready to share, and her questions were few, thoughtful, and gently spoken, encouraging him to keep going without overwhelming him.
She'd never listened to him like this before, and as the weight in his chest grew lighter, unburdening himself of his failures, Charles kept going.
By the time he finished, the ship’s artificial lights were dimmed to signal the late hour, and Charles’ throat felt raw, heart heavy but less troubled by the confession.
He had to tell someone, about how this whole thing was his fault. About how he'd not listened to Max on the ship—causing his exposure and rushed escape—and how he'd abandoned Max, leaving him without help.
Hannah stayed with him the entire time, leaning slightly forward, her hands clasped together on her lap as she absorbed his story.
“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through,” she said softly when he finally stopped speaking. “But just know that this isn't your fault. You couldn't have known what would happen and you did your best to survive. I’m glad this Prince Max was also there for you. It sounds like he did everything he could to keep you safe.”
“I need to do the same,” Charles whispered. “I can't imagine what is happening to him right now.”
“I'll do everything I can to help get him back, Charles. It's the least I can do after he took care of you.”
Those words stayed with him even now, weeks later. Charles shifted again in his bunk again, his thumb grazing the edge of the Veyöra resting on the edge of the bed beside him. He hadn’t yet shared that part of his story, the full truth of what being an Eldri meant—or what it meant for his relationship with Max.
He also didn't talk about George. He wasn’t ready for that.
The smell of her coffee from the other night brought back vivid images and smells of the latte on George’s breath when he’d closed the distance between them in his office, slowly pulling up Charles’ PTO bodysuit. That apprising gaze haunted Charles’ nightmares after that, and he pointedly avoided getting breakfast when the woman was dining, unable to handle the rich aroma of her morning beverage.
But after their chat, he didn’t feel like everyone thought he was crazy—
“How dare you . . . ” the voice in his head spoke suddenly, jolting him upright in his bunk despite how weak he felt. “How dare you silence me!”
Charles clutched at the back of his neck, base of his skull burning, tail lashing against the bed. He didn't respond, disoriented and slightly nauseous at the feeling of his instincts forcing their way into his foremind.
“Answer me!” It bellowed, throwing open the door to its cage, flooding his mind.
The sensation was overwhelming, his senses coming alive, sounds sharper, smells stronger, and his tail burned as it moved with a life of his own.
“I—,” he said, feeling almost half insane for responding to a voice in his head.
It had only ever spoken so clearly to him once, back in the cave on Aston, though his Eldri had been very active over the past weeks, pacing and apparently biding its time until it thought it could break free—make itself known.
“What do you want?” He asked, unsure of the reply.
This was so different from when he was younger before his tail was removed. More of an annoyance and a distraction, Charles had never really paid it much mind, tail a more pressing issue for him with its weakness in combat.
The voice thundered again, loud and scathing, as if it were physically pressing against the walls of his skull. “What do I want?” it hissed, and Charles recoiled at the venom in its tone.
His head throbbed, and the burning sensation at the base of his skull intensified, spreading like a wildfire down his spine.
“You have rejected me!” the voice growled, reverberating through his mind with such force that Charles had to grip the edge of his bunk. “You have caged me, silenced me, shackled me!”
His new tail lashed against the mattress, its movements erratic and entirely out of his control. The alien sensation of its independence made his stomach churn, and he gritted his teeth against the building nausea.
“I didn’t mean to—” Charles stammered, own voice trembling in contrast to the Eldri’s booming rage.
“You cannot lie to me!” the voice bellowed, its fury crackling through his mind like lightning. “I am you. I have seen and felt all you have felt. Seen and felt all you have done . . . You cut off our tail! Locked me away when I tried to protect us. When I tried to protect our mate.”
The mention of Max sent a pang of guilt slicing through Charles’ chest, and he squeezed his eyes shut, breath shaky. “I—I wasn’t—I didn’t understand—”
“You still don’t understand.” The Eldri’s words were sharp, cutting deep. “You think you can bargain with our fate, hide from your birthright. Foolish child. You stripped us of our heritage, took away our chances of being worthy of our mate. A prince of great might. ”
The room seemed to spin as the voice grew louder and more forceful, flooding his senses with an intensity that was both thrilling and terrifying. Every sound was sharper, every scent more vivid. The hum of the ship’s engines, the faint rustle of fabric as his tail thrashed, the voices of Hannah and Lando talking down the hall—it was so overwhelming.
“I’m trying,” Charles whispered, voice almost drowned out by the roar in his mind. “I don’t know what to do!”
“You know exactly what to do,” His Eldri laughed—a harsh, guttural sound that made Charles’ skin prickle. “You’ve always known. You are not some helpless weakling. You are an Eldri, the intended of our Prince, destined to bear his heir . . . And yet you run. You run from this.”
“I’m not running—”
“Then why is he not here!?” the Eldri roared, the force of its anger making Charles’ head snap back. “Why do you cower on this ship instead of fighting for him? Instead of reclaiming what is ours?”
Tears stung his eyes as he clutched at the back of his neck, fingers digging into the burning skin trying to tear out the presence invading his mind.
“Because I don’t know how!” he shouted back, voice breaking. “I—I can’t fight Jos or hardly anyone on that ship, and I don’t know how to fix this!”
The Eldri’s laughter was colder now, almost pitying. “Then you are not worthy of him,” it said with a low menacing growl. “But you will learn. I will not lose him forever because of your foolishness. He wants us. Begged us to stay—”
“I KNOW!” Charles shouted, a tear falling from his chin. “I should've never left him alone.” Charles sobbed, tucking his knees up under him to rock back and forth. “I was just so angry and hurt and scared an–and embarrassed . . . Jos took him because I wasn't there to stop it.”
The pressure in his head eased suddenly, leaving him gasping for air, body trembling with the aftershocks of the encounter. His senses dulled back to their usual state, but the burning in his tail lingered, a constant reminder of the Eldri’s presence.
It whispered as it retreated back into its cage, “Our mate is a warrior of great might. He will take good care of us. We must do the same before it's too late.”
Charles sat there in silence, chest heaving as he stared blankly at the floor of the ship. The voice was gone, but its words echoed in his mind, unshakable.
He couldn’t avoid that truth any longer.
If he was going to save Max, he would have to face the truth of it all, what he'd done—and the complications that came with it.
And his Eldri was right. Charles had been a fool.
Chapter 47: Already Gone
Summary:
Carlos had practiced this statement a thousand times, but he didn’t know if he could say it, looking Max in the eye.
Notes:
Plot be plotting in this one.
Chapter warnings: Mild torture, depressive thoughts, early starvation
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
- PTO base ship -
Max lay curled on the icy floor of his cell, accommodations treating him like a shadow of the proud warrior he once was. Every breath felt labored, his ribs aching with each shallow inhale. His trembling fingers were raw and bloody from futile attempts to pry off the cursed band clamped around the base of his tail, and the sleek, intricate locking mechanism mocked him with its flawless design, a reminder of Jos' attention to detail in ensuring his torment.
He’d been warned though.
After Jos had destroyed Toro, he’d warned the prince that if he tried to run again, he would suffer a fate worse than death.
This was certainly as close as he could get.
The pain radiating from his tail was ceaseless, an unbearable thrum of agony that turned even the faintest movement into a fresh wave of suffering.
There was no position that was comfortable, no angle he could lay in to gain relief.
Worse still, the band wasn’t just a physical shackle; it was a symbol. A vile, unholy mockery of one of the most sacred Torossian customs. It seared into his mind the truth of his current state—bound, violated, and utterly trapped.
He thought about what a royal Torossian mating ceremony was supposed to look like: a grand affair for the high council in the palace. Only having seen one a very long time ago, Max dug into the recesses of his memory to picture it.
It was for some distant relative of his, a member of court, but the obscene display of wealth and opulence stuck with him. There were so many people, all gathered to watch the sacred vows be said under the full moon of the goddess, followed by the exchanging of tail bands.
It was a thing of beauty. Nothing like the insult he’d received from the warlord.
Did this even count? Max knew there was more to the mating ritual, but he'd been too young to understand what all was required.
Alonso would know though.
The prince squeezed his eyes shut but his cell offered no respite.
No mat to cushion his aching body. No bucket for basic dignity. Not even the slight comfort of a blanket to hide his vulnerability. He was exposed, stripped of any semblance of personhood, reduced to little more than a plaything in Jos' sick game, and the frigid air bit into his bare skin, amplifying the cold.
Food had not come. Not even water.
Hours blurred into an endless expanse of cold and darkness, the lack of light and the gnawing hunger eroding his grip on time. When the thirst became unbearable, he'd found himself pathetically lapping at the frost forming on the hull of the ship. His tongue scraped the icy surface, each desperate lick sending a cold burn down his throat as he tried to stave off the parched ache in his mouth.
His thoughts were no kinder than his cell.
They churned endlessly, a storm of self-loathing and despair. Charles. The name echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, sharp and cutting.
Where was he?
Had he escaped, evaded Carlos, or even managed to gain the upper hand? Charles was fierce, but Carlos fought dirty, taking any opportunity to best his opponent.
He’d trained Carlos himself, sparred with him, been on more assignments together than he could count. The fight between them would have been brutal, but all Max could do was hope.
Hope Charles had managed to find a way off the planet or even for him to go back to that Grand Elder. The sage seemed powerful enough, perhaps he could intervene on Charles’ behalf?
Do something to prevent the worst?
The Earthling was too trusting after all, wanting to give everyone a second chance, even if they didn't deserve it—including him, and Max prayed to the goddess to spare Charles.
His prayers continued even now.
Swallowing the few drops of water he’d managed to melt with his tongue, Max searched for a new patch of ice, shifting gingerly around his tail. It was still pitch dark, the prince using his hands to feel along the wall.
He hated the dark, long periods spent in it as a child.
Max squeezed his eyes shut, body trembling, though he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or the anguish clawing at his insides. The vision of Jos placing the mating band around his tail replayed in his mind on a torturous loop.
He hadn’t fought hard enough. He hadn’t stopped it.
Goddess, why didn’t he fight harder?
The thought came unbidden, and a sharp sob of anger tore from his throat. He'd failed. Failed to protect himself, failed to protect his pride, and worst of all, failed Charles.
He wouldn’t blame Charles if he hated him even more now. What Eldri would want a mate so thoroughly defiled?
So weak ?
What future could they possibly have now? The Eldri deserved so much more than this—a life with someone strong, someone worthy, someone who could actually protect him.
He scoffed. It wasn't even like Charles was ever coming back to him anyway, point moot.
Failing to find a reachable cropping of ice, his fingers found the band on his tail again, and he weakly tugged, only for the pain to flare so intensely it stole his breath. His tail twitched involuntarily, the motion sending fresh bolts of agony through him, and his exhausted body gave up, slumping fully against the frozen floor.
The constant squeeze on his tail kept him from finding sleep, but he still tried, surrendering to the darkness of his thoughts, the frost still lingering on his tongue the only reprieve from the fire raging in his heart.
He would escape this. He would be free of the emperor once and for all.
He hadn’t given up everything, sacrificed everything to just give up now.
Mind drifting, he let himself daydream of Charles somehow finding his way back to Earth, returning to the quiet life he’d spoken of so fondly.
He’ll forget about me, Max thought, bitter and relieved all at once. Charles would move on, heal, and live the peaceful existence he deserved. Max wasn’t part of that picture; he never had been. He was a disruption, a storm that had uprooted the Earthling’s life and brought nothing but chaos and pain.
Max’s lip trembled as he whispered more silent prayers to the goddess. Let him stay away. Let him be happy. Let him never look back.
Just like when he'd flown away on Namek, taking to the sky and never looking back. It made Max sad to think about the way Charles had left. But he was glad he did.
It was for the best.
But deep down, a small, stubborn part of him hoped otherwise.
He didn’t deserve it, but a part of him craved to see Charles again. To feel his warmth, to hear his laugh, to be reminded of what life could've been. He hated himself for even thinking it.
What kind of selfish, broken creature would wish for Charles to come back into this nightmare?
No. He had to stay away, Max resolved, fists clenching weakly against the floor.
Charles didn’t understand the true depths of Jos’ cruelty, not entirely. He hadn’t grown up under the emperor’s shadow, hadn’t endured the unspeakable horrors that Max had. Charles was brave—recklessly so—but bravery alone wouldn’t save him.
The Earthling would be obliterated, crushed under Jos’ unrelenting wrath. Max couldn’t bear the thought of Charles facing that fate. It was better this way. Better for Charles to stay far away, to forget him and build a new life, one untouched by the darkness of the PTO.
Maybe he could even find someone else? Move on entirely.
The prince’s breath hitched, tears slipping down his cheeks. He didn’t bother to wipe them away, the chilled air turning them solid as they fell. The room blurred around him as he repeated his desperate prayer, voice a broken whisper.
“Stay away, Charles. Please. Stay away.”
The sharp sting of icy water splashed across Max’s face, jolting him from the thin veil of restless, fevered sleep. He gasped, twisting away from the frigid assault. The biting spray followed, drenching him from head to toe and washing away the grime that clung to his body like a second skin.
If he had half a mind, he would turn to try and drink, but his pride would never let anyone see him like that.
“Get up,” barked a curt voice from somewhere behind him.
The stream shifted to his back, the icy jets needling his exposed scarred skin. Max shivered violently, muscles too starved to fight the cold.
Blinking hard against the harsh lights of his cell, he raised a shaking hand to shield his eyes, vision swimming. His body protested every movement, bones aching, tail coiled tightly to his side to shield it from further torment.
The water stopped as abruptly as it started, leaving him dripping and breathless. Before he could gather himself, two soldiers marched into the cell, their heavy boots echoing against the metallic floor. Without a word, they seized his arms and hauled him up.
Max winced, feet barely managing to find purchase beneath him. His legs felt like water, balance precarious as he stumbled between them.
“Where are you taking me?” Max growled, voice raw and cracked from disuse.
Neither soldier acknowledged his question, a muzzle being quickly affixed over his jaw, arms pinned behind his back with wrist shackles. They moved in cold, mechanical unison, dragging him forward with no regard for his struggles.
The corridor outside his cell was stark and featureless, bathed in the same glaring light and making Max close his eyes. Every step sent jolts of pain radiating through his tail, but the soldiers didn’t slow. Their iron grips dug into his arms, keeping him upright as they moved with purpose, one of their hands holding onto the back of his collar, metal digging into his throat.
It wasn’t long before the familiar sight of the looming double doors came into view, their unassuming designs etched with the unmistakable mark of Jos’ dominion. A low, ominous rumble echoed from the other side, a mix of muffled voices and energy that made Max’s stomach churn.
Letting his mind quiet, he felt out for how many were inside.
Jos was there, along with several other dots of energy—a few much larger than others—but not distinct enough for him to tell who was who.
Max steadied his breathing through his nose and forced his spine straighter despite the weakness gnawing at him. His tail, though tender and throbbing, coiled around his waist as he fought to preserve a shred of dignity in his still naked state.
No matter how broken he felt, he wouldn’t give Jos the satisfaction of seeing him falter completely, nor anyone else in that room.
_____
Carlos breathed deeply as his pod connected with its housing on the ship's launch deck. The familiar hiss of speed deceleration filling the small space, and the metallic clang of the docking clamps reverberated through the hull. He’d canceled the auto-triggered stasis sleep, choosing to remain conscious for the journey back.
He needed time to think.
His chest felt heavy, the weight of his choice a burden. What was he going to say? The questions and scenarios churned relentlessly, colliding and swirling in his mind.
He'd let Charles go.
Badly beaten and thoroughly defeated, but alive.
Carlos closed his eyes, Max's voice echoing in his mind, “Jules would be ashamed of you!”
The words cut deeper than he'd expected. That voice had haunted him the entire trip back, the desperation in it so unlike the prince he knew, twisting the guilt in his stomach.
The emperor would demand a full report on the “success” of his mission, expecting nothing less than absolute obedience. Carlos had practiced his statements over and over during the flight back, perfecting each line until they felt like second nature. Every word was calculated, rehearsed to leave no room for doubt.
But Jos could smell a lie if it wasn’t well covered.
Carlos’ fists clenched in his lap, nails digging into his palms as he took some deep breaths. His loyalty to his prince was absolute. Or at least, it used to be.
Goddess, what the fuck was wrong with him?
His chest tightened, a nauseating swirl of emotions twisting through him. He should’ve just killed Charles. It would've been so easy, one blast of ki, and the Earthling would’ve been gone. A problem solved. But his hand wouldn’t move. His fingers wouldn’t release the energy.
He saw Jules' eyes when he looked at Charles. His father’s eyes.
The hum of the pod’s cooling system seemed deafening in the silence as Carlos pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing the memory away.
It was over. He’d made his choice, and there was no taking it back now.
A shiver ran through him, despite the warmth of his armor. If Jos found out the truth . . . If he even suspected . . .
Carlos took another breath and he opened his eyes, staring blankly at the red port window of his pod. He had to lie, had to be perfect. He was a Torossian warrior, a purger, loyal to his prince above all else.
He’d told himself that a thousand times, but it felt hollow now.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Charles’ battered face, swollen eye cracked open just enough to reveal a stubborn glimmer of defiance amidst the pain.
The little shit was Torossian after all, if only in his stubbornness alone.
Why did he have to look so much like Jules? Why did he have to look so much like family?
Carlos’ vision blurred, anger burning behind his eyes as he gritted his teeth. He was so fucking weak. He should’ve killed him. Should’ve ended it right there, ended the constant reminder of his father’s betrayal, the mistake Jules inflicted upon their family.
The pod gave a soft jolt as it completed the docking procedure, the launch deck’s automated systems disengaging the clamps. Carlos took another deep breath, exhaling slowly as the hatch hissed, sliding open with a metallic click.
He was out of time.
His chest tightened again, and he stood slowly, forcing his legs to move. He couldn’t afford to hesitate or show any weakness. He was now General Carlos of the PTO and he would be that until this report was over.
Easy.
Lifting his chin, Carlos stepped out of the pod, his boots striking the metal ramp with a hollow echo. The frigid air of the base ship’s launch deck prickled against his skin, and he straightened his shoulders, face hardening into a mask of indifference.
He was ready to lie.
Even if it meant burying his guilt. Even if it meant betraying his father’s memory.
Commander George was waiting for him by the door of the launch deck, and Carlos almost rolled his eyes. He should've figured as much.
“I trust everything went well,” George said, pushing off the wall to stand straight.
“Fine,” he replied. “I told you I know how to do my job.”
“The emperor asked for your report as soon as you returned. I’m here to escort you to the throne room.”
Carlos did roll his eyes at that one. “Are you sure you weren’t just desperate to make sure I came back in one piece?” he said, raising his eyebrows up and down. “I can assure you your favorite piece was very much unharmed.”
George’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but his mouth twitched in a half-smile. “Maybe I was,” he said, tone unusually soft before he turned sharply on his heel. “Or maybe I just wanted to see the look on your face when you tried to report to the emperor.”
Tail bristling around his waist, the implication sat uneasy in his chest. Was George taunting him? Did he suspect something?
He quickly shook off the thought, schooling his expression into indifference. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” Carlos said only half-heartedly, as he fell into step beside the commander.
George didn’t even look at him. “So you keep telling me,” he said coolly, cape flaring out as they moved swiftly down the corridor. “And you’re an idiot if you think you’re fooling anyone.”
Nearly stumbling, Carlos’ boots skidded slightly on the polished floor. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.
George stopped abruptly in the corridor, grabbing his arm and turning to face him. “Did you kill him?” he asked slowly.
The Torossian felt his blood run cold, heart thudding painfully against his ribs. “I did what I was ordered to do,” he replied evenly, gaze steely.
“Of course you did,” George said, his smile returning, disingenuous this time. “And you have your evidence like I said? Jos will know if you're lying and kill you where you stand—”
“I’m not lying,” he said firmly. “Charles is dead.”
George studied him for a long moment before putting both hands on the sides of his face, and sealed their lips together in a searing kiss, curling his fingers in the black hairs at the nape of Carlos’ neck.
Letting himself indulge, Carlos returned the kiss, hand finding the taller man's waist as he tilted his head up. He felt lighter, tightness in his chest easing slightly as they stayed like that for a few moments in the corridor outside the launch deck.
Straightening, blue-green eyes met his before the commander's usual air of detached authority returned. “Good,” he said simply. “Then this should be quick.”
Without another word, George resumed walking, long strides echoing down the corridor, cape flapping behind him like he hadn’t just tried to swallow Carlos’ tongue. The bastard.
Whatever.
He didn’t have time to figure it out right now.
They walked until the throne room doors were just ahead, the massive ornate entrance looming like the maw of some great beast waiting to devour him. Carlos swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry.
Just give your report and leave. Nothing extra, nothing too detailed.
Straightening his shoulders, he followed George, his steps measured and numb. He could do this. He’d practiced his report a hundred times. He’d perfected every detail, every inflection, every pause.
The doors opened with a low groan, revealing the cavernous throne room beyond. The room was packed. Soldiers filled the space, clustered from wall to wall, parting like a sea as Carlos and George walked forward to the stairs of the throne.
Jos sat perched on top of it, a small smile splitting his black lips as they got closer. Carlos stepped forward, head held high, heart hammering in his chest.
“Pleasure for you to join us, General Carlos,” Jos spoke, voice smooth and expectant. “You’ve returned with good news, I trust.”
Bending low, Carlos bowed. “My lord,” he said firmly, “You have requested my report—”
“Not yet General. We require the guest of honor before I hear your mission report.”
Straightening up, Carlos’ brow furrowed and he glanced around the throne room. It felt like almost every high ranking officer was in attendance, as well as other general soldiers filling in the crowd.
Who were they missing?
The throne room doors creaked behind him and Carlos’ heart stopped in his chest at the sight of his prince.
Max.
Carlos’ breath hitched before he could stop himself, the sound drowned out by the eerie silence that gripped the throne room. The prince was barely recognizable— naked —dragged into the grand hall by two guards who struggled to keep him upright.
Max’s blond hair was a wet tangled mess, drops of water trailing behind him as he half walked, half stubbled in.
Why was he wet? Where the fuck was the emperor holding him on the ship?
His bare shoulders hunched, arms bound tightly behind his back in thick restraints around his wrists. Max was covered in bruises and fresh wounds, dark smudges of dried blood staining his pale skin. But it was his eyes that made Carlos’ stomach twist—the fierce, burning embers of determination weren't dimmed in the slightest, locking onto him as soon as he entered the room.
That goddess forsaken collar remained in place, metal stark against his bruised throat, and a muzzle locked over his mouth forced his breathing into ragged, uneven bursts through his nose.
The moment Max’s bare feet hit the cold floor of the throne room, the doors slammed shut behind him, sealing him inside like a prisoner before a firing squad.
Jos watched with barely contained amusement, one hand lazily propping up his chin, tail flicking idly, slow and measured.
Max was barely standing, breathing labored. Carlos’ trip had only been around 36 hours total from when he left the base ship. Unless the emperor was simply starving Max, there was no other explanation for why he would look so weak.
One of the guards gave a sharp tug on his restraints, forcing him to stumble forward and land harshly on his knees before the throne. The sound of impact sent a ripple through the gathered soldiers—some smirked, others looked indifferent. But none stepped forward. None so much as flinched.
Carlos clenched his fists at his sides.
“Now now,” Jos drawled. “I won't have my mate treated in such a manner.”
Carlos snapped his eyes to the warlord. What?
What did that mean? Mate? That wasn't possible. Max couldn't be—
The two soldiers lifted Max from the floor and dragged him up the stairs of the throne in front of the dark-haired Torossian.
And then he saw it.
A heavy Torossian mating band clamped tightly around the base of the prince's tail, gleaming under the cold artificial light, its smooth, familiar edges biting into soft flesh. There was red dried around it, small trails of blood dying Max's blonde fur crimson halfway down to the tip.
Carlos couldn’t breathe.
He was frozen, mind screaming at him that this wasn't right. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. His Oozaru rumbled deep in his mind, also in disbelief at the blasphemous evidence of this ill-fated union.
Where did Jos even get a fucking Torossian mating band or know what it was? And a royal one at that? The crest on it was unmistakable, clearly meant for someone from the ruling household, cruelly fitting for Max.
The regal Torossian and the two guards reached the top of the steps and Jos patted his leg lightly, motioning where the guards should place the prince.
Carlos had to look away, stomach rolling violently at the display. Squeezing his eyes, he took a slow breath to steady himself. Upon opening, Carlos was greeted with the image of Max perched like a doll on the emperor’s lap, blue eyes still burning into him, wholly focused on Carlos.
“Ah,” the warlord purred against Max's neck, the prince jerking away, crimson eyes gleaming as they flickered over the battered prince. “Now we can listen to your report.”
Carlos fought to keep his expression neutral, pulse a deafening drum in his ears. He couldn’t react. He couldn’t react.
To do so would be to die and he wasn’t leaving his prince alone in this mess. He'd practiced this statement the whole trip, but he didn’t know if he could say it, looking Max in the eye.
“General,” Jos drawled, looking entirely too pleased with himself, running claws through Max's wet hair, other hand trailing Max's bare chest. “Come and tell me . . . was your mission successful?”
Carlos forced his legs to move, each step up the dais feeling heavier than the last. His boots echoed against the polished floor as he approached the foot of the throne, wishing for the first time in his life that there were more stairs.
He could feel Max’s eyes on him, even as the prince remained unmoving, uneven breaths rumbling against the warlord's chest.
Bowing once more, Carlos forced his voice to remain steady as he stood, practically eye to eye with Max. “Yes, my lord,” he said firmly. “The Earthling was successfully eliminated.”
The moment hung in the air, Max perfectly still as he held his gaze.
“What evidence do you have to support your claim?”
Taking a measured breath, he reached into his armor, retrieving his scouter nestled inside. The device felt heavier than it should’ve—heavier with the knowledge of what he was about to do in front of his prince.
Just like he’d rehearsed , Carlos told himself.
He tapped the transponder button, and the small screen flickered to life.
“After attempting to track the Earthling's energy on the planet's surface, I interrogated a group of native inhabitants and disposed of them when they failed to cooperate.”
Max pulled against the restraints at his back, fingers twisting but failing to break free. His chest rumbled, a small sound, almost imperceptible against his muzzle, but Carlos caught it.
He kept talking.
“I continued my ground search and moved on to a small dwelling outside of the larger settlement and was met with the Earthling accompanied by a small group of others,” he said, keeping his gaze locked on Jos' satisfied smirk rather than Max’s tired, burning blue eyes, though he didn't miss the confused look on the prince's face. “There was resistance at first. The group fought back, but it was pitiful. The untrained Earthling's power level erratic and unstable.”
Another small shift in Max’s posture, but Carlos forced himself not to acknowledge it when the war lord yanked on the back of Max’s collar.
“He’d used what little energy he had left to try and escape.” Flicking through the scouter’s stored data, he found the image he needed—the one that supported his lie and sealed Charles’ fate.
With a simple tap, the image projected into the air beside him like a hologram, large and damning for all to see.
A clear, ghost-like image of Charles’ battered body appeared, lying motionless against an upturned dirt surface of the field behind the cabin, eyes closed, expression twisted and lifeless. Red trailed down from his mouth, and his face was badly bruised and swollen, hair in all directions. The scouter’s interface overlaid the image with an energy reading.
Zero. No energy detected.
Carlos didn’t allow himself to blink. “As evidenced by this photo,” he said, voice even. “The Earthling’s energy signature faded completely.”
Just like it was as a baby, he thought.
He knew Charles was still alive, but anyone else looking at this evidence would be hard pressed to believe someone could survive with a zero reading. Maybe that freak had a useful skill after all.
Silence filled the throne room, suffocating and absolute, and Carlos could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He didn't want to look at Max, but his traitorous eyes flickered over anyway, stomach clenching at what he saw.
The fire that burned so fiercely in the prince’s gaze flickered—just for a moment, eyes solely focused on the scouter projection of Charles. A crack shown in the prince's resolve, a sliver of anguish.
Carlos swallowed hard and forced himself to finish his report.
“I burned the body and removed all traces of the dwelling in which the prince and the Earthling resided from the planet,” he said, reciting the lie he’d crafted with careful precision. “I have completed my task.”
Max’s breathing hitched softly, bound fists curling. Not much, but it was enough.
Carlos hated himself.
“The Earthling is dead.” He spoke the words with finality, delivering them like an execution sentence. “There is no need to waste further resources on retrieval.”
The throne room remained deathly still until, slowly, Jos exhaled a pleased hum.
The frost demon’s hand, that had been lazily stroking through Max’s damp, tangled hair, slid downward. Clawed fingers traced the prince’s throat before slipping under the collar still locked around his neck with a metallic clink, dragging him closer.
The raven-haired Torossian’s expression stayed impassive as Jos’ fingers slid lower, brushing over Max’s bare chest again, nails lightly skimming over bruised skin while the prince barely flinched.
He knew his lie had been believed when a lone tear slid down on the prince's cheek, feeling the last remnants of Max’s resistance slipping, like sand through clenched fingers. His defiance had already been battered with whatever hell he was being kept in, but he knew Max wasn’t going to take this well.
Carlos had just crushed whatever small hope Max had left.
The prince’s sharp cerulean eyes, filled with venomous pride only moments ago, were dulling. His gaze returned to Carlos when the scouter photo disappeared, but they were no longer challenging. No longer resisting.
They were pleading, asking for it to not be true.
Carlos’ own stomach twisted violently, but he locked it down, burying it under years of careful discipline. He’d done what was necessary to save his prince from death.
He had to believe that.
Max had told him many times that sometimes what was necessary was the hardest choice. The prince surely would understand.
Jos hummed again, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he finally lifted his hand from Max’s skin, gripping the prince’s chin instead. He turned Max’s face toward him, forcing their eyes to meet, brushing away that stray tear.
Carlos didn’t know what he expected, but whatever Jos saw in Max’s eye made the frost demon’s smile widen in sick amusement. He chuckled, low and dark, cooing, “My, my, my. There’s no cause to look so terribly lost, my sweet prince. You are back home where you belong.”
Max didn’t respond. Didn’t even glare. His silence was more telling than any outburst could’ve been.
Carlos had seen Max defiant. He’d seen him furious, seen him spit blood from his mouth and still snarl like a cornered beast ready to fight to the death.
But this? This was so much worse.
Jos turned his attention back to Carlos, still smirking.
“Well done, General,” he said, voice full of satisfaction. “I expect nothing less from my most trusted soldiers. Your promotion was not misplaced.”
Carlos bowed stiffly, feeling Max’s exhausted stare still burning against his skin. “You honor me, my lord.”
“Dismissed.” Jos waved a lazy hand.
Turning on his heel, the dark-haired Torossian walked away with measured steps, George turning to follow him out. He didn’t allow himself to look back, because if he did—if he saw the last ember of Max’s hope die completely—he wasn’t sure he could stomach the man he’d become.
Chapter 48: The Ties That Bind
Summary:
All ties are eventually tested, whether created by blood, honor, fate, or force. But true bonds can never be broken.
Notes:
Charles and Hannah have a chat. George and Carlos also have a chat...
Chapter warnings: None? Maybe?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
- Capsule Corp ship; Day 33 -
The moment Charles’ eyes snapped open, he knew something was wrong.
His stomach twisted violently, a sharp, nauseating churn sending panic shooting through his sluggish limbs. Registering the cold sweat clinging to his skin too late, his body lurched forward on instinct.
Throwing off the thin blanket tangled around his legs, he staggered off the bunk, balance unsteady as he half-ran, half-stumbled toward the small attached bathroom in his suit, hand over his mouth. The metallic floor was cool beneath his bare feet, but he hardly noticed—his sole focus to reach the toilet before his stomach completely revolted.
He barely made it.
The moment his knees hit the floor his body seized as he retched violently into the bowl. His fingers clenched the edges in a white-knuckled grip, stomach twisting again as another wave of nausea rolled through him. He gagged as bile burned up his throat.
It was relentless.
Almost every day over the last week had started the same.
Every dry heave wracked his already aching body, muscles clamping painfully with each powerful expulsion. His throat burned, ribs aching from the force of it, and his new tail—still unfamiliar and unpredictable—bristled and twitched uselessly against his back, fluffing up as he gagged.
By the time his stomach finally settled, Charles was gasping, forehead pressed against the cool rim of the seat. He’d thought he was getting better. The last couple days had not been so urgent, but today was the worst of all.
Had he caught a cold or some kind of stomach bug?
Trembling, he was exhausted from the sudden assault, and he only had enough strength to reach for the tissue dispenser mounted to the wall. He still couldn't fall asleep without letting his Eldri stone drain him, and he clearly hadn't been asleep for that long, feeling the telltale signs of weakness he got from its pull on his energy still weighing him down.
He wiped his mouth with a shaky hand, trying to steady his breathing. The taste of bile lingered, bitter and acidic, making his stomach lurch in protest even though there was nothing left.
Not that it mattered.
Letting out a slow, unsteady breath, Charles squeezed his eyes shut.
Just breathe. Just—
A soft knock on the bathroom door made him freeze.
“Charles?” Hannah’s voice was gentle, hesitant.
Shit.
He hadn’t even heard her come into his room.
His first instinct was to tell her to go away, just like he'd said to Lando the several times he'd tried to come and speak to him, but before he could force the words out or pick his head up off the seat, the ensuite door slid open. A warm, familiar hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
He tensed regardless.
Crouching beside him, her expression was tight as she took in the state of him—his flushed skin, the sweat-dampened curls clinging to his forehead, the way his entire frame shivered slightly.
“Hey,” she said, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “You okay?”
Charles exhaled sharply through his nose, letting his head lull to the side. “I’m fine.”
Hannah didn’t look convinced.
“Uh-huh.” She glanced at the toilet, then back at him, flushing it. “Because, y’know, waking up in the middle of the night to puke your guts out is totally normal. I heard you the last few nights as well.”
Charles scowled, too tired to argue.
He ran a hand over his face, wincing at the sticky sweat. Sighing, Hannah reached for a small washcloth hanging by the sink and dampened it under the faucet before handing it to him.
“Here,” she said. “You look like hell.”
Huffing a quiet, humorless laugh, he took the cloth anyway, pressing it against the back of his neck. The coolness was a welcome relief, soothing his overheated skin.
Leaning against the cabinet, Hannah crossed her arms. “Is this about Max?”
His stomach twisted again—but it had nothing to do with nausea.
“I don’t know,” he swallowed, rubbing his eyes, exhaustion bone-deep. It had now been well over a month since he'd last seen Max being dragged away, and the image never left his mind. “Probably just a tender stomach.”
Her expression softened, and she leaned forward again, placing a hand on his knee. “You’re running yourself into the ground, Charles. You spend all day either in the control room, checking the radar or in here sulking. Have you even eaten enough to make yourself sick?”
He knew he hadn’t, but he didn’t need her to say it.
What was he supposed to do?
Max was suffering—he could feel it, even if he couldn’t explain how. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to do something, to move, to fight, to fix it. His Eldri hindbrain kept popping up at the worst moments to only make him feel worse about himself, and all he wanted was to see his mate. To get the prince out of there before it was too late.
But he was stuck here. Helpless.
“I can’t—” His voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw. “I can’t just sit here. I need to get to him. I need—”
His breath hitched, and suddenly, his chest felt too tight, like something inside him was caving in. His hands gripped the edge of the bowl again, nails digging into the metal as his tail curled unconsciously around him.
Leaning over, he heaved again, squeezing his eyes shut.
Hannah’s grip on his knee tightened as she rubbed his back lightly and waited calmly for him to finish. “We will get him out of there,” she said firmly. “We just have to be smart about it. The orbs will make sure no one is hurt unnecessarily trying to break into an alien army ship.”
After his stomach settled again, Charles leaned back against the wall, panting from his mouth.
“Come on,” she said, standing and offering him a hand. “Let’s get you some water.”
He hesitated but eventually took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. His legs were shaky, but Hannah stayed close, steadying him when he swayed slightly, left leg still asleep. She guided him back toward his bunk, grabbing a water bottle from the small storage compartment near his bed and pressed it into his hands.
“Drink,” she ordered.
Charles rolled his eyes but obeyed, taking slow, measured sips, the cool liquid soothing the raw ache in his throat.
Sitting down beside him, the scientist watched carefully. “What are you not telling me, Charles?”
Charles swallowed his mouthful of water and let his gaze drop to the floor, free hand rubbing over the back of his neck. The skin there still tingled, the base of his skull burning faintly from another of his Eldri’s angry outbursts before he fell asleep.
He hated that she always knew when he was hiding things.
“Please, Charles,” she pleaded. “I'm sure you hoped I wouldn't notice, but you've been getting sicker the longer we’ve been traveling and I'm worried. You said Max kept you safe on that ship and that you care for him, but what is he to you? Is he your boyfriend or—”
“He's my mate,” Charles cut in, before taking another drink from his bottle. “We are compatible as a Torossian pair.”
The words felt heavier now that they were spoken aloud, but it was the truth. His Eldri fluttered a bit at the acknowledgement of their bond, tail dancing on the bed.
Hannah blinked, absorbing the statement. She shifted closer on the bunk, voice softer but insistent, light smell of coffee on her lips making his stomach roll.
“Charles, what does that actually mean? I’ve never heard you talk about ‘mates’ before. Is that just a fancy way of saying you’re together? Or is it . . . something else? Are you married or something?”
He exhaled slowly, trying to find the right words. He only remembered so much of what Alonso had told him about it, and he and Max never really discussed that Charles knew he was an Eldri.
They’d just accepted how they felt together, and that was really that, on the run from intergalactic peril and all.
“It’s more than just being together,” he said. “It’s—” hesitating, he struggled to untangle the complicated mess of emotions in his head, Eldri not helping with its intrusive whispers. “It’s almost instinctual in a way. It’s biological, at least from what I understand, Torossians have mates the way some species on Earth have bonded pairs. Like a swan or a gray wolf. Once we . . . once an Oozaru chooses a compatible Eldri and that connection is made, it doesn’t break. Not fully.”
Hannah’s brows furrowed, fingers curling against her knee. “What’s an Oozaru? Or an E—Eldri?”
He really should've asked Alonso more questions when he’d had the chance.
“They are two halves of a whole that somehow fit together. One as a protector and one as a nurturer. Max is an Oozaru, mighty and fiercely protective, the main grouping of the Torossian species if I understand correctly. But I'm an Eldri, in tune with him on the same energy wavelength. From what I was told, Eldri were super rare or something from planet Toro. Gifted with special skills that I clearly didn't get.”
“And Max told you that?”
“No,” Charles frowned. “There was an older Torossian on the ship named Alonso. He was like a mentor to Max and Carlos, raising them from kids. He told me about what I am and how my relationship with Max was special.”
Charles would do anything to speak to Alonso right about now. He would know what to do.
“And you believe him? This older alien?”
Charles’ tail bristled at the question, and he for once agreed. “Alonso risked his life to get Max and I off that ship. He was surely killed by the Emperor for doing so. I don’t think I’d be sitting here talking to you right now if it wasn’t for him.”
“Okay, okay. I'm just trying to get the full picture here.”
“Alonso was one of the few people on that ship I could trust,” Charles said a bit gruffly. “He was rough around the edges but he always helped keep us safe the best he could.” Charles squeezed his fingers together, hoping Alonso was at peace.
“I'm sorry he didn't make it,” she whispered, looking a bit remorseful.
Charles just took another sip of his water.
“Then, are you saying it’s like an arranged thing? Like fate just decides for you who you are compatible with?”
“No.” Charles shook his head, tail flicking restlessly over the mattress. “I mean . . . I guess I don't think it's some preordained thing or at least he didn't say it was. Alonso said it’s a blending of energies that are on the same frequency. But it’s—” He huffed, frustrated at his own inadequate knowledge. “It’s a deep choice. It changes us.”
Hannah studied him for a long moment. “Changes you how?” she asked finally.
Naturally curious since they were little, Charles couldn’t blame her for trying to understand. That was something that drew him to her as kids when he met her through Lando. She always had an insatiable curiosity to know how things worked, always taking things apart and trying to put them back together again.
Building things and even blowing stuff up.
He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably, tail curled tightly against his hip. “I just don’t feel the same anymore,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “Ever since we . . .” He trailed off, looking away, remembering the night they first laid together after Max had healed in the tank.
The Eldri wasn’t about to discuss his sex life with her. She was practically his pseudo-mother for fuck’s sake.
“Ever since him , I’ve been different, and it's not just because I have my tail back. I felt this immediately from the first time I saw him. My senses shift when I think about him, and this sickness . . .” his grip on the bottle tightened. “It has to all be connected. I—I shared my energy with him once too. We’re somehow in sync. Our ki, our Torossian biology. It’s the only explanation I have for why I felt him so strongly when we were together. And why I still feel him now, even though he’s gone.”
Charles had had a lot of time to think about his relationship with Max in his small room on the ship. Often, he spent most of his sleepless nights trying to remember all the details he’d learned from Alonso and the prince, hoping he might remember something that could help him track down Max.
“You mean—” she hesitated, searching his face. “You can still sense him? Feel his energy this far away? Even though we’ve been moving away from that other ship for over a month?”
Charles closed his eyes, jaw tightening. “Not like before and not like how Lando and Lewis can also feel energy,” he admitted. “I used to feel him constantly. A presence. A warmth. Like an anchor in my chest.” He pressed a hand against his sternum, trying to reach for something long lost.
His fingers curled against his shirt, remembering how Max touched him here when the prince had sensed Charles’ energy for the first time, asking if it was real.
“But it’s fading. He's too far away to feel with my mind.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth, and he hated them.
Hannah’s expression softened. “Is that why you’re sick?” she asked gently. “Because he’s not with you?”
Charles paused.
He had no idea if that was why he was sick, but he supposed that was as good a guess as any. Max had told him on their trip from Aston to Namek that it took a lot for a Torossian to get sick. Most had an iron stomach capable of handling just about anything thrown at it.
“I don’t know,” he whispered.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Rubbing a hand over her face, Hannah exhaled. “Charles . . . this bond, this connection that you have with Max. That’s not just love. That’s not even just biology. That’s—” she swallowed, searching for the right words. “That’s dangerous. If this bond thing is that deep and makes you sick, what happens if you can’t get him out?”
“I will get him out,” he snapped before he could stop himself, tail lashing against his arm. His voice came out sharp, edged with something raw and defensive.
“I’m not saying you won’t,” she said quickly, holding up her hands. “I want you to. I do. But Charles, look at yourself.”
She gestured at him—his sweat-dampened skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the tremor still lingering in his fingers as he held his water too tight. “You’re getting worse the longer you’re away from him. You barely eat, you don’t sleep, and now you’re throwing up in the middle of the night.” She sighed, then added, “You look like you’re wilting in front of our eyes.”
He was wilting, energy draining faster than he could replenish it, body aching in ways he didn’t understand.
The separation was killing him—slowly, subtly, but undeniably.
And he didn’t know how to stop it.
Eyes roaming the floor, Hannah bent over the edge of the bed and picked something up, holding it in her palm. “What is this?”
Charles turned toward her and gasped, trying to snatch his Veyöra from her hand but she pulled it away too fast.
“Give it to me,” he said and tried to reach for it again.
“Not until you tell me what it is.”
Sighing, Charles whispered, “It's an Eldri stone. I found it in a market on the rebel base planet and it had a Torossian symbol on it. I thought maybe it was important, so I showed it to Max and he told me what it was.”
That memory of Max's back arching off the bed flashed before his eyes, and Charles heard his Eldri rumble in its cage.
“What does it do?”
“Come on, Hannah,” he whined, just wanting to go back to sleep. “I’ll tell you later. I’m too tired to talk about it now.”
He reached for the stone again, and Hannah just stretched her arm further out of reach. “You can sleep, but I’m taking this with me—”
“Fine,” he grumbled. The quicker he answered her questions the sooner he could try to go back to sleep, though he knew that was a long shot.
“From what Max remembered of his mother's, it's a tool of some kind. Something for an Eldri to learn and practice with but he didn’t know exactly what it was for.”
“A tool for what?”
“I just said, I don’t know.”
Looking like she wanted to ask more, but thinking better of it, Charles was grateful Hannah moved on. “So is this illness you're feeling normal?” she asked. “For Torossian mates? Did Max ever talk about his mother experiencing an illness?”
Charles shook his head slowly. “I don't know.” He swallowed hard. “The older Torossian I told you about . . . Alonso. He never said anything about this when he told me I was an Eldri, and Max didn’t really talk about his family. I don't know if it’s because I’m weak, or if it’s because I rejected my Eldri for so long, but I feel like something is wrong.”
He looked down at his hands, feeling the weight of his failure settle over him. Max had protected him, trained with him. Had saved him. Had fought for him over and over again.
And now Charles could barely stand without getting dizzy and nauseous all the time, unable to eat more than mostly simple carbs. He had horrible acid reflux and felt bloated beyond belief.
But it was hardly anything compared to what his mate was suffering—what Charles knew Max was suffering at the hands of the emperor—and Charles was stuck here, too weak and useless to do anything about it.
A lump formed in his throat.
“I have to get stronger,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
Hannah frowned. “Charles—”
“I have to,” he repeated, sharper this time. “If I don’t, I’ll never get him back. And if I don’t get him back, I won't be able to live with myself.”
“Charles, you—”
Before she could finish, Charles doubled over with a sudden, sharp gasp. Pain lanced through his skull, radiating from the base of his neck, and he clutched at it. His breath hitched as the burning sensation flared, a deep, primal force pulling at him from the inside.
His Eldri was forcing its way forward again.
His tail bristled, vision blurring at the edges as its voice slithered into his thoughts, low and simmering with rage. "He is bound to us,” the voice sneered, curling around his mind like smoke. "Our mate is slipping away. And you let it happen."
Charles clenched his teeth, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead.
Not now. Not now.
“Charles?” Hannah’s voice sounded distant, but he could feel her hands on his shoulders, grounding him. “What’s wrong? Do you need a trash can?”
The burning at the base of his skull pulsed, but he shoved it down, locking his Eldri back in its mental cage with a shuddering breath. Gritting his teeth, he lifted his head, breath still ragged.
“I’m fine,” he muttered.
Hannah clearly didn’t believe him. Instead, she sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really not gonna take it easy, are you?”
“No,” he let out a short, bitter laugh. “I’m not.”
“Fine,” she scoffed, shifting on the bunk so she could fully face him, setting his Veyöra down on the bed. “But at least tell me your symptoms. Maybe I have something on board that can help relieve some of the things you are feeling?”
“You saw the major one,” he huffed, rubbing at his temples. “I barely made it to the toilet before throwing up my guts.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “I feel like shit, obviously. I have for weeks.”
“Yeah, but how do you feel like shit? Be specific.”
Rolling his eyes, Charles decided to humor her. “I’m nauseous all the time, and it’s worse at night and in the mornings.” He swallowed, glancing toward the bathroom. “I don’t even eat that much, but the smell of some things makes me want to hurl. And when I do eat, it either makes me sick or I feel like I haven’t eaten in days and end up stuffing my face. Lando at dinner last week told me to save some for the rest of you, but I was so hungry, and I haven’t had proper pasta in months.”
“Okay. What else?”
“I’m exhausted. Like, bone-deep tired, but I have trouble falling asleep. I use this,” he leaned forward, picking up the stone. “To help me sleep.”
The Veyöra started to glow in his palm, a deep red blooming from the Torossian seal, and Hannah watched in silence for a moment, before quickly snatching it away from him, turning it over in her hands as it dimmed.
“What does it do to you?” She asked warily.
“I get this draining feeling up my arms and I hold it until I feel like I'll pass out. Afterwards, I’ll sleep for hours and still feel like I haven’t slept at all, but it's the only way I've been able to sleep.”
Hannah bit her lip. “Okay, so how about you not use this until you feel better. If it's draining all of your energy, that can't be good while you're fighting some kind of illness.”
Well . . .
He didn't really have an argument for that. Maybe he should take a break from practicing with it for now?
Tilting her head, Hannah's fingers drummed lightly against her knee. “Any dizziness? Mood swings? Weird cravings?”
Charles frowned. “Uh . . . yeah, actually. I’ve been getting lightheaded a lot, especially when I stand up too fast.” He shifted uncomfortably. “And I guess I’ve been kind of . . . on edge? I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with everything going on. My emotions are just everywhere. It’s annoying. I know I should stop ignoring Lando, but I just can't seem to sort myself out.”
Hannah hummed thoughtfully. “And the cravings?”
“I mean, maybe?” His tail flicked, betraying his unease. “I'm not sure. I really wanted this purple fruit Max served me for breakfast once the other day, and I don't even know what it's called or what planet it was from.”
He thought back to that quiet breakfast Max had made for him that first morning on the rebel ship and a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth before it dropped. Charles couldn't explain it, but somehow he knew Max was hungry, feeling a deep foreign ache in his own stomach. Sometimes, he'd also get an odd twinge in his wrists, or at the base of his tail, and Charles just knew it was Max's energy trying to tell him something he couldn't understand, his Eldri crying out when he felt those things.
Hannah was quiet—too quiet.
Her expression remained neutral, but something about her posture was different. Like she was carefully picking her words before she spoke. He knew her well, and he’d seen that look many times before.
“What?” Charles narrowed his eyes. His childhood friend always spoke her mind, and seeing her like this now made him nervous.
She pursed her lips. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” he scowled. “You’re thinking something.”
“I just . . . ” She trailed off, biting her lip. Then, after a long pause, she said, very, very carefully, “Charles. You and Max were intimate, right?”
Mouth dropping open, Charles was taken aback by the question. “Y–Yeah?” he said, a light flush creeping over him.
“Like how intimate?” She emphasized. “Did you have sex with him?”
Charles groaned, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “What the fuck does this have to do with anything?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, twisting his hands in his lap.
“Were you the one, umm . . . receiving?”
Charles blinked, tail fluffing up on the bed, ears burning. “What!?”
“I’m just asking.” She held up her hands in a placating gesture.
He stared at her, more embarrassed than he'd ever been in his entire life. “Why the hell would you ask me that?”
“Well, I was just thinking that you probably didn't use any form of protection—”
“Are you kidding me!?” Charles screeched, tail so large he looked like he’d been electrocuted. “You think I have some kind of space syphilis!?”
Smacking her forehead, Hannah scoffed. “No, of course not. I was just thinking—”
“What! What are you trying to say?”
Hannah held up a finger and exhaled through her nose, looking so oddly like Max when he did that. Glancing away for a brief moment before locking eyes with him again, she said curtly, “Charles, your symptoms. I think you could be pregnant.”
A beat of silence.
Then—
He jerked back like she’d physically struck him, nearly dropping his water bottle, sputtering, “Oh, come on, Hannah—seriously?”
She didn’t back down. “I’m just saying—”
“That’s ridiculous!” Charles scoffed, shaking his head. “I'm not pregnant.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!” he snapped, ears still burning. “I mean, obviously! That’s not even possible! I—” He cut himself off, scowling. “I don’t even have—I’m not built like that.”
Hannah crossed her arms. “You just recently learned you’re from another planet and were kidnapped by aliens working for some space pirate overlord. So how do you know that—”
“I just know!” he said desperately, really trying more to convince himself.
Hannah gave him a look. “You already admitted you don't know everything about what being a Torossian entails,” she pointed out. “And you just told me that your biology has been changing since you bonded with Max. If you are supposed to be like a real bonded pair, then reproduction would be part of that. You also grew a whole new goddamn tail right in front of us, Charles! How do you know this isn’t possible?”
Charles opened his mouth. Then closed it.
His stomach twisted at the soft trilling from his Eldri, apparently pleased with Hannah's diagnosis. His auburn tail even stopped its erratic movements and curled lightly around his middle, tip rubbing gently, almost protective of something that simply wasn’t there.
“No,” he said firmly, shoving the thought away before it could take root, pulling his tail away from his waist. “That’s stupid. I’m not pregnant.”
“Okay, fine. We can monitor your symptoms and see if anything else changes. I think I have at least some sleeping pills on board, as well as a few nausea medications. We can try those and see if you get any relief, or at least enough to get some proper food into you.”
Charles frowned. He didn't really want to take medicine to try and sleep, but clearly, the Veyöra was not the answer. “Okay.”
“I'll make sure I only bring you pregnancy safe stuff though.”
His tail fluffed up lightly again, waving happily almost like a purring cat. “I hate you,” he whispered, unsure if he was talking to her or his Eldri.
“No, you don’t.” Hannah smirked.
Dragging his hands over his face, Charles groaned. “This is so stupid.”
“Come on, just lay down. I'll be right back.” Hannah said and patted his knee.
Charles huffed. There was no way she was right.
. . . Right?
_____
- PTO base ship -
Carlos had only just made it back to the Torossian suite before the mask cracked.
The heavy door sealed shut behind him with a quiet hiss, locking out the world beyond its walls. He exhaled sharply, pressing his back against the cold metal, hands braced against his thighs as he forced himself to breathe.
The throne room had been a fucking nightmare.
He'd played his part perfectly, given Jos everything he wanted—delivered his report with all the cold efficiency expected of him. The words had left his mouth smoothly, each syllable crafted to paint the image of Charles’ death with absolute certainty.
But the way Max had looked at him . . .
Carlos clenched his jaw, tail lashing once before coiling tight around his waist.
The fight had drained from Max’s eyes, smothered beneath the weight of that false report. Carlos had seen it happen in real time—the moment hope cracked, the moment the prince believed him.
After all, why wouldn't he? A scouter reading of zero only meant one thing, and Carlos had roughed the Earthling up enough to keep up the ruse. He couldn't believe his luck when he'd scanned Charles.
But he supposed he wasn't surprised.
Absolutely pathetic.
The realization of what he’d done was crushing, how unbelievably blind he'd been by his desire for Max—the promises George had made him—that he would help bring the prince back into this nightmare.
And that—that was fucking unforgivable.
Max looked worse than he'd seen him in a long time, and Carlos didn’t know how everything had gone so wrong.
Carlos squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling deeply through his nose. Everything was upside down. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. They were supposed to just go back to how things were, completing assignments together, dining together, sparring together.
It had clearly all been a lie, everything George told him.
But he also hadn’t had a choice. He hadn’t. Jos would’ve known if he was lying—would've ripped the truth from him in a heartbeat. As a result, Max thought Charles was dead, and any hope Carlos had of reconciliation with Max was dead too.
He needed to fix this. Somehow.
He pushed off the door, running a hand down his face as he paced the length of the Torossian suite. The chambers were exactly as they had been the last time he was here—dull, cramped, filled with the lingering scent of Prince Max's stew he'd thrown at his door, long dried, a mockery of how things used to be.
Carlos dragged a hand through his black hair, exhaling sharply.
Max was already barely holding on by the looks of him. If he lost all hope, if he truly believed Charles was gone . . .
He needed to get a message to him. Needed to find a way to let Max know that he hadn’t actually killed Charles, that he’d let him go and not taken away another from their dwindling numbers.
He was honor bound to not take another Torossian life, no matter how desperately he'd wanted to.
But how was he supposed to get to Max?
Jos was always watching, the security on the ship had been quadrupled, and the dark-haired Torossian didn't know where Max was being kept on the ship.
It had to be somewhere secure, deep in the underbelly of the ship, possibly in the old prisoner cell block that hadn’t been used in decades. Carlos’ tail flicked sharply as his mind worked through the possibilities, but before he could get anywhere, the door behind him hissed open.
He turned on instinct, spine straightening as George stepped inside.
Great.
This was the last thing he needed right now.
The commander looked pleased—his usual cool indifference softened at the edges with something smug. “I must say,” he mused, closing the door behind him, “that was impressive.”
Carlos’ fingers twitched at his sides. “What was?”
George smirked, striding further into the room with that effortless confidence that always managed to set Carlos on edge. “The way you handled yourself in the throne room.” His sharp blue-green gaze flicked over Carlos appraisingly. “Not many people can stand in front of him while he plays his little games without breaking a sweat.”
Swallowing, Carlos kept his face carefully neutral. “I told you I wasn't lying,” he said flatly.
“Mm. So it seems,” George hummed.
Carlos fought the urge to take a step back as George closed the distance between them. A hand reached for his waist—light but deliberate. Carlos tensed, his tail stiffening, but George didn’t pull away. His fingers skimmed along Carlos’ side, sliding up over his ribs, testing the space between them.
He was filthy, not even showered from his trip to Namek, but George didn't seem to mind.
“You’re stressed,” George murmured, voice lower now, edged with something smooth and inviting. “Let me help with that.” Sliding his hand down the front of Carlos’ chestplate, George dipped his fingers lower, ghosting over the Torossian's clothed cock.
Carlos exhaled sharply through his nose. “Not tonight.”
“No?” George arched a brow, his smirk tilting, fingers twirling around the tip of Carlos’ tail.
Carlos shivered, gasping at the sensation before he reached down, wrapping his fingers around George’s smaller wrist, removing his hand. “No.”
They stood in silence before George pulled back slightly, eyes sharp as he studied Carlos’ face. “ . . . It got to you, didn’t it?”
Carlos clenched his jaw so tightly it ached, refusing to give George the satisfaction of a response. His entire body was vibrating with barely contained fury, pulse pounding in his ears, drowning out everything but the image of Max—stripped bare, bound, and muzzled—seated on Jos’ lap like some prized pet.
Clicking his tongue, the commander shook his head. “Carlos,” he softened, “The emperor—”
“Don’t.”
The word ripped from Carlos’ throat like a snarl, tail lashing violently behind him as he took a sharp step back. His skin crawled at the way George spoke to him, about this, as if it were just another strategic move—another checkmate in Jos’ never-ending game of cruelty.
“Just don’t,” he repeated, voice lower but no less venomous. “I know you knew about this. The emperor never gets his own hands dirty. How could you not tell me what Jos was planning?”
“Prince Max is not your responsibility,” George said simply.
“Like hell he's not!” he spat, stepping close again, chest nearly brushing against George’s. “You promised me. You said things would go back to the way they were before. An–And you said he wouldn’t kill him, but being symbolically mated to the frost demon—with a fucking Torossian mating band—is just as bad!”
The words burned his throat as he threw them, the full weight of his horror and rage spilling into the space between them. His Oozaru howled in the back of his mind at the insult to their prince, its presence clawing at the edges of his control.
George didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
Instead, he tilted his head, regarding Carlos with something that almost looked like curiosity. After a long pause, he simply said, “So?”
The casual dismissal, the sheer indifference in his tone—like this was nothing. Like Max’s suffering meant nothing.
Carlos saw red.
His body moved before his mind caught up as grabbed George by the front of his chestplate and shoved him back, hard enough that the commander had to catch himself before stumbling into the counter across the room.
"Get the fuck out," Carlos snarled, tail bristling like a live wire behind him.
George straightened, exhaling sharply as he adjusted his uniform, barely phased. He studied Carlos for a long moment, expression flickering between mild annoyance and something colder.
“I told you what you needed to hear, Carlos. Prince Max is weak and you deserve better. He's not a man who deserves your respect or affection.” Carlos only glared at him, teeth grinding against his jaw. "You really are upset about the silly bands," he observed, tone annoyingly smooth.
Carlos bared his teeth. “Silly bands?” he spat. “You knew . . . fucking snake. You knew what he was going to do, and you said nothing!”
George arched a brow, tilting his head slightly. "And what would you have done if I had, hmm? Tried to stop it?" He scoffed, taking a step toward the door like Carlos' anger barely registered. "That would’ve been a spectacularly stupid way to die."
"I don't know what I would've done, but I wouldn't have just acted like another one of Jos' dogs, licking at his boots like you," he growled.
Something flickered in George's expression, but Carlos was too blinded by rage to notice.
The commander exhaled through his nose, a slow, measured sound. "You think you're any different?" he asked, voice quiet. "You're standing here, on the emperor’s ship, wearing his colors, following his orders—don’t act like you’re some kind of martyr, Carlos. You’re just as much his soldier as I am, as we all are. I may not even have found the prince without your help—"
“Get. Out.”
George held his gaze for a long, tense moment, unreadable as ever. With an exaggerated sigh, he gave a slow half-bow, arms at his sides. "As you wish, General," he said mockingly.
Carlos didn’t move as George turned, walking toward the door at an infuriatingly unhurried pace.
Just before stepping out, George glanced back, smirking. "Come to my chambers when you've finished with your tantrum," he mused. "I'm starting to feel neglected."
The doors slid shut with a quiet hiss, leaving Carlos alone with the weight of his thoughts. His hands shook as he braced them against the door to the prince's private quarters, squeezing his eyes shut, his forehead pressing against the cool metal.
He had no idea what to do, but he could start with finding out where Jos was keeping Max.
Carlos spent the rest of the evening drowning in blueprints and schematics, the glow of his datapad reflecting off his narrowed eyes as he sifted through file after file. His quarters were dim, illuminated only by the cool blue light of the screen and the hum of the ship’s ever-present engine.
His hands moved quickly, pulling up security logs, structural layouts, and restricted files—anything his high-level clearance could access. His new title as General gave him a dangerous amount of reach, but even then, some files were locked beyond his clearance.
Jos didn’t fully trust anyone.
Carlos gritted his teeth, tail flicking against the back of his chair as he ran another bypass.
Max was somewhere on this ship. He just had to find him.
It should’ve been easier. The PTO base ship followed a rigid structure—detention levels, training sectors, officer quarters—but Jos had his own way of doing things. His personal chambers and whatever the fuck he was using to keep Max locked away weren’t going to be marked on any standard blueprint.
Carlos rubbed his jaw, fingers tapping absently against the metal surface of the desk as he pondered. He’d been a mechanic for most of his time serving in the PTO and there were very few places off limits to him.
He’d already ruled out the main detention blocks—Max wasn’t in a standard cell. Jos wouldn’t have bothered with something so basic. No, he’d want Max to suffer, to feel trapped, helpless . He would’ve chosen something else.
Somewhere isolated.
Somewhere symbolic.
Carlos exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning forward as he pulled up older ship records. He navigated through maintenance logs, power distribution maps, even ventilation systems. Alonso had talked about a small testing facility, not on any ship maps when he was younger. The elder Torossian said he’d never been allowed in, but knew that was where Prince Max spent a majority of his time as a teen when he was away from them.
Buried beneath layers of outdated schematics was a segment of the ship that wasn’t on the active maps—a section disconnected from the primary corridors, accessible only through heavily controlled checkpoints.
If Jos was keeping Max anywhere, it was there.
Carlos clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the edge of the datapad. The restricted access meant he couldn’t just walk in. There would be a labyrinth of biometric locks, high-level encryptions, security measures— and Jos himself, who no doubt had his eyes on Max constantly.
If he tried to break in without a plan, he’d be caught before he even reached the outer corridor.
Which meant he needed information, and he needed help.
His gaze flicked to the time display in the corner of his screen. Late. The ship had long since settled into its night cycle, the artificial lighting dimming across the halls, signaling that most personnel had retired for the cycle.
If anyone knew the details of Jos' security measures, it was Commander George. Carlos exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.
George.
That was a whole other problem on its own.
Carlos liked George, in the way someone liked a well-worn weapon—useful, sharp, something that fit comfortably in his grip. Their relationship was still brand new, but it had just sort of been easy. No expectations. No real complications. Just stolen moments in the quiet of space, where the weight of their titles faded, and the war of Jos’ control didn’t exist between them.
But Carlos didn’t love him.
That was reserved for someone else. Someone who was shackled in the depths of this ship, wearing a fucking Torossian mating band with a monster’s name on it.
Carlos gritted his teeth, pushing the thought down before it could spiral.
If he wanted George's help, he'd have to play nice.
George wasn’t a fool. He knew how Carlos felt about Max, knew all the lengths at which he’d gone in order to keep Max for himself over the years. If Carlos wasn’t careful, the commander, sooner or later, would start to suspect him of not being genuine in their interactions.
Which meant he had to play this carefully.
It wasn't like he hadn’t enjoyed what they did, on the contrary. He'd actually started to crave being inside the commander, relishing in this . . . whatever this was between them. But having Max so close changed things.
Carlos sighed, shutting off the datapad and tossing it onto the desk. He rolled his shoulders, smoothing out the tension before running a hand through his greasy hair. He was going to have to make up with George. Even if it meant playing a part he wasn’t sure he had the stomach for tonight.
Carlos took a breath, steeling himself before heading for the door for the shower.
The walk to George’s quarters was brisk. Late cycle meant the halls were mostly empty, only the occasional passing soldier or low-ranking officer nodding in acknowledgment as Carlos passed.
By the time he reached the commander’s door, he knocked with little ceremony, and the door slid open, revealing George, still fully dressed in his uniform. Carlos caught the faint surprise in his expression before the commander leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
“Well,” George mused, voice smooth as ever. “You took longer than I expected.”
Carlos rolled his shoulders, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t like fighting with you,” he admitted, not entirely a lie. “And maybe I am letting things get to me too much.”
George studied him for a long moment, then smirked. “I like you much better when you’re not trying to kill me.”
Huffing, the dark-haired Torossian stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. The door sealed behind him with a quiet hiss, locking them away from the outside world.
George’s chambers were immaculate, as always—organized, neat, everything in its place. The scent of foreign oils lingered in the air, a quiet comfort, though tonight, it didn’t settle the twisting in Carlos' gut.
The commander turned to face him, sharp blue-green eyes flicking over Carlos as he invaded his space. “So,” he said, voice low, almost teasing, twisting a strand of black hair behind Carlos’ ear. “What now, General ?”
Carlos swallowed, stepping closer, feeling the shift in the air.
He had a game to play, and he needed to play it well.
What were a few more lies.
Chapter 49: Swore An Oath
Summary:
Carlos bargains his way in to see the prince, but is woefully unprepared for what he finds in the belly of the ship.
Notes:
A rough one today 🥲 But as always, graphic parts are skippable.
Chapter warnings: Torture, graphic depictions of violence and injury, blood, panic, suicidal thoughts, near drowning.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Oh fuck, Carlos,” George gasped, his back pressed hard against the cool metal hull of the ship, the impact reverberating through his spine. His legs were spread wide, hooked over the insides of Carlos’ elbows, held effortlessly aloft, body pinned between unyielding steel and unrelenting strength.
His hands scrambled for purchase, fingers digging into the taut muscles of Carlos’ shoulders.
Carlos panted against his neck, breath hot and uneven. He could feel the dampness of sweat between them, the heat of Carlos’ skin pressing against his own, burning through the thin fabric of his uniform. George had always towered over him, always been the one looking down.
But not now.
The Torossian held him like he weighed nothing—like he was his, to use, to claim, to take.
A sharp grunt vibrated against his throat as Carlos hiked him higher, fingers digging into his waist with enough strength to leave bruises. Catching him off guard, Carlos thrust hard, slamming him back against the hull, forcing a strangled moan from George’s lips.
Carlos was thicker than him, in more ways than one, and George felt it—felt every movement, every merciless snap of his hips as the beast pounded into him, rhythm raw, punishing. Each thrust sent jolts of sensation rocketing through him, fingers curling into Carlos’ shoulders, thighs clenching around the Torossian’s waist.
The Elysian choked on a sharp gasp, his back arching as Carlos drove into him, dragging the commander away from the wall only to slam him back against it again, the force rattling through them both.
Teeth grazed his throat, sharp enough to make George shudder and remind him exactly who was in control right now. The other man exhaled heavily against his skin, the warmth of it sending a fresh ripple of pleasure down his spine.
He was floating, doing his best to hold on for dear life, until his back left the wall again.
Breath hitching, George was suddenly lifted, carried away from the hull in Carlos’ arms like it was easy. His stomach twisted at the sudden loss of stability, thighs clenched around Carlos’ waist, hands gripping tighter against damp, flexing muscle.
Carlos’ hands shifted, adjusting their grip, moving to his ass—holding him up with nothing but sheer strength.
Then the bastard dropped him.
George cursed, a sharp, involuntary sound ripped from his throat as Carlos slammed him down onto his length, only to lift him and do it all over again, standing in the center of the room. The pace was brutal—relentless. Each time, George felt it deeper, his vision blurring with the sheer force of it.
Head tipped back, George’s breath was punched out of him as Carlos used him, over and over, making sure he felt every movement, every inch, every raw, unfiltered bit of strength.
The sound of their bodies meeting echoed in the dimly lit room, mingling with ragged breathing, the scent of sweat and whatever oils the Torossian used on his hair. George barely had a second to process anything, the force of Carlos’ grip, the heat of him inside, the way his muscles trembled with exertion yet never wavered.
Tightening his grip around Carlos’ neck, George pulled him closer as their lips collided in an ungraceful, sloppy kiss. Carlos didn’t return it with any real enthusiasm, letting George take what he wanted, but that didn’t stop the commander from pressing his tongue inside the Torossian’s open mouth, biting lightly at his full bottom lip.
Carlos tasted like sweat and heat, his breath ragged against George’s face, but his body remained tense—coiled like a spring, his mind obviously elsewhere . That should have bothered George.
It didn’t.
If Carlos was distracted, then George would make him focus.
His fingers slipped slightly against the damp skin of Carlos’ neck, struggling to keep his grip as Carlos moved deeper into his chambers.
With no warning, Carlos tossed George unceremoniously onto his bed, the commander barely having time to gasp before his back slammed against the mattress, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. A startled, breathy squeal left his lips, body momentarily stunned as he blinked up at the ceiling, pulse hammering in his ears.
Then he felt something soft on his leg.
Carlos’ tail wrapped around his ankle, the fluffy, surprisingly muscular appendage curling tight before dragging him down the length of the bed with an unrelenting grip.
George bit his lip at the rough handling, fingers clutching at the sheets as he was pulled toward the edge. He could still taste Carlos on his lips, the faintest hint of copper where the Torossian's teeth had scraped too hard against his skin.
Carlos had never been like this before.
Not in their usual late-night rendezvous, hidden away in the corners of the nav deck, bodies pressed together between the hum of control panels and the glow of star charts.
This was different.
George wasn’t complaining.
It had been days since they’d been together. Carlos’ pod had taken longer than expected to catch up with how fast Jos had ordered the base ship to move, leaving the commander waiting, body craving the heat of another’s skin after too many nights spent alone in his pristine, untouched bed.
Ceasing all of his other . . . intimate activities, George lost pleasure in those tedious games. He’d rather die than say he loved this, but in truth, he couldn’t get enough.
Thank God, Carlos wasn’t holding back.
Yanking him downward until his hips hung off the edge of the bed, Carlos grabbed George’s ankles, hoisting them up onto each of his shoulders with a firm grip. George’s breath hitched as the Torossian’s large hands branded the tops of his thighs, spreading them apart.
With no preamble, no hesitation. Carlos slammed back inside him.
George’s head tipped back, lips parting as his fingers tightened against the sheets, whole body shuddering from the force of it. Carlos didn’t ease into it, didn’t give him a moment to adjust—he just took what he wanted, grip possessive, rhythm immediately ruthless.
The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room again, punctuated only by their ragged breaths, the mattress creaking beneath them as Carlos moved with an unrelenting pace.
George let his head lull back, exhaling a shaky breath, his hands shifting to grip the edges of the bed frame as Carlos' body pressed into his, relentless and commanding, eyes rolling back.
If this was how Carlos wanted to use him tonight—
George would let him. He didn't mind this kind of tantrum.
- Several weeks later -
George leaned against the frame of his bed, arms crossed as he watched Carlos from a distance.
The general was seated at the small desk across the room, shirtless, his broad shoulders bathed in the artificial glow of the ship’s night cycle. His black tail flicked absently at his side, restless despite the stillness of his posture.
He wasn’t working—not really.
His tablet lay dormant in front of him, untouched for the last twenty minutes or so, his fingers curled loosely around a metal tumbler of water that he hadn’t taken a sip from.
He was thinking.
And George knew exactly who he was thinking about.
With a quiet sigh, George shifted his weight, dragging a hand through his hair as he let his gaze drift over the familiar shape of Carlos’ back. He'd gotten used to this now—to having the general here, in his space.
It had started subtly.
Carlos would stay a little longer after their nights together, not rushing to get dressed or leave as soon as it was over like before. Then he'd started showing up without pretense, lingering in the doorway, a silent invitation in his stance that George had always answered with a smirk and a lazy gesture toward the bed.
And then, a little over a week ago, Carlos had just . . . stayed.
His few personal items had migrated here—his armor, his training gear, his scent. It clung to the sheets, to the air, to George, mingling with his own, wrapping them both in something unspoken.
Carlos lived here now.
They spent all their off-duty hours together—training, eating, fucking, sometimes just sitting in the same space without speaking.
And George . . .
George liked it.
He wasn’t sure what that meant, but there was something steady about Carlos being here, about the weight of another body in his bed, another presence in his routine. He’d never really experienced something like this before, always taking what he wanted from others without a care, no second thoughts as to if they wanted to or not.
Now, he found himself almost giving. Giving his time, his energy, his body—freely, willingly.
Still, despite how comfortable their arrangement had become, Carlos was . . . distant. Not with George physically, at least. But mentally, emotionally, there was a wall that hadn’t come down since the day he’d seen Prince Max in the throne room while giving his mission report about killing the Earthling harlot.
Because no matter how many nights he spent in George’s bed, no matter how many times he’d gasped his name against his throat, the Torossian’s mind always wandered back to him.
To his prince.
George knew it. He wasn’t an idiot.
Carlos had even subtly tried—on more than one occasion—to get information out of him about where the prince was being held. He saw the way Carlos’ expression tightened whenever Max’s name was mentioned, how his tail always bristled when the prince was brought up in casual conversation among the other officers.
And most of all, George knew it pained Carlos that Jos didn’t allow anyone to see the prince.
Not once since the emperor paraded Max around the throne room wearing nothing but his new piece of jewelry, had anyone without access to the restricted prison seen him.
Carlos was troubled by it—more than he was willing to admit.
George saw it in the way he stared at nothing for too long, the way his tail twitched anxiously when he thought no one was looking. And right now, watching him from across the room, George could see the storm brewing behind his dark eyes.
He’d thought after a while, the general would let it go, accept the new reality of the situation, and that Max was going to have to pay for his treason. But Carlos was simply stuck on it.
With a sigh, George finally pushed off the bed, crossing the space between them with slow steps. He came up behind Carlos, hands settling on the general’s tense shoulders, his thumbs pressing idly into firm muscle.
“You keep thinking like that, you’re going to give yourself a headache,” George murmured. Carlos exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t shrug him off. Smirking, George leaned down so his lips brushed just behind Carlos’ ear, fingers ruffling the black fur of his tail. “If you need a distraction, I can think of a few things.”
The Torossian huffed a dry laugh but didn’t respond, thumb turning on his tablet screen. “I have work to do.”
Sighing, George pressed his thumb a little harder against the tense knots beneath his fingers, working them in circles. “You haven’t asked me for a few days,” he said after a moment.
Carlos’ fingers tightened around the tablet. “Asked what?”
“If I’ve been to see him.”
Carlos went still, and the commander felt tension snap through the other man’s shoulders, tail going rigid between them. “Have you?” he asked, voice low, guarded.
George exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “Seen him?”
“Yes,” he said. “Have you seen him? . . . Is he dead?” His voice shook on the last word even though the general clearly tried to hide it.
George hesitated, dragging the moment out just to see what Carlos would do. He could feel the Torossian’s impatience, his desperation bleeding through the cracks in his otherwise carefully composed exterior.
The general underestimated him.
With a slow shake of his head, George said, “Not in a while.” Carlos’ shoulders tensed even further, his jaw clenching. “But he's not dead. However,” he said smoothly, dragging the word out, “if you’re still that worried about him, I might have a way for you to see him.”
Twisting sharply in his chair, the dark-haired Torossian’s eyes locked onto George with something raw and pleading. “What?” Carlos breathed. “How?”
George smirked slightly at the reaction, but there was no amusement in it. His fingers ghosted over the top of Carlos’ shoulder before he moved around to lean against the desk, arms crossed.
“In a few days,” he said casually, “Jos will be leaving the ship. Some trivial rebel matter he insisted on handling in person.” His smirk deepened slightly. “And while he’s gone, guess who’s been given the lovely task of keeping an eye on your dear prince?”
Carlos’ throat worked as he swallowed. “Please.”
Holding the younger man's gaze, George pursed his lips. He’d been hoping to be wrong about this, that Carlos wouldn't take him up on his offer, but when George had a feeling about something, he was rarely wrong.
Carlos shot to his feet so fast his chair scraped against the floor. “George,” he said, stepping forward, too close now, his hands practically latching onto George’s folded arms. “Please.” His voice was quiet but urgent. “Just a few minutes. That’s all. I just—I need to see him, see that he is alive, and then I can . . . ” He trailed off, exhaling sharply. “Then I can stop thinking about it.”
He arched his brow. “Can you?”
Carlos’ grip tightened, his breathing uneven. “Yes.”
Studying him carefully, the Elysian watched a flicker of something behind Carlos’ dark eyes—desperation, fear, guilt. Maybe all of it at once.
George stared at him for a while, feeling like he was really seeing the real Carlos for the first time. He could tell how badly the general needed this, how much this uncertainty was eating at him.
He hoped that was all it was.
Tapping his fingers against his bicep, the commander let Carlos stew in the tension for a moment longer before sighing dramatically.
“Alright,” he murmured. “When Jos leaves, I’ll let you into his holding area. But just to assuage your conscience. You will not be permitted to stay.”
Carlos inhaled sharply, hands fisting in the fabric of George’s uniform for half a second before he caught himself, surely remembering their little talk about the Torossian ruining too many of George's uniforms. He let go quickly, stepping back, jaw tight.
“Thank you,” he said, voice gruff and rough around the edges.
George smirked, leaning in slightly. “Is that all you’re going to give me? A thank you?”
Surging forward, Carlos yanked George off his feet and quickly tackled him onto his bed, a surprised squeal echoing in the space as Carlos ravaged his mouth.
He prayed he wouldn't regret this.
_____
Max stood—barely—head slumped forward, muscles trembling under the strain of keeping himself upright. His legs screamed for rest, for warmth, for any kind of relief, but none came. The cold bit into his skin, seeping into his bones, an unrelenting chill that not even his thick Torossian blood could keep at bay.
His feet were frozen, his only point of contact with the floor, toes long since going numb.
Every shiver sent shockwaves of agony up his spine, radiating from the cruel device locked at the base of his tail, making it hard to even think. He was in a constant fog, moving shadows tricking his mind.
His cell was silent, its blackened walls so close, each moment a reminder of his past torment and his current disgrace. He tried to find solace in the silence, but even that had been corrupted by the sound of his own ragged breathing and the constant clinking of chains whenever he shifted.
His Oozaru was distant, thrashing against the confines of his shackled body and fractured mind. It clawed at him, snarling in frustration at the humiliation of their confinement, but their tether had been weakened, unable to communicate as effectively as before, band on his tail keeping his Oozaru too active.
It whispered in the dark, telling lies, only serving to worsen Max's grief. “De Eldri leeft. Ik voel zijn geest, zijn energie nog steeds verbonden met de onze. Onze maat is niet verloren!” [The Eldri lives. I feel his spirit, his energy still bound to ours. Our mate has not been lost!]
Max tried to reach out, finding the door on its cage to close it, but he couldn't focus.
He knew the truth, had seen his mate, his love's lifeless body laying in the dirt of their garden, beaten and bruised, no energy reading coming from him.
The barbed band around his tail muffled his ability to fight against his instincts, keeping him subdued, a predator forced into submission, unable to keep the halves of himself separate.
It was maddening.
Jos had stripped him of everything—his freedom, his dignity, and even his ability to think clearly. Every time he was dragged out of the cell, another piece of him was being carved away. His flesh may have healed after the poor excuse of "medical treatments" he'd received and he was kept from starving to death by the bare minimum food he was given, but the wounds to his pride and spirit festered like an open sore, worse now that their false mating had been consummated in Jos’ bed chamber.
He didn’t know how long he’d been there.
It could have been days, weeks, or months—time a concept he could no longer grasp. The total absence of light, except for the brief moments Jos entered his cell, made it impossible to measure the passing days.
He had no allies, no visitors, no one to remind him he wasn’t completely alone in this hell.
He was in fact alone this time. Just him and his Oozaru.
Charles, his splintered mind whispered, as a fresh wave of guilt and despair crashed over him. He'd failed Charles, failed to protect him, failed to keep him safe and failed to provide the life he had wanted to.
He'd had so little sleep, hallucinations and nightmares all bled together, his mind playing tricks on him.
The Eldri visited him in his cell, luscious red tail taunting him as Charles’ sweetness always turned ugly—violent. Max lived for the few seconds he thought it was real, but he was always pulled back to reality by the sight of that auburn appendage. It was so soft and beautiful, gliding across his frozen skin, warming him for a few floating moments before Charles was gone again, lost to time and Max forever.
His Charles didn't have a tail.
The prince's last real memory of the Eldri haunted him—the pain in Charles' voice as he screamed at him in front of their cabin, horrified by learning who Max really was, what he'd done. The thought of the Earthling stirred something deep within him, a faint spark of hope, but it was quickly smothered by the crushing reality of what he'd learned . . . What he saw.
He would never see the Eldri again, his mate cut down by his own brother in cold blood. His face now was just a memory like the others he'd tried and failed to protect. Shadows ink on the page.
Max wouldn't let this one slip away from him though, like his mother's and all the other faces of people he'd never see again.
He'd burned Charles’ visage into the space behind his eyes.
He tried to remember the last time he saw Charles’ smile or felt the warmth of his skin, thinking back to those few days before Jos had come. He supposed it was when he'd agreed to go to the village with him, a spring in the Earthlings' step the whole way as they held hands.
It was a strange custom, one Charles said “couples” did on Earth, and Max whined lowly in his throat, muzzle still fixed over his aching jaw.
No one had ever held his hand before. Max should've held him tighter, never let go.
He recalled thinking how much like oil and water they were then; Max the blackest of corrosive substances, and Charles the purest spring water from the far mountains of Toro.
Now, he would have to remember him for longer than he knew him, dimples, dazzling green eyes and all.
Max squeezed his eyes shut, teeth gritted against the pain, trying to block out the endless cycle of despair. His wrists throbbed where the shackles cut into them, the swollen skin raw and bleeding. His feet ached from bearing his weight for so long, and his legs wobbled dangerously with every passing moment.
Jos had broken him before, back when he was a boy, and now it seemed the frost demon was determined to break him again.
But even in this pit of suffering, there was a small part of Max that refused to give in. It was buried deep, beneath layers of anguish and exhaustion, but it was there—a quiet, stubborn voice reminding him who he was.
That he still had his pride.
He was Prince Max of Toro. He was not a coward, nor a weakling. He had survived this hell before, and he could survive it again. Even if only to preserve the memory of Charles.
It was all he had left.
Soft fingers wove through his hair, the touch light and soothing, tracing delicate circles against his scalp. Max sighed, a faint sense of peace washing over him, his mind heavy and sluggish, wrapped in fog. The ache in his body was distant, muffled beneath the comfort of whatever soft surface he was lying on. His golden locks fell loose around his eyes, the gentle caress pulling him further into a lull.
His mate used to touch him like this.
Was this real? Was Charles here?
He tried to move, to speak, but the haze clouding his mind held him captive. A pang of doubt began to creep in, mingling with the cooling of the touch. His broken leg throbbed faintly now, and his back burned with a dull, insistent ache that grew sharper with every passing second, radiating from just below his tail.
The contrast between the pain and the comforting touch sent his senses spiraling into confusion.
“Charlie?” Max rasped, voice raw and hoarse. His words felt like they were swallowed by the darkness that surrounded him, but he asked anyway. He had to know.
The caress stopped.
In an instant, the soft fingers morphed into a vice-like grip, yanking his head back with cruel force. The soothing comfort vanished, replaced by a cold, suffocating dread that clawed at his chest.
Max’s eyes shot open, uncooperative and blurred, but even in his dazed state, the gleam of crimson caught his gaze.
Jos.
The frost demon’s blood-red eyes burned with twisted rage as he dragged Max off the mystery soft surface and into the air. Max yelled, struggling weakly against the iron grip, but his strength was gone, sapped by the relentless torment of his tail and lack of food.
The cold floor met him with a punishing crash, the jagged edges of some kind of debris slicing into his exposed skin as Jos hauled him mercilessly down a long, dark corridor. Each scrape sent jolts through his battered body, but he ignored the way his broken leg screamed in protest as he tried to get his feet under him.
Bright lights flickered as they passed more cells, illuminating the desolate expanse of the testing facility in the belly of the ship. Shadows danced erratically, each one a phantom of his fear, but Max’s focus was on the frost demon’s grip, the way it tightened with every passing second until they stopped abruptly.
With a forceful swing, Jos hurled Max onto a hard table of some kind, body hitting the surface with a firm thud. The prince had no time to process the new surroundings before his head slammed into the unyielding metal, white-hot pain exploding behind his eyes.
Stars danced in his vision as his world spun uncontrollably.
The sound of latches sealing over his chest and limbs was deafening, the finality of it sending a chill down Max’s spine. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus through the haze of pain and confusion, Oozaru dangerously close to the surface, but laying on the base of his trapped tail choked the air in his lungs.
The room was bare, cold, and sterile, curved walls enclosing him in a suffocating grip. The light was harsh, making him unable to open his eyes for more than a few moments, trying to track the warlord as he moved in the room.
Jos stood beside him, figure distorted through the dryness of Max's eyes. The frost demon’s lips curled into a predatory grin, voice a venomous whisper that cut through the oppressive silence.
“Let's see if you've improved since the last time we did this. I'm sure you can score much higher now.”
Max’s heart pounded against his ribs, the pain in his leg screaming for attention with a strap much too tight over it. The lingering haze of sleep faded as sharp, cold truth set in. The gentle touch on his hair had been a cruel deception, a fleeting moment of false comfort that dissolved into torment. His matted locks, damp with sweat, stuck to his face as he struggled against the straps holding him down.
His leg throbbed with every movement, the pain radiating up to his hip, making him grit his teeth to stifle a groan. It was broken just below the knee, and half healed in an incorrect position.
Max didn’t even remember how or when it happened.
The scrapes and cuts along his back from being dragged only added to his misery, stinging with the faint trace of blood that smeared against the table’s surface. His wrists were raw, beyond bruised from constant shackles, unable to support his weight, collar still digging into his windpipe.
He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, to focus on his surroundings. The chamber was unfamiliar, though the emperor spoke like he'd been here before. There was no visible exit save for the sealed door he’d just been dragged through and the walls bore no markings or indicators of their purpose, but Max could feel the hum of energy in the air.
A deep, mechanical voice crackled to life, echoing within the chamber.
“Subject secured. Preparing for initial testing.”
Max’s blood ran cold. “Jos!” he yelled hoarsely when the frost demon turned and left the room, voice echoing within the confined space. “What the fuck is this?”
Jos' laughter echoed in his mind, cruel and condescending as his footsteps retreated, the warlord apparently not needing to be present to exert his control.
The hum of energy intensified, a low, rhythmic pulse that vibrated through Max’s bones. The walls began to glow faintly, streaks of light tracing intricate hidden patterns that shifted and pulsed like a living organism.
“Initializing pain threshold assessment.”
The words brought a memory of this machine to his mind, and his tail tried to curl protectively around his waist, but the cursed band at its base wouldn't allow any such movement.
Before he could brace himself, the table beneath him lit up, and a searing heat shot through his bare back. His muscles locked, back arching involuntarily as he let out a guttural yell. The energy coursing through him was relentless, white-hot and all-consuming, like a thousand needles stabbing into his flesh simultaneously.
His vision blurred with tears, and his fingers clawed at the table edge, searching for something to loosen the bindings. The agony was unrelenting, each pulse of energy tearing through him like a storm until it stopped.
Through the haze of pain, Max’s mind clung to a single, desperate thought.
Charles.
The memory of the Earthling’s face, his touch, his voice, was the prince's anchor and lifeline in this sea of torment. The love they'd shared, however fleeting, was the only thing keeping him from succumbing to the abyss.
Charles had been spared this. If they'd been found together, this could've been the Eldri instead of him, a small mercy that helped ease his mind.
He'd lived a lifetime of happiness with Charles on Lawrence's ship. That was enough to get him through this.
His Oozaru stirred in his mind, surging forward, strong, a safety Max hadn’t felt in a long time. He didn't fight it, letting the beast flood his senses, the world fading around him.
The table's energy surged again, and Max’s howl echoed once more, a defiant roar against the cruelty of his captor.
He was floating, battered body suspended in a thick, viscous warmth of a healing tank's nanite solution. The sensation was familiar, almost comforting, but the relief was fleeting as sharp, unrelenting pain radiated through every muscle, every bone.
It felt like his very essence protested his own existence.
Still, this was better. The tank would heal him, soothe the agony that clung to him like a second skin. He needed to focus, let the advanced medicine work its magic, knitting his broken body back together.
But something was wrong.
Max tried to relax, but when he attempted to breathe, his lungs filled with thick, syrupy liquid instead of oxygen. Panic seized him, chest heaving as he gagged on the invasive substance.
His swollen eyes shot open, stinging against the liquid, and his gaze darted wildly, searching for the respirator mask that should've been fixed over his face.
It wasn’t there.
There was no glass panel in front of him either—no window to the outside world, no escape hatch. Only smooth, unyielding metal walls surrounded him, cutting him off completely. He pounded weakly against them, the sound dull and insignificant in the oppressive liquid. His strength, sapped by his injuries, was no match for the cold, unfeeling enclosure.
This wasn’t a healing tank—this was a death trap.
Max’s chest burned, lungs screaming for air as his body thrashed weakly in the thick liquid. Desperate, his eyes flicked upward, and he spotted it—a pocket of air at the top of the tank.
It wasn’t much, just a sliver of salvation, but it was enough to spur him into action.
Kicking frantically, Max propelled himself upward, every movement sending fresh waves of agony through his broken leg. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to ignore the excruciating pain, singular focus on reaching that precious pocket of air.
His lungs burned, stars danced across his vision, but he was almost there.
The top of the tank came into view, accompanied by a large metal grate covering the surface. Liquid continued to rush in from below, rising steadily, threatening to swallow even the small space he was fighting for.
Max reached out, fingers brushing against the open grid squares, and with a final surge of determination, he tangled his hands into the grate, hauling himself upward.
His nose pressed through one of the spaces, lips pursing to follow suit, and at last, sweet, life-giving air filled his lungs. Max coughed and gasped, greedily sucking in oxygen. His knuckles whitened as he clung to the grate, a few mangled fingers struggling to hold on, body trembling from the effort and the lingering terror of almost drowning.
This was no accident. This was a calculated cruelty, another twisted game by Jos, designed to break him further.
The effort to hold himself up was great, arms struggling with his full weight, body struggling for buoyancy against the lesser density of the nanite solution. He tried relaxing one hand, hoping to switch off between them to give his limbs a rest, but his face dipped back below the surface when he let go with one.
Maybe he should just—
The thought seeped deep into his being, mingling with the cold and the hunger.
Letting his other hand slip from the grate, Max slowly sank to the bottom of the sealed tank, eyes closed, air bubbles seeping out his open mouth. He could think of worse ways to die.
He almost had many times on distant planets fighting great beasts, braving the harshest of conditions.
Arms falling down by his sides, Max tried to find some peace to comfort him, letting the moment stretch on. His lungs were burning while his leg still throbbed uncontrollably, but that would all stop soon.
Just a little longer.
He heard Alonso’s voice in his mind, his mentor telling him he was better than this, that he was not the warlord's to own, telling him his father would be proud . . .
Max pushed those thoughts away.
Dimples invaded his mind next, swirling behind his eyelids.
“Max!”
It sounded so real. The base of his tail burned, deep into his back, Oozaru rumbling as it rushed forward in his mind, fighting against their separation. Max was ready to give up, but his instincts clearly weren’t. “De Eldri leeft!” [The Eldri lives!]
“Max—”
Pushing off the floor of the tank, Max’s lungs burned for air as he shot to the top, fingers weaving themselves back between the grid squares of the grate. Spewing out a mouth full of liquid, the prince gasped and dug his fingers in, locking his arms in place.
For the first time in over a decade, Max wasn’t sure if he had the strength to endure this.
_____
Carlos stood stiffly in the unfamiliar corridor, arms crossed as he listened to George’s instructions, every muscle in his body taut.
True to his word, the commander had made the necessary arrangements the same day Jos left the ship.
“I’ve adjusted the camera security,” George murmured, voice low but steady. He tapped something into his scouter, the glow reflecting off his sharp features. “The feed has already been looped with the same hour of footage, so you have a small window to move undetected. I can't hold it forever, so you’ll have until I send a ping to your scouter. Your time is up after that.”
Carlos’ tail twitched behind him, pulse hammering in his ears. He hated relying on someone else for this, hated how his fate—and Max’s—was balanced on the thin edge of George’s favor.
But right now, he had no choice. He'd laid the groundwork for this over the past several weeks, buttering up the commander as much as he could. This might be his only chance and he had to make it count.
“Are you coming with me?”
“No. The floor sensors will detect too many bodies in the cell area and trigger an alert. I'll wait for you back in my chambers.” George then turned to face him fully, expression neutral. “Wait for my signal. When the outer corridor door unlocks, slip inside quickly. After my ping tells you your time is up, you’ll have less than a minute before the outer door locks down again. If you miss that, you’re on your own and I can’t help you.”
Carlos nodded, jaw tight. Maybe he hadn't curried as much favor with the commander as he thought.
“He’ll be in cell thirty-three,” he murmured, watching Carlos’ face carefully. “Don’t waste time. Get in, see what you need to see, and get out. Understood?”
“Understood, and thank you.”
George held his gaze for a long moment, hand lightly brushing his arm, softness flickering behind his blue-green eyes before he finally exhaled and stepped back.
“Go.”
A soft click.
The door to the max-security testing facility unlocked, and Carlos didn’t hesitate. He slipped inside in an instant, movements silent, heart pounding as the heavy metal door slid shut behind him with a quiet hiss.
The air in the prison was stale, thick with the lingering scent of damp metal and something colder, something that made the fine hairs on the back of Carlos’ neck stand on end. The lighting was off, making it almost impossible to see until his eyes adjusted.
His boots barely made a sound as he moved forward, sharp gaze flickering between the numbered cells as he counted down toward thirty-three.
Thirty-one. Thirty-two.
Carlos’ pulse stuttered as he reached the cell marked 33, hands already clenching into fists at his sides.
The cell was empty.
Breath caught in his throat, the Torossian's stomach dropped, Oozaru picking up on the overwhelming stench of fear and misery blanketing the space. He turned sharply, his mind racing, heartbeat hammering against his ribs. Had George lied to him? Had Jos taken Max somewhere else? Was he too late? Had—
A sound. A sharp, ragged gasp.
Carlos’ head snapped toward the noise, senses sharpening, pulse hammering against his ribs.
Where had that come from?
The air in the prison was thick, stale, but there was something else now—something off. A sterile, artificial scent that clung to the back of his throat, mixed with the metallic tang of machinery. It smelled almost like the clinic on the upper deck, but not as clean or well maintained.
He took a cautious step forward, gaze darting over the larger room beyond the cells. The space was odd looking, an eerie glow over the equipment lining the walls.
He recognized some of it—standard PTO medical and interrogation tech—but there were others . . . others he'd never seen before. His eyes landed on the massive tank at the center of the chamber.
It loomed over the room like a beast, its glass surface reinforced with thick, dark tubing that coiled like mechanical veins. Hanging inside the empty pod-like structure were dozens of wires and ports, their purposes unknown.
His eyes caught on a few markings around some kind of control panel, disbelief when some of the writing was in Torossian script. There were words like, energy reading, pup viability and . . . gestational stimulation containment unit on the machines control panel.
What the fuck was this? Where—why did Jos have equipment from Toro?
Carlos was a mechanic. There wasn’t a machine on this ship he hadn’t seen before—until now, and the entire chamber felt wrong.
His tail bristled as he moved past the central tank, eyes sweeping over the smaller ones beside it. They stood on either side, their darkened interiors concealed by condensation streaking the reinforced glass. Some held liquid, others were empty, but all with Torossian markings.
His gut twisted, followed by the sound of another garbled cough.
Carlos whipped his head toward the sound, pulse spiking. The noise came from the far end of the room where there was a cluster of other tanks gathered together, their shadowed forms barely visible in the dim lighting.
“Max?” he called softly, voice barely above a whisper, afraid of what he might hear in return.
Another cough, wet and ragged, accompanied with a quiet rattle.
Carlos jumped, entire body snapping into motion as he ran toward the sound. One of the tanks was slightly shaking. The top panel trembled, a weak, almost imperceptible movement, but Carlos felt it like a gunshot to his chest.
Reaching the attached ladder, his boots slammed against the rungs as he climbed. His breath caught in his throat as he reached the top, hands gripping the reinforced edge, eyes blowing wide.
"Max!"
Inside the tall tank, barely visible through the thick, murky liquid, was the prince.
It looked like a really old version of a healing tank from the clinic, but there was no heat source to activate the nanite solution, and based on the horrid brown color of the fluid, Max had been bleeding into it rather than healing.
His lips and nose were pressed against a grated vent at the top, the only source of air in the confined space. His eyes were closed, still under the surface, skin sickly pale beneath the grate, body slack and motionless—aside from the occasional violent cough that wracked his too thin frame.
"Shit, shit, shit—"
Carlos’ hands worked fast, fingers already moving to the locking mechanism at the top of the tank, heart hammering against his ribs, hands shaking.
It wasn’t the current standard PTO lock, confirming his suspicions about the age of the technology.
Carlos gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus. He'd brought a small belt pouch of supplies with him and he quickly fished out a tool to scrape over the lock edges, searching for the weak points, for anything he could use to force the mechanism open without setting off an alarm or some other kind of alert by just breaking it open with his strength.
Max coughed again, body weakly shifting inside the murky solution. His fingers twitched, barely moving against the grate he was holding onto for dear life, trying—failing—to reach for him through it.
"Hold on, Max," Carlos murmured, voice tight, chest aching at the sight of him.
With a sharp click, the latch finally gave way.
He ripped the grate open, the stale air shifting, and reached down, plunging his arms into the cold, viscous liquid to grab Max beneath his arms before he could sink, hands weakly looking for something to hold onto. Max made a startled noise as Carlos hauled him up and out of the tank in one smooth, powerful pull. Gasping, the regal Torossian spit out mouthfuls of fluid, coughing roughly in the cold air, murky brown coming from his nose.
The prince was limp in his grip, soaked through, the old, rancid healing solution clinging to his pale skin in thick, sluggish drips. His wet, matted hair stuck to his face, his entire frame trembling from exertion or shock—Carlos couldn’t tell which.
Who knows how long Max had been in there, or how long he would’ve had to stay until someone who actually cared came along. Would George have left Max in there? Did the commander know this was happening to Max the whole time?
Carlos barely managed to adjust his grip before Max clung to him.
Thin, shaking hands grabbed fistfuls of his armor, weak but desperate, broken nails scraping against the thick material as Max pressed himself closer, chest heaving as he sucked in ragged, shuddering breaths.
Carlos felt his throat tighten. "Max," he breathed, adjusting his hold, one arm bracing around the prince’s back, the other gripping beneath his legs.
Max was so light. Too light.
But even through the haze in his fevered, half-lidded eyes, there was recognition. “ . . . Carlos?” Max rasped, voice cracked and hoarse, barely more than a whisper.
Carlos swallowed hard. "Yes, my prince. It’s me."
Max let out a weak, shaky breath—and held on tighter.
He pulled Max close, one arm wrapping more securely around him as he moved quickly down the ladder, careful but fast. Max trembled against his chest, breath warm against the base of Carlos’ throat, body slack with exhaustion but clinging to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.
Once his feet hit the floor, Carlos moved fast.
He carried Max swiftly back through the large room's corridors, tail bristling as he scanned every shadow for movement. When he reached Max’s assigned cell—empty, he stepped inside and shut the door behind them, making sure the external security controls wouldn’t flag any unusual activity.
Only when he was sure they were alone did he kneel, carefully lowering Max onto the floor in the corner of the cell.
Carlos’ gut twisted at the sight of him. Max was a wreck.
His left leg, though technically healed, was wrong, set at an unnatural angle beneath bruised, swollen skin. His fingers were swollen and bent in ways that made Carlos’ stomach churn—some recently broken, others clearly older injuries that hadn’t been properly treated. There were deep, raw lacerations along his torso and arms, some scabbed over, some still open, fresh enough to suggest that whoever had been treating him wasn’t bothering to close the wounds fully.
But the worst was his neck and wrists.
Carlos’ breath caught at the sight of the large, jagged wound carved into the side of Max’s throat—deep and ugly, the edges inflamed, the skin bruised and angry. It looked like a bite, violent, like something torn into the flesh in a crazed frenzy.
The more he looked the more he saw.
The prince's wrists. Carlos hissed through his teeth. They were so swollen, deep bruises wrapping around the bone like iron cuffs of purple, the skin raw and rubbed clean off from weeks—months—of restraints.
Carlos forced himself to breathe, fingers twitching where they hovered over Max’s injuries. The rage that burned in his chest was suffocating, blinding.
“ . . . What,” Max rasped after a moment, lips barely parting. “ . . . What are you doing here?”
Carlos exhaled, head bowing for half a second as something heavy cracked inside his chest. Gently—so, so gently—he reached for Max’s arm, fingers brushing over bruised skin.
The prince flinched away from his care, but Carlos still tried to sooth him.
"I needed to see you," he murmured. "I brought some things to help."
Digging in his belt pouch, Carlos quickly fished out the small med kit he'd brought, as well as a few calorie pellets and a small pouch of water. He had no idea what kind of shape he would find the prince in, and Carlos tried to plan for anything.
“How—” Max started and then broke off in a coughing fit.
“Don't try to talk. I don't have much time,” Carlos whispered.
He moved quickly, fingers trembling only slightly as he tore open the med kit. The sterile scent of antiseptics filled the air, mingling with the faint, tang of healing solution from the tank. Carlos swallowed hard, stomach twisting as he reached for the stable aid gel.
Max shouldn’t look like this.
He’d been through hell before, but Carlos couldn’t remember a time he looked this bad. His body was a map of torment, bruises staining his skin in mottled shades of violet and sickly yellow, fresh welts and half-healed cuts marking where Jos' sadism had played its hand. Max looked like he hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks.
But it wasn’t just the injuries. It was the way Max looked at him—half-lidded, bleary, a dullness in his cerulean eyes that hadn’t been there before.
"Here," Carlos whispered, popping open the water pouch with his teeth before pressing it against Max’s cracked lips. "Drink."
Max flinched slightly at first, resisting the touch. Then, realization settled behind his tired eyes, and he let his lips part just enough to take a sip.
The first drop must have hit like ice against his raw throat because Max shuddered, whole body tightening with the effort to swallow. Carlos muttered a quiet curse, adjusting his hold to help ease the angle, free hand coming up to steady the back of Max’s head.
"Slow," he said, almost to himself. "You’ll make yourself sick."
Max coughed again but didn’t pull away. He drank greedily, desperate despite his body's frailty. Carlos let him have as much as he could handle before pulling the pouch back, eyes darting over Max’s expression, watching for any sign of rejection.
He'd been through so much—who knew how long Jos had kept him without proper food or water. Dehydration could hit fast, and Max’s muscles, already weak from lack of use, barely obeyed him now.
The general didn't let himself think about what Jos had done to him. He already knew. He’d seen enough. He’d heard enough in the whispers on the ship, and the memories clawed at the back of his mind like rusted nails. He shoved them down, focusing back on the moment in front of him.
“Eat,” Carlos said, retrieving the small calorie pellets from his belt pouch. He unwrapped one and held it up. “It’s not much, but it’ll help.”
The prince didn’t move. Didn’t even try, gaze, unfocused and feverish, drifting from Carlos' face to the pellet in his hand like he barely understood what it was.
“Don't do this, Max.” His voice was rough, but not unkind. “I know you're tired and I know you don't want to fight anymore. But you have to. You are stronger than this.”
Blinking sluggishly. “Why . . . do you care?" Max rasped, voice paper-thin.
Carlos hesitated.
The answer sat on his tongue, bitter and unspoken. He knew why he cared—not in the way Max probably wanted him to say. It wasn’t something simple, something easy to put into words. Especially not right now.
He just did. Always had and always will.
It had been there, deep down, ever since they were kids—buried beneath layers of expectation, rivalry, duty. It was what made his stomach turn when he looked at Max now, what made his hands shake with anger when he thought about what Jos had done to him. He thought about how he himself caused all of this to happen.
Max had been his everything once. He still was. And Carlos had let this happen.
"Because," Carlos finally murmured, voice quieter now. "I don't want to see you like this, my prince. I swore an oath and I'm here to help."
Max's eyes flickered, something unreadable passing over his face like he wanted to argue, but before he could respond, his body betrayed him. His fingers twitched toward the pellet, weak but instinctual, and Carlos took that as permission.
Gently, he pressed it to Max’s lips. "Bite."
It took effort, Max’s jaw worked sluggishly, every movement stiff, but he managed to chew, the simple act of swallowing taking far longer than it should've. Carlos watched carefully, making sure he didn’t choke.
The silence between them stretched, thick with things unsaid.
Carlos busied himself with tending to the worst of Max's wounds, dabbing a cool salve along the bruises on his wrists, wiping away the dried blood crusted near his temple, wrapping the wound on his neck. He moved without hesitation, but with care, touch softer than it had ever been before.
Max let him.
That, more than anything, told Carlos just how broken he was.
As he worked, Carlos’ mind raced. This was dangerous, staying here for too long, drawing too much attention. If Jos had more cameras George didn't know about or if George suspected anything—this entire reckless attempt to help Max would blow up in his face.
Carlos wasn’t an idiot. He knew there was only so much he could do in the short time he had. He couldn’t smuggle Max out, couldn’t fight his way through an entire base of PTO forces to make some miraculous escape.
But he could give the prince something back. Something he knew Max had lost the moment he’d been dragged into that throne room and saw him standing there, delivering that lie with cold precision.
Hope.
It was the only thing Carlos had left to give. And if he could do that—if he could at least give Max the will to keep pushing through this until Carlos figured out a way to get him out—then maybe he could start to undo the damage he'd done.
Carlos hesitated for only a second before speaking. “I need to tell you something,” he said cautiously, voice pitched low.
Max barely reacted, breath still uneven, limbs limp against the cell floor. His exhaustion weighed heavily in the air, energy so faint it was like standing next to a dying star, waiting for the moment it finally collapsed.
Carlos set his jaw. He didn't have time for doubt. Just say it.
“About Charles—”
The moment the name left his lips, something inside Max snapped.
A guttural growl rumbled from deep in the prince’s chest, entire body tensing despite his fragile state. His tired, fevered eyes sharpened into something deadly, burning with rage that shouldn’t have been possible in a body this broken.
“How dare you,” Max snarled, brimming with fury.
His tail, limp and lifeless only seconds ago, flared behind him in an uneven bristle, the movement jerky but unmistakably aggressive despite the barbaric device locked around it.
Carlos had no time to react before Max’s arm jerked violently in his grasp, muscles locking up.
“No. My prince, please listen to me—”
“Is that why you’re here?” Max’s voice was like ice, slicing through the fragile air between them. His eyes burned a deep golden glow, overtaking his usual blue hue, speaking in rapid Torossian. “To gloat? To play some kind of sick game with me about my murdered mate?”
Carlos recoiled slightly, but he didn’t let go of Max’s arm. The prince's chest heaved with the effort of speaking, breaths shallow and fast, body visibly shaking. But it wasn’t weakness.
It was pure, unfiltered rage.
Carlos had seen Max in battle, fought beside him, had witnessed his prince command entire legions with nothing but the force of his presence. He'd watched him burn through enemy lines, watched him carve through warriors twice his size with a smirk on his face and blood staining his knuckles.
But this wasn’t the Max he knew.
This was a man who had already lost everything. A man who had been shattered—who had nothing left but the rage keeping him upright.
Carlos clenched his jaw, determined to get through, answering in Torossian. “Max—”
“I will not listen to this,” Max spat, trying again to yank his arm free and sit up, but his body betrayed him, still too weak to break Carlos' hold. “You—you stood there and told me he was dead! Showed me your brother's corpse without so much as regret on your face. You—” His voice cracked sharply, something raw slipping through the anger, breath hitching like his own words were choking him, still in Torossian.
Carlos’ grip tightened. “I was lying,” he said, voice urgent now. “I lied, Max. He’s not dead. I didn’t kill him.”
But Max just laughed. A sharp, bitter, empty sound.
Carlos felt something twist violently in his chest.
“You expect me to believe that?” Max choked out, eyes burning with something beyond fury. “You expect me to listen to you after everything you’ve done? After you helped Jos? After you—after you—” His words broke again, whole body shaking.
“I had to say that,” he ground out. “You know if I didn’t, Jos would've killed him. I had no choice. Surely you can understand it was the only way to save Charles—”
“Where is Alonso?” The prince rasped, catching Carlos off guard. “Where is he!?”
Lips pulling down into a frown, he said, “Alonso died on Merc. There was an ambush . . . ”
Max just shook his head violently, teeth clenched so tightly it looked like his jaw might break. “No,” he rasped, breathless. “No. I don't believe a treacherous word you say. Alonso would never be so foolish.”
Carlos felt the shift before he even saw it, the moment the fragile edge of Max’s sanity cracked just a little too far.
The prince lunged.
Max’s weight crashed into him, knocking him on his back, a weak but desperate attempt to fight. His fingers clawed at Carlos’ neck, breath coming in ragged bursts, body so frail it should've been pathetic—should have been nothing.
But it wasn’t, because Max wasn’t fighting with strength, he was fighting with grief. With rage so deep it had hollowed him out, left him nothing but a shell filled with violence and agony.
Carlos caught his swollen wrists, stopping him before he could do any real damage, but Max still fought, struggling even as his own body betrayed him—gasping through what little energy he had left, tail lashing wildly against the floor, eyes burning brightly.
“Max—stop—” Carlos gritted out, trying to steady him, trying to keep him from hurting himself. “Please, I love you.”
“You don't get to do this!” Max gasped, the fight already draining from his limbs. “I won’t—won’t let you mock my grief.”
Carlos swallowed, tightening his grip just enough to still Max’s shaking hands. “He’s alive, Max.”
Max went rigid.
“He wasn’t alone. There were people with him, not Namekians. I don't know who they were, but he had help.”
The prince stopped breathing.
For one agonizing moment, the room was silent, nothing but the soft, unsteady beat of his pulse under the general’s grip, the tension between them like a wound stretched too tight. Slowly, painfully—Max wrenched his hands away, crawling away from him.
He turned his face to the side, staring blankly at the far wall, voice empty. “I don’t believe you. Leave me. Now.”
Max didn’t yell this time. Didn’t snarl. Didn’t fight. He just—stopped. Like the moment had finally arrived and he'd given up. Carlos opened his mouth, tried to think of something, anything, but Max was already pulling away, curling onto his side on the floor of his cell.
“Max please. I swear to you I'm telling the truth. I would not hurt you like this—”
“Verlaat mij!” [ Leave me !] Max's Oozaru roared, vicious golden eyes unmoving as he turned back to look at him.
A sharp beep sounded from his scouter tucked inside his chestplate and Carlos froze. That was George's signal. Time was up, and he only had a minute to get through the outer testing facility door.
Quickly gathering his supplies and leaving a few calorie pellets on the ground, “I have to go,” he rushed out. “I'm leaving the rest of the food and water I brought here, and I will find a way to get you out of here, if you believe that or not.”
Standing quickly, Carlos took one last look at the prince before rushing to the door, a soft latching sound coming only seconds after he closed it behind him.
Max was in worse shape than he'd imagined, and the regal Torossian wasn't going to last much longer. He was practically delirious, his skin far too cold to be healthy, and Max's Oozaru was out of its cage, roaming just behind his eyes.
Carlos decided he had to convince George to help him, maybe pull on whatever favor the Commander had with Jos to change Max's confinement.
Did the warlord know?
Did Jos know how close Max was to death and he just didn't care? Even after all these years?
Their Oozaru was their last line of defense, the last ditch effort to step in and take over to preserve a Torossian’s body in moments of extreme duress. Max couldn't stay like that for much longer.
Carlos had to do something.
His mind ran through all the things he'd learned George liked, his favorite foods and things that made his toes curl and eyes roll back. After all, the Commander had his weaknesses just like everyone else.
_____
George straightened up slowly, rolling his shoulders as he pushed back from his desk, the motion stiff, controlled. His fingers brushed against the tablet lying on the polished surface, its screen still faintly illuminated.
The feed had just ended, Carlos’ foreign voice—low, desperate—still echoed in his mind, translation showing on the screen.
“I was lying Max. I lied. He's not dead. I didn’t kill him.”
With a quiet exhale, George pressed his thumb against the edge of the screen, shutting the device off, and the room immediately fell into silence.
“Please, I love you.”
George's expression remained empty.
How foolish, he thought. How utterly predictable.
A slow inhale, a measured exhale as George turned away, his decision already made.
Chapter 50: Denial of the Truth
Summary:
Charles an his Eldri come to an understanding while George learns a hard lesson about loyalty.
Notes:
Wanting to wrap Charles up in a blanket for this one.
Chapter warnings: N/A
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
- Capsule Corp ship; Day 57 since leaving Namek -
The thud of the landing gear deploying rattled up Charles’ back, sending a jolt of adrenaline through his already restless limbs. He pressed a hand against the cool metal of the ship’s hull, barely able to keep still as it finally touched down.
They were home. Earth.
After nearly two months.
The moment the ramp began to lower, Charles was moving. His boots hit the metal with sharp, determined steps as he strode toward the opening, eager to breathe in familiar air and feel solid ground beneath his feet. But more than anything, he was eager to start looking for the orbs.
They were his only chance.
His only way to get Max back.
A night sky stretched out above them, the soft glow of distant city lights barely touching the edges of the Capsule Corp compound. The air was crisp, cool against Charles’ skin, so different from the sterile chill of the ship or the oppressive heat of Namek.
It should've felt comforting. Should've felt like home.
It didn’t.
Not when every second wasted felt like another lightyear of distance between him and Max.
Lewis practically sprinted down the ramp and quickly took to the air with his bag. “I'd like to say it was a pleasure, but I'll save us all the time. Hannah . . . thanks for getting us back in one piece. Charles, try not to get kidnapped again, and Lando . . . be sure to watch out for those pesky tails.”
With that and a smile on his face, the crotchety older man flew away at breakneck speed, not waiting for a reply.
“Dick,” Lando said behind him.
Charles turned sharply toward Hannah, who was just now stepping off the ramp behind him, stretching her arms over her head, backpack on.
“We need to start searching,” he said immediately.
Sighing, the scientist rubbed a hand down her face. “Charles—”
“We don’t have time to waste,” he pushed, tail flicking sharply behind him. “I need to find them—”
“I get you’re antsy, but you need to calm the hell down,” Lando groaned, tossing his bag over one shoulder. “We’ve been traveling in space for months, and I swear to god . . . if you make me run all over this damn planet tonight, I’ll throw you right back into orbit.”
Charles’ Eldri rumbled in his skull.
“Fine,” he snapped, rounding on his friend. “Just give me the orb tracker. I'll find them on my own.”
“Charles,” Hannah placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I know you want to go now. I know you do. But it’s late. None of us have had a real bed in months,” she squeezed gently. “We’ll start in the morning, I promise.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but she wasn’t done.
“You won’t be any help to him if you’re running yourself into the ground,” she said pointedly. “You’re barely standing as it is. Besides, the tracker is still programmed to locate your energy, not the orbs, and I don't have the brain power right now to reprogram it.”
Charles tensed, jaw clenching. He'd felt a bit better with the medicine Hannah managed to find, but still nowhere near optimal if Max was injured or in as bad a shape as he thought. Hannah must've seen the war brewing behind his eyes, because she softened her grip, expression turning almost pleading.
“Just for tonight. Get some rest. Then first thing tomorrow, we start looking.”
With great reluctance, he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “But we start early.”
Hannah smiled, relief evident in her features. “Deal.” She turned, nodding toward the sprawling compound in the distance. “Come on. You can stay in one of the spare rooms. I don't want you flying to your cabin in the dark. Lando, you stay too.”
“Only if I get to stay in your room,” Lando smiled and shifted on his feet looking at Hannah.
Charles rolled his eyes.
Even after all these years, Lando was still clearly smitten with the older scientist, just like he had been since they were teenagers.
“Actually, I was going to put you in the closest room to the kitchen. I figured you'd like that much better,” she laughed.
Lando frowned, but followed her as she walked. “I could actually go for some of your mom's cooking right about now.”
“It's almost 1am?”
“Snack time!”
Smirking, something about the banter brought comfort to the wayward Torossian, memories of his childhood with his best friends enveloping him, if only for a few moments. Charles lingered before following, steps slow and tired.
His mind was already on tomorrow.
Sunlight had only just started to filter in through the window of Charles’ guest room before familiar, violent nausea surged up from the pit of his stomach. The bathroom door slammed against the wall as he barreled through, knees hitting the cold tile hard, just making it to the toilet before retching.
It was worse this time.
His stomach clenched, muscles seizing as he gagged, acid burning up his throat. There was barely anything in him to throw up, skipping dinner and Lando's snack last night, but his body didn’t seem to care—it just kept going, dry heaves wracking his frame until his arms trembled from holding himself up.
A sharp shiver ran through him as sweat prickled against the back of his neck, curls damp and sticking to his forehead. His tail wrapped itself weakly around his middle, the muscles too exhausted to move properly.
He hated this.
It didn't happen everyday, but he’d thrown up enough on the trip back to have not only Hannah, but Lando and Lewis questioning if he was alright. His childhood friend asked if it was motion sickness or something from the flight, and Lewis started avoiding him completely, theorizing he'd caught some alien disease.
Charles had tried his best to keep his worsening symptoms to himself, but the dizziness and constant nausea were harder and harder to hide.
Breathing through his nose, Charles squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to focus. The nausea was already starting to ease, the violent roiling in his gut settling into something duller, less urgent.
Swallowing hard, he reached out blindly, fingers fumbling for the small hand towel draped over the counter. He wiped his mouth with a trembling hand, breathing slow and deep, trying to get his heart to stop hammering against his ribs.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
With great effort, he pushed himself up, knees still shaky, and stumbled toward the sink. Turning the faucet, he let the cold water run over his hands before splashing it over his face and rinsing his mouth, the chill pulling him out of the haze of sickness.
He gripped the edges of the counter, bracing himself as he stared into the mirror.
He looked like shit.
His skin was pale, sweat-slicked, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes. His lips were chapped, curls a tangled mess, and his collarbones jutted out just a little more than they should've under his sleep shirt. He'd lost weight. But at the same time—
His gaze flickered downward, toward his stomach, slowly pulling up his shirt.
Hesitantly, he pressed a hand to the bare skin there, fingers splaying idly over the slight curve that hadn't been there before.
It wasn’t much.
Probably just bloating, exhaustion or stress. Something logical.
But still—
Hannah’s voice echoed in his head from that night on the ship. “Charles, your symptoms—I think you're pregnant . . . How do you know that this isn't possible?”
Scowling, the Eldri shook his head sharply. No. That was ridiculous.
If he could get pregnant, Max and even Alonso would've told him. Wouldn't they?
Torossians weren’t—he couldn’t—
Could he?
A sharp knock on the door made him flinch, though he wasn't sure why he was surprised. That would be Hannah, checking on him. She had like a sixth sense for these things, always checking up and asking if she could help.
Really, he was grateful, if not a bit embarrassed.
“Charles?” Hannah’s voice came through the door, hesitant but firm. “You okay?”
Exhaling, he gripped the counter tighter. He could lie? Say he was fine, say he’d just gotten up early.
But what was the point?
“Yeah,” he muttered after a moment, voice hoarse. “I’ll be out soon.”
“ . . . Okay,” she said, not pressing. “Take your time. My mom is cooking breakfast whenever you’re ready. I’m going to head to my office and start recalibrating the radar.”
He heard her footsteps retreat, and only then did he allow himself to slump forward, forehead resting against the cool glass of the mirror.
He needed to get a grip. He wasn't fucking pregnant.
Pulling his tail away from his middle with a quiet sigh, he turned away and reached for the shower controls, stepping under the spray before the water had fully warmed. The heat slowly soaked into his skin, easing the lingering tension in his back, and he let his eyes fall shut as the steam curled around him, tail flicking lazily behind him as he scrubbed the sweat from his skin.
It felt good to be clean again. To rinse away the night, the sickness, the doubt. But his hands idly drifted back to his stomach, thumbs brushing over the unfamiliar softness there, the thought returning.
Starting to soap up his hair, Charles closed his eyes and tilted his head back under the spray. The soft sound of water padding against the tile walls soothed his nerves, loosening the tight knots in his shoulders.
For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to breathe.
He was close, so close to getting his mate back. Just another day or so and he could make his wish.
The steam curled around him, wrapping him in a cocoon of heat, and he leaned back against the tiled wall, exhaling slowly. The grime of sleep and sickness was washed away, soap suds swirling listlessly down the drain. His breathing evened out, and the tension in his chest lightened.
The weight of his exhaustion, his desperation, and the worry that never left him—it all dulled, just for a moment.
A soft, deep, steady sound filled the quiet space. A quiet, rhythmic rumble. Charles’ brows furrowed slightly, confusion cutting through the haze of warmth.
What was—
Eyes snapping open, the Earthling spotted his tail moving on its own. Not just moving but caressing.
The damp, auburn fur curled gently around his lower stomach, the tip stroking over the faint curve there in slow, tender motions, like a mother soothing a restless child. His whole body locked up when his instincts spoke deep in his mind.
“Our mate is strong.” Charles' breath hitched. “Our pup will be strong.”
His whole brain whited out.
A sharp jolt of something electric shot through his spine, muscles going taut as the words settled over him, sinking in like a weight pressing against his ribs.
Pup . . . Pup . . . PUP.
What—
“No,” Charles rasped, his own voice sounding far away, drowned out by the blood roaring in his ears. His tail flicked lazily, undeterred, still curling possessively over his abdomen, its movements slow, protective.
“Yes,” his Eldri purred.
Charles sucked in a breath, back pressing harder against the slick tile as his knees threatened to buckle. His hands found his stomach before he could even think, fingers splaying over the wet skin, pressing lightly, searching—feeling.
There was nothing.
Nothing but his own body, his own skin, his own shallow breaths rising and falling against his trembling hands.
It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t.
“You’re lying,” Charles whispered, shaking his head, voice hoarse. “You’re—it’s not real.”
But the soft purring didn’t stop. Neither did the way his tail curled tighter, an attempt to shield something fragile, something precious. His Eldri rumbled in amusement, rich and warm, vibrating through his chest in a way that should’ve been comforting.
“You already know the truth.”
No. No, he didn’t. This was . . . this was just his instincts playing tricks on him like it used to when he was younger, telling him he wanted things he didn't want.
This was just—just—
His hands stayed where they were.
“I can’t,” Charles whispered, voice breaking. “I—I can’t—”
“We already have.” His Eldri hummed, affectionate, unbothered. “Our mate has blessed us. Deemed us worthy of his heir.”
And Charles crumbled.
The weight in his chest was unbearable as he slid down the tiled shower wall, legs folding beneath him. The warm spray of water cascaded over his shoulders, steam curling around him, but it did nothing to ease the tremors wracking his body.
He didn’t understand, had no idea how this was possible.
He couldn’t have a child?
Or even if he could, technically by some foreign biological imperative, that didn’t mean Charles suddenly felt like he could.
He was only twenty for fuck’s sake. So much life left ahead of him and horrors to outrun. How was he supposed to keep it safe? Keep himself and Max safe too?
His hands, still resting on his stomach, clenched, tail curling around his waist.
Tears slipped down his cheeks, hot and silent, vanishing into the endless stream of water. He squeezed his eyes shut, pulse hammering beneath his skin, throat tight with an emotion he couldn’t name. It felt like grief, frustration, rage, despair and joy all at once.
It all bled together until he could hardly breathe.
Max. He needed to find Max.
The ache in his chest was all-consuming. A hollow, gaping wound where the prince’s presence had once been, a warmth that had kept him tethered and steady.
Reaching out with his mind, Charles pushed as far as he could, desperate, straining beyond the confines of the planet, beyond the vast void of space. His fingers pressed against his damp skin, nails digging into his sides as his breath hitched.
Come on, come on . . .
But there was nothing. Just like the last thousand times he’d reached for Max, there was only silence. A yawning, endless emptiness that felt like suffocating in deep water. The only thing left of Max was that deep, ever-present phantom pull that never faded, that gnawed at him in the quiet moments, whispering that something was wrong.
Max was in pain. Not just pain—weakening.
The connection between them, once strong, was thinning. Slipping away like sand through clenched fingers.
Charles pressed a hand against his sternum, fingers flexing into a fist.
Max, his spirit called out, something beyond the Eldri and his presence of mind. Charles thought he must be delusional now, because he swore he felt their tether pulse, a blip of response and his breath shuttered.
“Max!” his energy pressed again, searching for something in the darkness.
It felt like he was drowning, lungs squeezed tight, a deep throbbing sensation in his leg and back.
His Eldri whined in his skull, a restless, agonized sound that clawed at the back of his mind. It wanted its mate. Needed him. Its cries reverberated through his body, filling every hollow space with raw, desperate yearning.
“Our mate is fading. Our protector is suffering.”
The words weren’t spoken aloud, but Charles felt them, deep in his bones. His tail twitched worriedly against the tile, bristling as a rush of panic flared through him.
Charles inhaled sharply, blinking away the tears still burning at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t going to get Max back sitting around, but his instincts were out of control. Ever since his tail had regrown, ever since he realized what Max truly was to him, it had been unbearable.
And yet this time, he didn’t try to shove it all down.
“This is going to work,” he whispered, voice hoarse but firm, water running over his lips.
His breath fogged against the warm steam, heart hammering as he willed himself to believe it. He rested a palm flat against his stomach, exhaling through his nose, trying to calm his instincts for the first time since he’d gotten his tail back.
“I will get him back for us, bring him here so he can be safe.”
His Eldri rumbled in cautious approval, but the restlessness remained. It wouldn’t be satisfied until their mate was safe.
Charles swallowed hard and forced himself to his feet, water dripping from his curls as he braced against the slick wall for support. His legs felt shaky, the exhaustion settling deep, but he ignored it.
He had no choice.
Cutting the water, he stepped out of the shower, steam wafting around him as he reached for a towel with unsteady fingers. His reflection in the fogged mirror was barely recognizable—hollowed eyes, dark circles bruising his skin, his normally strong frame looking thinner than before.
How long had it been since he’d actually slept or eaten a proper meal?
Clenching his jaw, Charles felt a few rumbles from his stomach while he pulled on a loose shirt and sweats, grabbing Max’s bracelet from the shelf where he’d left it, and slipped it on, running a thumb over it gently.
Denial of the truth was only hurting him.
Him and his pup.
He needed to start making the effort of eating more, and keeping himself better hydrated. His sorry state couldn't be good for either of them.
_____
The echo of George’s boots rang hollow against the polished floors of the PTO corridors, each breath drawn through tight, silent restraint. The familiar hum of the ship’s energy field pulsed beneath his feet, but it did little to soothe the roiling thoughts that gnawed at the back of his mind.
He’d been a fool.
Let himself believe—just for a moment—that Carlos could let go, that the fierce Torossian general would finally release his grasp on something that had been lost long ago, or perhaps never was.
But no.
Carlos had never let go of anything in his life.
George's jaw tightened as he turned down the long hallway leading to the throne room, the air growing heavier with every step. The truth of it sat in his chest like a stone, suffocating and humiliating.
Because he knew better.
He’d always known better. He’d lived on this damn ship for decades, knew how things worked and flowed, seen what happened to soldiers who let themselves get distracted and unfocused.
He couldn’t believe he’d degraded himself so low as to fraternize with the monkey in the first place, and yet, he’d let himself be used. His stomach twisted at the sheer, biting embarrassment of it all.
Carlos had played him.
The nights they’d spent together, with bodies so entangled you could hardly tell where one ended and the other began. He recalled the way Carlos’ hands lingered just a little too long, the teasing, the biting remarks that barely hid the heat behind them—it had all been a fucking game, hadn’t it?
A means to an end.
Carlos had never really wanted him. All he wanted was information, favor . . . access to the monkey prince.
The signs had been there. The way Carlos had always skirted too close to the subject of Max in conversation, the careful, calculated questions. George had told himself it was normal—Carlos had history with the prince, of course he’d be curious—but now he saw it for what it was.
The raven-haired Torossian had been probing, prying, trying to see how much he knew about Max’s condition. About what Jos was doing to him. About what he might be able to do to help.
It was almost laughable really.
Here he thought he was the one testing Carlos, when really, the damn Torossian had been playing him like a fucking fool the entire time. George exhaled sharply through his nose, picking up his pace.
He had let himself care. That was the worst part.
For weeks, Carlos had been the one thing in this godforsaken empire that felt real to him. Among the ice and steel of PTO brutality, Carlos was warmth—fire—unyielding and steadfast. Yes, it had taken a lot of convincing and effort on George’s part to help the general see the futility of his misplaced loyalty. And George thought he’d been successful.
What a joke.
Because in the end, there was only one person Carlos would ever truly be loyal to, and it wasn’t him.
It was always Prince Max.
The name left a bitter taste in George’s mouth, made second to that beast the moment he was brought on the ship.
Carlos would never look at him the way he looked at the prince, no matter how much George wanted him to. No matter how much he pretended he didn’t care.
Carlos could swear up and down that he was loyal to the empire, that he belonged to Jos’ ranks, that he was a perfect soldier. But that look in his eyes when he’d stepped into that cell with Max? The way his shoulders tensed, the flicker of hesitation in his movements, the way his expression shattered when he laid eyes on the broken prince lying in the tank—
George had seen enough.
He’d let Carlos go to him. Allowed it, because he had wanted to see, wanted to test Carlos, to prove himself wrong, to confirm that his suspicions were nothing more than paranoia.
And Carlos had failed. Miserably.
On top of that, the ship's translator had caught what the general told Max, that he hadn’t actually killed the Earthling and let him escape.
He knew Carlos was lying, knew something was off. He could just never prove it.
George flexed his fingers, inhaling slowly through his nose, forcing his expression into something smooth. He was close to the throne room now, the doors looming just ahead, the silence from within making his ears ring. He inhaled once more, letting the cold, ruthless calculation of his rank settle over his features like a mask.
Fine.
If Carlos wanted to play games, then George would show him how they were played.
The doors opened and he walked inside.
Jos lounged lazily on his throne, one leg draped over the other, his long, black claws tapping an idle rhythm against the gilded armrest. His crimson eyes gleamed with satisfaction, tail flitting contentedly back and forth as he basked in his latest triumph.
The warlord’s surprise solo ambush on the rebel leader had been a flawless display of his dominion, and the confirmation of Aston’s decimation upon his arrival earlier that afternoon had been the final, gratifying stroke. The rebels had scurried like insects beneath his feet, and now, they were nothing more than dust in the void of space, Lawrence killed in the process.
No one would dare to disrupt Jos’ rare good mood, which made George loathe what he had to do next, but trying to hide this would be disastrous.
No, it was better to just admit he’d been tricked, and let whatever consequences come.
Also, if he hadn’t tried to hide what he knew about the Earthling last time, he wouldn’t be in this whole mess.
Grinding his teeth as he approached, pulse an even, steady rhythm, George walked tall. From his place atop the dais, Jos slowly turned his gaze on him, the lazy flick of his tail pausing mid-air.
“Commander George,” he drawled, voice smooth as silk but sharp as a knife’s edge. “To what do I owe this pleasure? You are not scheduled to report until the morning.”
His tone was amused, but there was a warning beneath it—a quiet, deadly interest that made the air feel heavier.
George reached the foot of the stairs and bowed low, keeping his eyes fixed on the polished floor. “My lord,” he said stiffly, voice even, measured. “My report could not wait until morning.”
The atmosphere shifted a bit, temperature falling lightly.
Jos straightened, the lazy, indulgent amusement in his features sharpening into something more attentive. His tail stilled completely, claws ceasing their idle tapping as he studied George with narrowed, expectant eyes.
“Speak, Commander,” the warlord intoned.
George inhaled slowly through his nose, bracing himself for the inevitable. “It has come to my attention,” he started slowly, “that the Earthling known as Charles . . . lives.”
Silence.
A deadly, suffocating silence stretched between.
Jos’ expression didn’t change. Not immediately, but that didn’t mean George couldn’t see it.
The way his fingers curled ever so slightly against the gilded armrest, the minute flicker in his crimson gaze, the shift of his weight, spine straightening by an inch, tail giving a slow, controlled coil around the base of the throne.
The warlord exhaled slowly, almost convincingly, and the small, satisfied smirk that had graced his lips only moments before faded into something . . . hollow.
George’s stomach coiled tight, but he didn't move. He’d known this news would unravel Jos’ rare moment of contentment, but even he’d not anticipated just how much.
For a long, terrible moment, the throne room remained deathly silent.
Slowly, calmly, the emperor lifted himself from the throne, sleek form unfurling like a serpent roused from its slumber. The shift was fluid and effortless, his tail unwinding from the base of the seat. Floating forward, the air around the emperor thickened, the hum of his indigo energy distorting the space as he drifted down from the dais, descending until he was at eye level with George.
The frost demon tilted his head, expression unreadable. “I’m afraid I need you to repeat that, commander,” voice deceptively soft. “I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”
His crimson eyes were like molten rubies, burning with a quiet, simmering heat. Not an explosion of rage—no, that was too messy, too uncivilized—but something calculating.
George suppressed the urge to step back. Straightening his shoulders, he inhaled slowly, keeping his expression as carefully neutral as possible, though he was filled with a rage of his own at being deceived. He’d served under Jos long enough to know that the frost demon’s temper was far more dangerous when controlled.
If he wasn’t yelling or lashing out, it meant he was thinking, planning.
Steeling himself, George clasped his hands behind his back and spoke. “My lord, I have my doubts about the Torossian general’s report from Namek.”
Jos’ gaze flickered ever so slightly at the name.
“I’ve spent . . . a considerable amount of time with the general,” he continued smoothly, “and certain things about his behavior over the last several weeks have fueled my doubts.”
Jos said nothing, simply watching him, tail curling languidly behind him, golden band catching the light at its base.
George fought against the urge to roll his eyes. Those bands really were ridiculous and the commander couldn’t imagine why the emperor would degrade himself to the point of participating in such a beastly ritual.
Filthy Torossians.
“After my suspicions grew too great,” he continued, “I sent one of my informants to Namek to locate any burned remains or any trace of a body to corroborate the general’s claims.” George swallowed but did not falter. “My scout found nothing.”
The frost demon’s eyes darkened.
“No ashes, no scorch marks, no biological remnants to confirm a group of bodies had been destroyed like Carlos claimed.” George exhaled steadily, “and when my scout questioned some of the local inhabitants, they were told that the Earthling left the planet. Alive.”
The temperature in the room plummeted.
George’s breath fogged against the sudden chill, his uniform doing little to block the icy tendrils of Jos’ energy seeping into the air like a silent frost. Remaining still—too still, the demon’s tail stopped its indolent flicking. Instead, he simply hovered there, motionless, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on George’s face.
“And where,” Jos finally murmured as smooth as glass, “did these ‘locals’ claim the Earthling went?”
“Unknown. He was seen leaving the planet accompanied by three others. Their destination was not disclosed.”
A beat of silence.
The air remained heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken consequences. The temperature in the room had yet to rise, the frost Jos exhaled clinging to the walls, to George’s skin, to the lifeless columns spiraling up from the floor.
“Does Prince Max know about this?”
Schooling his features, the commander kept his stance rigid. “General Carlos attempted to inform the Torossian prince,” he admitted. “Though he was not believed.”
“And how did Carlos gain such access to the prince? I gave direct orders for no one but yourself to enter his containment unit while I was away.”
Taking a slow blink, the Elysian knew lying would get him nowhere. And worse—Jos would know. So he told the truth.
“I let the general see him during your absence,” he confessed. “As a test of his loyalty to the empire.”
Jos tilted his head, black tongue swiping out over his bottom lip. He looked almost surprised by that, like he hadn’t expected George to just admit it was him.
“To the empire,” Jos asked, “or to you?”
“Sire?” George questioned, unsure of the answer the warlord wanted.
“You were testing the monkey’s loyalty to the empire?” the emperor spat, calm finally slipping. “Or to your cunt.”
Something twisted in his gut violently and the commander did his best not to react, at least not outwardly. But Jos saw everything; the flicker in his breathing, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides, the way his spine remained unnaturally still.
How did Jos even know about that?
It was his most well guarded secret, and he would’ve never let something like that slip. The warlord must’ve known about his species all along.
A slow smile stretched thin and knowing across his dark lips. “How disappointing,” he mused. Jos’ gaze flickered over him with scrutiny. “I expected better from you, Commander. You have always prided yourself on your discipline, your logic, at your superiority to the others on this ship. And yet, here you stand, an echo of the well worn fallen path, letting your emotions blind you to what is necessary.”
George was expecting anger, fury even, but the disappointment hurt worse. Flicking his eyes to the floor, the Elysian prince cast his head down in favor of saying anything else.
There was nothing left to say.
“To think,” Jos hummed in something that sounded almost like boredom. “That you would make the same mistake as Prince Max.”
There was a frozen pressure under his chin, a lizard-like tail coming to force his chin up.
“Tell me, Commander,” Jos continued, tail keeping his gaze lifted, tone lowering to something almost gentle. “Do you think he cares for you?”
His entire body went taut and Jos’ smirk widened, tail sliding along the column of his throat.
“Carlos,” the warlord clarified. “Do you think he loves you?”
George said nothing.
“Please. I love you,” drifted in his mind, Carlos pleading for the Torossian prince to listen.
It burned.
The anguish of knowing that everything Carlos had pretended to feel for him was a lie. No one could care for someone while in love with someone else.
And Max . . . the asshole didn’t even so much as blink, dismissing the comment like it meant nothing. To have the care and devotion of someone who would go to the ends of the universe to have them.
Mongrels. Both of them.
Carlos didn’t deserve him anyway.
Jos’ tail left his chin and flicked against the floor, a soft tap, tap, tap , like a creature toying with its prey. “Oh, George,” he sighed, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “You truly thought you were different, didn’t you?”
Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, George stood tall, ready for his punishment. “My personal matters do not affect my ability to serve the empire.”
Almost too casually, Jos let out a quiet, thoughtful hum. “Don’t they?”
George hated him.
Hated how Jos could strip him down to nothing with just a handful of words. How he could make him feel small, cheap, replaceable with nothing more than a well-placed question. It had been decades. Almost fifty years of dedicated service, and George felt no closer to understanding what was going through the emperor’s head at any given moment.
“You mistake loyalty for consistency. An obedient dog is just that, until it bites you.”
Sighing, Jos turned from him and floated back up to his throne, running his claws idly down the armrest, expression returning to one of cool disinterest. “Tell me, Commander,” he drawled, “what do you think we should do about General Carlos? Surely you did not come here to recommend another promotion.”
“He needs to be disciplined,” he stated, voice even. “His deception—his insubordination—cannot go unanswered. He cannot be trusted.”
Jos hummed in agreement, idly tracing a claw over the gilded armrest like before. “Yes, yes, but how ?”
Pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, George swallowed. He’d thought about this moment, about what he would suggest if given the option. There was really only one way. One option that would prove once and for all if Carlos was going to let go of his attachment for his prince.
“Make him watch.”
Jos blinked, the faintest flicker of intrigue crossing his face. “Oh? You had something in mind then?”
“Make him watch,” he repeated, gaze sharp and calculated. “Make him see what happens when someone places their faith in a weakling.”
“You would have me break the prince in front of him?”
“ . . . Yes.”
Jos studied him for a long moment, expression neutral, until a languid, pleased smile graced over his lips. “Oh, George,” he sighed. “You do know how to make an apology.”
The commander bowed his head, face a mask of indifference. Inside, something deep ached in his chest at the thought of Carlos being hurt in this way, but it didn’t matter now.
Nothing they’d shared together mattered.
It had just been a lie.
Chapter 51: There is always a cost
Summary:
Charles and Co. struggle to complete their task and turn to an old friend for help, while Max is running out of time.
Notes:
Welcome back! So much source material and classic vibes in this chapter. Could not get out of some ball hunting shenanigans.
Chapter warnings: N/A
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
- Earth; Day 59 since leaving Namek -
The morning air was crisp, the mountains glittering as they descended into the dense, untamed wilderness of the Alps. The sun hung high, rays struggling to pierce through the thick canopy of towering pines below, mist clinging stubbornly to the treetops, swirling in lazy tendrils as Hannah guided the craft lower, angling toward the coordinates flashing on the radar screen.
Charles exhaled slowly, pushing his head back against the headrest, trying not to puke as they entered the final descent. His stomach was already unsettled from the morning sickness that had become an irritatingly persistent part of his daily routine, and the winding turbulence of their flight hadn’t helped.
He was about two seconds away from dramatically flinging himself out of the hatch just to get his feet on solid ground again.
“You look pale,” Lando noted, peering at him from the co-pilot seat. “Well, paler than usual, but I suppose you’ve been in space for a long time.”
Charles shot him a glare, but said nothing, stomach too sensitive to risk opening his mouth. He hadn’t told Hannah or Lando about what his Eldri said, not wanting to confirm the scientist's suspicions.
She was fussing too much over him already.
He also hadn’t really processed the news himself fully yet, but the group was finally making progress, so all that could wait.
For the first time in months, he had something he could do. A lead. A direction. A fucking plan to bring Max back by his side.
He had to keep it together now that they were so close to collecting the remaining orbs.
He'd tucked his Veyöra in a drawer by the bed, still tempted to use it when he couldn't sleep, but out of sight was out of mind. Already drained, it couldn’t possibly be good to continue using it, even if he didn’t fully know what it was meant for.
"Touchdown in ten," Hannah called out over the engine hum, as she adjusted the stabilizers.
Charles exhaled through his nose, gripping his harness a little tighter as the hovercraft descended, eyes lingering on the red bracelet around his wrist. He didn’t go anywhere without it right now, needing that bit of reassurance.
He was keeping it safe so he could return it where it belonged, with the prince.
Outside, mist curled around the massive trees, branches stretching so high they nearly blocked out the sun completely. The forest below was thick, dense, and entirely too quiet.
“Alright,” Hannah said, eyes flicking between the radar screen and the rapidly approaching ground. “The signal is strongest here. The orb should be about half a mile northeast, but the tree cover is too dense to land any closer.”
“Oh, good,” Lando snorted. "A nice half-mile hike through a murder-forest.”
The hovercraft gave a hiss as it settled into the soft earth, and the doors slid open with a gust of nippy, alpine air. Charles inhaled deeply, rubbing his temples before stepping out, shoes sinking slightly into the mossy ground, tail wrapping firmly around his waist.
He'd gotten so used to his PTO uniform boots that regular sneakers felt almost flimsy on his feet, unstable and lacking support around his ankles in the muddy dirt. Charles was wearing his favorite red Puma sneakers, the ones that matched his favorite hoodie he’d had on when he was taken, but now they felt a bit foreign.
Pausing, he glanced around. This forest was . . . strange.
He’d grown up surrounded by towering pines and the smaller tree varieties around his adopted father’s property, but something about this just didn’t feel right. Not in a doom and death way, but more in a ‘you’re definitely being watched but no one has the decency to say hello’ kind of way.
Adjusting her jacket, Hannah checked the recalibrated radar one last time. “Alright, let’s move fast. We grab the orb and get back to the ship. No splitting up, no stopping to appreciate the scenery, and no—”
She turned, narrowing her eyes at Lando, who was already poking at some weird fungus growing on a fallen log. “Lando.”
“What?” He glanced up, entirely unapologetic. “You never know, it could be important.”
“Yes,” Charles sighed, running a hand down his face. “I’m sure that glowing mold has the answers to all our problems. Leave it alone before it eats you.”
“When did you two become such spoil sports?” Lando whined but put his hands in his pockets, kicking a rock.
With that, the three of them pushed forward into the thick of the woods, following the steady ping of the radar. The trek was almost boring, apart from Lando quietly humming to himself and Charles mentally counting down the minutes until he could sit down again.
He’d stuck to mostly liquids for breakfast, but that didn’t mean his stomach wouldn't try and find something to expel, tail rubbing soothingly over his belly under his grey hoodie. Resting his hand over it to cease its movements, he glanced at both of his friends to make sure they hadn’t seen.
“We need more rest,” his Eldri chastised, tail coming to a stop but still wrapping over the small swell. “You can’t deny our pup.”
He wasn't denying the pup. He just couldn't think about it right now.
“Twenty yards,” Hannah spoke, angling them toward a clearing up ahead. “It should be just past—”
She stopped and Charles stepped up beside her.
It was just . . . there? A perfectly round, glowing orange sphere sat in the dirt at the center of the clearing, six red stars emblazoned on its surface.
They all stared at it.
“Wow,” Lando whistled lowly. “That was almost too easy.”
Charles immediately turned to him. “Why would you say that?”
“What?” Lando blinked.
“You never say that!” Charles’ tail fluffed out. “That's just asking for something to happen.”
“Oh my god,” Hannah groaned. “Both of you—”
“Stop worrying so much,” Lando shrugged and stepped forward into the clearing, bending down to pick up the orb.
His fingers barely brushed the surface before the air and mist shifted. The trees swayed, a deep, guttural growl rolling through the clearing, and something colossal lunged out of the underbrush with all the grace of an avalanche.
Lando, being the dramatic diva he was, reacted accordingly. “OH FUCK NO—”
Yelping, Lando dove backward with the orb clutched to his chest while Hannah let out a string of curses, yanking her weapon free from her holster. The animal—if you could even call the twelve-foot, fanged nightmare barreling toward them that—snarled, glowing red eyes locking right onto Charles.
The Torossian froze, held captive by red eyes morphing into something else, a different pair he’d seen in his restless sleep over the past few nights. His feet refused to move as his mind played tricks on him, flashes of the frost demon circling him in the throne room, frigid finger under his chin. He’d seen visions of a strange series of rooms too, thick metal walls, bars, and some kind of table that lit from within.
“Charles!” Hannah yelled, breaking him out of his confusion and letting him dodge just in time, the force of the charging creature nearly sending him into the next dimension as a tree behind him snapped in half.
“What the fuck is that?!” Lando yelled, scrambling back.
“I don’t know,” Charles shouted, lifting off the ground to a hover to avoid getting his face bitten off. “Maybe ask the glowing death mold you were so interested in!”
“Guys!” Hannah barked, her plasma weapon going off with two quick shots. “Less talking, more running!”
Charles didn’t need to be told twice. Circling around, he bolted after them, the ground shaking as the beast—and its newly revealed friends—gave chase.
“Okay, I take it back. THIS WAS NOT EASY!” Lando yelled, almost tripping over a root.
Hannah snatched him by the back of his black jacket, dragging him up before he could become a mid-morning snack. “You can fly, you idiot! Pick me up!”
“Oh, now you want me to carry you?”
Handing her the orb, Lando scooped up the screeching woman and the trio bolted back to their ship, high above the treeline.
Four down. Three to go.
After flying halfway across the continent, dodging storms, nearly crash-landing twice, and braving a snake-infested cave that Charles really didn’t want to ever think about again, the group finally allowed themselves a moment to breathe.
They’d set up camp just outside a quiet mountain town, tucked beneath a rocky overhang overlooking a vast stretch of wilderness. The sky had darkened into deep indigo, the first stars winking to life above them as a gentle evening breeze carried the scent of pine and distant cooking fires.
A small energy cell lantern flickered between them as they sat on flattened supply crates and worn blankets, their exhaustion settling in like a heavy fog.
This reminded Charles a lot of his childhood, training during the day and camping in the mountains at night. He and Lando had set off on many adventures, just the two of them in their search for great masters of martial arts.
They had frequently camped out under the stars with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and wonder in their hearts.
So much had changed since then.
Hannah, ever the pragmatist, wiped herself down with a damp napkin, scrubbing at the dirt smudged across her forehead. “So,” she started, folding the cloth to use a clean side, “with the three I have back at my compound and the two we found today, that means we only have two left.” She crumpled the napkin and tossed it aside, leaning back against a crate with a tired sigh.
Humming in agreement, Charles barely had the energy to nod.
His body hurt.
Not in the usual ‘I fought a giant mutant snake that thought the orb in its nest was an egg and won’ way—though that certainly didn’t help—but with the deep, lingering ache that had become far too common lately. His lower back throbbed, a dull soreness settling beneath his diaphragm, making it difficult to sit comfortably. He shifted, rolling his shoulders, willing himself not to look as drained as he felt, tail limp beside him.
The nausea had finally given him a break, at least. He counted that as a win.
Slowly, he sipped at his water, relishing the cool relief against his parched throat before glancing at Hannah. “Where’s the next closest one on the radar?”
Hannah wiped her hands on her pants, digging into her bag and fishing out the radar before flipping it on. The small green screen flickered for a moment before stabilizing, the familiar pulse of the glowing orbs appearing. Her brows furrowed as she pressed a few buttons, tilting the screen slightly as if that might change what she was seeing.
“I only have one on screen,” she answered, frowning. “And it looks like it’s pretty far east of here. Somewhere in China, maybe?”
Lando, who'd been leaning back against a rock with his arms behind his head, cracked open one eye. “China, huh?” He griped. “Could be worse I guess. Could be in the ocean.”
“We’ve been over this,” Charles glared at him tiredly. “You’ll jinx us.”
Smirking, Lando stretched his legs out in front of him. “Relax, Charlie. I’m sure we'll still be able to find it. We only need two more and we are practically professional orb hunters now.”
Charles continued to glare. He wasn’t sure why that name from Lando bothered him so much, having been his childhood nickname for most of his life. But after hearing Max call him Charlie so sweetly, tenderly, spoken like a plea, it made his chest ache, missing his mate.
Hannah, ignoring them, zoomed in on the radar, her frown deepening. “I don’t like this,” she admitted. “Why is only one showing up?”
“Let me guess,” Lando muttered. “Either someone’s already got the last one, or it’s hidden in some bullshit, impassable location.”
“Both are possible.” Hannah exhaled.
Tail fluffing up, Charles’ Eldri whined, pacing back and forth.
Lando, still sprawled on his back, lazily waved a hand. “Well, nothing we can do about it tonight. We rest, eat, and worry about the next impossible task in the morning.”
Reluctantly, Charles agreed. His body was so tired, and his now restless tail flitting behind him was only draining his energy more. He needed to eat and rest, hoping his meal would stay down, but as he settled back against the crate, his eyes drifted toward the stars, that ever-present weight in his chest refusing to lift.
Petting a hand lightly over his tail, he did his best to reassure them both.
Because they were close now.
So, so close.
The seventh orb was gone. Not hidden. Not moving. Not even registering as a weak signal on the radar.
It was just . . . none existent.
They'd been looking for two days after finding the sixth orb in China, flying all over hell's half acre, but had come up empty-handed.
And Charles? He was a mess.
His anxiety climbed higher with every hour they couldn't find it, and he cried himself to sleep at night, Eldri weeping right alongside him.
Charles sat hunched over in the back of Hannah’s hovercraft, elbows on his knees, fingers twisted in his hair, eyes fixed on the recalibrated radar as it blinked with a mocking absence back at him. For the past six hours, they’d scoured the data, adjusted their equipment, and even called in a few favors with people who owed Hannah big, and still no luck.
It simply wasn’t anywhere.
“Is the legend wrong?” Charles croaked, beyond desperate with how much time they were wasting. “Are there only six orbs? Should I try to make the wish now?”
“No, there are most definitely seven,” Hannah insisted. “My dad used to tell me that bedtime story every night.”
“Then where is it! Max doesn't have time. I–I need to find—”
“I'm sorry Charles,” Hannah finally admitted, rubbing at her temples as she leaned back in the pilot’s seat. “If it’s not showing up, that means one of two things—either it’s been completely removed from this plane of existence and destroyed, or something is blocking it from being detected.” Hannah lowered her voice to a somber whisper, putting a hand on his leg, “It was always a possibility that we wouldn't find them.”
Charles felt like he was dying, chest squeezed so painfully he couldn't breathe.
They'd come so far. It couldn't end like this. He wouldn't let it.
“You said this was going to work,” his Eldri hissed, sounding more betrayed than upset. “Promised we would get him back.”
“It will,” Charles whispered a bit harshly, getting a strange look from his old training partner.
“So what I’m hearing is,” Lando chimed in, lounging in the co-pilot’s seat with his arms behind his head, “we need to go and talk to Seb.”
Charles glanced at him and Hannah sat up slightly.
“The guy is practically ancient and has a weird amount of knowledge on things no one should realistically know. If anyone’s going to have insight on why a mystical orb might have dropped off the face of the Earth, it’s probably him.”
Charles considered it, even if he didn’t want to. Seb had always been a strange presence—both distant and omniscient, almost like he saw time moving at a slightly different speed than everyone else. But he was also kind. Genuine. He'd helped a young Charles find his place in the world after his Earth father had passed.
Even if Charles wasn’t meant to be a part of this world, he understood that now, why Seb had taken him under his wing and given him advice when he'd asked.
Charles didn’t exactly want to see the guardian, but . . .
“It’s our best shot,” Charles admitted, sitting up and rolling his shoulders. “Let’s go.”
Adjusting the controls, Hannah lifted the hovercraft smoothly into the sky, accelerating toward the heavens.
The Lookout wasn’t far, but as they ascended past the cloud layer, the atmosphere grew thinner. The world below stretched out in an endless painting of blues and greens and above them, floating like a temple in the sky, the Guardian’s Lookout loomed—silent, ancient, watching over the Earth as it had for centuries.
Hannah guided the craft toward the open platform at the edge, slowing to a gentle stop before lowering the landing gear.
The second the hatch hissed open, Charles felt it, that strange calm. The Lookout always had a way of making him feel . . . still, like stepping into a place where time held no power.
He'd trained here with Seb for almost a year while getting ready for his match with Lewis. The Guardian had taught him how to hone his ability to sense energy and how to use his ki more effectively in both offensive and defensive attacks.
Charles wouldn't have won that fight without him.
Standing at the very edge, overlooking the horizon with hands clasped behind his back, was Seb. He didn’t turn immediately. Didn’t acknowledge them the second they stepped onto the platform, but Charles knew he was aware of their presence.
He always was.
That was his job, after all, overseeing the Earth’s population and intervening if things became unbalanced.
For a moment, the three of them stood there, waiting, until Seb broke his stance. His head tilted slightly toward them, and with a slow gait, he turned—his serene eyes landing directly on Charles. A warm, knowing smile touched his lips.
“Welcome back to Earth, Charles.”
Something in Charles’ chest unclenched. He hadn’t realized how much tension he’d been carrying until that very moment, unsure how the Guardian would greet him, but Seb’s voice wasn’t just a greeting. It was a recognition, a silent understanding that Charles had been lost in the void between worlds, caught in chaos and war and suffering, and now he was home.
He just needed to bring his mate home too.
Swallowing, the weight of the past few weeks pressed heavy on his ribs. “ . . . It’s good to be back,” he said, voice more regretful than he meant it to be.
“I sense a great change in you,” Seb’s eyes softened. “And I see you’ve learned the truth about your heritage.”
Eyes glancing behind him, Charles was a bit embarrassed as his tail waved behind him angrily, Eldri growling lightly at the familiar place.
“This is the one that removed our tail! Why are we here? Are you rejecting this? Abandoning our mate!?”
Relax, Charles tried to reassure his instincts in his mind. You’re not under threat here.
“I imagine you have questions,” Seb intoned.
Charles let out a tired breath, rubbing at his forehead, Eldri still rumbling in his skull in distrust of the man. “You could say that.”
Nodding once, Seb turned fully to face them, posture calm, open and patient just like always. “Then ask.”
There were so many things he wanted to ask: Did Seb know he was a Torossian when he’d asked to have his tail removed? Did he know about the emperor? Could he feel where he was? If Seb knew Charles was going to be taken, did he let it happen on purpose? Why did Herve never tell him the truth before he died?
But all of that could wait.
Max was barely hanging on, and Charles knew he was almost out of time. He could feel it.
“Where is the seventh wish orb?”
And just like that, the Guardian’s warm expression faded. Not to anger or surprise. But to something far more unsettling.
Something knowing. Something expectant.
Seb exhaled slowly, gaze drifting toward the sky. “That,” he murmured, “is a very complicated question.”
The Guardian remained still, the wind barely ruffling the edges of his robes as Charles stepped forward, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He was getting answers now.
“I don't have time for your riddles. We’ve gathered six of the seven orbs,” he said. “But the last one isn’t showing up on the radar. We’ve searched everywhere, recalibrated multiple times. It’s just . . . gone.”
Seb’s expression didn’t change. No surprise. No concern. Not even mild curiosity. Just quiet, unreadable neutrality. He simply exhaled, gaze settling on Charles like he was waiting for something.
“What are your plans for the orbs?” the Guardian asked. “What is your wish?”
What?
Did it matter?
White hot anger flared in Charles' chest, his upper lip curling in the beginnings of an instinctive snarl. If Seb was asking, the guardian clearly knew where the last one was, and Charles was struggling to get himself back under control. With his tail back, his emotions were a lot harder to regulate, not even counting the hormones or whatever that book had called them that he’d started to read called, ‘What to expect when you're expecting’.
He only had one guess as to how that ended up in the nightstand of his guest room.
Hesitating, the Torossian had been thinking a lot about this and wasn’t sure what was the best course of action to take. Wanting to be direct, he started with the truth. “I want to wish for Max, Prince of Torossians of planet Toro, to be brought safely to me.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and absolute.
Lando, standing just behind him, let out a low whistle. “Well,” he muttered, “guess we’re not easing into this conversation.”
Hannah shot him a look, but Charles didn’t waver.
Seb, however, frowned, and something like disappointment filled his eyes. “Is that your heart’s truest desire?”
What the fuck kind of question was that?
“Yes,” he said firmly.
The Guardian shook his head. “Are you aware how dangerous that Torossian is?”
Charles blinked, caught between irritation and an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He'd been here before, standing before a “wise elder,” being questioned, being challenged about the worth of the very man who'd shaped his entire world.
Now asked so many times, Charles understood, understood whispers and the fear, the cowering and the rumors. The Grand Elder on Namek had asked him a similar question—had made him justify why or even if Max was worth saving.
But he knew his answer this time.
“Yes,” Charles answered firmly. “I do.”
Studying him carefully, the Guardian’s stare felt like he was measuring the depth of Charles’ conviction, waiting for something that might crack through his resolve, but Charles was done feeling confused. He knew who Max was and knew why he had to bring him home.
“Max is a good man, I know this,” Charles said, voice steady, but laced with something raw. “He has done many terrible things, yes—things I won’t excuse or condone, but he is not proud of them either. I was naive to those truths before. I am not now, and I understand the weight of what he’s done. I know he can be different—he is different.”
Seb said nothing, allowing him to continue.
Charles exhaled sharply, hands curling in front of his stomach, unsure if he was getting through to his old master, and he decided to push harder.
“He's not a threat to you or anyone here if that is your worry. He's not his captor nor the monster people expect him to be from the stories whispered about him across the universe.”
“We need him,” his Eldri supplied.
Charles swallowed, throat tight. “He is . . . He is mine.”
Continuing his plea, the Eldri's voice trembled lightly with his urgent desperation. “He is my mate,” Charles said, lower now, but no less powerful, pressing a soft palm against his stomach, tail curling protectively with it. “The father of my child.”
Seb’s expression didn’t shift, but something in the air did.
Standing behind Charles, Lando whispered, “I need to sit down,” followed by a soft thud on the ground of the Lookout.
He'd almost forgotten they were still with him.
Hannah’s arms were crossed tightly over her chest, but she didn’t interrupt, a soft smile on her face at his admission.
“Max has been tortured, beaten, and left with nothing,” Charles continued, mist gathering in his eyes. “He refused to break or succumb to anyone’s will but his own. And I have felt every second of it. I don’t care what anyone else thinks he deserves or if he himself thinks he’s undeserving. I know what he is to me and to my people, even if we are the only ones left.”
He lifted his chin.
“And I will not leave him to die alone on that ship.”
A long silence stretched between them. Seb’s gaze, sharp and knowing, lingered on Charles for a few seconds longer before his expression softened, the disappointment fading, replaced by understanding.
“ . . . Then you must be prepared for the consequences. Not only for him, but for you. The true price of freedom is a costly one.”
Charles swallowed. “I am. ”
He didn't care what happened to him as long as Max was off that ship for good.
“Then let us see if the oracle finds your desires pure.”
Putting his hands together in front of him, the guardian's palms started to glow, leaving a round space open between his curled fingers. After a moment, an orange ball started to form, with one red star in its center.
The last orb.
The group all gasped in unison as the stone materialized before their eyes and Seb motioned for Charles to follow. “Only Charles will come. You two can wait in the gardens until we are finished,” he said, and Hannah quickly handed Charles her satchel with the rest of the gathered orbs, completing the set of seven.
“We'll wait here for you,” the scientist encouraged before lightly kicking Lando on the ground by her foot. “Come on, get up.”
Grumbling as he stood, Lando followed Hannah towards the neatly manicured garden beside the Lookout’s temple.
The six orbs were heavy in Charles’ arms as he followed Seb through the temple corridors, their glow reflecting softly against the ancient polished stone walls. The Lookout’s temple was old—far older than Charles had ever realized as a child. The air within it felt thick, charged with something unseen, like time itself had settled into the walls like dust.
Seb walked ahead, his steps unhurried, robes flowing with each measured movement. The hallway stretched deep, torches burning with an ethereal blue flame that gave no heat, casting elongated shadows that danced along the smooth marble floors.
Charles didn’t speak. He had too many questions to even know where to start.
Why had Seb hidden the last wish orb? Who—or what—was this oracle he was about to meet, and why did the purity of his intentions matter? More importantly—what was the cost Seb mentioned?
But something about the silence felt sacred, like speaking too soon would shatter something delicate and irreplaceable, now on the precipice of getting his mate back. Finally, Seb came to a stop before an unassuming stone door, set deep into the farthest reaches of the temple.
“This is it,” the Guardian murmured, placing a hand against the surface. The patterns etched into the stone reacted at his touch, shifting in intricate, spiraling designs.
Charles adjusted his grip on the orbs, frowning slightly. He'd trained in this temple and seen many strange rooms contained within, but he'd never seen this one before. “What is this place?”
“Beyond this door lies a realm separate from our own. A pocket between worlds—one where time moves differently, and where energy cannot be sensed or traced from the outside.”
Charles stiffened. “No energy can be detected?”
Seb nodded. “Not even from the orbs. Once inside, you will cease to exist in this world and your fate, along with that of the Torossian Prince, will be in the oracle's hands.”
“So . . . the secret temple from the legend is here? And the only way to make a wish was to come here?”
“Yes.”
“You could’ve just told us that—”
“But would you have understood?” Seb’s lips twitched, just slightly into a smirk.
Charles grumbled under his breath but said nothing. This was typical from the wise sage.
Pressing his palm flat against the door, the Guardian spoke foreign sounding words and with a low, resonating hum, the stone began to change. A deep vibration thrummed through the floor beneath Charles’ feet as the massive door groaned open, revealing a brightly lit chamber beyond.
The air inside was different. It pulled at him, subtle but undeniable, like something unseen was waiting—watching.
Seb turned back to him, expression back to its calm neutrality. “Inside, you will find an altar. Place the orbs upon it, and you will be granted passage to meet the oracle who resides within.”
“And then what?” Charles frowned, shifting the weight of the orbs in his arms.
“Then you make your wish.”
Something in his tone made Charles pause. It wasn’t a warning, not exactly, but it wasn’t reassurance, either.
“Be careful, Charles. The being within does not grant wishes freely like the legend says. It's an exchange—payment for power. There is always a cost.”
“I don’t care what it costs.” Charles set his jaw, “Max will die if I don't do this.”
“I hope,” the Guardian breathed, “he is as changed as you say he is.”
Charles swallowed, gripping the orbs tighter. “I know he is.”
Taking a step back, Seb allowed Charles to move forward. The chamber beyond was waiting, and so was whatever lay inside. With a final glance over his shoulder, Charles stepped through the threshold and the heavy stone door sealed shut behind him.
Chapter 52: Attachment Breeds Weakness
Summary:
They both knew at that moment: Carlos had made his choice. Between his first love and his new, between fealty and servitude, between George and Max.
And there was no undoing it now.
Notes:
Welcome back! A bit dramatic today, but necessary.
Chapter warnings: Corporal punishment, abuse, blood, violence, character death.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A surprise summons to the throne room was never good.
Carlos barely paused to straighten his uniform before leaving the navigation deck, boots echoing sharply against the alloy floors as he moved quickly through the corridors of the PTO flagship. His gut twisted with unease, a tight coil of instinct warning him that whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
The ship was less than a few days away from their next scouting sight and Carlos hadn't received any orders about a change of course either.
By the time he reached the throne room doors, they were already wide open—which meant he was late.
His stomach dropped. Stepping inside, he immediately took stock of the room.
Most of the ship’s high-ranking officers were already present, standing in disciplined formation along the sides of the throne’s raised platform. Their expressions were eerily neutral, but the tension in the air was thick, charged with an unspoken weight that Carlos didn’t yet understand.
The heavy doors closed behind him.
His brows furrowed. What the hell is going on?
George hadn’t mentioned anything about a meeting today. That was strange. If there was a meeting involving the upper command of Jos’ fleet, George would be the first to know, and Carlos would be the first person he told.
They’d even fucked this morning, getting a late start, still tangled in bedsheets and exhaustion. It was a rare moment of slow, indulgent peace that neither of them ever acknowledged aloud.
Their fucking had been intense: George on top of him, glued to his skin like his life depended on it, mouth leaving trails of red and purple all over his chest, greedy for his lips like the commander rarely was. George had dragged so many orgasms from him, the Torossian felt like he'd need a week to just recover, but regrettably, he loved it. Loved tangling his fingers in the commander's short hair, squeezing his hips to help guide him up and down.
When George had finally had his way with him, Carlos wanted to ask what all of that had been about, but George just said he had a busy day and quickly dressed and left their room.
There had been no indication—none—that something like this was coming.
And yet, here they were.
The unease in Carlos’ gut hardened into something colder. Jos had returned from his short leave only days ago, and ever since then, George had been acting . . . off.
Not in any way obvious. Not in a way Carlos could name, but there was a shift. A stiffness in his movements. A quiet distance that hadn’t been there before, and Carlos hated that he couldn’t put his finger on why.
Really, it had started after Carlos had seen Max.
The prince was in rough shape, and Carlos spent most of his free time trying to think of another way to get in to see him without triggering any suspicion. Just a few days more before they would be at the next scouting location, and he'd decided that might be the distraction he needed to slip in undetected.
Eyes flicking across the room, scanning for the commander, Carlos stopped when he saw George standing along the right side of the chamber, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable.
Carlos moved to his side quickly, stepping into formation, hoping to get some kind of explanation before Jos arrived.
“Commander,” he gave a sharp salute, maintaining formalities in front of the crew. “What is this about?”
George didn’t respond. Didn’t even so much as look at him.
Carlos frowned as he called for the commander under his breath, “George . . . ”
Still nothing.
Oh. Oh, this was not good.
Swallowing, his pulse thumped in his ears. He'd seen George pull this act before: cold, silent, and perfectly composed as a statue. It wasn’t a mask meant for him—it was the mask George wore when he'd already made a choice.
And Carlos suddenly wasn’t sure if he was going to like it.
“Prove me wrong, Carlos.”
George’s voice was quiet, but laced with something heavy, and Carlos turned his head slightly. George still didn’t look at him, gaze forward, posture rigid with his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
“If you care at all for me,” George continued, tone measured but eerily empty, “do not move from this spot. No matter what happens.”
Move from his spot?
Before he could respond or even process what those words truly meant, his eyes snapped to the massive throne room doors as they were wrenched open.
And suddenly, Carlos understood.
The prince was being dragged into the room, Oozaru fully in control, thrashing against the several guards restraining him, the emperor trailing behind. His golden eyes were wild, hair matted with sweat, breathing ragged, nostrils flaring as his furious eyes darted across the chamber.
He wasn’t lucid, just like the last time Carlos saw him several days ago.
The general's stomach turned to stone.
Raw instinct and unfiltered aggression bled through the prince's movements, teeth bared in an enraged snarl, tail lashing violently behind him. But even in this state—even when his mind was lost to his instincts—Carlos could see the pain in it.
The guards struggled, feet skidding slightly against the polished floor as Max jerked against their hold, deep growls reverberating off the throne room walls like distant thunder. But Jos’ men were prepared, their grips like iron as they wrestled him forward, dragging him between two of the massive tiled columns.
Thick restraints—clearly designed for this exact situation—were latched onto Max’s wrists, forcing his arms out wide in an unnatural, exposed position. His tail tried to lash at a guard, but they seized it at the base over the mating cuff, yanking it straight and securing it in a secondary restraint.
Carlos flinched lightly, tail squeezing tighter around himself imagining how badly that hurt.
A raw, furious roar tore from Max’s throat, the sound shaking the walls of the room. The vibrations rattled through Carlos’ bones, but he couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
The throne room doors slammed shut with a deafening boom, locking everyone inside as Jos descended upon Max, silence blanketing the air.
Floating into the room like a specter, the emperor’s long tail curled behind him, slow and lazy, his flight effortless and red eyes gleaming with cold amusement as he finally landed in front of Max.
Carlos clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms, tail bristling around his waist.
Max growled deep in his throat, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths with pupils blown wide, wild with rage, tail straining with the effort to tear itself free. Jos watched him for a long moment, lips curling ever so slightly.
“Well, hello,” the emperor cooed as he reached out and gripped Max’s face. The prince snarled, sharp teeth snapping toward Jos’ hand, but the frost demon merely tilted his head, humored by the effort. “Ah,” the warlord sighed dramatically, squeezing his grip just enough to force Max’s gaze toward him. “I haven’t seen you for many years. Dear me, our prince must be having such a difficult time.”
Carlos was going to lose it.
A difficult time? Being half starved to death and almost drowning was having a “difficult time?”
Max looked unrecognizable. His ribs stuck out, drained muscles rippling beneath grayish looking skin, face sunken and hollow. There were more bruises than not on his arms and limbs, his broken leg making his stance awkward and unstable.
His legs were shaking under the effort to stay standing, and Carlos fought the urge to preserve Max's dignity, shielding his eyes away from his prince's nakedness, but he couldn't look away.
Grip deceptively gentle, the warlord's fingers tilted Max’s jaw to inspect him, eyes sweeping over his bare form like a researcher studying a caged beast. That's all they had ever been to the warlord anyway.
Animals . . . Monkeys for his entertainment.
When Max tried to snap at his fingers again, Jos only tsk’d, shaking his head like he was dealing with an unruly child.
“Now, now,” he said, dangerously soft. “I was hoping to do this with Prince Max present, but I suppose . . . ” He smiled, cruel and patient. “You will have to do.”
Jos released Max’s face with a light push, stepping back with the slow, practiced ease of a man who owned the room. His presence filled every inch of the chamber, energy consuming every officer, soldier, and witness.
Panting through bared teeth, Max's golden eyes blazed, following the frost demon as he moved. He must've felt it—just as Carlos did. The moment of stillness before the executioner swings the blade.
Turning his gaze to the assembled officers, the frost demon’ tail flicked in a smooth, lazy arc behind him.
“The Prince of Torossians,” he announced, rich with authority and smooth as polished glass, “has been found guilty of treason.”
The words rang out through the throne room, echoing across the chamber like the toll of a bell. Carlos kept his face carefully neutral, even as his tail continued to fight him.
George told him not to move.
Max snarled again, yanking hard against his restraints, but they didn’t budge. How was Max even still standing with that leg and how weak his frame looked? The prince must've been in agony.
Jos didn’t even spare him a glance as he continued.
“Prince Max’s betrayal will not be ignored. It will not be forgotten, and it will not be tolerated. His punishment will serve as a reminder to all who serve in my ranks, a warning to those who would dare to abandon their posts.”
Crimson eyes landed on him.
“Loyalty is absolute. Obedience is not a choice.”
The weight of his words settled over the room, heavy and unshakable, and Carlos’ forced his muscles to stay still.
He could do nothing but watch. Wait.
“Anyone who interferes in his punishment will die with him.”
Jos turned his eyes away from Carlos at last, before sliding to the man standing to his right. “Commander George,” he said smoothly. “You may begin.”
A slow tremor—barely more than a shift of weight—was the only reaction George gave before stepping forward. His posture was perfect, expression neutral as he approached Max’s restrained form, energy whip uncurling from his palm.
No, Carlos thought. No.
How could George do this? How could he ask him to stand here and watch as he massacred his prince?
“If you care for me at all, don't move,” he'd said.
How could George ask that of him? How could he make him choose . . . like this?
George raised the weapon above his head, standing behind Max, eyes trained on Carlos from across the room. They stared at each other for a moment before the commander brought the crackling strand of green ki down over the expanse of the prince’s back, Max arching violently, a deep roar leaving his throat, tail trapped in its restraint.
For long, unbearable seconds, Carlos did nothing, mind churning for the right decision. He didn’t breathe, didn’t move, didn’t feel. He told himself he was a soldier, a general, a loyal servant of the empire. He’d spent years teaching himself restraint, discipline—had spent decades making sure that he lived up to his Torossian honor and the goddess’ ideals.
He could get through this and then find another way to get to Max.
Carlos closed his eyes.
The loud snaps continued, followed by more cries of pain, and Carlos let out a shaky breath, steeling his mind. He could do this. Max was strong, fierce, capable of withstanding much more than this.
His prince was the strongest of all of them. The strongest ever measured. Capable of decimating entire army's of millions, strong enough to bend light around his iron fists. He'd seen it with his own eyes, the sparks of Max's potential, his promise of breaking through to the other side and doing what only legends spoke of.
Max was the promised one.
The chosen.
Their last hope.
But the longer it went on, the more Carlos questioned if that was true.
The snaps felt like they went on forever, only silence between the cracks and cries. No one moved, not a twitch or a flinch among the crowd, quietly observing with disinterest.
George told him to do the same.
Don't move, if he cared for the commander at all.
How in the fuck . . .
Carlos did care. That was the problem. And perhaps that was why he was still standing there, rooted to his spot since the moment he'd seen Max enter. Watching silently as Max's feet gave out underneath him, being held up by shackles alone.
There was a strain on Max’s tail, baring some of his weight and Carlos couldn’t even imagine it,
Was he still breathing?
Was Max even still conscious?
Carlos couldn't take it.
Did his fondness for George outweigh his love for Max? His duty to his sworn sovereign and prince?
Fond memories of him and Max running through the palace grounds on Toro flooded his mind. The smell of the flowers and damp ground after a fresh rain. Thoughts of staying up late, telling each other stories by candlelight, promising to stay by each other's side and protect one another forever.
Forever and a day.
Carlos opened his eyes as George rounded on Max, moving to stand in front of him, ready to inflict maximum damage on the prince's exposed chest as his ribs trembled, fighting to draw breath.
Max was shaking, gasping for air, barely able to raise his head.
His prince was the strongest of them, highest energy reading at birth of any Torossian . . . and Carlos was not going to let it end like this.
He didn't leave his home, his father, his life at the palace to fail in his oath now.
Even if it only spared the prince for a few moments, he could give him that. Let Max know that he wasn't alone.
Before he could second guess it, his feet moved. In a blur of motion, he flew forward across the room, cutting between Max and George, his stance wide, tail flicking sharply behind him as his arms spread in a clear and undeniable shield.
A choice, a declaration.
George stopped with his hand high above his head, deadly silence spreading between them. The entire throne room stilled, murmurs and inhales heard from the gathered officers.
There was no mistake this time. No manipulation and no selfish plots. This was defiance.
Open, for all to see.
Carlos’ chest rose and fell with the force of his breathing, heart hammering against his ribs.
Slowly, so slowly, George lowered his arm, energy withdrawing and curling inward, sharp and bitter. He didn’t speak, jaw tense and clamped shut, lips in a thin line.
They both knew at that moment: Carlos had made his choice. Between his first love and his new, between fealty and servitude, between George and Max.
And there was no undoing it now.
Carlos took a firm stance this time, feet planted solidly, back straight, clearly showing exactly where his loyalty truly lay.
“Kill him,” Jos’ voice rang through the throne room, smooth, effortless.
There was no malice in his tone, no anger, no grand theatrical declaration of betrayal—just a command. Simple and absolute, like his choice was a forgone conclusion. Jos’ tail flicked lightly over the armrest of his throne, expression barely shifting from its usual air of mild amusement.
Boredom.
Carlos’ pulse roared in his ears, but he didn’t flinch or turn, his eyes never leaving George’s as something complicated passed between those green-blue eyes. He was hesitating, George remaining motionless for a moment too long, a great sadness clouding his expression.
Not with anger but with something almost like grief.
Goddess, George really cared for him, didn’t he?
In all his years of serving, Carlos had never seen the commander fail to follow an order or simply jump at Jos' command.
Yet he just stood there, arm relaxed down by his side, eyes staying locked on his.
“I will not tell you again, Commander,” Jos said more firmly this time, claws drumming once against the armrest. “You said it best yourself. Insubordination will not be tolerated.”
Max let out a low keening whine behind him, trembling against his restraints. Bright red trails streaked down his back, tracing over decades worth of scars, dripping in a slow pattern onto the floor beneath them. “Carlos—”
He barely had time to register the movement.
A flicker of green light, swift and silent, before agony bloomed deep in his abdomen. His breath hitched, a sharp, choked sound escaping his lips as George closed the distance between them in a blur, his blade of ki sinking deep beneath Carlos’ chest plate, burning through flesh and muscle like molten fire.
The pain was instant. Sharp and cold.
His entire body seized, back arching against the force of the strike, deep red already spilling past the wound, dripping in slow, warm rivulets down his armor to mingle with Max's on the floor. The scent of iron and scorching energy filled his nose, vision swimming with the sheer force of it.
For a moment—a single, breathless moment—he didn’t believe it. He didn’t understand what had just happened. But his gaze lifted from his stomach and he met George’s eyes, the universe narrowing to just the two of them.
His breath turned to ragged gasps, fingers twitching, unsure whether to push him away or to pull him closer. Wetness gathered at the corners of George’s sharp, green-blue eyes, his jaw tight, his grip firm, holding Carlos in place as if he were afraid to let go.
Carlos’ lips parted, trying to speak, to say something —but all that came out was a strangled gasp, a helpless attempt to breathe around the sharp, foreign sting lodged deep in his gut. The blade pressed further, and Carlos jerked, body reacting before his mind, a desperate instinct from his Oozaru to live, to fight.
But it was too late for that now.
The blade twisted, a sharp sickening push, the searing heat as it cut deeper, puncturing something vital. A slow, final shift of energy as it stole the last bit of fight from his muscles, from his very being.
A shuddered garble tore from his throat only to be cut off by soft, familiar lips as they met his, brief and gentle.
A kiss full of something wordless. Something neither of them had the strength nor the time to say. Carlos’ vision blurred, body going slack, weight sagging forward into George’s arms. The warmth of his blood seeped between them, but George didn’t recoil.
Instead, his free hand found the back of Carlos’ head, tangling in the damp strands of his black hair, pressing their foreheads together as something hot and wet dripped onto Carlos’ skin.
Not blood. Tears.
Carlos’ breaths were slow now, shallow, his body weightless. His knees buckled, and he felt himself falling, slipping down, down, down—
George followed him, lowering him carefully to the cold, polished floor. His grip never wavered, even as Carlos’ vision began to tunnel, the glow of the throne room flickering, darkening at the edges.
Everything felt so far away.
His heartbeat was slowing, fading into something distant, like an echo in a hollow space. He closed his eyes, inhaling one last time.
Not in fear. Not in regret.
But in quiet, solemn acceptance.
His last thoughts were not of anger. Not of revenge. But of a prayer.
A final plea to the goddess, asking for forgiveness. For the mistakes he'd made. For the wrongs he’d committed against his prince and his brother. For the lies and the deception he'd spread. For the pain he'd caused and for the sins that could never be undone.
But this—
This choice was not one of them.
_____
Carlos wasn’t moving, and George knew the exact moment it happened. The precise second when the last breath left his lips, when the tension in his body unraveled into nothing, when the warmth beneath his hands began to slip away.
But he couldn’t let go.
His fingers combed through the dark strands of Carlos’ hair, slow and absent, the way they had so many times before—when they were tangled in sheets, when Carlos would rest against him after a long day, when things between them still felt real.
But this time, Carlos didn’t hum in quiet contentment, didn’t tilt his head slightly into the touch, didn’t move at all. George swallowed, his throat tight, a dull ache forming in the center of his chest, spreading through his ribs like something rotten.
He’d been right.
From the very beginning.
From the moment Carlos first sat in that chair in his office, looking for something he could never truly give. From the moment George had let himself hope.
Carlos had never been his. Not really. Not fully.
He had belonged to Max.
Always.
Carlos had chosen him. Had died for him. Had thrown away everything—his rank, his duty, their relationship, his very life—for a prince he could never let go of. The cold truth of it twisted tight around his heart, bitter and unforgiving.
What was this feeling?
He should be angry, furious even. But all he felt was hollow.
George hated everything about Carlos. So why did this hurt so much?
His fingers trembled slightly as they traced over Carlos’ forehead, down to his cheek, skin still warm, expression slack with something almost peaceful. Like in the end, Carlos had accepted this.
A sharp breath caught in George’s throat, his fingers curling slightly against Carlos’ scalp.
“You couldn't just stay still,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper for no one else to hear.
He hadn’t wanted this. Hadn’t wanted to be right. Hadn’t wanted to lose him like this.
George wasn't even supposed to give Max's punishment. That wasn't the plan. He'd been shocked when Jos turned to him, telling him to proceed like this was what George wanted. What he had asked for.
How silly of him to think that Jos wouldn't find a way to make his apology into a torment.
He lowered his head, pressing his forehead to Carlos’, his breath shuddering against the cooling skin beneath him. His hands slid down, one resting against Carlos’ jaw, the other still tangled in his hair, like holding him like this would somehow keep him here.
A cough broke through the moment, sharp and ragged in the heavy silence.
George inhaled sharply, mind sluggish as he lifted his head, vision still blurred with unshed grief. The warm weight in his arms—Carlos’ weight—was still solid and present, and he wanted to stay in this purgatory for as long as he could.
His gaze drifted upward.
The Torossian prince was still shackled between the two towering columns, thick restraints biting into his raw, bloodied wrists bearing his weight, eyes looking at him with exhaustion. Frozen in place, the commander was shocked when Max opened his mouth.
“Kill me,” he whispered between cracked lips, so soft George barely heard it. “Please.”
George's eyes felt like they were burning as righteous fury flared deep in his soul, cutting through the haze of agony.
How dare he.
How dare that fucking asshole ask that of him; to spare him the fate they all shared, trapped here on this ship from hell. To follow after Carlos and be together in whatever afterlife awaited them all.
A sharp heat curled in George’s chest, but he crushed it down, sealing it beneath the cold, steel veneer that had carried him through this life. He exhaled, carefully and with slow, careful hands, he set Carlos down.
Lowering him gently onto the polished floor, George felt his fingers linger in his hair for half a second longer than necessary before he pulled away, the warmth already fading beneath his touch.
The emptiness was immediate.
He pushed to his feet, movement stiff and mechanical. His fingers curled at his side, and the energy blade in his palm flared again, its vibrant green glow illuminating the blood splattered across his knuckles and the floor.
Jos sighed from his throne. “Such theatrics,” the warlord mused. “Silly attachments breed weakness.”
Weakness, George thought.
He turned his gaze to the emperor, mask slipping back into place like a second skin, a thought forming in his mind. The grief, the regret, the hollow ache in his ribs, all fed a cold, practiced detachment, smoothing out every fracture, every raw, open wound.
Jos smiled, a disingenuous thing.
And George, the man who had just killed the only person who he'd ever truly let known him, the man who had lost and lost and lost again—
Smiled back.
He could see it all clearly now, the rotting falsehood of the emperor’s hypocrisy, the attachment at the root of all of this, the toy Jos just couldn't let go of.
Weakness . . .
“You said it best yourself, Sire,” George rasped slowly, voice even.
Jos’ eyes narrowed, once-bored expression sharpening into something more dangerous. George tilted his head just slightly, grip tightening around the still-burning energy in his hand.
“Silly attachments breed . . . weakness.”
This wasn't for Max, George decided. This was for Carlos.
The throne room exploded into motion.
Jos lunged, a blur of white and purple energy crackling off his form like an oncoming storm, but George was already moving. With a sharp thrust, he drove his blade forward, its emerald glow cutting through the dim light of the throne room as it plunged deep, right into the center of Max’s chest.
For a heartbeat, time stopped.
George’s breath caught, resigning himself to his fate, his mind registering the impending impact. Except—
There wasn’t one.
Not from the warlord, and not from the prince.
His arm met no resistance, and his body just kept moving.
Suddenly—he was through him, his momentum carrying him forward, the commander's entire form passing straight through Max’s thin frame like the prince wasn’t even there.
The weight of the moment crashed into George and his stomach dropped, heart slamming against his ribs as he whirled around, eyes locking onto Jos standing exactly where he had been only seconds ago.
The warlord’s red eyes burned with cold fury as his raised palm launched a massive, pulsing sphere of deep violet energy directly where George's head had been.
For a fraction of a second, no one moved. The throne room felt airless, like the very space between them had been sucked dry, leaving behind a suffocating vacuum.
With something like panic, Jos thrust his hand forward, fingers aiming to seize Max’s throat only for his hand to pass right through. Jos’ expression twisted, his crimson eyes flaring in confusion. He tried again—reaching, grasping—only to watch his fingers slip through nothing.
Max flickered. A distortion in reality, shimmering at the edges like light reflecting off water, a mirage in the distance.
“What trickery is this?!” Jos snarled, voice a furious bellow that cracked the air around them.
The prince's form wavered, pulsing faintly, as though whatever was holding him here was unraveling thread by thread. Jos lunged again, swiping at him with both hands now, an animalistic desperation creeping into his movements, but it was useless.
His fingers met nothing.
Max flickered once.
Twice.
And then, he was gone. Dissolving like mist under sunlight, his form dispersed into the very air of the throne room, vanishing completely. The shackles from his wrists and tail clattered to the tiled floor, no form present to hold them up.
There was silence. Pure stunned, heavy, and unreal.
George watched in shock as the warlord stood there, gaze firm on where the prince had just been, and it looked like for the first time in his entire life, Jos—emperor of the known universe, ruler of countless worlds, a being of unmatched control — did not understand what had just happened.
There was no sharp retort or an answer obvious only to him.
And George, still gripping his energy blade, standing exactly where Max had been, didn't have an answer either. Only silence and regret.
Chapter 53: Fallen Angel
Summary:
Charles skidded to a halt just as Max turned. Their eyes met, and Charles’ entire body locked up.
Golden.
Max’s eyes were glowing, burning like twin suns, wild and dangerous, the raw power behind them crackling in the air around him. A deep, rolling growl rumbled from his chest, sharp canines bared, coiled like a beast cornered.
Notes:
Going to highly encourage a listen to the companion song from tumblr. Just fits this moment and these two so well.
Chapter warnings: Graphic depictions of bodily injury, blood, and medical treatment.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Charles stumbled out of the temple doors, head spinning, pulse erratic, hands clammy with the lingering energy of what had just transpired. The air outside felt too open, too dim after the otherworldly presence of the ancient being.
The realm of spirit and time had been unlike anything Charles had ever encountered.
It was vast—impossibly vast—an endless sprawl of smooth white tiles that stretched beyond the horizon in all directions. There was no sky. No sun. Just an ambient, pearlescent light that came from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
He’d walked cautiously at first, the air eerily still, but not lifeless. The space itself seemed to breathe, pulsing gently beneath his feet, like it was aware of him—watching, listening.
After what felt like hours and no time at all, the scenery had shifted without warning. Not with movement, but with presence.
He'd been walking until his feet burned, even running for a bit trying to find, well, anything, and Charles didn’t know exactly how long he’d been inside.
He hadn’t noticed the altar until it simply appeared, as if it had been there all along.
It was exactly as Seb had described it: smooth stone carved with seven shallow depressions, each one calling to the orbs like a magnet for fate.
Charles had stepped up the short flight of curved stairs, his heartbeat fast in his chest as he reached into the cloth bundle tucked against his side, hands trembling slightly when he placed each orb in its place—one by one—into the smooth hollows.
As the last ball clicked into position, the surface of the altar illuminated with golden light, and the orbs flared in a brilliant orange glow. The red stars within each began to shine with startling intensity, the brilliance almost painful to look at.
But nothing happened.
No sound, no wind, no movement.
Just Charles, standing at the top of the altar, alone in a sea of silence and white.
The seconds stretched and the light from the orbs dimmed to a steady thrum. He shifted his weight uneasily, looking around.
He didn't have time for this. Max didn't have time for this.
“Okay . . . now what?” he muttered aloud, tail waving nervously.
He glanced around, Eldri inside him growing restless, until something flickered in the corner of his vision.
A single cloud.
Just a wisp of vapor, drifting down from above like it had nowhere better to be. It floated lazily, untethered, and settled near his feet—just off the edge of the platform, on the first step into that endless void.
Charles tilted his head.
Was it a sign? A direction? Was he supposed to follow it?
He took a step forward, one hand reaching slightly ahead of him to see if there was something there he couldn't see, but he found nothing. Toes dangling off the edge of the steps, Charles swallowed looking down.
What was he supposed to do?
Before he could think about it, a voice whispered from behind him.
“Step forward.”
Charles froze, the hairs on his arms standing on end.
“The purity of your heart’s desire must be measured.”
He turned slowly, eyes wide, but there was no one behind him. Just white tiles.
Step forward? Forward onto what? The damn cloud?
“Step forward,” the ethereal voice repeated and Charles swallowed before letting his foot leave solid ground.
He stepped onto the small cloud, surprised when his foot found purchase and his other foot joined it, now fully off the stairs. Standing cautiously, arms out at his sides, the cloud started to drift upwards and Charles fought to keep his balance, an overwhelming feeling building in his chest as he ascended.
The last thing he remembered after that was a voice—deep, endless, like it had spoken through the fabric of time itself.
“Your wish has been granted.”
Then . . . nothing.
No transition. No sign pointing in the direction of the way out. Just the sudden, jarring return to the lookout’s open platform under the blue sky. Hannah and Lando were at his side immediately, running from the garden.
How long had he been in there?
Where was Max?
“What happened?” Lando demanded, eyes scanning Charles, checking for signs of injury. “Did it work?”
Hannah pressed a cool hand against his forehead, concern furrowing her brows. “You’re burning up. Are you alright? We’ve been waiting for hours.”
He paid them no mind—too busy looking around the platform, busy feeling out for a familiar ki, needing to be reunited with his mate as soon as possible. The mystery being said his wish had been granted. So where the hell was Max? He turned wildly, eyes darting across the platform, searching—waiting—for something.
“Is Max here? Is he out here with you?”
Lando and Hannah exchanged a nervous glance before the scientist shook her head.
Was he in that room then? Did Charles need to go back in?
Seb was standing back on the rim of the Lookout, gaze turned upwards to the sky. “He will need care,” the guardian said.
What—?
The three turned to look at the guardian as Lando cried out, “Oh, shit!”
Before Charles saw what he was shouting at, Lando launched himself across the platform, arms outstretched in a burst of energy. Confused, Charles followed Seb's line of sight and his breath caught in his throat.
There was a body, falling fast.
High above the platform, hurtling through the sky, was Max.
Charles’ vision tunneled, and he'd only just processed what he was seeing before Max’s frame plummeted through the clouds, rapidly approaching the tiled floor. At the very last second, Lando caught him, staggering violently under the sheer speed of the fall.
A strangled grunt left Lando’s throat as he nearly collapsed backward, knees buckling under the descent. “Fuck—I got him!”
Rushing forward, Charles’ step faltered when he saw the prince up close, his heart coming to a stop. Max’s naked body was limp and completely unmoving, his blond hair darkened with dried blood, tail hanging lifelessly over Lando’s arm, and there was a thick, barbaric looking collar around his neck. It looked like he wasn't breathing, chest hardly rising at all, and the wounds across his torso, arms, and neck were all fresh, raw and deep with seeping blood.
It was awful.
Like he'd just been torn from something sinister, the universe ripping him away and throwing him back half-finished.
The extreme distress from his Eldri made his ears ring, sounds he'd never heard his instincts make before flooding his already overwhelmed mind.
Charles dropped to his knees beside him, hands hovering over Max’s frame, not knowing where to touch that wouldn't hurt his damaged body.
He was so, so thin.
Hannah knelt beside him, eyes scanning over Max’s wounds. “Shit—he’s a mess.”
“Yeah, well, so am I,” Lando wheezed, still catching his breath. “His back is bleeding all over me.”
Glancing over, Charles swallowed hard at the red soaking into Lando's shirt. His fingers shook as they pressed against Max’s throat, searching—praying—until he found the weak, sluggish thump of his pulse. Charles’ heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else: the rush of wind against the platform, the sound of birds in the distance, even Hannah’s voice as she barked orders.
His vision blurred at the edges, not just from the sheer shock of seeing Max like this, but from the pressure mounting inside his skull—the frantic, distressed whines of his Eldri, echoing in the hollow space of his mind. Twitching violently, Charles’ tail wrapped around Max’s forearm, rubbing against him in a desperate, unconscious attempt to wake him.
Or to prove to both of them he was really there.
Hannah straightened sharply beside him. “He's not getting enough oxygen up here. Lando—can you carry him back to my ship? We need to get him to the medical wing at Capsule Corp as soon as possible.”
“Yeah,” Lando grunted, already adjusting his hold.
Charles’ body moved automatically, stepping in to help lift Max’s deadweight, shoulder bracing under the prince’s slumped frame.
He was so light.
Max had always been broad, powerful, a presence that demanded space wherever he went. But he felt small in their arms, almost like a child, hard earned muscle eaten away.
God, what happened to him?
Charles swallowed hard, forcing the thought down as they moved fast toward the ship, body on complete autopilot, limbs numb. The ramp lowered the second they reached it, and when they were inside, Lando carefully laid Max down, shifting so Charles could pull him into his arms across a bench seat.
Settling in, Charles cradled Max’s battered body against his chest as the ship rumbled to life beneath them. His arms locked around the prince, tail wrapping around Max’s waist, holding him steady.
Trying to hold him together.
It was far easier than it should've been, with Max missing a large portion of his bulky trunk. His cheeks were sunken, ribs sticking out from his sides so drastically that Charles had to look away, knowing he would break down if he saw much more.
Right now he needed to be strong. He could fall apart later, after they got Max some help.
The ship lurched as Hannah powered them into the sky, rambling about where they needed to go and what things Max might need, but Charles’ mind was full of white noise.
His hand shifted behind Max’s back, gripping him tight, only to slide and slip through something warm and sticky. Pulling his arm back, Charles dared a glimpse and instantly regretted it. There was so much blood, warm, wet, and fresh, and a small piece of tissue stuck to his palm.
Trembling, Charles pulled his fingers away, dark red smeared across his palm and tears welling up in his eyes, spilling freely down his cheeks as he pressed his forehead to Max’s, grip tightening, his entire body curled protectively around him.
What happened to you? What did he do to you?
His throat clenched, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Max’s rattling breath puffed against his skin, so light and weak, like it could be snuffed out at any moment.
Charles whispered, voice shaking, “I’ve got you.”
Everything was a blur.
He sat motionless in a stiff wooden chair, hands clenched together in his lap, tail coiled so tightly around the leg of the chair that it ached. The med center was unnervingly quiet, save for the distant hum of shuffling feet and the occasional beep of monitors filtering through the closed doors.
The overhead fluorescent lights gave everything a harsh, clinical white hue, making the long hallway feel endless—cold, sterile, and lifeless. The smell of antiseptic burned in his nose, mixing with the metallic tang of Max’s blood that still clung to his skin and clothes.
It brought up memories of being with Max in the PTO med bay. He was so helpless then, so naive to the cause of the prince's injuries.
He didn't know what was worse; seeing Max so badly injured the prince was barely recognizable, or knowing who'd done this to him.
Adrift, Charles hadn’t moved.
Not since they'd taken Max from his arms. Not since Hannah had held him back while the medical team rushed away with a stretcher, their urgent voices muffled around the rapid shuffling of feet.
“I need you to stay here,” she'd told him, grip firm on his arm, stopping him from following.
Charles was still shaking, reaching for Max even as they carried him away, Eldri in full panic at being separated from their mate again. “I have to—”
Grabbing his shoulders, Hannah shook her head, blocking his path. “Charles, listen to me,” she said, tone firm but gentle. “You can see him once they get him stable. These are my best people, Charles,” she assured him, squeezing his shoulder. “I promise they’re doing everything they can for him, but you have to let them do their jobs.”
He’d nodded, unsure if he imagined himself doing it or if it was real, and then she was gone, disappearing through the double doors into the medical suite, leaving Charles rooted to the spot, staring at the stark white wall in front of him.
Standing beside him, Lando's arms were crossed, weight shifting onto one leg, but for once, he didn’t say anything.
No jokes or smart-ass remarks.
Just a silent presence, something solid in the sea of everything else that felt like it was slipping through Charles’ fingers.
The seconds dragged.
Then the minutes, and Charles could do nothing but wait, hands buried in his hair.
That gaunt face was there every time he blinked, bruises and cuts burned behind his eyes.
God, Charles couldn’t even count them all.
Had Max not fought back, or worse, had he not been able to? Were there other people involved besides the emperor?
Sniffing, Charles wiped his nose on his sleeve.
The hallway was quiet, still and patient. An occasional staff member walked by, not sparing him a glance as he hopefully looked up, but they’d just hurried away with no news.
Had Max died? Had no one felt brave enough to tell him?
Squeezing his eyes shut, Charles struggled to breathe. He'd been through this sort of thing before.
Painful memories of the last few days Charles spent with his Earth father twisted in his chest. He'd spent hours in waiting rooms and beside hospital beds where no one would tell him anything besides when visiting hours were over.
Even Herve's primary doctor had tried to spare him the truth.
But Charles knew, and he’d stayed till the bitter end.
Countless hours of praying and bargaining. Begging to any higher being that would listen to not take his only family from him.
Maybe he hadn’t prayed to the right one?
Max and Alonso had spoken of a Torossian goddess before—the Godin van de maan, the Moon Goddess the prince told him about on Namek. Charles had even heard Max whispering to her in the dead of night, voice low and reverent, when he thought the Earthling was asleep.
The first time it happened, Charles barely stirred, listening in quiet curiosity as Max murmured in rapid Torossian, the cadence of his words flowing like a river. He hadn’t understood a single thing, but certain words had stood out—words he'd recognized from Alonso, spoken with the same careful devotion.
Godin van de maan.
Charles had never asked, not wanting to intrude on that deeply personal ritual. But sitting in yet another sterile hallway, waiting for someone to tell him the truth, the Eldri wondered if maybe . . . maybe she would listen to him, too?
He wasn’t religious. Never had been. The faiths of Earth had never drawn him in, never moved him the way they did for others. But Max believed, and if Max believed, if he had trusted this goddess of Toro with his fears, hopes and pain, then Charles could too.
His hands slowly unwound from his hair and re-folded in his lap, fingers lacing together with a tense, uncertain grip, swallowing, throat dry.
He didn't know how to do this.
The thought felt intrusive, almost wrong—like he was trespassing in a sacred space he didn’t belong in.
But still he had to try.
For Max.
Godin van de maan, he thought, voice unsteady even in his own mind. Moon Goddess of Toro, if you’re real, if you’re listening?
His fingers clenched tighter, breath shuddering as he forced himself to keep going. My prince, Prince Max, believes in you. He’s spoken your name with hope, with faith. I don’t know what he’s asked of you before, but I’m asking it of you now. His vision blurred, entire body curling slightly in his own desperation.
Please. Please don’t take him from me.
His heart ached, tail twitching as he squeezed his eyes shut. I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care what I have to do. Just . . . just let him live. Let me fix this. Let me make it right. He was taken because of me, and I have to tell him I'm sorry and that I didn’t mean it and that I love him and—
Tail coming to rest around his belly, Charles’ Eldri whispered, “We need him. Our pup needs our mate.”
More whispers came from his Eldri, praying to the goddess in a language Charles didn't understand, but he would take all the help he could get as he went on.
He doesn't even know he's going to be a father, I have to tell him—I can't do this without him.
Silence stretched around him, thick and suffocating. He didn’t know what he was expecting.
A sign? A whisper? Some undeniable proof that she'd heard him or was even real?
But there was nothing.
Just the cold, sterile air of the medical wing, the silence of the closed doors, and his Eldri pleading.
Charles exhaled shakily, hands loosening, staring down at the smears of Max's blood still dried on his fingertips. He was foolish. No one was listening—
The doors to the medical suite swung open.
Charles was on his feet instantly, breath catching in his throat as adrenaline surged through his limbs, chair scraping loudly behind him.
Right beside him, Lando pushed off the wall where he’d been leaning, posture tense, shoulders squared like he was bracing for bad news. His friend had been there when Herve passed, offering little comfort, but there nonetheless.
Hannah stepped through the doorway, removing her surgical mask with one hand, a tablet clutched in the other.
“Is he okay?” Charles barely recognized the sound that left his throat.
Hannah placed a steadying hand on his arm and Charles braced for the worst.
“He's stable,” she said calmly. “The team did an incredible job getting his vitals relatively under control.”
Charles’ knees nearly buckled.
His breath shook, relief crashing over him in a violent wave and he hadn’t realized just how much tension he’d been holding until it hit all at once, a crushing weight lifting from his chest. Tail uncurling slightly, his fingers loosened, mind reeling as his silent prayer echoed back to him
Thank you, goddess.
Rubbing his back lightly, Lando let out a relieved breath, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. “That's good.”
Charles could only nod, swallowing hard against the emotion rising in his throat. He hadn’t even considered what he would do if she came out with bad news. He probably would’ve done what he did when Herve died, locked himself away in his cabin and not come out for weeks.
That would've been horrible for the pup.
Fuck, the pup.
Exhaling, she offered a soft smile before turning to Lando. “Lando, can you run to the café and grab both me and Charles a coffee?”
Arching a brow, Lando didn’t hesitate, looking glad to have something to do. “Yeah. Of course.” And just like that, he was off, his shoes echoing down the hallway before disappearing out of sight.
The moment he was gone, Charles sagged, hand gripping the back of his chair for support. His entire body felt like it had been wrung out, limbs heavy.
“I hate coffee,” he said, a bit breathless, intrusive thoughts of the commander making his tail bristle.
“It wasn’t really about the coffee,” Hannah replied. “But I wanted to go over what we found out about his injuries privately—so you know what you’re walking into. There are some . . . decisions we need to make.”
Charles sat down in the chair, hands pressing into his thighs, unsure if he could stand to hear this. What he'd seen was bad enough, and he couldn’t imagine all the things he didn’t see.
Sitting down in the chair beside him, Hannah’s fingers flicked across her tablet, pulling up reports. “We can do this later if you need a break. He's in good hands for now—”
“No,” Charles said, too fast. “I can handle it.”
He'd waited long enough to see Max again, and he just wanted to get this over with.
Hannah exhaled through her nose before nodding, taking a deep breath as she opened the medical chart.
A wave of images flooded the screen and Charles didn’t look, but he could see the details from the corner of his eye—rows upon rows of documented injuries, each one cataloged and photographed.
His stomach twisted violently and Hannah didn’t sugarcoat it.
“Broken bones,” she started, reading directly from the notes, keeping her voice measured, clinical. “Several fractures in his ribs, left clavicle, fingers, and two small fractures in his right tibia—one of them newer than the other, on top of the double break healed incorrectly in the same leg. Deep lacerations, some of which appear to have been deliberately reopened over time and left untreated.”
Charles clenched his jaw and kept his gaze on the floor, breathing through his nose, hands curling into fists in his lap. Visions of Max’s scarred back and chest brought tears to his eyes.
“Bruises—severe contusions in multiple stages of healing. Internal damage, but nothing life-threatening now that he’s stable. We were able to run a few scans just to be sure we didn’t miss anything. And—”
She hesitated, Charles heard it in her voice, and he knew what was coming next. There was no way Max would've been spared more of that kind of torment.
“Hannah . . . Just say it.”
Swiping her finger several times on the screen, the scientist cleared her throat.
“There's evidence of sexual abuse. Bite marks and tearing as well as other indicators.”
His breath left him in a sharp, shaking exhale, hands covering his face. Charles didn’t lift his head, but his tail curled tightly around his own leg, too tight, muscles locked in silent restraint.
God, how could he let this happen? Fled from his mate and left him so vulnerable.
“They’re mostly older,” Hannah continued, softer. “Partially healed, but they’re there and quite obvious with their presentation.”
A slow, creeping nausea crawled through his gut.
“But . . . you already knew this was happening to him on that ship though, didn't you?” She asked slowly.
“Yes,” was all he managed to croak, wiping the wetness off his cheeks a bit too aggressively.
That photo from Max’s scouter had been all the evidence he’d needed. Well, that and how Max had reacted to him seeing it.
And then there was what he saw in the throne room, how the emperor had touched Max with his tail, on top of Charles’ own experience with George. The commander had clearly learned the emperor’s methods well.
Max had tried to send him away, tell him to forget about that ship of horrors and the things he’d seen, be willing to keep living like that to spare Charles the same fate. How was Charles ever supposed to forget?
“Did this happen to you—”
“We aren’t talking about me,” he bit out angrily, turning to meet her gaze with his upper lip pulled back.
The snarl in the back of his throat was so loud, her eyes got wide and his Eldri was suddenly on the defensive. “No one can know,” it barked loudly.
Desperate to move on, Charles spat, “Is that all? Can I see him?”
Hannah held his gaze for a long moment, an understanding passing between them before she turned back to her tablet. There was no way that was going to be the end of that conversation, but he was grateful he didn’t have to have it now, unsure what he would even tell her.
“There’s more we need to discuss.”
Putting his hands back in his lap, Charles snuffed. “What else?”
“Like I said before, there are some decisions that need to be made for him. He’s not human, so we can’t determine exactly what his weight and muscle ratio should be,” she admitted. “But going by human standards, he’s severely malnourished and dehydrated. The medical team has already started IV fluids to correct those issues, but it has to be administered slowly in his current state.”
It felt like glass raking the inside of his throat as he swallowed, turning back to stare at the floor.
“He’s Torossian,” he whispered, voice flat and distant. “We eat more than humans,” Hannah turned to look at him, “To maintain our high energy levels.”
It wasn’t just malnutrition. It was starvation. Jos hadn’t just hurt him, he’d starved him, pushed him to the brink of death.
All those nights Charles laid awake with a twinge in his gut and pain in various places on his body, the Eldri was more convinced than ever that he was feeling whatever Max was experiencing through their bond.
“He also needs to have surgery on his right leg. The incorrect healed position of the tibia and fibula needs to be rebroken and set correctly, but going back to him not being human . . . we aren’t quite sure what meds to use for anesthesia and a proper dosage.”
“Just test the drugs on me,” Charles said without hesitation. “If it works on me, it will work on him—”
“You’re pregnant, Charles. Anything we give you will also go to the child. We can’t take the risk.”
Fuck.
Unconsciously, his hand drifted to his stomach as he struggled for another solution.
“It's been scheduled for tomorrow. We’re going to start with human doses for sedation using propofol and fentanyl, and then monitor his pain responses throughout the operation. We'll up the dosage a little at a time if that happens to try and keep him as comfortable as we can.”
“Test his pain responses? How do you do that?”
“Normally with just a sternal rub along the chest. It's very uncomfortable and will cause movement in the body if there aren't enough meds to keep him under. Then we will adjust. We aren’t trying to hurt him on purpose.”
It sure sounded like they were, but Charles lamented that it seemed like a reasonable approach. For a moment he’d thought they were going to do something a lot worse to see if Max could feel pain.
They were trained for this, he reminded himself. Everyone was doing their best.
Everyone but himself, it felt like.
He didn't even know the name of that strange blue medicine he’d given Max so long ago, or what it was made of. It had helped him greatly, and Charles would give anything to have a vial of it now.
God, he should’ve paid more attention.
“There’s something else here that we aren't sure about, and I know this is hard, but I need you to tell me what we are looking at.”
Turning towards her, Charles nodded his head, dreading what she was about to show him.
Opening a photo on the tablet, she held it out for him to take. “This is around his tail.”
Charles gasped when he saw it, even if he didn’t know what it was. There was some kind of metal band around the base of Max's tail, almost too small for it, dried blood caked halfway down from where it was fastened.
“It’s not made out of any material we are familiar with, and it seems to be putting pressure on the bones—”
“Take it off,” Charles said without hesitation. “I have no idea what that is, but take it off!” His own tail fluffed up in response to looking at the image, Eldri almost in a state of shock. “That shouldn’t—that wasn’t there—”
“We tried, Charles.” Hannah put her hand on his thigh, “But we didn't want to risk any more harm to his tail when it wouldn't come loose. I've sent for one of the more experienced ortho docs to have a look at it and see what we can do to remove it without causing more damage.”
He was still at a loss for what it could be. Max had never worn anything like it while they were together, and Charles couldn't recall Alonso or Carlos wearing one either.
Thumb shaking, Charles accidentally swiped across the screen to another image of Max, this time his neck with the thick metal collar tight against his throat.
“What about this?” Charles asked.
“That was easier to remove. It’s off and I've had it sent for examination.”
At least that was something.
Giving the tablet back before he saw something else he couldn’t unsee, the Earthling ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair, unsure how much more he could take.
“I’ll make a note in his chart about the increased caloric requirement,” Hannah said, trying to get him to focus. “He’s on oxygen and still unconscious, but you can see him.”
Charles nodded stiffly, the weight in his chest making it hard to breathe. They stood together, and Hannah swiped her badge across the scanner, the beep of the security lock barely registering.
The door slid open with a quiet hiss, and they stepped inside.
The long hallway felt endless and the air smelled horrible, full of chemicals, sharp and clinical, but beneath it was something heavier—the lingering scent of blood, sweat, and suffering.
Charles' feet moved on their own, body numb, following Hannah’s lead in a bit of a trance. Medical staff moved quickly around them, weaving in and out of patient rooms, voices murmuring quietly as machines beeped and monitors hummed in rhythmic pulses. The pace of the facility was urgent but controlled—like a well-oiled machine.
They reached another set of double doors at the very end of the hall, this one requiring an additional level of clearance. Hannah swiped her badge across the panel, a small strip of light at the top of the reader turning green, and with a soft click, the doors unlocked.
Charles staggered the moment they stepped inside.
The smell hit him first.
A thick, overwhelming blend of antiseptic, medicine, and iron, blood and stale sweat clinging to the air. His breath shook as he inhaled slowly through the mouth, trying to steady himself, but it didn’t help. And he’d thought the hallway smelled bad.
The scent was cloying at his throat, forcing him to feel the reality of the room before he even laid eyes on Max again.
Moving forward before he could stop himself, the Earthling's legs carried him straight to the bedside, aching to be closer.
Max laid still, form looking smaller than it should've.
His skin was pale under the harsh white lights, almost a sickly gray, the bruises and healing wounds standing out in stark contrast. Covered only by a thin sheet and a blanket, pulled up to the middle of his bare chest, the Torossian's arms rested limply on either side of the bed.
Wires and tubes ran from his arms and underneath the sheet, connecting him to several machines monitoring his vitals, their steady beeping the only proof that he was still alive.
Charles sat down heavily in the chair beside the bed, tail wrapping tightly around the bed frame as he took it all in.
Max’s head was tilted slightly to the side, facing away from him, expression slack and peaceful in a way that felt forced. An oxygen mask covered his mouth and nose, fogging slightly with each labored breath. A thin bandage spanned around his neck, surely some kind of ointment treating the raw skin underneath where the collar had been.
Charles’ hands shook as he reached for the blanket, pulling it back slowly to look for the prince's hand, only for his breath to catch. There were restraints, thick, reinforced nylon straps securing Max’s torso, legs, and ankles to the bed, locking him down.
His Eldri rumbled in his skull, anger swift and consuming.
“What the fuck is this?” His voice was rough, eyes snapping up to Hannah. “Why is he tied down?”
There was too much fatigue in Hannah’s gaze. “We don’t know what kind of mental state he’ll be in when he wakes up,” she said carefully. “And as you said, Torossians have higher energy levels and use of ki. If he panics, he could hurt himself. Or someone else. Until we can assess his mental state, this is the safest option for everyone and it’s not up for debate.”
“These won’t hold him. Besides, I’m here. He won’t—”
“Don’t argue with me, Charles. I had to fight to not put on the handcuffs we would normally use. His wrists clearly need the break.”
Charles’ jaw clenched, teeth grinding together. His mind understood it, but that didn't mean his heart didn’t hate it. Max had probably spent weeks—months—chained like an animal with the state of his wrists and bruised body.
Now even here, he was treated like a beast.
“When will he wake up?” he asked softly.
Hannah glanced at her tablet again, scrolling through a few screens. “We did a CT and an MRI that both came back with normal brain activity, or as normal as we can assess it for his species. The lumbar puncture also didn't indicate any increased pressure or bleeding. While his injuries are severe, they are treatable,” she reassured him. “It’s up to him when he wakes up, but right now, his body clearly needs rest. You need rest.”
He felt underwater, hearing a bit fuzzy, thumb brushing gently over the back of Max’s bandaged hand, tracing the bruised skin with delicate care, trying to will warmth back into him.
He was so cold.
“I can call you when he wakes—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Charles said sharply, voice rising over the quiet hum of the machines. Lifting his head, his gaze locked onto hers with unwavering intensity. “Are you really going to try and take me away from him?”
Hannah sighed, rubbing at the bridge of her nose, tucking the tablet under her arm. “You can stay. But on one condition.”
His attention had already returned to Max, grip tightening slightly as he threaded his fingers carefully through the prince’s much larger hand. The skin was rougher than he remembered, the callouses more pronounced, surely fighting every second of his captivity.
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, exhaustion threatened to pull him under after their long separation.
“What is the condition?” he asked, voice tired even to his own ears.
“You let my people take some blood and check on you and the baby,” she said, looking at him pointedly. “How long have you known?”
Charles froze, body stiffening at the thought of a needle getting anywhere near him.
He still hated needles.
Fingers squeezing Max’s hand just slightly, he didn’t like the idea of anyone poking at him, of more hands touching him, but Hannah was right. He’d been running on nothing but adrenaline and sheer force of will for so long that he’d barely let himself think about what all of this meant for his body, for the child he was carrying.
Finally, slowly, he sighed. “Okay,” he murmured, voice quiet, but resolute, ignoring her other question.
“I’ll have them come by later. For now . . . just breathe, Charles.”
The room was dark when Charles opened his eyes, the soft glow of the monitors and baseboard lighting supplying a nighttime ambiance.
He didn’t remember falling asleep.
His head was still resting against the edge of the bed, cheek warm from where it had been pressed against the thin sheets. His fingers—tangled with Max’s—had gone slightly numb from staying in the same position for too long.
Blinking groggily, he lifted his head, rolling his stiff shoulders. His back protested, aching from the awkward angle as he rubbed lightly at his side.
Max was still sleeping.
Not gone. Just sleeping.
His face, normally etched with tension or stubborn determination, was relaxed, breathing deep and steady under the mask. The rhythmic beep of the machines filled the quiet space, steady and reassuring, marking each breath and heartbeat.
Not even sure what they were all for, Charles was nonetheless grateful for their constant surveillance.
A sharp pressure twisted in his lower abdomen, and Charles grimaced. He needed to find a restroom. Now. His bladder ached, a telltale sign that he'd been asleep far longer than he thought.
It must've been hours, but at least Hannah had told him where to go.
Third door on the left when you exit Max’s room, she'd said. The brunette had even brought him a temporary access badge, allowing him to move freely in and out of Max’s room.
The suites in this wing didn't have their own restrooms—something to do with security or safety, though Charles wasn't exactly listening.
Regardless, he still had to make the trip.
The medical staff had also been by to complete his full prenatal workup while he was too exhausted to argue. They wanted to do an ultrasound as well, but he'd refused, wanting to wait until Max was better to do that together.
God. How was he even going to tell the prince?
What would he say? How would he react? Perhaps he should wait until Max was better to tell him the news.
Charles sighed, squeezing Max’s hand gently before carefully slipping his fingers free. He hesitated for half a second, unwilling to break the contact, but he had to move.
Standing, he stretched out his stiff legs, rolling his shoulders again as he stepped around the bed.
He'd only made it a few steps when he was stopped by a soft tug.
Charles frowned, looking down to see his tail still wrapped tightly around the bed’s railing, holding on, not wanting to leave.
He remembered those few moments when Max's tail acted on its own, much to the prince's great dismay. Smiling, Charles reached down and carefully unraveled his tail from the cold metal, flexing it once before moving toward the door.
He'd only be gone for a moment.
The hallway outside was quiet.
Most of the other rooms' lights were off, their doors closed, indicating the late hour. The quiet buzz of machines in distant rooms was the only real sound, aside from the soft whisper of the ventilation system.
Charles moved quickly, padding down the hall until he reached the restroom. The door slid open with a quiet hiss, and he stepped inside, immediately making his way to the stall.
Relief was instantaneous.
Charles rolled his eyes as he thought about how he already felt like he needed to use the restroom more, convincing himself that was just all in his head.
It was too early for that, or so he'd read, getting too overwhelmed too fast to do much research.
His pecs had also started to feel sore and tender, a fact which he refused to acknowledge.
He stretched his sore back as he finished washing his hands, Charles pressed a hand to his abdomen, feeling the tension still coiled there.
He lingered for a moment, standing by the sink.
Turning the water back on, he let the cool stream run over his fingers before cupping it in his palms and splashing it over his face. The shock of cold jolted him more awake, chasing away the last remnants of sleep clinging to him.
Straightening, he lifted his gaze to the mirror.
Hannah had brought him some fresh clothes earlier, the soft fabric a relief to the stiff, blood-soaked shirt he'd worn for hours.
He'd swallowed hard as he pulled the clean shirt over his head, the scent of detergent sharp in his nose, replacing the lingering metallic tang of dried blood that just wouldn't quite leave his skin. Hannah tried her best to not look at the slight swell of his abdomen while he was shirtless, but hadn’t done as good of a job as she thought she was.
Subtly was never her strong suit.
His reflection stared back at him from the mirror, and Charles took a deep breath. The shadows beneath his eyes, the slight flush in his cheeks, the way his dark curls were a little messier than usual—none of it was new.
But something else was.
The uncertainty and fear that had haunted him for weeks, the gnawing doubt that had threatened to consume him was gone. Because Max was here with him, and Charles could finally breathe, his Eldri much more settled now—
A guttural roar shattered the silence, the mirror rattling violently against the wall.
Charles gasped, stomach dropping as he whipped around toward the door. A sound like that—deep, raw, and feral—could only belong to one person.
“Max.” The name barely escaped his lips before he moved, instincts overriding thought flooding his mind.
He bolted from the bathroom, pulse pounding in his ears, feet slamming against the tile floor as he raced toward the source of the commotion. The scent of fresh blood hit him before he even reached the room.
By the time he got to Max’s door, the scene inside was complete pandemonium.
The bed was empty.
Max was on his feet, body charging at the scattering medical staff, blond tail fur bristling. The thick nylon restraints were snapped clean off their bases, frayed straps warped under the sheer force of his strength as the prince launched one of the medical team members towards the door to his room, their back sliding on the tiled floor until it collided with the wall.
Wires and tubes dangled from his arms, torn away in his struggle, crimson beads of blood rolling down his skin, staining the pristine white hospital gown that barely clung to his frame, untied and open.
Several staff members were fleeing the room, their panicked voices blending into the chaos. Others stood frozen, uncertain, hands raised in cautious gestures, their words and pleas for calm drowned beneath Max’s snarling fury.
Charles skidded to a halt just as Max turned. Their eyes met, and Charles’ entire body locked up.
Golden.
Max’s eyes were glowing, burning like twin suns, wild and dangerous, the raw power behind them crackling in the air around him. A deep, rolling growl rumbled from his chest, sharp canines bared, coiled like a beast cornered.
“Waar ben ik!?” [Where am I!?] Max spat, words coming out in sharp snaps of Torossian. His tail lashed behind him, the swish nearly cracking the bedside tray in half. “Laat me los!” [Release me!]
The walls shook as his rage boomed, sending a fresh shockwave of fear through the remaining staff still trying to flee the room.
What were they all doing in here anyway? There was no one but him when he'd left?
Charles rushed in and he completely ignored the wary stares of the medical staff still frozen in place, their nervous energy thick in the air.
His entire focus was on the panicked man in front of him.
Max stood tall—though crooked—his thin frame tense, muscles taut and his glowing golden eyes locked onto Charles, wild and unyielding. They were so different from the cerulean jewels that sent butterflies fluttering in his stomach, the ones he'd stared into for hours.
There was red pooling on the floor beneath him, surely from pulled stitches, IVs, and other fresh injuries that must be painful.
Lifting his hands in a slow, placating gesture, Charles kept his movements calm. “Max, hey,” he murmured, voice gentle but firm. “It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you here—”
Diving out of the way, Charles yelled as the prince launched the bedside table at him, sending it crashing out the open door into the hallway, metal clanking and scraping the floor.
“Max!” he shouted, standing back up, getting a little closer. “Max, it's me. It’s Charles. Hey, it's okay—you're okay.”
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
The only sound was the deep, unsteady panting of the Torossian prince as Max stared at him, unmoving, expression careful and dangerous.
Charles swallowed, heart pounding against his ribs, but he didn’t let his fear show.
Instead, he took another step closer.
Slow. Nice and easy.
“It’s okay, Max,” he repeated softly. “I’m here. I’m with you.”
For a moment something shifted in Max’s gaze, a flash of recognition, a twinge of fear, before he moved with lightning-fast speed. Lunging, weak arms snapped around him with an almost desperate force, and the Earthling gasped, entire body being yanked off his feet, pulled flush against Max’s sunken chest in panic.
Max’s grip was hard, but not as strong as it once was, his arm firm around Charles’ waist, body angled protectively—a shield between Charles and everyone else in the room.
The world tilted as Max pulled him along, walking them both backward, his grip never loosening, tail flicking in agitation as they reached the farthest corner of the room. Charles didn’t fight it or push away, doing his best not to stumble or fall with the awkward angle and tubes tripping his feet.
This wasn’t aggression, this was fear.
And for Max, fear meant control. It meant securing what mattered most.
The prince’s chest rumbled, a deep vibration reverberating against Charles’ back, his breathing still heavy, but slower now.
A voice, deep and rough, spoke to him. “Mijn Eldri.” [My Eldri]
Charles looked up, heart clenching at the way Max’s wild golden gaze softened when it met his. He understood this now when he hadn't before, knew what had happened and why.
This was Max's Oozaru, taken over when the prince couldn't handle anymore of the torment and unimaginable abuse. This was a defense mechanism, not savagery. It was protecting Max, protecting Charles as well, still recognizing him through the haze of how much pain he must've been in, standing in such a condition.
“Yes, Max,” he whispered, placing a palm on Max's sweaty cheek. “I'm an Eldri. Your Eldri.”
A chuff rumbled from the prince and Charles smiled as Max nuzzled his hair, inhaling deeply. Charles hoped his scent would calm Max's instincts, but that thought was short-lived.
The second a staff member moved, taking a single cautious step forward, Max turned to them and snarled. The sound was vicious this close, a warning that rattled through the room like a physical force.
Max lifted his free hand, fingers tensing—and a ball of dark blue ki flared to life in his palm, crackling ominously in the dim light.
His message was clear, and Charles swallowed.
“No, Max,” he tried to draw the prince's attention. “Don't look at them. Look at me.”
The room crackled with tension as Hannah bolted inside. Max reacted immediately, golden eyes snapping to her, muscles tensing as he turned and lifted his arm higher, palm aimed directly at her head.
A fresh surge of dark blue ki flared to life, dangerous, violent, the air around it distorting from sheer heat. Hands lifted, palms facing out, Hannah's breath was steady despite the very real possibility that Max could reduce her to nothing in an instant.
“No, Max.” Charles whispered urgently. He reached for Max’s arm, fingers wrapping firmly around his forearm still littered with remnants of torn IV tubing, the line dangling uselessly against his wrist. “These are my friends,” Charles continued, his grip tightening. “They’re here to help you. To help us.”
Max stood undeterred, ki still ready to be launched any moment.
“De mijne. Neem geen Eldri,” [Mine. Not take Eldri,] he said roughly.
Charles wasn't sure what that meant, but he needed to get a handle on this situation before someone got hurt.
The prince's chest shuddered, heavy breaths, his arm stilling against Charles’ touch. He wavered slightly and Charles followed the trembling of his arm, down past his hip.
Then he saw it, and his heart cracked in his chest.
The prince was standing slightly off-center, weight shifted in an unnatural stance. His right leg was bent at an awkward angle below the knee.
Throat closing, he realized that was the one that had healed wrong, the one that, even now, must've been screaming in agony under his weight, but Max was standing on it, holding himself tall.
Protecting Charles anyway.
Hannah didn’t miss it either. Her sharp gaze flickered over Max’s battered frame, usual snark absent, tone even and calm despite the danger still crackling in Max’s palm.
“Everyone out.”
Charles rubbed over Max's arm lightly, “they are going to leave now, Max. It's okay, just you and me.”
The medical staff listened, and one by one, they slowly backed away, eyes shifting between Max’s golden, unrelenting glare and the unstable energy still pulsing in his palm. The last staff member disappeared through the door, and the three of them were alone, tension remaining.
Charles’ thumb rubbed soothing circles on Max's scarred forearm, pulse pounding against his ribs, but he tried his best to keep his breathing slow.
“It’s okay, Max,” he said softly, though his fingers didn’t move from Max’s skin.
With a careful touch, he pressed against Max’s wrist, guiding his arm down, coaxing him away from an attack stance.
The blue energy flickered, before finally dying out in his palm, but Max’s gaze stayed locked on Hannah, a sharp mask of distrust not leaving his face, grip firm around Charles’ waist.
Charles swallowed, free hand ghosting over Max’s ribs, feeling the way they stuck out, bones showing under the skin where they hadn't before.
“This is one of my friends from Earth,” he whispered, voice gentle but insistent. “Remember? I told you about them many times . . . in our room.”
A moment of hesitation passed through Max’s gaze. A thread of something real that Charles clung to.
“A friend. She can help.” Charles said, rubbing his thumb up and down Max's forearm.
The prince stayed perfectly still. He didn’t raise his energy again, but he also didn’t loosen his grip on Charles. His stance stayed rigid, still angled protectively, golden eyes wary.
Charles had to try something else. Something that would get through the thick haze of fear and instinct still controlling Max.
Glancing behind him, he caught a clearer look at the thing wrapped tightly around Max’s tail. It looked barbaric. Thick, metallic, cruelly tight over the soft, sensitive appendage, pressing deep enough to leave angry red streaks in the blond fur as it lashed behind him.
It had to be excruciating.
A fresh wave of anger rolled through Charles, but he forced it down, wanting to be careful with Max.
“The thing on your tail,” he whispered, keeping his tone gentle. “Does it hurt?”
Max’s reaction floored him.
A sharp, whining sound tore from the prince’s throat, so pained and raw it sent a physical ache through Charles’ chest, Eldri starting to purr to try and soothe.
Max curled his tail away from him, tucking it behind his legs like he was trying to hide it.
Slowly, he covered it, palm pressing over the metal to shield it from sight. “Wilde niet,” [Didn’t want] he said, voice weak.
What?
Did that mean something about what the device was?
He didn’t know the words, but the way Max said them, so low and defeated, made a whine come from his own throat, hand squeezing Max's hand. After a beat, the prince's lips curled slightly in something close to a snarl, grip over his tail tightening.
“Een valse bewering van de demon.” [A false claim by the demon.]
He desperately wished he spoke Torossian—wished he could understand and piece together the story behind Max’s barely-contained rage and apparent humiliation. But even without translation, it was clear Max hated whatever it was.
“Can we take it off?” he asked gently. “Do you want to take it off?”
Max’s gaze snapped back to him, a hesitant, cautious kind of hope there. “T–Take . . . off? ” the prince repeated.
Charles smiled at him, understanding the words. “Yes, my prince,” he assured him. “Will you let my friends try and take it off?”
The slight, involuntary twitch of his tail was all the answer Charles needed.
“My top specialist is here to take a look at it and see what can be done. He'd only just started his inspection when Max woke up.”
So that's what had happened.
“I need him on the bed, Charles,” Hannah said carefully.
Charles nodded, keeping his focus on Max as he continued to rub slow, calming circles into the prince’s arm. “Max,” he said gently. “My friends want to see if they can take it off, okay? But you need to lay back down—”
The words barely left his mouth before Max growled. His tail flicked sharply, muscles bunching as Max moved, stepping back away from the bed, his grip around Charles’ waist tightening.
Charles staggered slightly, forced further into the corner of the room as Max positioned himself between him and Hannah, stumbling lightly on his right leg. The prince’s breath was warm against his skin, heavy and uneven.
The tension rolling through Max’s form, the terror hiding beneath the sharp edges of his snarls was heartbreaking as the prince pressed them into the corner, grunting while putting more weight on his leg.
This wasn’t just about the bed.
Max had spent so long feeling helpless, days if not weeks spent bound, restrained, and tormented, that even when surrounded by people who only wanted to help, the mere suggestion of laying down, or making himself vulnerable, was enough to set him off.
Biting back the mist behind his eyes, Charles lifted a hand and pressed his palm against Max’s cheek, touch feather-light to draw his attention. Golden eyes snapped to his, but the growl softened, wild tension in his frame easing by the smallest fraction.
“I can lay with you,” he promised. “I’ll be here the whole time.”
Max’s eyes flashed slightly, pupils dilating just a bit as his fingers flexed around Charles’ waist.
Turning toward Hannah, Charles’ gaze was pleading. “Can I get in the bed with him?”
She studied them for a moment, then nodded, lowering her hands by her sides in a show of non-threat.
Charles exhaled softly and turned back to Max, thumb stroking gently along his cheekbone, sunken cheeks making his eyes mist even more. “I’ll lay with you,” he repeated, softer and almost intimate.
His Eldri pulsed faintly in the back of his neck, sending waves of reassurance through their tethered bond, urging Max to believe him.
“They want to help,” he whispered. “Please, Max. Let them try and help.”
Max didn’t move at first.
His golden eyes remained wary, grip still firm like at any moment he might be forced to fight again, and Charles didn’t let go either. He kept his palm resting against Max’s cheek, fingers light, voice nothing more than a whisper between them.
“I’ll be right here. It will feel so much better to have it off, yeah? Let us try to take it off?”
Max swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. His gaze flickered once toward the bed, and once toward Hannah, before finally settling back on Charles. Slowly, reluctantly, the prince shifted his weight, turning toward the bed once more.
“You stay,” Max commanded.
“I stay,” the Eldri answered, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye.
The grip around Charles’ waist remained as the prince guided them both back, never once allowing Charles to leave his space. Charles followed, letting himself be pulled as Max sat on the edge of the bed, his tail twitching slightly, muscles still coiled.
Hannah took a careful step closer, movements slow. “I need him to lay on his side, facing you,” she instructed. “Back to me so I can get a look.”
Okay. He could do this.
“Max. Can you lay down? Let's lay down together.”
The prince tensed, tail curling slightly in distress. Charles understood him; the idea of turning his back—of exposing any part of himself—was a demand Max wasn’t ready to meet.
“I’ll be right here,” he repeated softly, tilting his head so Max’s golden eyes stayed on him. “I’ll be with you.”
A long, weighted silence stretched between them, and Max exhaled, deep and slow. Then he complied, carefully, lowering himself onto the mattress, still hesitant and full of deeply ingrained caution, but he went with Charles’ guidance.
Charles followed, shifting onto his side as Max curled around him, arms wrapping tightly around his frame.
The weight of him was overwhelming, and Charles fought back a sob as he couldn’t help but compare how the prince used to feel around him, body massive next to his own, now less imposing.
Despite his still underlying strength, Max was careful with him like he was afraid to let go, unsure what would happen if he did, fingers tangling in the back of Charles’ shirt.
Charles knew that feeling. Knew it well. So he did the only thing he could.
He curled closer, allowing himself to be held, letting Max feel the comfort of his presence, missing this so dearly over the last few months. Charles let out a soft, deep purring sound, letting his Eldri come forward without a fight, instincts guiding him in what to do and how to best calm the agitated Oozaru.
A slow and steady vibration, rolling from his chest like a distant hum, wrapped around them both in the quiet of the room.
Max inhaled sharply, body jerking as his breath puffed against Charles’ temple before a soft rumble responded. Shaky at first, then stronger, the prince’s own purr rose up from deep within his chest, hesitant, unsure—then inevitable.
Smiling, the Eldri’s tail curled up between them, the tip brushing lightly along Max’s cheek. The prince's arms tightened around him, purr deepening, nose nudging gently against Charles’ hair, inhaling deeply.
This was good, he could try and keep Max calm while Hannah worked.
Charles let his fingers rub careful, soothing circles against Max’s back, avoiding any bandaged areas under the open gown, feeling the way he gradually relaxed—not entirely , but enough.
Hannah whispered quietly to the specialist who Charles now recognized as the man Max had thrown out the door earlier. He looked shaken but composed, eyeing the bed with extreme caution.
Behind Max, the air shifted as they finally moved to begin their work. Charles saw them out of the corner of his eye, but he kept his attention on Max.
Metal tools clicked and whirred to life behind, the sharp buzz of some kind of cutting tool filling the otherwise quiet room.
Max flinched at the sound.
His tail twitched violently, trying to coil away from the doctor, but Charles’ palm was already there—steadying, grounding, rubbing gentle circles over the tip of the blond appendage, trying his best to keep it steady for Hannah.
The fur felt so coarse, not maintained for many weeks, probably too painful to thoroughly clean.
If Max was even given such a luxury.
There was a sharp tug on the prince's tail and he snapped his head back, growling loudly at Hannah and the specialist who froze in place.
“It’s okay,” Charles whispered, against Max’s temple. “They aren’t trying to hurt you. It will be off soon.”
Max grunted a pained sound, pressing his face back against Charles’ throat. His breath was warm, the deep rise and fall of his chest brushing against Charles’ own with each exhale.
Behind them, the specialist worked quickly, cutting through the barbaric metal band wrapped around Max’s tail in small sections.
The device was even worse up close.
Thick, jagged barbs were embedded into Max’s golden fur, the metal almost burned into his skin, edges fused from what must've been weeks of constant constriction.
It was horrible.
Unimaginably excruciating when Charles considered how someone just squeezing his tail made him want to throw up.
Charles swallowed back a surge of fury.
There was no doubt this was Jos’ doing, forcing Max to endure that level of agony. He deserved to burn.
Max whined softly against him, tail twitching as the metal began to give way, the cutting tool slicing through the last of the fused edges. Charles felt the light vibration in his hand as he held the tail still.
He refocused, tightening his hold, voice dropping into something softer and reassuring.
“Almost there,” he encouraged. “Just relax, okay? It’ll be off soon. I'm right here, right here with you.”
Giving a low, rattling exhale against his skin, the prince’s grip flexed once around Charles’ waist before loosening slightly.
This was taking forever, Charles’ own breathing unsteady with the precarious position he was in.
“Thank you,” the Eldri whispered, drawing Max's attention away from the loud noise of the cutting tool. “For keeping him safe. For keeping us safe.”
Chuffing, Max ran his nose along the column of Charles’ neck, a small satisfied noise coming from the prince. He wasn't sure why, but Charles felt the need to recognize Max's Oozaru directly, his auburn tail flitting in appreciation as well.
“I'm sorry I didn't understand before.”
Max let out a discontented whine at the tone of Charles’ voice, laving his tongue out over the hollow spot behind Charles' ear, before purring again.
Charles smiled, running his fingers through Max's hair.
Apart from almost killing him with a bedside tray, the prince was adorable like this.
A final snap of metal sounded—breaking the moment—followed by a sharp yank as the specialist pulled the band away, the embedded barbs tearing free from Max’s sensitive tail. The regal Torossian roared , a full-bodied, gut-wrenching sound that shook the bed, rattled the equipment, and sent a shockwave of power rippling through the room, suppressed energy being released.
Charles shivered, ears ringing from such close proximity but held on, arms wrapped tightly around Max’s trembling frame, tail still rubbing soothingly along his cheek, and the tension in Max’s body broke. His muscles sagged, grip on Charles going slack, the fire in his golden eyes flickering, before finally fading.
His exhausted chest collapsed against the bed, weight pressing fully into Charles as unconsciousness claimed him once more. Charles swallowed, breathing hard, fingers still tangled in Max’s hair, his own pulse pounding in his ears.
For an extended moment, no one moved.
Hannah and the specialist frozen behind them. Making eye contact, she stepped back, shaking her hands out from the tension. “It’s off,” she said in disbelief. “I need to treat and bandage his tail. It looks badly infected.”
Stretching his neck up to see, Charles almost retched.
The prince's tail had foul smelling pockets of infection from the barbs, blood and pus flowing freely into his fur. Some of the spikes were even bent or twisted at odd angles, surely making the removal even more painful, one broken off and still embedded inside.
Charles nodded to her quickly, then pressed his forehead to Max’s, purr slowing but not stopping, fingers still tracing gentle patterns along Max’s back while they worked.
He was safe, and maybe now that they were together again, the real healing could begin.
Chapter 54: More to Lose
Summary:
Max wakes up in a strange place with a familiar face to greet him.
Notes:
There is art with this chapter!!! Chapter Art
Chapter warnings: Soft tender moments that may cause uncontrollable sobbing and joy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
- PTO base ship -
The throne room had dissolved into complete chaos.
Officers shouted over one another, scouters blinking furiously, boots pounding against polished tile as soldiers fanned out through every available exit. Jos was a storm at the center of it all, barking orders, gesturing wildly, his voice echoing like thunder as he demanded an immediate ship-wide search for the missing prince.
And yet, George didn’t move.
He stood rooted in place, eyes locked on the empty space between the columns—on the spot where Max had been just moments before. The air still hummed with residual energy, the scent of blood and scorched ki thick in his nostrils. The shackles bolted into the pillars were swinging gently, the subtle clink of metal echoing through the massive hall like a lingering ghost of what had just happened.
It wasn’t possible.
You can’t just fall through someone.
One moment Max had been there—chained, breathing, bleeding—and the next, George’s ki blade had passed through him like he was made of light.
Like a projection. An illusion. A trick.
And then . . . he was just gone.
The commander’s jaw clenched, shoulders tight in disbelief and the cold whisper of something darker. Behind him, Carlos’ body still lay between the columns, unmoving. The pool of red beneath him had spread across the polished tiles, stark and gruesome. A choice he hadn’t wanted to make, but one he had made all the same.
“—ander. Commander!"
The thundered order snapped him out of his haze, ears ringing as Jos’ voice surged over the chaos. George blinked, slowly turning toward the sound of the emperor’s rage.
Jos was floating just above the floor now, tail lashing behind him like a striking whip. His eyes blazed with cold fury, and one clawed finger was pointed directly at the empty space where Max had once been.
“I was assured,” the warlord hissed, “that all our security measures and protocols were impenetrable after your last upgrades.” His lip curled, teeth flashing. “So tell me, Commander George—how exactly do you intend to explain this? ”
George swallowed hard.
Straightening slowly, he suppressed the tight clench in his chest. “I need to get to the control room,” he said. “If Prince Max left the ship somehow, the perimeter sensors would’ve picked up the breach. I can check the logs.”
Red eyes narrowed, floating a little closer. “You’re stalling.”
“I’m doing my job,” George countered. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
The Elysian didn't have it in him to put up that false front anymore. Not after what had just happened.
The frost demon snarled low and guttural. In a blur, Jos closed the space between them, one clawed hand snapping forward and wrapping around the front of George’s armor, gripping him just below his neck.
“Then let’s not waste any time,” Jos hissed, lifting them both into the air and shooting through the double doors and down the hall in a streak of purple light.
George couldn’t even steady himself as they streaked through the corridors, plowing through scrambling soldiers and cutting corners at breakneck speed.
Jos landed forcefully in the control room, tossing him forward with a jerk. George caught himself against the edge of the main terminal and immediately started typing, fingers flying over the interface as screens lit up around him.
“Don’t waste my time, Commander,” Jos warned, hovering behind him. “If I find out you were part of this . . . ”
George didn’t respond, holding back an eye-roll.
That notion didn't even warrant a response, the possibility absurd.
Was Jos expecting him to say yes? That he’d helped the monkey escape just so George could see the look on the emperor’s face? Clearly, George wasn't wrong in thinking Jos was too attached, and the longer he thought about it, the more resentment festered.
His eyes scanned the data flowing across the screen, accessing the internal sensors first—no signs of unusual movement past the throne room. Then the external logs—nothing breached.
No doors opened. No pods launched.
There were no movements in or around his cell, and no one in or out of the Torossian suite.
He felt a flicker of doubt . . . until he remembered.
The band.
George tapped into the failsafe tracker embedded in the prince’s tail band. It was encrypted, a ghost signal locked behind layers of security for emergencies only and part of the modifications the emperor had requested. He wasn't taking any chances with the slippery prince and it seems he was correct to assume the worst.
He entered his override code and a blinking dot appeared on the star map.
Fucking hell. At least he had something.
Zooming in, George’s eyes widened.
The signal was far.
Beyond the outer rings of Jos’ territory. Past the scrub worlds, even beyond the unclaimed sectors. The collar was pinging from a small planet on the edge of the galactic map, an unremarkable blue sphere that had once been logged, scouted, and discarded as worthless.
Earth.
That was impossible . . . it would take weeks and weeks of travel to bridge that distance. Max couldn’t possibly have traversed it in a matter of minutes. George’s lips parted slightly, heart hammering.
“Well?” Jos snapped, shoving him out of the way.
“He’s not on the ship,” he said. “But the tracker in his tail band . . . it’s active.”
“Where.” Jos narrowed his eyes.
George tapped the screen. The planet rotated slowly, its blue and green surface a soft glow among the surrounding stars. “Here,” he said grimly. “A class-three planet. It wasn’t even marked for extraction when it was first surveyed many months ago. Barely passed our energy threshold.”
“Where,” the warlord ground out.
“Earth.”
Jos stared at the screen, little blue ball spinning around, tail going eerily still.
“And how is that possible, Commander,” he hissed. “How could the prince go from standing in front of me to galaxies away in a matter of moments? How could you have possibly failed me again!?”
“I—” George opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, the truth spinning just out of reach.
“HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE!?” Jos bellowed, voice shaking the walls as a violent crack split through the air.
With a roar, Jos’ tail lashed out, obliterating the console behind them in a flash of sparks and metal. The display screens shattered, smoking debris raining down on startled officers as they ran away from the explosion of rage.
The control room went silent save for the hum of backup systems kicking in. The smell of scorched wires and melting plastic filled the space, acrid and heavy.
Jos didn’t even look at the wreckage. “Set our course for Earth. Immediately.”
What?
They were less than two days away from Axiun, their next purge destination. Their buyer was already disgruntled at the existing delay, and pushing it back by the several months it would take to travel to Earth and back would only make things worse. Another diplomatic mess for George to clean up.
The sale had already been delayed by Jos hunting the stars in search of Max, forcing the PTO ship off course to Aston and then Namek to retrieve his Prince. And now he wants to delay it even further?
George had had enough.
Enough of the games, the lies, the violence, the destruction, the blood.
Something inside him finally snapped.
“How could I have failed?” he shouted with fury. “How could you !?”
The room went still.
Jos turned to face him fully, expression dangerous, but George just didn’t care.
Not anymore.
“You talk about weakness, about not being able to do what is necessary, but you’re blind to your own failure!” George’s hands curled into fists at his sides, voice rising with every word. “I have stood by your side longer than anyone, built your empire, buried your enemies. I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked of me!”
He took a step forward, teeth bared, rage pulsing hot through his veins.
“And yet, you call me weak? A failure?!” he spat. “This sick obsession you have with that fucking monkey has clouded your judgment from the beginning! From the moment you sent me to steal him from his bedchamber!”
Jos’ aura flared, a wave of purple energy crackling outward, but George didn’t stop.
“You destroyed Merc!” he shouted. “You turned an entire profitable planet into a graveyard and destroyed half our fleet just to stroke your ego. You ruined our trade alliance with the 9th Sector—do you even realize what that cost us?”
His voice broke slightly, the weight of decades crashing down around him. The pain and fear and doubt.
“All of our transactions are weeks behind because of the detour you insisted on for Namek, and now, you want to chase after Max again, burning another trail through galaxies because your pride was wounded? Because your broken toy got away!?”
George’s chest heaved, breath ragged, the heat of his words still hanging thick in the room.
“If anyone here is weak,” he growled, voice low and cutting, “it’s you.”
The silence that followed was suffocating, and George knew whatever happened next, there was no going back from this.
He'd let out decades of bottled up resentment, years of torment and anger out on the most powerful being in the universe.
The blow came before he even saw it, that lizard-like tail snapping forward so fast it was a blur. One second he was on his feet, chest still heaving from his outburst, and the next, the scaly coil was wrapped tight around his neck, lifting him clean off the floor.
The breath was choked out of him instantly.
His boots scraped at the air, the only sound his strangled gasp as his fingers clawed at the thick, cold muscle constricting around his throat. His vision blurred at the edges, a high whine building in his ears.
All around the control room, the crew stood frozen, deathly silent.
Technicians, officers, tactical analysts—all stared wide-eyed, caught between stunned amazement and pure horror as their emperor dangled his own commander in the air like a toy about to be snapped in half.
Jos didn’t even glance at the others, eyes staying locked on George’s face, cold and glowing with fury.
“Set. Our. Course. For. Earth,” he said again, each syllable coated in venom.
The technicians at the nav station scrambled to obey, fingers flying over controls as new coordinates were locked in. The main star map shifted, Earth’s position highlighted in red, target already marked.
Jos tightened his grip slightly, just enough to make George’s eyes bulge as he struggled for breath. The frost demon’s tail pulsed with indigo ki, humming with deadly energy.
“Do not mistake my leniency for weakness,” Jos said darkly, voice devoid of emotion. “Clearly, I have been too lax with you . . . “
He leaned forward just enough for his breath to ghost along George’s cheek. “There will be no retrieval of the Torossian prince this time.”
“I will handle the whore and the prince myself. Anymore outbursts from you, and you will join them.”
_____
- Earth -
Light.
Harsh and blinding, it seared through Max’s swollen eyelids, making it impossible to sink back into the comfort of unconsciousness. A deep, pulsing ache settled in his skull, and when he tried to shift, to move away from the glare, his limbs refused to obey. They felt heavy, weighed down by something unseen, muscles sluggish and unresponsive.
Max gritted his teeth, frustration curling in his chest as he forced one eye open, instantly regretting it. The brightness burned, making his vision blur, and for a long moment all he could do was breathe, slow and measured, until his senses adjusted enough to take in his surroundings.
Everything was wrong.
The walls weren’t metal. The ceiling wasn’t lined with exposed pipes or cold, unfeeling panels of reinforced alloy. The familiar hum of PTO engines was absent.
Instead, the only sound was the soft, rhythmic beeping of odd machines beside him, steady and unobtrusive, accompanied by the low murmur of air circulation that smelled too clean, like fresh linen and some kind of chemical.
There was something across his nose and mouth. Not his muzzle, but a clear mask of some kind.
Poison, he thought. It had to be the reason he was feeling so weak.
Panic flared in his gut, a deep-rooted instinct clawing its way up his spine as he forced himself to move, to test his restraints. His fingers twitched against the covering over him, expecting the bite of metal cuffs or the cold press of energy dampeners, but there was nothing.
No bindings locking him in place, no chains digging into his wrists, no weight pinning him down.
His right hand curled into the fabric beneath him, an odd texture, gripping it tightly as his mind struggled to process the unfamiliar sensation of softness beneath his fingertips. The bed he lay on wasn’t a metal slab, wasn’t a cold floor or something else designed for efficiency over comfort.
It was real, made of something that didn’t immediately send pain shooting through his already battered body.
His breathing came faster as he struggled to raise a hand, unable to remove the cover over his mouth.
With great effort, the prince turned his head, scanning the room. The walls were smooth and rounded at the edges, lacking the stark, utilitarian sharpness he had grown used to. The lights were bright but not harsh, their placement recessed rather than blaring directly into his eyes. There were no cameras hidden in the corners—or at least none that he could identify—and no dull red glow of surveillance drones watching his every move.
This wasn’t the medical bay or the clinic aboard Jos’ flagship.
It wasn’t the testing facility for that matter, or anywhere else he recognized.
Had Jos taken him off ship? What fresh horrors awaited him here?
The unknown sent a cold jolt through him, his chest tightening with something dangerously close to fear, but he forced it down and shoved it into the same place he had buried every other useless emotion.
He'd survived this long. He could survive a little longer.
But new memories came flooding back, ripping through him.
The throne room. George. Carlos.
Carlos moving.
Carlos choosing.
Carlos bleeding.
Max’s stomach twisted violently, a sharp pain flaring beneath his ribs like his body remembered the moment just as vividly as his mind. He'd watched it happen, had felt the finality of it even before the killing blow landed.
The break in the fragile, fraying thread that had connected them as honorary brothers, snapping under the weight of betrayal and loyalty and choices that could never be unmade.
And now Carlos was gone.
Dead in the commander's arms, killed for standing between him and George, for choosing a side that was never his to choose.
And Max . . . Max was the only one left.
The last of his people.
The final disgrace to a once-proud race, a shame to his bloodline, a failure to every Torossian who'd come before him. His throat tightened, blue eyes flicking toward the accelerating beep of some kind of monitor behind him, the sound indifferent to the war raging inside his chest.
He should be dead.
He should've died on that ship, on that floor, in the chains Jos had forced onto him. He'd spent weeks waiting for it, expecting it, bracing for the moment the emperor finally took from him what little remained.
But Jos was never going to let him go. That was clear.
So he'd begged George instead, recognizing the pain in his eyes. The commander clearly had some kind of relationship with Carlos, and Max was momentarily jealous that George got to hold Carlos as he died, gaining the closure the prince so desperately wanted for himself.
He'd give anything to hold Charles’ hand one more time, even in death.
Was that the answer? Was he dead? Was this hell?
He'd watched as George plunged his ki blade deep into his chest, yet he felt nothing.
Was that what dying felt like? Did it feel like nothing?
Whatever happened, he was here. Wherever here was.
Max’s fingers twitched as he reached for the mask over his face, arm finally cooperating. The smooth material resisted slightly before slipping free, cool air hitting his dry lips as he took a slow, shaky breath.
Everything felt heavy and unresponsive, like he was moving through water. Even his thoughts were sluggish, blurred at the edges, reality uncertain.
He blinked slowly, trying to focus.
Something warm surrounded his left hand, gentle yet firm. Some kind of restraints maybe? A cuff around his palm?
Worried, he turned his head, trying to see with his one, non-swollen eye, expecting steel cuffs or another cruel method of control.
But his lungs froze when he saw it. When he saw him.
Charles.
Max’s throat tightened, heart stuttering as his gaze landed on the Earthling seated beside him. Charles was slumped in a chair, his head resting lightly against entwined hands– their entwined hands, their fingers laced together–his breath slow and steady in sleep.
He looked exhausted, dark lashes resting against pale cheeks, freckles faint beneath the dim glow of the machines. His brown hair was slightly messy, strands curling against his forehead, his body relaxed but still leaning toward Max, drawn to him even in sleep.
He was just as beautiful as the day he'd left him, fleeing from a monster unmasked.
Swallowing hard, pulse thrumming, Max willed his fingers to move.
Please.
He squeezed Charles’ hand, weak but intentional, needing to feel that touch, that peace once more before the cruel illusion disappeared like all the others. A shaky breath escaped him as his thumb brushed over the back of Charles’ hand, tracing the familiar texture of baby-soft skin beneath his too calloused fingers and the delicate ridges of his knuckles.
A sad smile tugged at his cracked lips, discomfort in his swollen cheek as his eyes stung, squeezing a little harder.
Stay.
Charles stirred, a soft inhale breaking the silence as he blinked sluggishly, shifting against the chair. The Earthling bolted upright, green eyes locking onto his, and Max forgot how to breathe. The Eldri’s fingers tightened around his palm, grounding him, holding him here.
Dream or death—whatever this was, wherever he was—it felt so real.
“Max,” Charles whispered, voice thick with relief, like he'd feared this moment wouldn’t come. “You’re awake.”
Inhaling, Max's chest felt like he'd been stabbed a thousand times over, emotions clawing at his throat. His grip flexed around Charles’ hand, fingers aching with how much he needed to hold on.
He swore they were broken too at some point, unsure if they still were and he just couldn’t feel it.
Slowly, he pulled the Earthling’s hand toward him, pressing a firm, purposeful kiss to the back of Charles’ hand, letting his dry lips linger for just a moment.
He needed this, even if it wasn't real. Just a little longer. Just one more second to get him through whatever awaited him.
Missing his mate came in waves, and right now, he was drowning.
“Charlie,” he murmured, eyes fluttering shut, voice a broken whisper.
He was so scared that when he opened them again, Charles would be gone, this gift stolen away from him by the darkness. Breathing shallow around a sharp pain in his ribs, something soft brushed against his wrist.
Max’s brow furrowed, confusion creeping in as he opened his eyes, expecting to see his tail betraying him with its usual rebellious actions.
But it wasn’t his tail.
It was auburn fur, wrapped gently around his arm, curling in a way that was far too familiar in his nightmares.
The breath he'd just taken shattered in his lungs, and his pained smile dropped. A violent grimace twisted his expression, and a choked sob broke from his throat before he could stop it. His fingers trembled, chest tightening to the point of pain, the cruel weight of it slamming into him like a falling star.
He knew it was too good to be true.
His Charles didn't have a tail. This was just another fractured, delirious vision conjured by his dying mind. Maybe he was dying after all, on the throne room floor with Carlos. Maybe this was his last moment before the end.
If so, then so be it.
Max’s throat burned as he turned his gaze toward the ceiling, vision blurring with unshed tears.
“Waarom moet je mij zo kwellen?” [ Why must you torment me like this?] he whispered to the goddess. Tears burned down his cheeks, slipping hot and unrelenting down skin far too scarred, far too undeserving. His fingers twitched against the specter Charles’, gripping too tight, too desperate. “Laat mij maar doodgaan.” [ Just let me die.]
“Max.” The voice was soft, familiar.
A warm touch pressed gently against his wet cheek, fingers feather-light and comforting in a way that sent a shiver through him. His skin tingled beneath the contact, bruising fresh, and his breath hitched as he opened his eyes again.
The Earthling was still there, looking at him with an expression so tender, it sent a fresh wave of confusion through his already frayed mind. His palm was real, cupping his face, keeping him in a reality Max wasn’t sure he could trust.
“Hey,” Charles whispered, thumb brushing over the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Max blinked against the swelling in his face.
Safe?
What did that mean?
Because surely when he opened his eyes this time, Charles would be gone, his warm green eyes replaced by menacing red ones. He would see the damp, suffocating darkness of his cell or the frigid opulence of the throne room. Feel the weight of shackles around his wrists, biting into his skin.
But when he turned back and looked past Charles, he didn’t see cold steel walls, blinking rapidly waiting for the change. He saw the same soft lighting, smooth, rounded corners and a bed instead of a frozen floor.
“Am I . . . ” his voice cracked. “Am I dead?"
That had to be it.
He'd finally succumbed, George putting him out of his misery; his body finally failing him after years of abuse, after months of pain, after watching Carlos fall to the floor in front of him, leaving him alone with nothing but the weight of his bloodline on his shoulders.
But that couldn’t be right either.
His soul was too burdened, too stained with failure for the goddess to ever accept him, to let him rest with Charles in the afterlife.
This had to be a trick. It had to be.
Charles’ lips parted, a mist gathering at the corners of his green eyes. “No,” he whispered. “You’re alive. I’m here with you.”
“But . . . ” the prince's voice shook, barely audible, grip tightening on the fabric beneath him.
“You’re dead,” he rasped. “I saw you. Carlos showed me from his scouter—your energy—it didn’t register. You weren’t breathing—”
Charles shook his head, palm never leaving Max’s tender face. His fingers were warm. Real. Soft, unlike the harsh, calloused grip of guards or the sterile touch of medical officers who only ever saw him as an imposition, a burden to keep alive.
Carefully, Charles wiped away the wetness on Max’s cheeks, avoiding the sources of pain on his skin.
Max wasn’t even sure why his face hurt.
“Carlos let me go, Max,” Charles whispered. “I—”
Max barely heard him, a worse thought crashing into him, sharp and terrifying.
If Carlos wasn’t lying when he said he’d let him go . . . Then that meant—
“Why did you come back?” he rushed out, desperation tightening his throat. “If he let you go, you were safe ,” he whispered harshly. “Away from here. Away from me.” His breath hitched violently, panic tightening around his ribs, crushing him from the inside, legs twisting in the sheets.
"Go, Charles.” His voice was almost pleading now. "You need to run!"
But even as the words left his lips, his fingers clamped around Charles’ wrist, holding him there, grip tight and desperate, refusing to let go even as his own body shook. His instincts screamed at him to stay close to their mate but his foremind knew he needed to push Charles away, keep him far from the horrors that had nearly killed him.
A sharp, shrill beep pierced the moment.
Max flinched, entire body snapping into high alert. One of the monitors beside him flashed red, its rhythmic beeping turning into a rapid, erratic warning. The sound sent a jolt of panic, adrenaline crashing over his exhaustion.
An alarm of some kind.
Guards would come.
George would be alerted and Jos . . . They would find Charles and take him away. Hurt him or worse.
The prince heard footsteps then, and the door across the room slid open, a woman stepping inside, followed closely by two men.
Max’s head snapped to the door, Oozaru screaming at him, blood roaring in his ears as he forced his battered body upright in the bed, pulling Charles closer to him. Pain flared in his ribs, leg, arm . . . everywhere, sharp and punishing, but he ignored it.
He needed to move. Needed to get up. To—
“Max—hey—it’s okay,” Charles’ voice rushed out, hand tightening around Max’s as he moved closer to the bed. “They’re not here to hurt you.”
That was the last thing he was worried about.
They could do whatever they wanted to him, but Max wouldn't let them near Charles.
He tried to stand, but unbearable pain shot up his right leg, a yell escaping him when he put pressure on it, collapsing back against the bed.
Okay, he couldn’t stand or really sit up, but he had to do something.
The two guards were dressed strangely, wearing all white with something silver around their necks. Even injured, Max could easily dispose of them.
Eyes darting between them, his tail lashed against the sheets in warning, free palm raised and ready, ki just starting to crackle around his fingertips. The shock collar was gone now, and nothing was stopping him from gathering his energy other than pure exhaustion.
If he couldn’t move, this was all he had to defend them with. It had to be enough.
Throwing him off, Charles climbed on the bed, hand moving up to rest lightly on his outstretched forearm, voice quiet but urgent. “Max, listen to me.” He squeezed his hand once. “You’re not on the PTO ship anymore. You don't have to be scared of this place.”
But . . . that didn’t make any sense. He'd been there? He'd felt the chains, the damp walls, the burn of Jos’ laughter scraping against his ears, and the rough feel of ice under his tongue.
The thirst. The hunger.
“I didn’t come to you,” Charles continued. “I brought you to me.”
Max turned his gaze to him, eyes blown wide. “Brought me . . . ? Where? How?”
“I wished for you, Max. I brought you home to me. Remember, I told you about the legend of the orbs on Earth? If someone found all seven, you could be granted a wish for anything you wanted.” Nodding fervently while he talked, Charles’ green eyes were unwavering.
“I found them, Max. I found them and I wished for you to be brought to Earth. To me.”
Max’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might break through his ribs and fly away. Before he could find the words, the woman—tall, light-skinned, sharp-eyed—stepped closer and spoke, his hand jerking back up in defense.
“My name’s Hannah,” she said evenly. “You’re on Earth, in my medical facility. We’re treating your injuries as best we can, and there is no cause for alarm.”
A medical facility?
On Earth?
Max blinked, the words not finding meaning to him, almost like they were spoken in a language he'd forgotten how to understand. His mouth opened, then closed, no sound escaping, grip on Charles’ hand tightening again.
If he was in a medical facility, then why wasn't he in a healing tank? Where were the scanners and tissue patchers and standard equipment?
And what the fuck was that noise?
“Prince Max.” The woman spoke again, making him pause. “Your heart rate is too high, triggering the alarm on the monitor behind you. With your permission, I’d like to approach the bed and check the systems, but I need you to try and stay calm. Take some deep breaths.”
Max’s eyes flickered to Charles before shifting back to her.
Hannah.
That name was familiar. It meant something. His brows furrowed slightly as the memory surfaced—soft conversations in the quiet of his private quarters, Charles telling of the people he'd left behind, the ones he missed.
Hannah was one of Charles’ Earth friends.
A scientist, an engineer—something brilliant, something that had made Charles speak of her with admiration. Max swallowed, throat dry, then licked his lips before giving a slow, measured nod.
Anything to stop that horrid racket on his sensitive ears.
“May I approach?” she asked, tone carefully neutral.
He gave another small nod, wariness still keeping his muscles coiled, even as he tried to obey her request and focus on breathing.
She moved slowly, each step calculated, like trying not to startle a wounded animal. The two men who'd entered with her remained stationed near the door, their postures relaxed but observant, keeping their distance.
Not like they would be a challenge, his mind sneered.
Max tracked her movements closely as she reached for one of the machines behind him, his tail coiling tightly around Charles’ middle in precaution. He hadn’t even realized how many there were until now and hadn’t noticed the thin tubing connected to his arms, the steady drip of clear liquid traveling from the bag beside him into his veins.
A flicker of unease settled in his chest.
“What is this?” he asked, voice low, rough from disuse.
Hannah kept her focus on the machine, adjusting a few settings as she answered, the alarm finally going silent. “You were severely dehydrated when you arrived. This machine delivers fluids and medications intravenously to help you get your strength back.”
Exhaling slowly, the prince tried to relax, forcing his lungs to obey the simple command of inhaling and exhaling without his body spiraling into panic again.
It was liquid to help him, not weaken or poison him.
Beside him, Charles shifted, adjusting his position to sit back on the edge of the bed, grip on Max’s hand ever present. Max let himself focus on that—the solid, warm press of Charles’ fingers threaded around his own, the steady rhythm of his pulse beneath his skin.
“We may not have tanks with special gel that heals you, but this place has the best technology on the planet,” Charles reassured with a half smile.
As Hannah continued her quiet work, Max turned his attention inward, taking stock of his body.
His fingers were all in place, though stiff, broken and mended again. Bandages, some small, some larger, covering different areas of his skin, hiding injuries he barely remembered receiving. His broken leg was straight again, a deep ache present when he tried to move it, but it would heal.
The shock collar—gone.
Then his tail twitched against Charles’ waist, the movement sending a dull ache rippling up his spine. Still painful, but nothing like before. Nothing like the constant, agonizing burn of the metal that had once been wrapped around it like a vice.
Stunned, he asked uncertainly, “The band . . . on my tail . . .”
Fuck, did Charles see it? Did he know what it was, what it meant? That he’d been defiled so completely? Max pulled his tail back under the blanket, suddenly ashamed to even be in the same room as the Eldri, tainted and claimed by another.
Hannah glanced up from the monitors. “We were able to remove it without causing any additional damage. All your tail bones are in place and healing nicely.”
Maybe, hopefully, they took it off before Charles saw it.
His tail curled slightly, the motion still unfamiliar after being trapped for so long, but it was free.
He was free.
His gaze lowered, his fingers twitching slightly in Charles’ grasp before he exhaled.
“ . . . Thank you.”
Max would’ve never been able to look Charles in the eyes if he was still wearing that symbol of shame.
Hannah stilled.
For a second, she didn’t say anything before she slowly turned to look at him, expression warm. “Don’t thank me,” she said simply. “Charles was insistent we find a way to remove it.”
Max’s fingers tightened around Charles’ hand.
So he had seen it. Knew how much of a failure the prince was.
Then why was Charles here? After everything?
Max couldn't wrap his head around it.
The Earthling, his Eldri, who'd wished for him above having anything else in the universe he wanted, had brought him here. Had fought for his freedom in ways Max could hardly begin to comprehend, and still wanted him after seeing he'd been claimed by someone else.
Why had he done that? Wasn’t Charles disgusted?
Why didn't he wish for his Earth father? Or Jules? Or to stop any of the other horrors going on in the universe?
What made Max worthy of such a wish?
He hadn’t deserved it, but Charles had done it anyway, and Max didn’t know what to do with that.
“I’d like to check the dressing on your leg,” Hannah said softly, tone careful but kind. “Then I’ll leave you two to have some private time.”
Max hesitated for a brief moment before nodding, shifting slightly in the bed and pulling back the blanket. His muscles still ached, stiff and uncooperative, but he winced only slightly as he adjusted his position, wanting to look for himself.
The thin garment he was wearing—some kind of Earth medical attire—only reached down to his knees, leaving his bandaged leg exposed to the cool air. The sight of it made all of this real.
He'd never actually looked at the damage before, not wanting to acknowledge the injury that would only distract him from staying alive. The pain was still there, but it was no longer unbearable. No longer the jagged, searing agony of something broken and left to heal improperly.
He flexed his toes slightly as Hannah crouched beside the bed, her touch light and methodical as she pressed along the bandaging, testing for any signs of deeper pain.
“Can you feel this?” she asked, applying gentle pressure along his foot.
“Yes.” Max nodded.
She moved further up, testing different areas, watching his reactions closely.
After a moment, Hannah smiled brightly, satisfied with what she found. “Everything looks good. It will just need time to heal, it's only been four days since the surgery.”
Four days.
He'd been on Earth for four days?
Max didn't remember a moment of it. That meant . . . that meant he was deep under when his Oozaru surfaced. The rare moments when that happened, he still at least had some wherewithal.
Not this time.
“I’ll have some meals sent over in a little while,” she continued, rising to her feet and dusting off her hands. “Is there something you think you can stomach? Your fluid intake, while heavy, has been good, bringing your levels back into more acceptable ranges.”
The idea of eating felt strange.
After so long surviving on barely enough to sustain himself, the thought of a full meal was almost foreign. But something came to mind, a small memory from their time aboard Lawrences ship—late nights when the Earthling had spoken about home, about things he missed, things he had wanted to share.
A tiny, hesitant smile tugged at the corner of Max’s lips despite the split in his upper. “I’ve heard a lot about Earth eggs,” he said after a moment. “I would like to try them.”
Hannah’s expression softened. “I can do that.”
She turned to leave, pausing just before reaching the door. Glancing over her shoulder, she met his gaze and said, “It was nice to meet this version of you as well. Welcome to Earth.”
Then, with a small nod, she and the two men exited the room, the door closing quietly behind them.
Max’s smile faded.
If he'd been here for days and didn't remember, that could only mean one thing.
Slowly, he turned to Charles, a bit more hesitant now. “Did I—” His throat was dry. “Did I hurt anyone? My—my Oozaru. I don't remember—”
Something in him flinched at his own question, the deep part of his core recoiling at the thought of losing control, of being too weak to handle his imprisonment, of hurting someone undeserving.
“No,” His Eldri’s expression softened. “But I think a few staff members might’ve had to change their pants.”
Charles chuckled softly, and Max almost burst into tears at the sound of it.
Max just stared at him, caught between disbelief and something far more fragile, until Charles chuckled again, a soft, breathy sound, light and warm, breaking through the tension like sunlight piercing through a storm.
There was a light flush on his cheeks, pink spanning the bridge of his nose as he asked, “What?”
Max wanted to share in it, wanted to let himself bask in the brief reprieve. But the thoughts plaguing his mind refused to let go, dragging him back into the depths of what-ifs and regret.
He’d spent months wishing their last encounter had gone differently.
Wishing he'd explained—had given Charles the truth, even if that still resulted in the Earthling leaving him. He wished he'd offered the right words, a justification, anything to soften the cold, heartless image Charles had seen in his service file.
But he hadn’t, and Charles had run.
Max swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the Earthling’s hand, still real. He couldn’t let this moment slip through his fingers.
He had to try again.
“Charles,” he said softly, voice barely more than a rasp. “I . . . My file. The things you saw. The things I said,” his throat clenched, stomach twisting at the memory of the cold, clinical collage that surely detailed his every sin. “I–I–I can explain. That wasn’t—I'm not—”
“Hey,” Charles interrupted gently.
Max flinched, already bracing for rejection.
The prince had had months to get this right and he was still fucking it up, stammering like a fool.
The Earthling pulled his fingers away from Max's hand and Max felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I swear, I—”
Instead, Charles moved closer on the bed, fingers now threading lightly through Max’s hair, brushing through the unkempt strands with an intimacy so casual and kind.
The touch churned in him, so many new memories of Jos’ claws touching him with fake kindness, but Max refused to let himself look away. He’d lost too much already.
“You don’t have to explain anything,” Charles sighed.
His lips parted, words rushing out before he could stop them, raw and desperate. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice thick with too much. “Forgive me. That isn’t me, not anymore, and I should’ve told you from the beginning, should've never—”
Soft, sugared lips pressed against his, stealing the words straight from his throat. Max froze as warmth bloomed through his chest, chasing away the cold, hollow spaces inside him that had settled in his cell.
Max melted, bandaged hands finding each of Charles' cheeks.
Charles was kissing him. Not out of fear, not as a fleeting act of comfort—but because he wanted to, not running.
A low, instinctual sound rumbled in Max’s chest, a deep vibration rising from his hindbrain, fighting its way to the surface. He barely contained it, fingers twitching before moving to find their place at Charles’ waist, palms pressing against the delicate curve of his body, holding him there.
Charles was careful, not leaning on any of his injuries and not moving too quickly for Max’s sluggish muscles to keep up.
They stayed like that for a long, suspended moment, until Charles pulled away, just enough for his lips to ghost against Max’s, breath warm, his voice even warmer.
“No,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand then, and I shouldn’t have run like that. I should've tried to listen. Should've been there.”
Max’s heart ached.
He’d spent so long believing this moment would never come—that the bridge between them had been burned beyond repair. That he’d lost Charles for good in the dirt on Namek, but Charles was here and he'd gotten another chance.
Completely undeserved, but it seems the goddess had taken pity on him.
With gentle certainty, he leaned forward, closing the distance between them once more, capturing Charles’ lips in a kiss of his own. This one was slower, softer, and when Charles didn’t pull away, when his fingers tucked into Max’s chest, gripping the fabric of his medical shirt like he never wanted to let go, Max let himself believe that maybe he didn’t have to.
A sharp pulse of warmth shot up Max’s spine, electric and primal—a sensation he hadn’t felt in what felt like lifetimes. Blinking, he turned his head slightly to see soft, shiny auburn fur tangled with his own mangy blond tail, twinned together sending a sharp, visceral ache through his chest.
His tail was a mess, fur knotted and oily, and he was ashamed of its dullness compared to Charles’.
It was even more beautiful than what he'd seen in his dreams.
But how was this possible? Charles didn’t have a tail?
Had Max really lost touch with reality completely?
His vision blurred, a mist gathering at the edges of his eyes as his chest filled with hope. His fingers twitched against Charles’ waist, needing to hold him, to feel him, to know it wasn’t a dream. A whisper escaped him, raw against Charles’ lips.
“Is this real?”
Charles reached for Max’s hand, pulling off a thin band of red twine from his own wrist before gently sliding it onto the prince's, guiding it until his broad palm was pressed flat against his chest. The slow, steady thump-thump of Charles’ heart, warm and alive beneath his fingertips.
“This is real.”
When Max opened his eyes again, nothing had changed.
The glow of soft overhead lights still illuminated the Earth medical facility, and the steady beep of machines and the quiet hum of the air system filled the silence, so different from the harsh, mechanical sounds of the PTO ship.
And Charles—
Charles was still curled against his chest, tucked in close, warm body a steady weight. His scent filled Max’s lungs with every slow inhale, and the soft purring that rumbled from his throat was a comfort Max hadn’t realized he needed until now.
The Eldri smelled a little sweeter than he remembered, and the prince greedily sucked up as much of that calming scent as he could.
By the goddess, how many times had Charles patched him up? Helped him to the med bay and stood watch outside of the healing tank? Wrapped and rewrapped his wounds in the middle of the night?
Max felt like such a nuisance.
Reaching up, he carefully ran his fingers through Charles’ dark curls, feeling the silky strands slip between his fingers. He traced slow patterns, letting the quiet vibration of Charles’ purring soothe the lingering tension in his chest.
The room was still. Peaceful.
It had been months since he’d felt anything remotely close to peace.
He shifted slightly, careful not to wake Charles, muscles stiff from disuse. It must’ve been early—the hint of morning light creeping through the edges of a window told him as much—but he had no way of knowing the exact time.
He and Charles had stayed up late into the night, talking. Well, Charles talked and Max mostly listened, lulled by the sound of the Eldri’s voice.
He’d lost track of the time when they’d fallen asleep together. Max didn’t know much of anything really, but what he did know was that he needed to get out of this bed.
The confinement was already gnawing at him, ‘stir-crazy’ not even beginning to describe the way his body ached to move, to breathe fresh air, to see a sky that wasn’t cold metal and artificial lighting.
He hadn’t seen an open horizon in ages.
Once the medical team came to check on him today, he was determined to step outside. Just for a moment. Just long enough to remember what it felt like.
Not wanting to move too much and risk waking Charles, Max exhaled slowly and closed his eyes again, shifting his focus inward. He was getting stronger, he could feel it. Bones healing, cuts closing, energy flowing like it used to. Even more potent in fact–it was a blessing that his Torossian body got stronger after every injury, and he had had many injuries of late.
He smiled, feeling their tails still wrapped around each other.
Max couldn't believe it when Charles had told him that the Grand Elder on Namek had given him his tail back, and that Charles was on his way back to him when Jos had shown up. His Earth friends had stopped Charles from getting to him and as much as the Earthling was upset about that, Max would be forever grateful to them for their intervention.
Max was sure neither of them would be alive right now if Charles had made it.
And, as it turns out, his fears of Charles’ rejection were unfounded.
Rubbing his thumb over the red band on his arm, Max had practically burst into tears when Charles slid the repaired twine over his wrist, the Eldri telling Max that he’d found it among the ruined ashes of their cabin. Many nights on the PTO ship after Namek, Max had instinctively tried to rub his thumb over it, only to find that it was gone, anguish and regret drowning him over his decision to take it off.
He was elated to have it back, this small piece of their journey together not lost.
The Eldri had told him about what happened with Carlos as well, and Max said many prayers to the goddess that night for the dark-haired Torossian. Max should’ve listened to him when Carlos tried to tell him the truth, but he’d been too blinded by his own grief.
Max hadn’t just lost his best friend, he’d lost a brother. Someone who’d seen it all and been to hell and back again alongside him. Carlos deserved much better than what he got in the end, but Max couldn’t change anything about that now. Max's Oozaru wasted no time rubbing in the fact that it was right as well.
Rolling his eyes, Max relaxed back into the bed.
Reaching out with his senses, he started to feel the energies around him to pass the time.
It was almost calming to practice feeling them, little specks of life bobbing around.
There were several in the area, small and weak in comparison to his own. Earthlings, no doubt. Their power levels were nowhere near his or Charles’—a thought that settled something in him, bringing him a sense of comfort.
If things did go sideways, if some unseen threat did make itself known, none of them would be a match for him. Not now. Not when he was soon to be whole.
He still had weeks—maybe longer—before he could truly call himself back to full strength, but he could feel it: the slow rebuilding of his power, the steady return of what had been taken from him.
Torossians healed faster than most species, and they didn’t just heal, they got stronger every time. It was a blessing from the goddess herself, a gift of survival and rebirth. And after everything, he’d survived—
His wandering thoughts came to an abrupt halt as something shifted, drawing his attention.
A third ki.
Inside the room.
His eyes snapped open, sharp and alert, scanning the small space.
Someone else was there.
Oozaru surging to the forefront as he searched for the threat, his muscles tensed, blue eyes scanning the room, sharp gaze sweeping over every corner, every shadow, but there was no one there.
The walls were smooth, the room designed for efficiency rather than concealment, leaving little space for anyone to hide. The cabinets near the far wall were shut, the doorway was still locked, and the only possible hiding spot was—
His tail flicked sharply, unwinding from Charles’ as his gaze snapped downward.
The bed.
A deep, low growl rumbled from his chest, a warning that cut through the stillness of the room. Charles stirred against him, purring fading as his body tensed in response to the sudden vibration of sound. A sleepy noise of confusion left him as he blinked up at Max, eyes heavy.
“Max?” His voice was rough with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
The prince didn’t take his eyes off the floor, muscles coiled and ready. “There’s someone else in here.”
That woke Charles up completely. He shifted, hands pressing against Max’s chest, preparing to sit up, but Max’s arm tightened around him, keeping him in place.
“No.” He said, resolute. “Stay on the bed.”
Charles’ brows shot up. “Max—”
“I will check.”
There was no room for argument, and Charles nodded slowly.
Max untangled himself, movements sluggish but intentional, inching to the edge of the bed carefully. Still recovering, all Max had over the intruder was the element of surprise. His bare feet hit the floor silently, and he lowered his frame down quickly, crouching beside the bed, dull pain flaring in his leg and ribs.
His sharp eyes peered into the space beneath the bed, and—nothing.
Empty.
His frown deepened. He checked again, searching for anything, a shift in shadow, a flicker of movement, but there was no one there.
Slowly, he straightened, still crouched, confusion flickering across his face. Charles, now fully awake and watching him intently, sat up on his elbows. “Well?”
Max didn’t answer, his tail flicking behind him as his gaze remained fixed on the floor, trying to force an answer to materialize. “It’s here somewhere. Weak and small but here. It almost feels like—”
It's inside you, was the rest of that sentence but he stopped abruptly, body going still.
A pause.
A realization.
And suddenly, the answer was right there, hanging on the tip of his tongue.
No. That was impossible?
Max rose slowly, his limbs working with a mind of their own, looking for anything—some sign that what he was sensing wasn’t real.
That it wasn’t possible.
But the energy signature hadn’t disappeared. It was still there. Warm. Faint, but steady. A third presence, unmistakable and impossible to ignore. It felt much weaker than his own or Charles’, but it was stronger than that of a human, though small in general.
On the bed, Charles blinked up at him in confusion, shifting slightly as he rolled onto his side. “Max? What—”
But he wasn’t listening.
His gaze dropped, focus shifting entirely to Charles’ stomach. The soft fabric of his thin shirt rested easily against his frame and now that Max was looking . . . he could see it.
Just barely. A subtle swell.
Impossible . . .
Something inside him lurched, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, fingers moving with slow, reverent care. His palm came to rest against Charles’ lower abdomen, large hand spanning almost the entire width of it, skin tingling where they touched.
The energy flared in response.
Max sank to his knees beside the bed, breath catching in his throat as his other hand followed, framing Charles’ stomach with both palms, pressing gently, carefully, afraid he might break something. His pulse thundered in his ears, the world narrowing to the space between his hands, to the impossible presence pulsing beneath his fingertips.
Their eyes met, Max’s wide and questioning, his entire body locked in silent and stunned disbelief.
Charles’ gaze softened, something tender blooming in his expression, his lips curving into a small, warm smile.
A single nod.
He pulled up his shirt to expose his bare skin, hand joining Max’s on his stomach, fingers slipping over the prince’s, pressing together. Max exhaled shakily, still frozen in place, eyes locked onto Charles like he had never seen him before, Oozaru stunned.
“I wanted to tell you last night,” Charles whispered nervously. “But I didn’t know what to say . . . or if this was something you even wanted.”
The tightness in Charles’ voice gave Max pause. Pressing his lips just below the Eldri’s belly button, Charles’ small hands bracketing his teary cheeks, Max whispered, “I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”
This changed . . . everything.
Max’s leg wouldn’t stop bouncing.
Seated beside the bed in the chair Charles had dutifully sat in while he recovered, he braced his hands on the mattress, IVs and other things still connecting him to the machines near the bed. Max stared at nothing in particular, his mind running in frantic circles as he tried—and failed—to make sense of this.
Hannah had come by earlier, delivering their breakfast with a knowing smirk before sharing in their good news. She’d been thrilled, more so than Max had expected, and though he appreciated her confidence, it did little to settle the knot in his chest.
He had so many questions.
He’d learned that Charles only found out about the pup a few days before making his wish, but Hannah had suspected something much earlier. Without telling Charles, she’d started him on some kind of medicine, a vitamin, she’d called it, hidden among the other things he was already taking to manage his symptoms.
Symptoms. The word twisted in Max’s gut.
Charles had been sick for weeks, struggling to keep food down, body clearly fighting something before either Hannah or the Eldri had even realized what was happening.
Max frowned, his fingers curling into the sheets. He knew next to nothing about Torossian pregnancies, let alone Eldri ones.
He racked his brain, trying to recall any scraps of memory from his mother’s pregnancy with his younger sister, but it had been so long ago. He was young, too young to understand anything beyond the fact that one day, his mother’s stomach had grown, and then suddenly, he had a sister, floating peacefully in a gestation pod.
And yet . . . shouldn’t he have known?
His tail flicked sharply in agitation, frustration curling through him at his Oozaru's pride in the situation.
His instincts had been pacing in its cage, chest puffed up, practically beating on its chest for their virility and vigor.
Max would punch it in the face if he could, even if he himself was also pleased.
He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Charles could bear his child without his tail, having once dismissed the notion entirely in a conversation with Alonso back in the Torossian suite. At the time, it had seemed impossible, something neither of them had the knowledge to confirm or deny.
Now, the impossible had become his future, and Max was terrified.
Max swallowed hard, jaw tightening. How could he have been so reckless?
Lost in shared pleasure, in the primal desires of his Oozaru to bond with Charles, claim him as his own, he hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences. Hadn’t thought about what might happen if Alonso was wrong. Hadn’t realized that, even after everything, after taking countless untold lives, his body was still capable of creating life.
A sharp exhale left him.
As Charles shifted beside him, his soft, familiar scent filling Max’s lungs, the regal Torossian did his best to breathe, because whether he was ready or not, he was about to be presented with some kind of proof of what they’d created.
“Okay, Charles,” Hannah’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “I need you to pull up your shirt, pull your sweats down below your waist, and try to lay still for me.”
Max blinked, dragging himself back to the present as Hannah wheeled over a large, odd-looking machine, her hands adjusting something on the screen. Picking up a plain, unmarked bottle, she squeezed a clear substance under Charles’ belly button as he laid on the bed, the smaller man making a soft noise of discomfort.
Max was on his feet in an instant, ignoring the deep ache in his leg.
“What is that?” he snarled, tail grabbing onto Hannah’s wrist.
“It's okay,” Charles said, and gently ran his fingers over the prince’s tail, helping it to relax its grip on her. “It's just a little cold.”
“Sorry,” Hannah smiled at Charles. “I didn't plug in the warmer beforehand.”
Eyes tracking intently, Max watched her pick up something else from the machine after setting the bottle down. It looked like a probe in her hand, its sleek, unfamiliar design making Max wary.
His tail twitched, protective instincts bristling despite knowing Hannah meant no harm.
“That was just some transmission gel, and this,” she explained, holding up the alien probe, “is a transducer. It produces sound waves above human hearing that can travel through to the . . .” she hesitated, glancing at Charles before carefully finishing, “ womb and give us a look at the baby—”
“Pup,” Max corrected. “A Torossian pup.”
Hannah raised her brows before pressing her lips together in a tight, patient smile. “Right. A pup .” She nodded before continuing, “It won’t hurt the pup or Charles.”
Max wasn’t convinced. His eyes narrowed slightly, icy blue irises flickering between Hannah and the machine.
“You said it produces frequencies above human hearing,” he said slowly, suspicion lacing his tone, “but Torossians already hear across a broader range than your species. How do you know this won’t damage anything?”
A low, warning growl had started to build in the back of his throat before he even realized it, vibrating through the room like the distant rumble of a coming storm. Hannah hesitated, her fingers still poised on the machine, expression cautious.
“This is the safest fetal monitoring technology we have on Earth,” she said evenly, eyes a bit challenging.
Baring his teeth slightly, the ridges of his canines peeked past his lips. “Just because it is fit for your primitive species,” he rumbled, tail flicking sharply behind him, “does not mean it is fit for—”
“Max,” Charles’ voice cut in, smaller hand reaching out and gripping Max’s firmly. The warmth of his touch, the gentleness of it, cut the prince’s growl off mid-thrum, his ears ringing slightly as his gaze snapped down to meet Charles’.
“Please,” he said, quiet and pleading. “Hannah knows what she’s doing. I’ve delayed doing one of these because I wanted to do it with you. Don't you want to see them and make sure they're okay?”
Max inhaled deeply through his nose as he wrestled with the urge to push back and to refuse any technology that he didn’t fully understand when it came to something as precious as his mate and their unborn pup.
But Charles trusted her and Max trusted Charles . Completely.
Exhaling sharply, he forced his Oozaru to relax, tail settling, fingers loosening beneath Charles’ grip.
“ . . . Fine,” he muttered, though his tone was still reluctant.
Charles gave his hand a small squeeze, offering him a soft, reassuring smile while Max shifted more of his weight to his left leg.
“Alright then,” Hannah nodded, adjusting the machine. “Let’s get started.”
Max kept his gaze locked on her, watching everything.
“We aren’t sure how far along you are, so I’m going to start with an external ultrasound. If we can’t get a very good picture, I might have to switch over to an internal one.”
“What does that mean?” The prince asked.
“I would use this other transducer,” she pointed to a long, slimmer probe than the one she was holding with a larger ball on the end of it, “and insert it into the . . . birth canal to get closer to the pup.
Birth . . . canal?
She was going to—
“Absolutely fucking not,” Max growled loudly again. “You aren’t putting anything inside my mate. ”
Glaring at him, Hannah rolled her eyes, exasperation written all over her face. “Relax, Your Highness. I'm only here to serve.”
Crossing his arms, the prince glared back. His Oozaru was just as displeased with the idea, reminding him that only Max had been inside Charles, had seen him that way, experienced the euphoria the Eldri’s body had to offer.
Max did mentally punch his instincts that time, the single minded beast.
Though it wasn't wrong.
She pressed the external probe to Charles’ stomach, smearing the gel over his skin, glistening under the artificial lights. The Eldri didn’t so much as flinch, lying comfortably on the bed, completely at ease with the process.
Max, however, was not.
His jaw clenched as he watched, waiting for some sign of discomfort, some evidence that this strange, alien technology was doing more harm than good. But Charles didn’t react, expression remaining neutral and encouraging as Hannah maneuvered the device over his stomach.
“Let me adjust a few things to see if we can get a clear picture,” she said, eyes focused on the screen as she worked.
What did that mean? Did something look wrong?
Charles turned his head to face Max, deep green eyes filled with warmth, tail slipping across the sheets to wrap over their conjoined hands.
“You shouldn't be standing on that leg,” he whispered. “Do I have to retell all of my old stories again to keep you in bed?”
Max’s grip loosened slightly, his thumb tracing the back of Charles’ hand, but his gaze never left the probe, tracking every movement as it rolled across Charles’ abdomen.
“I'm fine,” he said absent-mindedly, though he knew Charles saw right through him, a scoff from the Earthling indicating as much.
The seconds dragged.
The sensation of waiting, of not knowing, of watching as Hannah’s hand shifted over Charles’ belly, pressing and rolling, made something coil tighter in Max’s chest. This was taking a long time . . . What if something was wrong? What if it was malformed or wrong in some way, Max’s seed deemed unfit for life.
What if Charles got sicker? What if he couldn’t handle a birth, Max knowing natural ones were extremely uncommon for male Eldris. What if—
The Eldri’s breath hitched slightly when she pushed in a little too hard over his mate’s waistline, the pressure visibly sinking into his skin. Charles let out a sharp exhale, brows knitting together, lips pressing into a tight line of discomfort.
“Stop.” The prince's voice was hard and unyielding as he took a step closer, already reaching toward Charles’ stomach. “That’s enough—”
His words died in his throat when she clicked a button, and a soft whirring sound filled the room. A rhythmic thumping crackled through the machine’s speakers, fast and steady, a beat much quicker than his own pulse.
His lips parted slightly, the sound sinking into his bones, reverberating through his chest.
“There’s a good, strong heartbeat,” Hannah said, glancing up with a smug expression at his shock. “Gestational age,” she paused, “Obviously based on human guidelines, is looking at just under fourteen weeks.”
He didn’t breathe as she reached for the monitor and turned it toward them, revealing a grainy black-and-white image. The moment he saw it, Max collapsed back into the chair, good leg giving out beneath him as he just . . . stared. Mouth slightly open, chest rising and falling in slow, stunned breaths, Max could only look.
There—clear as day—was the outline of a face.
Tiny. Delicate.
A small forehead, a gently sloping nose, the faint curve of lips, and the soft roundness of a barely-formed chin.
His pup. Their pup.
A lump formed in Max’s throat, tail curling tightly around the leg of his chair, his entire body locking up as something deep and primal crashed over him, Oozaru rumbling deeply in his skull.
This was real. This was family . . . he had a family.
Charles gasped, “Look, it's moving,” as he pointed at the screen.
Watching as the image of the pup rolled and wriggled its little arms, Max asked breathlessly, “Do they look—do they look okay? Can you see a tail?”
Hannah hummed and turned the probe to a different angle, catching sight of the pup clutching onto its small tail, a self soothing gesture Max remembered from his sister as a fresh pup in her tank. Unwinding his own tail from the chair leg, Max pressed his lips to Charles’ hand, eyes glued to the screen.
“When you're further along, we can use a different setting to get more details on their features, development, and sex, but so far everything looks good. At this age, this is the best we humans can do for now. I hope I haven’t disappointed your highness with my inadequacy.”
Max shook his head, throat too tight to speak and Hannah went on and pointed out a few things to Charles.
Just a few days ago, he thought he was the only Torossian left alive in the whole universe, and now, not only did he have his mate with him, but the start of a budding family. Not just as an abstract idea, but as a reality.
He also suddenly had a lot more to lose.
Chapter 55: Someone Else's Sins
Summary:
Hannah and Charles have a heart to heart and Max overhears something he shouldn't.
Notes:
The long awaited discussion finally happens.
Chapter warnings: Referenced SA, referenced sexual abuse, thoughts of self harm.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“So,” Hannah said quietly, casual as she folded her napkin and settled into the chair across from him. “When were you planning on telling me that your prince charming occasionally loses his mind and becomes some kind of an uncontrollable beast?”
Charles narrowed his eyes at her over the top of his juice box, straw between his lips. Apple juice was his new craving, and he wasn’t about to let her ruin it.
His Eldri also hissed, offended by the term for their mate.
The kitchenette was quiet—the late morning sun slanting through the tall windows. Plates filled with the remnants of breakfast made everything feel so normal, the smell of toast, eggs, and a bit of fruit lingering in the air. But the topic hanging between them made the entire room feel suddenly off-balance.
Max was still asleep in his room down the hall, breathing steady and peaceful the last time Charles had peeked in and felt out for his energy.
His recovery was going well, physically, at least.
The prince was already walking short distances again, the strength returning to his frame slowly but steadily. His IVs were disconnected a few days ago and he was back to eating maybe half the portions he used to, his stomach still recovering.
His swollen eye and other visible injuries were healed, leaving behind only small scars. Max’s neck was still a sore spot for him, Charles recognizing the shape of a bite there, even if the prince never acknowledged what it was or how it got there.
Charles tried his best to push those things from his mind and focus on helping Max feel better.
Normal.
But Charles was still struggling with his own sleep.
His body was exhausted, the growing pup not helping, but his mind hadn’t stopped spinning all the night before, plagued by flashes of old nightmares, visions of metal halls, a flowing cape and Max’s angry snarls echoing through sterile gray walls.
There was a flutter of movement in his belly as he took a pointed sip of his juice. He smiled despite himself.
At least someone seemed happy this morning.
Letting Max sleep in felt like the right thing to do. He needed rest, time to heal, but sitting there with Hannah and her not-so-subtle interrogation, Charles found himself second-guessing that choice.
He set his box down, pushing his plate away as the toast on it suddenly lost all appeal.
“He's not a beast,” Charles said tightly.
Hannah didn’t bat an eye. She simply arched a brow, reached for the butter and methodically spread it across her bagel.
“Oh, my mistake,” she said dryly. “It’s more of a Jekyll and Hyde situation then. You know, charming, brooding warrior one minute and tail-whipping, wall-cracking monster the next. That totally wouldn’t have been useful information before I decided to put my entire staff and highly expensive medical facility at your disposal.”
Charles scrubbed a hand down his face, the heel of his palm pressing into one tired eye socket. “I didn’t know he was going to be . . . ” he trailed off, fingers falling away from his face as he stared down at the scrambled eggs on his plate, suddenly too nauseated to eat.
“He’s not like that.”
“I have about twenty other staff that say otherwise.” Hannah’s knife clicked softly against her plate as she cut into her eggs, chewing slowly. “A few of whom I had to put on medical leave.”
Taking a slow sip of his juice, Charles winced, remembering the specialist who flew out the door as he had rushed to Max's room, smashing into the wall. The poor guy still managed to remove the tail band despite how poorly the prince had treated him.
“Well if that isn't normal for him,” she said around a mouthful, “how often does that happen? Are there signs so we can prepare for it next time?”
Charles stared at his hands, tail flitting beside him.
He didn’t know how to answer, because no—Max wasn’t like that often. In fact, he'd never been like that around Charles before, not fully, but that didn't mean he didn't understand it.
It wasn’t a transformation, or some alien version of the man he loved. It was still Max, just stripped bare. His Oozaru had taken over completely, no doubt due to the unimaginable conditions he'd been suffering for weeks. Nothing else made sense.
“Only when he’s been pushed too far,” Charles said finally. “Or apparently when he thinks someone’s going to hurt me.”
Reaching for her glass, Hannah didn’t respond right away, sipping water before setting it down with a quiet sigh.
“W–We escaped that place together,” Charles rushed out, feeling the protective need to defend his mate. “That slave ship. But the emperor put out bounties for our capture and our faces were everywhere. I can’t even imagine what kind of punishment he was given when Jos caught him again. The emperor has some kind of sick fascination with him . . . I don’t entirely know why.”
His throat felt tight at the thought of Jos hurting Max.
“But I know he didn’t want to harm anyone. He was horrified when he realized his Oozaru had been in control when he woke up—he asked me, himself, if he’d hurt anyone.”
“Can you tell me more about it then?” she asked as she leaned in slightly, elbows resting lightly on the table. “He was speaking a completely different language, and his eyes were—” she hesitated. “They were unlike anything I've ever seen. I thought you said that the Oozaru thing was for reproduction purposes?”
Charles flushed lightly, hand splaying over his belly before he nodded once, slowly, thoughts scrambling to find the best way to explain something that even he didn’t fully understand.
“It is,” he said after a moment. “But it’s more complicated than that I think.”
She gave him a look—half curious, half concerned—but waited patiently.
“The Oozaru— his Oozaru—and my Eldri . . . they’re not just instincts or sources of energy,” he said, dragging his fingers across the edge of his plate. “They’re . . . entities. Like an independent set of raw instincts in our minds. They’re part of us, but also separate.”
“Wait—separate? They're like conscious on their own?”
“In a way, yeah,” Charles gave a slow, grim smile. “At least for me, my Eldri has a voice. It speaks to me sometimes. Thinks for itself. It’s got quite the personality.”
Chuffing, his Eldri slapped their tail against his bicep.
Hannah’s brows rose high, glancing at the movement. “So you’re both two people in one body?”
“Kind of,” he said, shrugging slightly, pulling his wild tail down under the table. “It’s not like we’re switching control all the time or anything. It’s more like having a presence in your head that’s always there. Primal and protective. When things get bad, it sort of . . . steps in, helps, takes over if it has to. From what I understand, it's what makes Torossians so formidable in battle and is why they were enslaved by the emperor in the first place.”
“Is there some connection to your tail?”
“Yeah it has, like, exclusive control of that part,” he grunted, wrestling his tail into submission as it smacked his arm again.
The fucking thing was a menace.
Since Max had returned, it was constantly on the move, reaching, grabbing, touching Max no matter how hard Charles tried to keep it still. Max never said anything, but he tracked its movements closely, making Charles a bit self conscious.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued now. “And Max’s Oozaru is the same?”
“I believe so. With him, I think it’s even more intense because of what he's been through. It’s like a mental defense system, and that's what you saw when he woke up the first time.”
Hannah sat back in her chair. “So when he was snarling and threatening my staff, shielding your body and wouldn’t let anyone near you . . . that was his Oozaru?”
“It was both of them,” he said quietly, tail lashing lightly. “The Oozaru and Max. They're not so easily divided. But yes, his instincts were protecting me, and so was he.”
For a long moment, the scientist didn’t say anything. The air between them settled into a thick silence, not uncomfortable, but heavy with everything that had just been said, like fog rolling in off the water.
She looked at him then, something softer behind her usual sharp wit. “Has your Eldri said anything to you since we sat down?”
Glancing off to the side, Charles toyed with a piece of fruit on his plate. The damn thing hadn’t shut up since they sat down.
“It’s not the biggest fan of you calling Max a beast,” he admitted with amusement. “It’s been grumbling about it the whole time, honestly. It might sulk for the rest of the day. Who knows?”
She barked a laugh. “That’s . . . wow. Incredible. And also a little terrifying.”
“Tell me about it.” He poked at his toast with the edge of his fork, still not really hungry. “But as you saw, Max isn’t really like that. That side of him . . . that's the first time I've fully seen it and now that he understands where he is, I don’t think that will happen again.”
“Fair. At least I don’t have to worry about how to reinforce the walls of his room.”
Pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Charles sighed.
“You also didn’t tell me how handsome he is.”
Dropping his hand, Charles just stared. “What?”
“I'm serious,” she said calmly. “Are there really not any more of him? Or do you know where I can find one?”
Heat exploded in Charles’ cheeks so fast, he thought he might combust on the spot. “Oh my god,” he squeaked, voice jumping a full octave. “Stooooop. You're like my mom!”
Grinning like a cat who’d cornered a bird, Hannah patted his arm. “No, I mean it. He’s like . . . stupidly hot. Maybe it’s the nose—”
“Can we not talk about this right now?” Charles groaned, dragging both hands over his face in absolute mortification.
He could already feel the mental image forming behind his eyes—the one he'd tried very hard to keep buried in polite company. Max’s mouth, warm and unrelenting, trailing lower on his back with the kind of focus that made Charles forget how to breathe. That damn nose, nuzzling into all of his most sensitive places, dragging across his skin with a possessiveness that had Charles coming undone long before the artificial sun of the rebel ship was up.
“Don’t touch. Just feel . . . ”
His tail twitched under the table, curling reflexively as he tried—and failed—to banish the memory, a dampness forming under his tail. The purr from his Eldri was not helping.
Hannah, of course, was utterly unbothered.
“I’m just saying,” she said breezily, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the carafe with zero shame. “He’s hot as fuck. That jawline? That voice? Those eyes—the blue ones I mean—you lucked out, my guy. Maybe I can figure out how to clone him? Or wish for another one with the orbs? Would have to be a bit older though.”
Charles looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and never resurface. “I’m begging you to stop,” he mumbled into his hands.
“You know. At first it was hard for me to figure out how you . . . you know, connected with someone enough to get knocked up.” She made a gesture with her hands that he wasn’t entirely sure what she meant. “With how badly all of the dates you used to go on ended. But I—”
“Hannah,” Charles said firmly, peaking between his fingers. “Shut up.”
Raising her hands in surrender, his friend took a slow drink from her mug, humming to herself.
Even through the flustered mess of his thoughts, a frown tugged at the corners of his lips. The smell of her coffee wafted across the table and Charles wrinkled his nose, stomach doing a little flip.
“Okay, okay,” Hannah said, soft chuckle fading as her tone shifted into something more professional—thankfully, “None of that is why I wanted to have breakfast with you, anyway. I’d actually like to go over some of our latest test results, if that’s okay?”
Charles exhaled in relief and sat up a little straighter. “Yeah, of course. How is Max doing?”
“These are your blood tests actually. All of your prenatal blood work has come back within normal ranges,” she said, flipping through a sleek tablet in her hands. “Hormones, nutrient levels, metabolic indicators—they all look good as far as we can judge from human standards. I didn’t even bother to run genetic screenings, but we don’t need to start you on any additional supplements right now, which is a huge plus.”
Charles nodded slowly. That was good news.
“I would also like to ask the prince,” Hannah hesitated, “when he’s a little less, you know, grumpy—if he has any insights on this type of pregnancy amongst your people. Because while we have some of the best minds in the world working here, none of them are particularly equipped to deal with . . . this.”
Smirking faintly, Charles was curious about that too. “I’m sure he’ll be open to your questions,” he said dryly, “when you’re not waving a weird-looking stick next to our pup.”
“That’s fair. He’s actually been surprisingly cooperative with most of his checkups—well, except when it comes to letting us treat or even look at . . . certain things.”
Charles paused mid-chew, a piece of cold toast halfway to his mouth. “Treat or look at what?” he asked, brow furrowing. “He doesn’t tell me anything after you kick me out into the hallway like some rejected intern.”
She made a tight face and set her tablet aside, rubbing the back of her neck. There was a whole level of doctor/patient confidentiality the scientist had been trying to maintain, which Charles understood fundamentally, but . . . this was his mate they were talking about.
“He doesn’t want to talk about—much less let us treat—his assault injuries.”
Charles froze.
The piece of cold toast dropped from his hand and landed on the plate with a dull thud. “You asked him about it?” he whispered.
“Only twice,” Hannah said quietly. “The first time, he ignored me completely. The second time, he told me—very calmly, might I add—that if I wanted to continue drawing breath, I should focus exclusively on his leg.”
Her voice was matter-of-fact, but there was a tightness around her eyes, a hint of unease that betrayed how deeply the situation bothered her.
Charles didn’t respond. He sat very still, gaze locked on the far wall, every muscle in his body wound tight. He stared at the white paint like it could give him answers. If Max didn’t want to talk about it, then what could they really do?
“Obviously,” she went on gently, “this has been going on for a long time. The scarring we observed during his initial exam tells us that much. But I don’t know if we should keep pressing the issue if he won’t even acknowledge it. I mean . . . should we be providing treatment for something he refuses to talk about? Do you know anything about it? Can you tell me—”
“No.” The word came out sharp, brittle as he turned away from her back to his cold toast. “No,” he repeated, more quietly this time.
“No, you don’t know? Or no, you won’t tell me about it?”
Charles’ jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “I won’t tell you about it,” he said stiffly. “It’s the prince’s private business.”
He hated how much he sounded like Alonso in that moment—back when Charles had asked the elder about Max, demanding answers Alonso didn’t have and probably never would've. That same stubborn, closed-off tone now slipped from Charles’ own mouth like second nature.
But Charles felt that if he could understand back then, maybe Hannah could now.
The silence stretched.
Hannah reached across the table, her hand wrapping gently around his. Her fingers were warm and steady.
“Then will you tell me,” she asked, voice softer than he’d ever heard it, “what happened to you on that ship?”
The world seemed to slow around him.
His body stayed perfectly still, but his tail betrayed him, curling in tight loops around his ankle beneath the chair. His heart thudded in his chest, slow and heavy like a warning drumbeat, and his Eldri, buried deep within, hissed at the back of his mind—sharp and panicked.
“No one can know. Do not tell anyone.”
The words weren’t even his, but they wrapped around him like chains, the shame and fear sinking their claws into his spine and twisting like they had that day he’d pressed himself into the corner of the corridor, trembling and ruined.
He hadn’t told anyone.
Not since that quiet conversation with Alonso on the ship, whispered between broken sobs and scrubbing the skin off his face. Since then, he'd locked it away. Buried it. Forced himself to smile and keep moving. But every time the scent of coffee hit his nose—
That cheap, burnt aroma, it closed his throat up. His stomach churned and skin crawled.
It was his scent. George's.
“Can you pour that out,” Charles said suddenly, voice hoarse. His eyes flicked to the cup near Hannah’s hand, and his face twisted, stricken. “Please. He . . . he smelled like coffee.”
Hannah stood immediately, swiping the mug off the table and walked it across the room. Charles heard the splash of liquid pouring down the sink, followed by the gentle clink of the mug being set aside, and she returned without a word, reclaiming her seat and taking his hand again, firmer this time, both of her palms enclosing his.
“Charles,” she said, voice even, unwavering. “I just want to help you. Whatever happened, you’re not alone. You can tell me. I promise—your secret is safe with me.”
His throat felt like he swallowed glass, and though his mouth remained closed, the first tear slid down his cheek before he could stop it.
“I was so stupid,” Charles said, voice trembling with guilt.
His free hand shook in his lap, fingers twisting into the fabric of his pants. His tail unwound from the chair quickly, violently smacking at his leg under the table.
“Charles,” she said firmly. “No. That's not—”
“Max and Alonso both warned me—repeatedly—not to leave the suite. They were nervous, on edge, and Max had this look in his eyes every time I mentioned going out to my shift in the clinic. They both went so far as to get me reassigned to be his personal assistant, but even then Max kept telling me it wasn’t safe. Alonso . . . he nearly blew his cover to help me when I was discovered and officially registered on the ship.”
He swallowed hard, throat dry. “And still, I–I didn’t listen. I thought I could handle myself, wanted to feel useful after weeks of staying hidden in the suite. I thought they were just being cautious, but then—then he said my name from down the hall. Made me go to his office to chat—”
Hannah leaned forward slowly, concern knitting her brow. “The man who hurt you . . . is this the same one who hurt Prince Max?”
Charles shook his head quickly, then paused, uncertainty flickering across his face. “No. I mean . . . I don’t think they ever—Max was with the Emperor. He–he did things to him. Things I can’t even imagine.”
Wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, Charles’ shoulders tensed, bracing against an invisible weight of her judgment.
“But what happened to you, that was someone else? The Emperor didn’t hurt you?” She said, desperately seeking clarification.
The Eldri simply nodded his head in confirmation.
“Charles,” she said gently. “You know I would never ask you this if I didn’t need to—but is there any chance the pup isn’t . . .? What happened, was it around the same time the two of you . . . ?”
Charles’ mouth dropped open, his expression one of pure, stunned disbelief, Eldri slamming against its cage, smashing the door open. “What? No!” he shouted, voice cracking with emotion. “I—I . . . he . . . ”
The words got caught in his throat like thorns as he tried to breathe, and he bit down hard on his lower lip, tears brimming again before they spilled silently down his cheeks.
His Eldri rose so fast, Charles almost didn’t register the foreign words that came from his mouth.
“The defiler only used our mouth,” his Eldri spoke aloud, a ragged voice strangled in panic. “How dare you suggest that I would carry a bastard child—”
Charles squeezed his palm over his mouth, eyes blown wide as he met equally stunned brown eyes, tail knocking over his empty juice box, clattering onto the floor.
The anger and shame in those words hung in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. More memories pushed forward, unbidden and unwanted while his Eldri continued to rage in his mind, Charles pushing it back into its space.
The back of his throat itched with the phantom feeling of George’s long, unnaturally graceful fingers forcing their way between his lips, choking him as he gagged, the sickly-strong scent of the commander's breath burning in his nostrils, dark coffee aroma. The sharp crack of that slap—so fast and violent—it left Charles seeing stars, his whole face stinging with the aftershock. It felt like being hit by a truck, body thrown sideways, his ears ringing as George laughed quietly, like it was a game.
Charles’ stomach turned, his whole body folding in on itself around his pup.
He didn’t even realize he was shaking with the effort to regain control of himself until Hannah moved from her side of the table to settle next to him, her hand gentle over his.
“Hey,” Hannah whispered gently. She reached out, resting her hand over his arm this time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insinuate anything. You don’t need to tell me anything more. I know it doesn't take the pain away, but I’m so sorry, Charles. You didn’t deserve any of that. None of that was your fault.”
Her words sank into him like warm water soaking into cold skin—soothing, but also painful in their truth acknowledging it happened. He nodded silently, unable to speak for fear his Eldri’s words would come out again, angrily wiping at the tears slipping freely down his cheeks now unhindered.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything else,” she added softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I just wanted to make sure there weren’t any other factors we had to consider—health-wise. For you or for the pup. I promise I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
Charles exhaled shakily, his breath catching halfway as he reached for words that didn’t want to come.
“I wasn’t hurt like my prince,” he whispered, voice rough. “Our pup is his.”
“Does Max know this happened?”
“No,” Charles answered with finality. More panicked cries coming from the base of his skull, making him wince.
The admission settled between them like a stone dropped into still water and they both fell quiet. Charles didn’t want to think about trying to tell Max.
Fuck. What was he even supposed to say?
It had been months now since that happened, so would Max even believe that he’d tried to leave? All the marks George left had disappeared, and Alonso was dead and gone. Would Max’s Oozaru blame him for being unfaithful while Max was away?
All Charles had was his word.
Staring at his plate on the table in front of him, the eggs had long gone cold. The toast curled slightly at the edges, missing a few bites, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
His mind was drowning, not having let himself fully process what had happened yet.
Everything had spiraled too quickly. Alonso had found him in that hallway—bruised and shaken, trembling with the weight of something he didn’t have the strength to name. And then, before he could even breathe, they were in the throne room, facing Jos, the atmosphere thick with tension and fear.
Then he was being sent to war.
The escape, Alonso’s sudden plan, followed by the rush through corridors and blinding chaos. Then waking up on planet Aston with dry air in his lungs and no time to think.
There hadn’t been time. No time to dwell and no time to stop.
So he’d pushed it down.
All of it.
Stuffed every painful memory into a box, slammed the lid shut, and locked it tight, because what else could he do? His Eldri was right—
“Charles,” Hannah said quietly, and he blinked, realizing only now that he’d been lost in his thoughts. “You don't have to, but I think you should tell him. If he's your mate, he—”
A chime came from her phone resting on the table and Hannah quickly flipped it over, a pinched expression on her face. She stood slowly, the chair beside him scraping lightly against the floor.
“I have to take this call. I’ll be right back, just—” She hesitated, glancing back at him. “Try and eat a little more if you can, okay? You’ve barely touched anything and you're eating for two.”
He nodded again but didn’t speak or even make a move towards his plate. He felt more like he needed to throw up, head pounding. As the door behind him opened and clicked softly closed, the room settled into silence, and Charles sat alone, staring blankly at his breakfast as if it might offer him answers.
But it didn’t. Just like it hadn’t offered any comfort.
“She doesn’t believe us,” his Eldri rasped. “The woman will tell him. Will tell our mate that we carry a bastard child. Fill his head with lies so our prince will abandon us—”
“Max would never,” Charles whispered to himself. “He loves me.”
“Does he?”
The door clicked open again a moment later, and Charles turned in his chair, wiping hastily at his cheeks. “Hannah, please don't tell—”
His words died mid-breath as his eyes landed on Max, standing in the doorway. Fear bloomed across his chest like wildfire, dread radiating through his entire body.
The prince's posture was rigid, lips pressed into a razor-thin line, shoulders squared, hands gripping the doorframe hard enough to bend it. His blue eyes—normally warm, watchful, and protective—burned with a fury so sharp, it made the hairs on the back of Charles’ neck stand on end.
The unmistakable scent of anger laced the air, rolling over Charles, feeling sharp, electric, and so very Torossian in its intensity.
Shooting to his feet, the Eldri’s heart slammed against his ribs, breath caught mid-gasp. He didn’t have to ask if Max had overheard, it was obvious, his low growl already blanketing the room.
His Eldri surged forward in his mind like a wave, flooding his senses in a rush of instinctual panic, and his spine stiffened, a sharp pain racing down through his back into the base of his tail, curling protectively around his belly like a shield over his thin shirt.
“Someone t–touched you?” Max’s voice was deep, deceptively calm even as it shook while every word crackled with restrained rage.
Charles crumbled to the floor before he could stop himself, knees hitting the tile with a quiet thud. His limbs moved without thought, Eldri instincts taking full control, and he bowed his head, tilted his neck to the side, baring his throat in silent submission, chest heaving in short, shallow gasps. A soft, broken whimper slipped from his lips, and he didn’t dare meet Max’s eyes, his hand pressed over his abdomen, protective and trembling, shielding their unborn pup. His tail laid limply on the ground next to him, like the tether giving it life had just been cut.
The prince must’ve heard everything.
Every word. Every detail Charles had struggled to speak.
What was left to say? How could he defend himself?
His silence screamed volumes already, but his voice just wouldn’t come, wrapped up in someone else's sins.
He wasn’t proud, or brave, and he wasn’t strong like Max; he was tainted, defiled, weak.
And now that Max knew, would he cast him aside? Would he see him as less, no longer only touched by him? Would he disown their pup like his Eldri said, and refuse to acknowledge the bond they’d formed, the life growing inside him? Would he not love him anymore?
Tears slipped silently down Charles’ cheeks, his entire body trembling, as he knelt before his prince like a criminal awaiting sentence. He braced for it, feeling the disappointment, the disgust.
_____
Max stood frozen in the doorway, barely breathing, not having intended to listen or invade on their quiet meal. He’d woken up alone, sleepily reaching for Charles beside him and finding nothing but cool sheets.
The moment his hand landed on empty space, his chest tightened, the haze of sleep leaving in a hurry.
Over the last several days his nervous attachment to the Eldri had reached a peak, and he'd hardly let Charles out of his sight, afraid that if he even blinked, all of this would be gone.
Climbing out of bed slowly, ignoring the ache in his leg and the stiff protest of healing muscles, he had followed the threads of ki in the air until he found Charles, seated in the meal space with Hannah.
Their voices carried just beyond the cracked door.
He was about to announce himself, maybe see if he could join them, but then he heard his name, and he’d stilled, straining his ears.
“He's like . . . stupidly hot. Maybe it's the nose?”
Hot?
Max blinked a few times.
He supposed he'd been warm enough in his room to sweat. Lightly sniffing, Max made a face. A more thorough bath was on today's list for sure.
Hand then landing on his face, Max touched his nose lightly.
Was there something weird about his nose? He guessed it was a little disproportionate for his face, but he’d never really put much thought into it.
Did Charles think it was too big?
Did he not like it?
Hearing a change in tone, the prince turned back into the quiet voices from the room, his hand falling down by his side. They were talking about the check-ups now, about the pup, and about him.
Not really wanting to worry the Eldri and make himself feel anymore like a burden, Max hadn’t told Charles much about his check-ups—he’d just said he was getting better and left it at that.
Was that not the right thing?
A spark of anger twisted in his chest at the nerve of the Earth woman. She had been a bit of a pain in the ass, hovering and overstepping over the last week. If Max wanted Charles informed of his condition, he would tell him himself.
Then the conversation shifted.
“He doesn’t want to talk about—much less let us treat—his assault injuries.”
Max backed away from the door, squeezing his eyes shut tight.
He was going to kill that damn Earth woman.
He'd already told her to mind her fucking business, and now she was telling Charles about . . . about things that had been done to him in his cell?
How dare she.
Friend of Charles or not, this disrespect would not be tolerated. Marching swiftly, he put his hand on the door, deadly intent bleeding into his clenched jaw before he stopped, ears picking up a sniffle from his mate.
Charles was angry, his ki wavering a bit with his tone, before the energy shrank in on itself, crushing down. Max would have burst through the door if he wasn’t busy trying to figure out what he'd missed.
“Then will you tell me what happened to you on that ship?”
Max felt like he was falling.
What were they talking about?
Something had happened to Charles?
Charles had never so much as hinted that something like what Max experienced happened to him on the PTO ship, and Max was spiraling. His heart thudded in his chest like a war drum, slow and heavy, each beat laced with a dawning, horrifying clarity.
Pressing himself as close as he could to the door, he held his breath and listened.
“What happened . . . was it around the same time the two of you . . . ?”
“What? No!” Charles shouted. “I—I . . . he . . . ”
The Eldri’s next words were raw, Max’s Oozaru bristling at the strange sound. “The defiler only used our mouth. How dare you suggest that I would carry a bastard child—”
Max was going to be sick.
Who would dare—
His thoughts seized, pulling out the only possible suspect.
George.
The name rang in his skull. It had to be him.
There was no one else on that ship that would be so bold, so reckless to try and hurt him, use people close to Max for their games. For that matter, there wasn’t really anyone else that knew the Earthling was on the ship in the first place.
He thought back to the corridor outside the throne room, George's smug look at Charles, the Eldri shaking lightly with Alonso stepping in front of him.
Had Alonso known too? Was Max that blind to something so plainly obvious?
The commander was just as cunning and manipulative as the emperor, and Max couldn't believe he'd missed it.
Fingers curling into fists at his sides, rage crawled through him like smoke, dark and suffocating. Not at Charles—never at Charles, but at the monster who'd dared to lay his hands on his mate.
Whatever restraint the prince had left, this news snapped it clean in half. He'd barely had time to hide himself around the corner as Hannah left the room, walking briskly down the hall, before stepping slowly through the door himself.
Now in the doorway, Charles was looking up at him like a frightened animal.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, his entire frame trembling with the stench of panic, tail lifeless beside him as his hands pressed protectively over their pup like he was shielding it from him.
Max’s chest ached at the sight of his mate kneeling on the floor, baring his neck.
Submissive.
Terrified.
All Max could do was stare, breath caught somewhere between grief and guilt and burning, red-hot rage.
Charles had bared his neck to him before, exposing his throat in his private quarters and back then Max swore he'd never let it happen again, memories of Charles mournfully telling him about a run-in with George.
That was clearly why the Eldri hadn’t told him about this.
Taking a step into the room, Charles flinched from his place on the floor, and Max froze again.
His eyes swept over the scene—his mate crumpled on the floor, knees to tile, tears slipping down flushed cheeks, head bowed low like he expected a punishment, and the fury drained from Max’s limbs like sand slipping through his fingers.
“Charles,” he said, voice hoarse, sick rising in his throat.
No response. Just a tremble, another frightened whimper and the scent of fear lacing the air.
Fear of him.
“Charles,” he tried again, softer this time. He took another step forward, slow, cautious in a way he’d never been before, his tail trying its best to move in a soothing motion, spreading calming pheromones but not doing the best of jobs at it. “No, Charles. Look at me.”
Charles didn’t.
He didn't speak, didn’t move, and Max’s heart shattered, dropping to his knees in front of him.
Pain lanced through his still-healing leg, but he barely paid it mind. All he could see was Charles, his mate, his bonded, his Eldri, cowering in front of him, thinking maybe Max would hurt or reject him, based on how quickly the scent of Charles’ fear was filling the room.
Max reached out with trembling hands, brushing Charles’ face, fingers ghosting over tear-streaked cheeks. “When did this happen,” he asked, trying his best to keep his voice soft. “Where was I? Was I on duty?”
Struggling to piece it together, Max's brain was practically smoking to figure out where he'd made a mistake, and where he'd let his guard down enough that the commander could get to Charles without him being there to stop it.
Charles kept his gaze downturned, breath harsh and uneven, not saying a word.
“Goddess strike me down for what I did to make you fear me in this way,” Max breathed, hands shakily finding their way to each side of Charles’ face, holding firm. “Talk to me, Charlie. Please.”
“While you were on assignment,” the Eldri whispered. “George . . . He–he’d discovered us in the old training room, had a recording. Said he’d tell Jos if I didn’t—”
Max was going to fucking lose it.
That arrogant . . . slimy . . . self-serving . . . cunt.
“I should've fought him.” Swallowing, Charles continued, “B–But I was so scared of what Jos would do to you. Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I swear I didn’t want it. The pup is yours—please—”
“Charles,” the prince said, voice fierce and low and full of truth. “No, this is not your fault. Do you hear me? How could you think that I—? “
Max wanted to go back in time and punch his past self in the face.
Of course Charles would assume he'd be angry at him. That was how he'd reacted any time Charles mentioned George on the ship, or any time the Earthling had spent moments with anyone else, including a fucking maid.
Overblown, stupid, and childish.
Fuck, he'd really messed this up bad.
“Charles. I–I would never be angry at you for something like this. The blame is solely mine for not protecting you from him. I never should have brought you on that ship, never should have stolen you away from your home.”
Charles whined, tail twitching pitifully but making no further effort to remove itself from the ground, turning Max's stomach further.
It wasn’t hard for him to imagine what Charles must've been thinking. He'd been through that himself, the self-doubt, the hatred, the recrimination over and over again. Max couldn't blame Charles one bit for trying to hide this, not telling a soul, but Max was determined in that moment to silence all those doubts.
“No matter what was done to you, no matter what you were made to suffer—you are my mate,” the prince said with conviction, his Oozaru purring its gentle agreement as his tail wound itself around Charles’ middle, nudging beneath his folded arms to cradle the swell of their pup, “My Eldri.”
Charles finally lifted his gaze, eyes red and shiny, lips parted as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right words.
“I would burn the stars before I let anyone take you from me,” Max whispered. “And I will never—never—let anything like that happen to you again.”
He drew Charles close, his arms wrapping around him gently but firmly, holding him like he was something sacred.
Because he was, and Max would never let him forget it.
“I love you.”
Pulling Charles up into his lap, the Eldri curled against his neck, his fingers digging into the front of his shirt, breathing still harsh but his trembling starting to subside, replaced with quiet tears. Max kept his touch light, tail anchored over the swell of their pup, rocking them together on the floor. Charles’ tail rose to wrap around Max’s forearm, squeezing tight.
He swore he would be better, and he would start that day.
But goddess be damned if he ever saw George again.
_____
George stood stiffly on the navigation deck. His uniform was rumpled, posture iron-straight despite the throb pulsing behind his swollen, black eye. The bruising was fresh, vivid beneath the surface of his pale skin—a mark of the Emperor’s discontent.
One of many.
The deck was empty save for him. It was always empty now.
He hadn’t left the nav station since his reassignment. All other access had been revoked—the training halls, his quarters, even the observation decks where he once cleared his mind. The frost demon had effectively caged him within the core of the ship, the implication clear: if Earth was not beneath them soon, this room would be the last thing George ever saw.
He’d rerouted the engines himself, squeezing every bit of power out of the PTO ship’s sublight drives. They were pushing full thrust, barreling through space as fast as the hull could take them without risking catastrophic failure.
And still—it wasn’t fast enough.
Not for Jos.
“Miracles,” the Emperor had hissed, just before driving his fist into George’s face. “If the Torossian prince can disappear into thin air and reappear halfway across the stars, then so can you, Commander.”
The words echoed, again and again, as George sat hunched at the console, tender eyes scanning over telemetry data, warp equations, engine diagnostics. The ship was fast, but not fast enough. No one could bend the laws of physics—but Jos didn’t care for facts. He wanted results.
And George . . . he was supposed to make the impossible happen.
He rolled his shoulders with a wince, his spine aching from nights spent sleeping in awkward, cramped positions on the cold deck floor.
There was no cot. No comfort. No warmth of another body beside him.
He barely paused long enough to eat, cold rations, half-chewed, shoved down with water because taking too long reminded him of Carlos. The raven-haired Torossian, who’d once brought him breakfast in bed, who’d stood between him and the traitorous prince kneeling between two columns, spine straight even as he faced imminent death.
George squeezed his good eye shut.
Eating made him think of Carlos, so he didn’t do it much. He didn’t let himself think about the dark-haired general with the proud jaw and the tired smile. He didn’t allow the grief space to root. Not here. Not while this wretched Earth grew closer on the monitors.
He didn’t have the luxury of mourning what never was.
Still, no matter how many times he told himself to stop, George couldn’t resist.
He sat hunched over the console, the navigation deck dim around him, the only light coming from the holoscreen hovering just in front of his face. His injured eye throbbed with every heartbeat, but it paled in comparison to the ache that had taken hold somewhere deeper, buried in the hollow of his chest where Carlos had once existed.
He shouldn’t be watching it. He knew that.
But he queued up the footage again anyway.
His fingers tapped the interface with well-practiced ease, loading the archive from Max’s cell in the testing center. It was silent at first, the grainy footage slightly overexposed in the darkened corner of the lab, but George didn’t need clarity to feel the weight of what came next.
Carlos entered the frame, cradling the prince’s battered form in his arms, limping slightly from the awkward position. He carried Max like he was something sacred and set him down on the floor of the cell like a glass sculpture that could shatter from a breeze. His movements were steady, reverent.
Familiar in a way that tore at George’s insides.
George had watched this clip at least a hundred times, but he still leaned in, just a bit, like he might catch something new in Carlos’ expression, some hidden message.
Some trace of regret.
Carlos crouched before Max, wrapping a bandage around his neck with care, brushing blood away from the prince’s cheek with his bare hand. The feed glitched slightly, flickering once, and then resumed as Carlos pulled out a small pouch of water and pressed it to Max’s lips.
“Play audio,” George murmured.
The Torossian words filled the navigation deck, Carlos’ voice low and urgent, speaking to Max like the rest of the universe had ceased to exist.
George pressed the volume button again, raising the sound.
Carlos’ tone was strained but kind, the rhythm of the language softening into something almost musical. He didn’t speak Torossian, the dialect too primitive and animalistic for his tastes, but one phrase rang through clear enough that even the ship’s basic translator caught it.
“Please, I love you.”
George’s chest caved inward. He squeezed his eyes shut, his thumb brushing over the screen as he zoomed in on Carlos’ face. The image flickered slightly, his own fingers trembling as they hovered above the man he’d once thought might belong to him.
He could see it in Carlos’ eyes—the devotion, the desperation. A part of George wanted to tear the screen off the console and crush it between his palms, but that would just further injure his already bruised hands. Another part of him, smaller and buried deeper, imagined what would have happened if Carlos had followed his instruction and stayed still, if he hadn’t interrupted the prince’s punishment. He imagined the Torossian by his side, brown eyes looking up at him, soft lips whispering those three words.
The clip ended just a few short moments later.
George sat in silence for a long moment, struggling to regulate his breath, his throat dry with unshed grief.
“Play it again,” came from behind him.
He turned sharply.
Jos stood in the shadows by the deck entrance, barely illuminated by the ambient light of the holoscreen. His tail twitched lazily, arms folded, face a mask of cold calculation.
George hadn’t even heard the door open.
“I was just reviewing old footage, sire,” the commander stumbled over his words. “To see if I could catch anything more from the traitor—”
“We have moved far beyond your lies now,” Jos said coldly.
Straightening in his seat, George pressed his lips into a firm line.
“Play it again,” the frost demon repeated, stepping forward slowly, gaze fixed on the paused screen.
George hesitated, looking intently at the emperor’s profile. Jos’ red eyes glinting like shards of ice.
And then he pressed play.
The emperor stood beside him, closer than George would have liked, his arms tucked behind his back, motionless as ice, cold air wafting off of him in waves. Together, they watched the footage replay from the beginning.
The navigation deck felt even colder now, the quiet hum of the ship's core the only sound as the holoscreen flickered to life. Max’s voice echoed once more, sharp and agonized in the raw Torossian dialect that cut like a blade.
“Om te pochen? Om een of ander ziek spelletje met me te spelen over mijn vermoorde partner?”
Jos raised a hand and tapped a claw against the control pad. The footage froze mid-sentence, a jagged frame lingering on Max’s bloodied face, contorted with grief and rage.
Jos dragged the timestamp back, replaying that line.
Then once more. And again after that.
“Mijn vermoorde partner,” Jos repeated aloud that time, lips curling around the foreign syllables with uncomfortable precision. His pronunciation was sharp and accurate-sounding.
George blinked.
That phrase hadn’t shown up on the transcript—the ship's translator had flagged it as incomprehensible, the cadence too fast and emotionally warped. But Jos had understood it perfectly.
The emperor . . . spoke Torossian?
George turned his head slowly, trying not to let his surprise show. “You speak it?” he asked quietly.
Jos didn’t look at him, eyes remaining locked on Max’s image, unmoving.
“My murdered . . . mate,” the frost demon said, tone flat, but his gaze had deepened, distant and introspective.
“What does that mean?” George answered.
A long silence stretched between them, and George felt the hair on his arms rise with the look of sinister intent in the frost demon’s eyes. Jos tilted his head slightly, but never answered. Instead, he slowly tapped the screen again, deleting the footage.
“Get back to work,” he intoned and then slowly left the room, chilled air following him out the door.
Chapter 56: When Gods Moved Amongst the Stars
Summary:
Seb sheds some light on Jos' origins and what he really wants from Max.
Notes:
Welcome back! A few fun source easter eggs in this one 🤭
Chapter warnings: Mild panic, anxiety attack.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Charles rolled his shoulders with a soft groan, the dull ache in his back reminding him that he’d spent most of the night curled on his side, tail intertwined with the prince’s, the pair of them tucked protectively over his midsection. Blinking against the warm morning light bleeding through the tall windows of his guest room at Capsule Corp, he propped himself up on an elbow and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
The sheets still carried the scent of Max—earthy, spiced, something uniquely his—and Charles lingered in it for a moment before dragging himself fully upright.
Max was finally considered well enough by Earth standards to be discharged from the medical compound, though the regal Torossian had argued for days he didn't need to be there. It was now nearly three weeks since he'd fallen from the sky, and Charles was grateful his prince seemed to be adjusting well to life on Earth.
Hannah had offered to outfit a recovery suite specifically for him, but the prince had refused to be separated from Charles again.
Not that Charles was complaining.
He was now living in Charles’ guest room—well, their room really. The second bed had been removed upon Max's insistence, and his physical therapy tools were brought in from the facility in quiet, unspoken permanence.
Not that Max used them, declaring in his most regal Torossian voice that he had no use for primitive Earth recovery items, earning the biggest eye roll from Hannah Charles had ever seen.
Soon, he hoped to return to his little cabin in Ez. It was peaceful there—secluded, surrounded by the gentle curve of the countryside and fresh mountain air—but it didn’t feel quite right to leave just yet. Not while Max was still healing.
Staying a little longer was the smart thing to do. Especially since Charles knew Max would never ask for help, even if he needed it.
The sound of running water reached him then, a steady hiss from the ensuite bathroom and Charles smiled to himself.
Finally.
Max hadn’t been allowed to properly shower for weeks—not with the risk of water irritating the incisions along his ribs, shin, and lower back, not to mention the healing lashes still present. He’d outright refused to let any of the medical staff bathe him, pride and trauma both raw and tightly guarded. Charles remembered how tense the prince had been every time a nurse so much as brought in a washcloth.
Eventually, he had started washing himself with quiet, determined dignity, insisting on privacy even when his wounds made movement difficult. Charles had offered to help once, and Max had declined.
Not angrily. Not harshly. Just . . . firmly.
So the sound of the shower now, steady and unhurried, brought an unexpected warmth to Charles’ chest. It was a small thing, but it felt like progress.
And god, his enhanced sense of smell—now that he was expecting—was profoundly grateful.
The scent of clean skin, fresh linens, and soap would be a welcome change from the subtle but persistent notes of dried blood, surgical gauze, and medical-grade antiseptic that had clung to Max’s skin for far too long.
He missed the fullness of Max's natural scent and his tail fluffed lightly along his leg at the remembrance of it.
Charles stretched his arms above his head, then placed a hand over the soft swell of his lower abdomen, offering a little silent good morning to the life growing inside him.
The pup fluttered once in response—just a light ripple of movement, not quite a kick but enough to make him pause, heart squeezing in wonder. Smiling to himself, he leaned back into the pillows and listened to the water running, the presence of Max just beyond the door making the world feel steady again.
Maybe they could take a walk or get some fresh air today? Hannah’s mother kept a beautiful garden in the compound. The prince talked a lot about the palace gardens on Toro, maybe he’d like to walk with him through it?
Charles needed to come up with more mundane, recovery appropriate, activities for them to do, or he was going to crawl out of his skin. The amount of time they'd spent in the bed together lately, pressed in close, talking and resting, was wearing on his self-control, being so close and yet so far.
He wanted his prince.
Badly.
But he absolutely refused to broach that subject while Max was still healing.
Charles had opened up to Max after their misunderstanding about George, recounting exactly what had happened on the ship from the privacy and safety of their room. It wasn’t easy, but Charles felt like the enormous weight that had been holding him under murky water for so long was finally lifted off his chest.
And Max?
Max had been more than understanding, insisting that it was his fault when it wasn't and once again asking Charles to forgive him.
It was simpler with Hannah. Naturally, she’d gone on the defensive for Charles when she’d walked back into the medical wing kitchen and found him sobbing on the floor, cradled in Max’s arms, but she quickly gave them space when Max let out a ferocious growl. She hasn’t brought it up since.
Smirking, Charles sighed. Those two were a handful themselves, and then there was Lando awkwardly hanging around, looking like a kicked puppy as Hannah spent all of her time helping Max.
A sharp sound of something heavy hitting the shower tile made Charles sit up straight, his heart skipping a beat in the quiet room.
“Max?” he called gently, ears straining for a response.
No answer. Just the steady hiss of the water, far too loud, echoing unnaturally down the hallway.
Sliding out of bed, Charles moved quickly but quietly across the wooden floor, bare feet padding toward the ensuite bathroom, nothing but a large t-shirt and some loose boxers to accommodate his bump.
The moment he opened the door, a thick wave of steam rolled out, clinging to his skin, instantly dampening the front of his shirt. The heat was oppressive—the kind that seeped into your lungs and made every breath feel like it was under water.
“Max?” he tried again, voice softer now, edged with worry.
The room was a foggy blur, but through the mist, he could just make out the broad silhouette of the prince—standing beneath the full stream of hot water, unmoving. The sliding glass door of the shower had been left wide open and steam billowed out from the inside, turning the bathroom floor slick, water pooling beneath the vanity.
Max’s forehead was pressed hard against the tile, the slope of his shoulders tight, water cascading over his back like a waterfall, splashing out the open door. A nearly empty bottle of shampoo lay on its side at his feet, leaking down the drain in slow, wasteful drips.
“Hey,” Charles murmured, stepping into the doorway. “You need to close this, you know? You’re getting water everywhere.”
He reached for the edge of the glass to slide the door shut, but before he could slide it more than half way, Max snapped to attention. His hand slammed against the glass with a wet smack, palm flat and shaking.
“Don’t,” he whispered, voice rough and thick with something heavy. “Can't breathe—”
Charles froze.
The prince’s eyes were wild, distant—pupils blown wide, blue irises dimmed and unfocused. His breathing was fast, chest heaving, and his entire body trembled beneath the torrent of steaming water, his pale skin flushed beet red and angry looking.
Charles’ heart clenched, knowing that look, that sound.
Max was having another episode.
The Eldri immediately let go of the door, raising both hands in a slow, non-threatening gesture. “Okay,” he said gently. “It stays open.” Mind racing for what to do, he asked, “Can I come in with you?”
Max didn’t meet his gaze, hand still pressed tightly to the glass, breathing labored.
Without wasting another second, the Earthling stripped off his shirt and underwear, already soaked through from the damp air, and carefully stepped into the shower stall beside the panicked prince, taking the gamble that Max would allow it—want it, maybe.
The water was so hot.
The heat hit him like a wall, scalding and suffocating as he reached to adjust the settings down, almost burning his arm in the process.
The prince hadn’t moved, but Charles could hear a faint whimper now, like it had been torn from somewhere deep in Max’s chest. He'd only heard that sound a handful of times, but it never failed to gut him.
“Max,” he whispered, stepping behind him slowly. “It’s me. It’s just me.”
Charles only managed to stand in it for a few seconds before he had to step back.
He reached out, hands trembling slightly, and gently placed his palms on Max’s hips. The prince flinched away, turning to press his back against the shower wall opposite Charles, blond tail curled over his front like he was trying to hide.
On second thought, Charles should've tried a different approach.
“It's Charles, Max,” he said softly, lightly pressing a palm to the prince's cheek, trying to draw in those wild eyes.
Max hesitated before he dropped his head onto Charles’ shoulder and sagged against him like all the fight had gone out of his body at once when he recognized his mate.
Charles wrapped his arms around Max’s waist, tail following his lead. He pressed his cheek to the curve of the prince's neck, lips brushing over wet, superheated skin, uncomfortable just in its contact.
“I’m here,” he whispered again. “You’re safe. I promise. I’ve got you.”
Under the endless rush of water, with steam curling around them like ghosts, Max started to relax a bit.
Charles adjusted the temperature dial again until the water finally shifted from scalding to warm and soothing, the steam thinning just enough to let him see the side of Max’s face more clearly. He reached up, palms gliding slowly over the broad expanse of the prince’s back, the familiar ridges of scar tissue under his fingertips a reminder of every battle Max had endured—of every lash, blade, and burn he’d survived.
His thumbs swept in gentle, grounding strokes from shoulder blades to waist, over raised lines and toughened skin. Each pass seemed to ease the tension from Max’s frame, a little more with every breath, until wordlessly, Max leaned back in the water.
Charles held on with a soft gasp as Max pulled him into a firm, almost desperate embrace. The prince’s arms wrapped around him tightly, his chin resting on Charles’ shoulder, breath ragged against his neck, nuzzling it. Unable to help it, Charles nuzzled the side of Max’s neck in return, running his nose along the soft spot behind his ear.
Resuming his gentle motions, Charles let his hands run slow, tender circles over Max’s back again—over the heat-dampened skin starting to cool and the faint fresh scars along his spine Charles knew weren’t there before.
Max’s back had been a mess when he was wished to Earth, Hannah’s best theory that he'd been whipped with some kind of energy based weapon—not that Max would’ve confirmed it either way. Taking a deep breath, Charles fought back the burn in his nose, still feeling responsible for Max being taken on Namek.
For all the new damage that had been done to him.
Breath starting to even out, little by little, the closeness helped anchor them both.
“I turned the water down,” Charles whispered, lips brushing Max’s ear. “Do you want me to turn it off now? We can get out and go back to the bed?”
Max shook his head, small and quick, words thick in his throat. “N–No,” he managed, voice hoarse. “I . . . I haven’t . . .” His eyes dropped, a flicker of shame crossing his face. “My tail—I need to—”
Looking down at it, loosely tucked around Charles’ waist, the blond fur was still matted with old blood and grime, tangled in clumps near the base, soap dripping uselessly onto the floor. But what caught his eye was a few patches where fur was missing. They were just small sections, round and unmistakably from the barbs that pressed into his tail.
Max must've been so upset when he’d discovered those.
Charles took a deep breath and pulled back slightly to look at him, hand coming up to gently cradle the side of his face.
“That’s okay, Max,” he said, soft and sure. “It’s uncomfortable like this, no? Do you want me to try and clean it for you? Would that be alright? I promise I’ll be gentle. It will feel much better. I’ll make it better.”
Hesitating, the prince's eyes flickered with uncertainty, and Charles felt his own tail move on instinct, curling behind Max and brushing gently along the underside of his tail, the soft tip caressing in slow motions.
Max shuddered slightly at the contact, but didn’t pull away.
“I’ll be as careful with yours as I am with mine,” Charles added, voice low and sincere, gaze locked on Max’s. “I'll be so gentle.”
Max finally looked at him then, eyes a little clearer, a little more present. He glanced down at where Charles’ tail continued its gentle reassurance, then back up. Slowly, silently—he nodded.
Relief and tenderness surged through Charles’ chest at the gesture. The trust in this kind of act was not lost on him. After the terrible things that had happened to Max’s tail, the prince still trusted him enough to do this for him.
He reached behind Max carefully, letting his hands find the thick, heavy base. The fur near the root was coarse and sticky with dried blood that had refused to wash away during Max’s rushed sponge baths, patches of it tugging painfully against the skin beneath. Max shuddered lightly, burrowing his face further into the side of Charles’ neck.
Charles’ heart ached at the feeling.
Over the past few months, learning how to properly care for a tail had been a challenge. The first few times he'd tried to wash his had been a disaster, wincing and tugging in all the wrong places. He’d even tried to dry it with a blow dryer, getting an out-of-control puffy mess as a result, his Eldri distraught at the state of it.
Not knowing where to grab, how much pressure to use, or what kind of soap worked best made the whole process plagued with trial and error until he'd developed a solid routine. Charles had watched Max clean his tail regularly before, and he hoped he could do as good of a job.
Torossian tails were a very distinct kind of hair, thick but not coarse, strong yet soft.
Charles found that using just a basic wash technique worked best and a gentle pat down with a towel after was all it needed.
Retrieving the small bottle of shampoo still resting on the floor of the shower, the Eldri lathered a generous amount into his palms before meeting Max’s eyes once more. “Tell me if anything hurts,” he said softly.
Max didn’t speak, just held on, focused on his breathing. With delicate, reverent hands, Charles started to clean him—one knot, one scar, and one breath at a time.
Charles kept his steps slow and measured as he and Max walked side by side along the winding stone path that cut through the garden on the Capsule Corp grounds. The gravel crunched softly underfoot, each step rhythmic.
The late spring breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass, mingling with citrus of the guest shampoo Charles had been using—still a novelty after weeks of sterile medical wards.
Max moved beside him, gait relaxed but noticeably careful. He kept his pace just slightly behind Charles’, saying he was ready to steady the Earthing at any moment, but Charles knew better.
He wasn’t the one who needed watching.
Max’s leg, while much improved, still tensed with every third or fourth step, the muscles in his thigh twitching ever so slightly beneath his loose shorts.
Not that the prince would ever admit that.
Charles glanced over, a soft smile curving his lips. If calling it a “leisurely stroll for the pregnant one” gave Max an excuse to take it easy, then Charles would play along and shoulder the illusion with pride.
The warmth of the afternoon sun bathed the garden, making the delicate flowers seemingly glow from within. Charles tilted his face upward, letting the sunlight kiss his skin. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the warmth of real sunlight, the salty tang of sea air drifting from the coast, or the gentle buzz of bees moving lazily between blooms.
He took a deep breath.
Max suddenly slowed to a stop beside him, eyes scanning a patch of vibrant blooms nestled at the edge of the path. “What are these ones?” he asked, voice soft, curious.
They’d only been walking for ten minutes or so, but Max had started asking questions almost immediately—about the trees, the shrubs, the buzzing bees, and now the flowers.
Charles looked down at the cluster of deep violet petals. “That’s an iris,” he said, voice light with fondness. “I think it’s the national flower of this region. Symbol of royalty and wisdom, if I remember correctly. My Earth father was very into nature and knew a lot about the land.”
Considering that, Max tilted his head slightly before he crouched down on one knee. Charles held his breath for a moment—half-expecting a wince or shift of pain from Max’s leg—but the prince made no complaint.
He was getting much better.
Leaning forward, Max breathed in the iris’ scent, nose wrinkling slightly at the powdery sweetness. “Hmm,” he hummed, straightening with a soft grunt.
Charles laughed under his breath. “Yeah, they’re a bit intense up close. Just nice to look at.”
Falling back in step beside him, the prince brushed his hand lightly against Charles’ back for just a second before it found his hand and they kept walking, surrounded by sunlight and blossoms, the weight of the galaxy momentarily forgotten.
The pair went on like that for the better part of an hour, their stroll winding through paths shadowed by tall hedges, sun-dappled ferns, and flower beds bursting with color. Max stopped often, leaning down to inspect different flowers, touching their petals with surprising gentleness, like he was searching for something.
Charles watched him with quiet curiosity, enjoying the rare softness in the prince’s expression. He looked so different here, out of the shadows of his PTO uniform.
Hannah had brought over bags and bags of clothes for the both of them, unsure what Max would like best, she'd reasoned. But Charles knew that was just an excuse.
The woman loved to shop.
She'd brought designer and casual alike, all kinds of styles, colors, and textures for the prince, filling the small closet in their room. After going through it, Max had burst from the small door, a pink button down shirt in hand.
“What in the goddess is this?” He'd shouted. “Is this clothing for a man or not!?”
Unable to contain his laughter, Charles told him to pick out whatever he liked and to ignore the rest, though he was dying to see Max put that on. In hindsight, perhaps Charles should’ve encouraged the prince into trying the bold color after Max refused to wear anything other than dark colored shorts and plain, all-white t-shirts.
The prince stuck to mostly long sleeve options, some high-necked that gave Charles a pause, but at least they weren't spandex.
Charles was understanding of Max’s want to cover his scars, both old and new. However he did miss seeing his mate’s rippling muscles under the second skin material.
When they reached a small, vine-wrapped gazebo nestled at the edge of the garden, Max slowed his pace and gave a nod toward it. “Let’s rest,” he suggested, not quite out of breath, but not entirely steady either.
Charles gladly followed.
His feet were beginning to ache and his back felt tight, the weight of the pup beginning to tug at his posture more noticeably by the day. He wasn’t even that far along, but the Eldri was already starting to notice the changes.
The need for more sleep, frequent trips to the bathroom, an increasing appetite, and his pecs had started to feel sore along with a deep ache behind his nipples. He didn't even want to think about the changes with those, avoiding a mirror at all costs, but he'd still noted their slightly increased size in the shower.
Inside, a small wooden bench swing creaked softly with age as Charles sat down, sighing as he leaned back and let the swing sway gently beneath him.
Max didn’t join him.
Instead, he drifted toward a curtain of white flowers climbing the trellis on one side of the gazebo. They trailed upward in spirals—tiny, odd-shaped blooms with delicate green stems and a honey-sweet fragrance that grew stronger the longer Charles focused on it.
He bent down to sniff them, and instantly flinched.
Charles laughed quietly, biting back a giggle. “That one bite your nose?”
Max didn’t answer, stepping in closer and pressing his face into the blooms, practically burying himself in them. The prince's shoulders relaxed as he inhaled deeply, breathing the scent in like he'd finally found what he was looking for all morning.
“You like that one?” Charles asked, the smile still on his face. “I don’t actually know what it’s called. I can ask Hannah’s mom—she designed this whole garden.”
Max pulled back slowly, eyes distant for a moment before his expression shifted into a smile, soft and wistful. He reached up, grabbing a small handful of the vine, and ripped it straight off the lattice.
Gasping, Charles sat bolt upright on the swing. “Max! You can’t just rip up her flowers!”
Utterly unbothered, the regal Torossian walked back to the swing, contraband in hand. The sunlight filtered through the leaves above, casting soft shadows over his shoulders as he held out the bundle of flowers and leaves toward Charles with both hands.
“This is what my favorite flower from the palace gardens smelled like,” he said quietly. “The Bellis flower from Toro.”
Charles blinked, stunned by the admission, and carefully, he reached out and took the offering, fingers brushing Max’s. The flowers were warm from the prince’s hands, still trembling slightly from being freshly picked.
He brought them to his nose and inhaled deeply.
The scent was soft—honeyed and green, like spring rain on warm soil, edged with something faintly wild.
Beautiful and familiar.
It settled something in his chest, and he felt his tail twitch gently. Max sat down beside him, the swing shifting slightly with his weight, and he stared out into the garden, avoiding Charles’ gaze.
“Your scent,” he murmured, “is also like this.”
Charles turned to look at him, eyes wide. Max’s ears turned pink, his posture stiff with embarrassment, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but it was too late. The truth was already there, hanging delicately in the air between them like the scent of the flowers.
Charles smiled.
Leaning back against the bench swing, the wooden slats creaked softly beneath the prince as his eyes slipped closed, the slight flush still lingering in his cheeks. A small, contented smile tugged at his lips—unusual for the ever composed prince, and impossibly endearing.
Since arriving on Earth, Max had been distant. Not overtly or cruelly, but still distant all the same. They hadn’t had very much alone time either, a constant rotation of staff hovering around either wanting to check Max’s vitals or the pup’s. His mask that Charles had grown to recognize from the PTO ship was firmly in place, slipping only for a few rare moments when they talked about their little one.
Much of the casual softness and intimacy they'd shared on Namek was locked away, the prince retreating back inside the safety of his battle-hardened expression.
He understood it, but Charles wanted Max to be happy here on Earth. This had always been his home, but what Charles had realized over their months of separation, was that nowhere was home without Max.
Watching Max settle into the swing for a beat, chest tight with affection and something deeper—need, longing, the aching pull of their bond reignited in full force.
His Eldri took its chance.
Setting the cluster of white flowers gently aside, Charles shifted and quickly swung one leg over Max’s lap, straddling him before the prince could stop him. Sky blue eyes snapped open in surprise, and Max barely had time to inhale before Charles leaned in and sealed their mouths together.
The kiss was fierce, hungry, his fingers diving into Max’s tousled blond hair, tugging him closer like he was afraid the prince might vanish again. Max groaned into the kiss, grip easily finding Charles’ waist, fingers spreading wide across the small of his sore back, grounding them both.
Their movements became fluid and rhythmic, like something ancient and familiar, reigniting muscle memory born from need.
Only in the last week or so did Charles start to feel well enough to be horny again, but he'd pointedly ignored that desire, too much going on to even consider indulging.
But his instincts had other ideas.
Charles deepened the kiss, teeth grazing Max’s lower lip, tugging gently before sucking it between his own with a soft, broken moan. The Eldri’s tail twitched beside them, hips shifting against Max’s with increasing urgency, the pressure of their bodies aligning in a slow, torturous friction that made heat bloom under his skin.
He needed this.
Not just the physical contact, but the reassurance, the re-anchoring of their bond, the confirmation that Max still found him desirable, especially after his panicked confession about George.
The prince had been so firm with him, cutting off his spiraling thoughts, letting him know how loved he was and that his fears were unfounded.
Adrift without his mate, Charles had been barely holding himself together, walking through the days like a ghost. But with Max beneath him, warm and real and his, everything inside him burned with clarity.
His Eldri purred loudly in his skull, demanding more, delighting in the feel of their mate’s energy wrapped around them again, his tail around his waist.
Charles gasped softly between kisses, one hand moving from Max’s hair to cup the side of his face, thumb brushing over the prince’s cheekbone. His eyes were soft, expression open and honest.
“I missed you,” he whispered against Max’s lips, voice trembling. “So much.”
Arms tightened around him in response, the regal Torossian's lips brushed softly along the edge of his jaw, temple, and his ear.
God, Charles missed this.
“I’m here now,” Max whispered, voice rough and low, laced with barely-contained restraint. “You brought me here.”
Charles wasn’t finished.
His kisses grew more frantic, more needy, body rocking slowly in Max’s lap as their energies and tails tangled—pulling tighter, deeper, like they were trying to fuse into one. The tension between them was thick, magnetic, built on months of separation and whispered longing, and now, finally, on reunion.
“Wait,” Max murmured against Charles’ lips, breath catching as he tried—unsuccessfully—to still the Eldri’s slow, grinding movements. His hands tightened at Charles’ waist, attempting to hold him steady, but Charles was relentless, hips rolling with sensual intent.
Half-hard and practically soaked already, Charles would bend over the swing right now if Max agreed, dignity be damned.
“We can’t,” Max breathed, voice rough and deeply conflicted. “You’re with—what about the pup?”
Charles didn’t stop.
His hands trailed over Max’s shoulders, thumbs brushing beneath the collar of his white shirt, the heat in his gaze burning brighter than the midday sun filtering through the leaves overhead.
“It’s okay,” he mumbled, lips brushing Max’s again. “They’ll be fine.” He leaned in closer, their noses brushing. “I already asked Hannah—”
Max pulled back slightly, blue eyes narrowed. “Who knows nothing of Torossian pregnancy.”
Charles huffed a breath against his cheek, and whispered, “Neither do you.”
Before Max could offer more objection, Charles leaned in and sealed their mouths together again, tongue slipping past the prince’s lips in a silencing, wicked stroke. Max groaned, the sound guttural and low, hands momentarily forgetting their resistance as they slid up Charles’ spine under his loose shirt.
Curling upward with feline grace, the Eldri's auburn tail drifted between their bodies like a living ribbon of intention, teasing its way higher, brushing along the space between them—trailing featherlight over Max’s chest, then upward.
Charles pulled back just enough to watch, lips swollen, breathing shallow. Eyes half-lidded with the weight of need and affection, Charles bit his lip at the hungry look Max had watching his tail sway and dance between them. His tail finished with a final flourish, flicking just beneath Max’s nose, dragging ever so lightly across the sensitive skin.
A deep purr burst from Max’s chest, rich and thunderous, vibrating through both of them. His eyes fluttered for a moment, jaw tightening, and he groaned again, this time in surrender.
Charles smiled, triumphant and flushed, body still swaying softly in the prince’s lap.
He wasn’t sure what that gesture meant, but for once, he was glad his Eldri could talk some sense into Max's instincts.
It was his only hope if rational Max continued to deny him.
“See?” he whispered, voice breathy and filled with mischief. “They’ll be fine. We’re fine.” Reaching down between them, Charles squeezed lightly, delighted to find the prince was just as affected as he was by their proximity as he ran the flat of his palm up and down over Max's hard length. “Please—”
“Ahem.”
Charles froze.
The sound sliced clean through the haze of heat and closeness, and he turned sharply, nearly falling off Max’s lap in the process, tail fluffed up to three times its usual size in surprise. Max's tail by contrast squeezed his waist tightly, holding him close.
Lando stood at the entrance of the gazebo, one brow raised, arms crossed over his chest with that same infuriating smirk he always wore, clearly delighted at catching them mid-moment.
Behind him, Hannah hovered awkwardly, her cheeks flushed a deep red as she quickly looked anywhere but directly at them.
“Should we come back later?” Lando asked, tone a little too pleased with himself.
Max immediately tightened his grip on Charles’ low back, pulling him flush to his side. Eyes narrowing, gaze flicking from Lando to Hannah, then back to Lando again, Max looked wary of the unfamiliar man.
After Max had regained consciousness in the medical center, Lando had decided to head back to his room at Master Vassuer's, not sticking around long enough to even have one conversation with the prince.
That surely didn't help the situation now.
Charles, already red-faced, hastily slid off Max’s lap fully, shifting to sit beside him on the swing. He cleared his throat and adjusted the hem of his shirt, trying—and failing—to subtly fix the waistband of his shorts, the damp patch beneath making him acutely uncomfortable.
Max on the other hand sat completely unbothered, erection prominent, tenting his loose shorts.
“No, it’s okay,” he said, unable to look either of them in the eye. “We were just . . . just—”
“What do you want?” Max bit out sharply, eyes still fixed on Lando.
The prince had been furious when Charles told him about what happened on Namek, and that his friend had held onto his tail to stop him from going after Max. He'd had to practically sit on him to keep Max in his hospital bed, stopping him from finding Lando and beating him to a pulp.
What was done was done.
Their relationship was strained at best, but Charles still didn’t wish ill on his childhood friend like that, no matter how satisfied his instincts were about Max’s murderous intent over his new tail.
“We found what looks like a tracker,” Hannah said quickly, cutting the prince off as she stepped forward, all business now. “In the thing from Max’s tail.”
The words dropped like a stone into the quiet garden.
Max stood in an instant, body moving before Charles’ mind could catch up. The swing jolted backward, and Charles grabbed the armrest to steady himself as Max’s legs braced in front of him.
The shift in his aura was like a storm—calm replaced by tension, warmth replaced by a low, vibrating growl that rumbled from his chest.
“What?” Max snarled, the word thick with alarm and rage. “How long was it active?”
Hannah’s face was grim, the heat of earlier embarrassment gone.
“There’s no way to know for sure,” she said evenly, careful not to breach Max’s personal space or look anywhere but his face. “It was encrypted with some tech I've never seen before, low frequency, buried in the hinge mechanism. We only picked it up by chance in post-removal analysis.”
Max’s fists clenched at his sides, tail flicking once, sharply, the tip lashing. “Can you take me to where you are examining it?”
Nodding after a moment, Hannah motioned for the two of them to follow her as she stepped back into the garden towards a large building in the distance.
Max held out a hand to help Charles up from the bench swing and the group walked together in silence, the picked bunch of honeysuckle left to swing in the breeze alone.
Standing silently beside Max, Charles watched the prince’s expression with careful eyes. His jaw was tight, brows furrowed in a way that suggested anger, but his face was clouded with something quieter. Something Charles recognized after months of learning the subtleties of his mate’s body language.
Max held the tail band in his hand like it might bite him. Turning the small device over, his fingers were firm but careful, like he was trying to understand something ancient and hateful. He scowled deeply, the expression carved into his features as he rubbed his thumb across the raised crest stamped into the band.
The seal.
Charles' stomach clenched at the sight of it.
That unmistakable sigil—etched in shining gold—was the same one Alonso had given him months ago, pressed onto a mantle clasp. The Royal House of Toro’s emblem. Regal. Powerful. And now twisted into something so . . . violating.
He wanted to ask. Say something. Anything to offer comfort, or clarity, or just a breath of space between Max and whatever realization was crashing down on him—but the words wouldn't come. So Charles stayed quiet, the weight of it all coiling tighter in his chest.
“You see this data stream here?” Hannah’s voice sliced through the silence as she gestured toward the monitors on the desk in her lab. “This is what we’re assuming the tracker was broadcasting before it was disabled. My team can’t make heads or tails of it.”
Max’s eyes didn’t leave the screen.
Charles followed his gaze, reading nothing but chaotic lines of numbers and coordinates—meaningless to him, but Max’s expression didn’t shift. He was studying it, calculating, putting something together in that razor-sharp mind of his.
“It’s this current location,” Max spoke somberly. “Just outside of Region Seven’s controlled limits. That telemetry indicates Earth.”
Silence fell over the room, sudden and heavy.
Charles felt a tremor in his tail.
Beside him, Lando exhaled slowly. “So whoever put it there . . . ”
“They may have been able to track the signal here,” Hannah confirmed grimly, “before we were able to destroy it.”
Charles’ breath caught, his tail winding instinctively around his thigh, squeezing tightly.
Would they never be free of the emperor? Would he not stop until he found Max again?
Hannah turned to Max. “Can you reverse it?” she asked. “Are you familiar enough with this tech to try and reestablish a signal we can trace? Maybe identify who was receiving the broadcast?”
Max didn’t answer. They both knew who was receiving the broadcast. He just kept staring at the monitor, that tail band still cradled in his hand.
Reaching out, Charles let his fingers barely brush Max’s arm.
“I’ll help,” he said softly. “We’ll figure something out—”
“I need to speak with your guardian,” Max said, surprising Charles.
What did the prince want with Seb?
Again, Charles sat quietly next to Max on one of the cushioned bench seats aboard Hannah’s hovercraft, the hum of the engines vibrating beneath his feet as they cut through the upper atmosphere on their way to the Lookout.
He was surprised Max wanted to go.
To see another Guardian.
Another judgmental figure atop a distant platform in the sky, cloaked in wisdom and mystery.
But this wasn’t for judgment or forgiveness.
This was for help.
Seb wasn’t like the Grand Elder. He didn’t offer power, or ultimatums, or demand penance. He offered clarity, something they all desperately needed right now.
If Jos was tracking Max—if he was already on his way—then Seb might be the only one capable of sensing that kind of threat before it arrived. He could feel energy signatures far beyond Earth’s reach, and if there was a storm coming, they needed someone who could see it before it crested the horizon.
Charles just wished he knew what to do after that.
If Jos was really coming . . . If they were out of time.
He swallowed hard and placed a hand over the gentle curve of his stomach, feeling the pup give a soft little shift beneath his palm. He'd read in that book Hannah gave him about babies having hiccups in the womb as they learned to swallow.
Their pup had them often.
That precious life mattered more than his own and no matter what happened, he would protect them. All three of them.
The silence in the cabin was thick, like the calm before a storm.
Hannah piloted with a tense jaw, her brows drawn low. She hadn’t spoken since they left the Capsule Corp compound, her hands gripping the controls like they were the only thing keeping her grounded.
Lando sat opposite them, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw set. His eyes kept flicking toward Max—cold, sharp glances that carried no warmth.
Just suspicion.
The Eldri noticed every one of them and his tail twitched slightly at his side, the fur along its ridge bristling. Max had noticed too, it seemed. The prince sat still, almost unnaturally so, posture stiff, his hands folded in his lap. The blue of his irises flickered with quiet agitation, though he said nothing.
It was strange, seeing Max contain himself this way, given how effortlessly Max struck fear into anyone who dared look at him on the PTO ship. Restraint was new for the regal Torossian—painful, but necessary. And Charles knew that if Max exploded now, even verbally, it would only confirm every fear Lando had about him, unfounded or not.
So he sat beside his prince, silent, taking hold of his hand to ease the tension. Max laced their fingers together and pressed a kiss to the back of Charles' hand.
Lando rolled his eyes.
The hovercraft touched down with a low, graceful hum, the chilled wind of the upper atmosphere sweeping across the platform the moment the doors slid open. Charles attempted to step out first, but was quickly cut off by the prince exiting in front of him, the soles of his shoes clicking gently on the white stone floor of the Lookout.
Charles followed close behind, watching as Max’s taller frame tensed, alert, eyes flicking across the vast circular expanse of the platform. The way he moved—shoulders squared, jaw tight, muscles coiled just beneath the skin—told Charles that he was already in protective mode.
Not that he hadn’t been since he’d found out Charles was expecting their pup.
He would check every room they walked into, constantly ask if Charles needed to rest, had endless amounts of food and water sent to their quarters, and would even go so far as to offer to carry him places—despite his own healing injuries.
“You need your strength,” he'd said. “The pup feeds off of your energy to grow and will require more over time. You should conserve your ki as much as possible.”
Charles just smiled and told him he was fine, secretly enjoying receiving so much attention from the prince.
Okay, maybe he’d let him carry him to their room after dinner . . . once. But only because he was exhausted and had eaten too much to move.
After months apart, he wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to be doted on.
Lando and Hannah exited just after them, but Charles barely registered their presence, focused instead on the familiar figure standing at the far edge.
Seb.
Still and regal, the Guardian of Earth stood exactly where he always seemed to be—facing the horizon, robes fluttering slightly in the wind, arms folded behind his back like a sentinel carved from ancient stone, presence radiating a quiet, timeless authority.
When Max didn't proceed, Charles walked forward, guiding the prince along the open sky-suspended platform. But just as he'd managed a few steps, a sudden pressure tugged at his wrist.
He gasped softly, turning just as Max pulled him back a half-step—away from the open edge. The prince’s hand was firm but careful, eyes narrowed as he placed himself between Charles and the long, cloud-draped fall that stretched down into infinity.
It was a little silly, really—Charles could fly, after all—but the gesture still warmed something deep in his chest. Max’s other hand came up to settle gently over Charles’ back, palm spreading wide, grounding him.
Protective. Instinctive. Intimate.
Charles smiled despite himself, leaning slightly into the contact, ignoring the snort from Lando behind him. They continued forward as a group, their pace unified, Max staying just a half-step ahead, Lando and Hannah trailing behind like a shadow.
Seb turned at their approach, his white robes with deep navy embellishments catching the light and tight white band over his forehead, silver braids woven into his long blond hair glinting in the sun. His gaze swept over each of them—measured, calm—before settling on Max.
And then, to everyone's astonishment—including Max himself—the Guardian bowed.
Not deeply, but low enough to be unmistakable: a mark of respect.
“Prince of Toro,” Seb intoned smoothly, his voice like aged oak and quiet thunder. “Welcome to Earth. Please accept my humble condolences on the demise of your world.”
Max blinked, body going rigid in surprise, the poised tension of battle readiness stalling just slightly.
Seb straightened from his bow, his eyes kind as he folded his hands in front of him, the long sleeves of his robe shifting with the motion like waves over still water. The sunlight haloed his form, but there was a distinct weight to his presence—a timeless wisdom that had seen empires rise and fall.
“I trust,” he continued calmly, “that I won’t regret my decision in allowing you to reside here.”
Charles felt his breath catch slightly, heart hammering just a bit faster in his chest. He turned his head to watch the prince beside him carefully, gauging his reaction.
To his surprise, Max didn’t bristle. Didn’t scowl or offer some flippant comment. Instead, he let out a slow breath and bowed low and smooth, the weight of it real and without sarcasm. His hand never left Charles’—if anything, his grip tightened slightly.
“I am indeed in your debt,” Max said, voice firm but respectful. “Rest assured, I mean no one on this planet harm . . . so long as they do not threaten Charles.”
He raised his head, gaze burning with quiet conviction. “Toro or not, I am well within my rights as a Torossian to defend my mate.”
Charles felt a pulse of heat in his chest at the word mate—how easily Max said it now, how natural it sounded.
Seb’s lips twitched at the corners, the barest hint of a smile creeping in. He exhaled through his nose, a short, thoughtful sound.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said, nodding once. “What can I do for you?”
Hannah and Lando stepped forward, coming to stand beside them, the four forming a tight half-circle around the Guardian. “We came to see what you could tell us about the being—” Hannah began, but Max’s voice cut through hers.
“What do you know of the frost demon, Emperor Jos?”
Seb’s expression didn’t change, but the air around them did, growing still, and Charles didn’t miss the subtle shift in his posture. His shoulders stiffened just slightly, hands folding tighter at his waist.
When the Guardian spoke, his voice had a different weight to it. “Frost demons,” he lifted his eyes to the sky, “are not like other beings. They are not born in the way most species are. They are made—formed over time, layered with power and cruelty, shaped by cold ambition. They do not age as most do or evolve. They . . . accumulate.”
“Accumulate?” Hannah asked warily.
“With no need for breath, food, or sleep, they do not require sustenance to function, and have a propensity for extreme violence. They do not have cellular degeneration, don't experience disease, can survive in the glacial vacuum of space, and don’t heal in the way organic beings do.”
A strange sense of unease prickled down Charles’ spine and he looked back at Max, gaze sharp. Did Max know those things about the emperor?
“The self-proclaimed Emperor you speak of is the last of his kind. The final frost demon in this galaxy, perhaps the universe.”
Hannah blinked, and even Lando took a quiet step closer, his frown deepening while Charles fought against the rising nausea in his throat.
“There were once others,” Seb continued. “His maker and one akin to brother. Terrible beings, ruthless in their own right. But the one called Jos—” Seb paused, voice going quieter, “—is different. He watched and he waited. Learned from them in their endless hunger for territory, dominance and energy. And, when he was strong enough . . . he disposed of them.”
Charles felt Max tense beside him, breath sharp through his nose.
“How . . . How did he kill them?” The prince asked. “If they could be killed, then so can Jos.”
“Kill is perhaps not the right word for what he did to them,” Seb said with a mirthful smirk before growing a bit colder. “He absorbed them.”
Charles’ brain was spinning. Absorbed them? What the hell did that mean?
“I don’t understand,” Max murmured, edged in disbelief—echoing the thought swirling through Charles’ own mind. “What do you mean . . . absorbed ?”
Seb exhaled, the silver in his hair catching in the wind.
“The demon took their energy,” Seb said. “Their essence. Folded it into his own being. Stole it, twisted it, bonded with it. Frost demons . . . they don’t inherit power from creation or get stronger when they heal—they consume it. And in so doing, Jos became something far worse than anything his kin ever were.”
Charles looked out over the edge of the Lookout, taking in the endless horizon, but there was no comfort in the view, just a hollow stillness pierced only by the soft, whistling wind curling around the spire’s edge.
“When Jos took over his maker’s empire, long before any of us were more than space dust, he made a change in strategy that has kept him in power. Instead of purging planets and siphoning off its strongest warrior’s energy, Jos acquired the best soldiers and integrated them into his forces with intent on training them. For millennia he has pushed and beaten and shaped the best the universe has to offer into their mightiest forms, only to then consume their energies for himself. Many tried to resist, but all eventually succumbed to his unbreakable will. You, young Prince, are not the first in his endless quest for strength.”
The idea was unthinkable. Unspeakable. This had been going on for far longer than any of them could have imagined.
There was a beat of silence between them all, heavy with realization.
“He has no equal,” Seb said finally, quietly. “No challenger. No weakness—at least, not one anyone has found. And worst of all,” his eyes moved from Charles to Max, solemn and dark. “He fears nothing, because he believes nothing in this universe can truly harm him. Perhaps nothing can.”
Charles swallowed hard, bile rising in his throat.
Not even his years of training had prepared him for this—this sense of insignificance. He’d faced impossible odds before, but standing at the edge of what could be the death of everything, dread coiled cold and sharp in his belly.
Jos wasn’t just an enemy. This was entropy made sentient. A force so sure of its invincibility it had stopped bothering to hide.
“He was afraid of us,” Max said then, breaking the tension like a blade drawn from a sheath. His tone was calm, but there was fire beneath it.
Charles turned to look at him. The wind tugged at Max’s hair as blue eyes glinted in the fading light.
“He enslaved my people,” Max continued, “because he feared the legend was true. That a Torossian warrior would be born strong enough to rise up and overthrow him. Turn his empire into dust.”
Charles watched Lando’s brow furrow. “What legend?”
Turning his gaze back toward the sky, Seb sighed. “The legend of the Great Torossian Warrior. It’s been whispered across the stars for millennia. The Oozaru reborn in mortal flesh—unbreakable spirit, unmatched power, heart forged in loss and loyalty.” He paused, the words lingering in the air like a song half-remembered. “Some think it’s nothing more than myth. But you are correct—Jos believes.”
Max’s silence said everything.
So Alonso had figured it out, Charles thought. The old Torossian had figured out Jos’ game and did everything he could to play to that advantage. The elder understood why Jos had done what he did. Why he hadn’t killed Max outright and why he had bound him, pushed him, tried to break him instead.
It wasn't for sport.
It was . . . fear?
Could that be it? Jos had wanted Max strong, clearly, since he’d spent years pushing him to his physical limits, knowing it would only make him stronger—but maybe he didn’t want Max too strong? If he achieved that legendary potential, could he really be a threat?
Maybe that’s why the emperor tormented him so, to keep the Prince under his thumb. But if so, why make Max stronger?
Deep down, even a god-eating demon still feared what he couldn’t control.
“What can you tell me about the legend? My father, he believed, but I haven’t been able to—How can I break through?”
“I may know a great deal and have seen much in my years, but those secrets were lost with your people, Prince of Toro. The answers you seek cannot be found here.”
Charles squeezed Max's hand, but the prince didn't squeeze his back. His jaw was set tight, as he asked, “Can you feel him?” the prince said quietly. “Can you determine if the emperor is coming here?”
Seb tilted his head. “Perhaps.”
Eyes closing, Charles watched as Seb turned his chin to the horizon, practically holding his breath. The four of them stood quietly, waiting to see if the guardian would confirm their nightmare, Charles exchanging a tense glance with Hannah.
After a moment, Seb opened his eyes, gaze still set on the horizon. “I cannot sense the demon in this sector of the universe, but I suspect it is only a matter of time. If he still believes in the legend, he will not let you escape.”
Max squeezed Charles’ hand back that time.
“Can we just wish for him to be dead with the orbs?” Lando's voice broke over the tension.
Hannah shot him a look, but Charles just felt like his head was spinning.
Seb, however, frowned, something like disappointment in his eyes. “You cannot wish for something to be dead that does not live.”
But he moved, bled, felt, and thought. The emperor spoke to him, Charles unable to forget how those velvet words flooded his mind in the throne room. He just couldn't wrap his mind around how the warlord was not considered alive—
“How the hell does that work?” Lando muttered, brows furrowed. “He’s not alive, but he can still function? Still fight? Still get hurt? But he is supposedly afraid of Max? Am I the only one completely lost—ouch!”
Lando rubbed his arm where Hannah had landed a rough elbow into the side of it.
“Were you not listening to anything Seb just said?” She snipped.
Seb just nodded. “As I said, his body does not operate under the same biological rules as yours. Killing him would require extinguishing the source of his energy, the center of his aura beneath his frozen form. But that is easier said that done.”
Charles shook his head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Then what do we do?”
His mouth felt dry as he clenched his jaw, pulse thudding in his ears, tail lashing a bit behind him. What the fuck was he supposed to do when the thing he wanted dead already was?
“ . . . Shit,” Hannah muttered under her breath.
“So that’s a no-go on the whole ‘wish Jos out of existence’ plan.” Lando exhaled, rubbing his temples.
Next to him, Max forced himself to take a breath. “ . . . what do I do?” he finally asked, voice low. “If it is me he will not let go of, this mess is mine to deal with.”
“That is for you to decide,” Seb admitted. “I can continue to monitor this region and give you all a warning if the demon comes near, but I cannot guarantee that will be enough to tip the scales of fate.”
Charles lifted his gaze, something hot and dangerous settling behind his eyes.
“You are free to stay on the planet while you take time to decide, but if you intend to face him, then I suggest you understand one thing.” The guardian's eyes darkened by a touch. “You are not fighting a being. You are challenging something ancient. Something that remembers when gods still moved amongst the stars.”
_____
Max walked straight to the closet, strides long and purposeful, chest full of resolve. Throwing the door open with more force than necessary, the hinges groaned in protest as he stepped inside.
The familiar scent of Charles clung to the air—citrus soap, fresh linen, and something floral—and it nearly made Max falter.
But he’d already made up his mind.
Yanking a few shirts off the shelf, black, charcoal, the ones that didn’t draw attention, he tossed them onto the small trunk near the closet wall. Shorts were next, followed by some looser pants that felt suitable for training.
He didn’t need armor. Just distance.
Between himself and Charles.
“What are you doing?” Charles’ voice echoed from the doorway.
Max didn’t turn around.
“I must leave,” he said, struggling to pull a shirt off its hanger. The decision had been made the moment Seb confirmed the possibility of the emperor coming, but that didn’t make saying it any easier. “If Jos is coming after me, I can’t put you in danger. I won’t. ”
The hanger was suddenly ripped from his grip, jarring him into stillness as Max finally turned.
Charles stood in front of him, face flushed with fury, green eyes shining, hands trembling around the hanger, knuckles white.
“Like hell you are,” he snapped. “We don’t even know if he’s coming yet.”
“That’s why I have to leave,” Max said firmly. “We can’t wait for certainty. If I stay, and he comes, he’ll destroy everything to get to me. I can’t let that happen. I won’t put you or the pup in his path.”
His gaze dropped to Charles’ belly, a protective ache blooming in his chest. The very thought of Jos setting foot near his mate—his family—was enough to make the air in the room feel too thin, his mind supplying horrid images of what the frost demon would do.
“No,” Charles whispered, voice hoarse. “You don’t get to make that decision alone. ”
“I don’t want to. I have to.”
“No, you don’t. We are partners, that’s not—”
“Charles—”
“NO! ”
The word was raw, ripped from Charles' throat with such finality it shook Max to his core.
“You're not leaving me again!” the foreign sounding words spilled from the Eldri’s throat, tail bristled up.
The force behind his words stilled everything—Max’s hands, his breath, even his heart for a brief, suspended moment. Tears spilled down Charles’ cheeks in thick, uncontrollable rivulets, his shoulders beginning to tremble as the dam broke.
Max moved before he even thought to.
He wrapped Charles in his arms, pulling him tightly against his chest, every protective instinct in his blood roaring to the surface, Oozaru bristling with the urge to calm their mate. His tail slid around the Eldri’s waist in a firm but gentle embrace. His mate was so fierce. A fiery Eldri to match Max's spirit and his Oozaru responded in kind, intent to listen.
Charles clung to him, fists twisting in the fabric of Max’s shirt as sobs wracked his smaller frame. The soft, wet heat of his tears soaked through the cotton over Max’s chest, a dark patch growing with each choked breath.
“We are a team. Mates. We decide together what is best for the both of us and I can’t . . .” Charles whispered, broken and small. “I can’t do that again. I was so lost. So sick without you.”
Brow pinching, the prince’s arms tightened fractionally. He leaned back just enough to see Charles’ face, gently brushing away a tear-streaked curl that had fallen over his eye.
“Sick?” he asked carefully. “You . . . from the pup.”
Charles didn’t respond, his eyes downcast, lips trembling as he tried to steady himself.
Mentally chastising himself again for being so reckless, the prince really wished he'd thought twice about how much sex they were having before they were separated.
This whole thing was his fault.
Rubbing slow, soothing strokes up and down his back, Max tried to calm the panicked Eldri, tail releasing calming pheromones. “You'll be cared for here,” he said. “There are good people . . . resources . . . facilities to keep you safe and comfortable while I—”
“No,” Charles interrupted, voice shaking. “You don’t understand.”
Max fell silent.
“I wasn’t just sick with the pup, Max.” Charles finally looked up, eyes red and glassy. “I was sick because I could feel you. Your pain. Your energy fading . . . every day. It was like something was tearing me apart from the inside.”
His stomach turned.
“I could barely get out of bed,” Charles continued. “I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t breathe without choking on that feeling, like something was missing and dying inside me. I was so weak . . . my legs would give out on me just trying to walk across the room, and that was when I wasn’t using my Veyöra. It wasn’t just hormones or morning sickness or stress or all that other shit in the book. It was being away from you.”
Max’s mouth went dry, thoughts crashing together in a spiral of shock, disbelief and guilt. He’d known Charles had struggled. He had heard from Hannah about Charles’ symptoms and in the drawn, haunted look that still lingered behind his mate’s smiles. But he hadn’t fathomed that Charles would experience bond-sickness.
Max had only heard about it as a child, not old enough to even consider mating, but he supposed that was another misjudgment on his part. This meant that while they’d been apart, when Max had been suffering in chains, his mate had been breaking just as surely as he had.
It wasn’t something he’d even thought to worry about, being an Oozaru himself. They didn’t quite experience the same symptoms as Eldri’s, but could get a much milder version with malaise and sluggishness.
Impossible to distinguish while he was starving.
“Why did you not tell me this?” he asked softly.
“I didn't want you to worry or have another reason to feel guilty about what happened on Namek. I haven’t felt like that since I got you back,” Charles whispered, fingers tightening around Max’s shirt. “And I am not losing you again. I won’t. If you are leaving, then I am coming with you.”
The thought of going on the run again with Charles made Max’s chest ache in a way that was almost unbearable.
He hadn’t been able to keep him safe then—on the ship, on Namek, through the chaos and horror that had followed them—and nothing about their situation had changed since.
If anything, it had become worse, because now Charles wouldn’t just be carrying himself through danger. He was carrying their pup, too.
Leaving, dragging Charles across the galaxy like prey fleeing a hunter, no shelter, no allies, no certainty, was out of the question.
The Eldri had to stay here.
Swallowing thickly, Max lowered his head, burying his face into the soft, damp curls at the crown of Charles' head.
“Charles,” he whispered, voice cracking despite himself. “You have to stay here.”
Charles trembled in his arms but said nothing, tilting his head up, waiting.
“I can’t beat him, Charlie.” Cradling Charles’ face, Max spoke around the knot lodged in his throat. “I’ve tried, but my father was wrong. I’m not what Jos thinks I am. I can’t—”
“You don’t have to be anything more than what you already are,” Charles said with conviction. “A prince . . . a king. None of that is important. We can do this together.”
Max squeezed his eyes shut, Alonso’s words resurfacing from deep within his memory, as sharp and cold as a blade pressed to his throat.
As important as it is for Jos not to find out Charles is Torossian, it is dire that he doesn’t find out Charles is an Eldri.
Max felt like he was drowning under the weight of it. Under the truth of what Jos would do if he found out their secret.
“And if I can’t beat him, then I can’t let him find you.”
The breeding program.
The old, monstrous plan Alonso said Jos had whispered about in the shadows of his court. The raids. The bloodshed. The systematic eradication of entire noble houses, the destruction of temple lineages.
The horror of it all wrapped itself around Max’s chest and squeezed. “Jos can’t find out,” Max said, more to himself than to Charles.
Charles pulled back just enough to look up at him, “Can’t find out what?” he asked.
“That you’re an Eldri.”
Charles blinked once, then again, clearly not understanding.
Max swallowed hard, “A long time ago, Jos had a plan,” he said slowly, voice hollow. “He wanted to build a special forces army. A legion made entirely of Eldri bloodlines—bred, trained, and controlled by him. He was going to raid the temples, the noble houses—take every Eldri he could find. Kidnap them. Kill their mates to make them . . . compliant. Force them to breed with high-energy warriors he selected, and raise the offspring as weapons.”
Charles' face paled, his entire body going rigid against Max’s, hands covering his stomach, tail fluffing up.
“What? ”
Max nodded grimly. He cradled Charles’ face in his hands, his thumb stroking just beneath his mate’s trembling bottom lip.
“And that’s why you can’t come with me, Charlie.” His voice broke on the next words, thick with desperation. “Jos can never find out you’re alive and he can never know you’re an Eldri, carrying my pup.”
He pressed his forehead to Charles’, breathing him in, grounding himself in the soft thrum of their bond.
If Jos ever found out—
“I’m sorry.”
“But Hannah said the tracker in your tail band was still active when you got here,” Charles said slowly, voice steady but soft. “And it’s not active now. She destroyed it during the removal process.”
Blinking, Max nodding once.
“We both know he’s already on his way. If Jos comes here . . . ” Charles said, “I can’t—won’t—abandon my friends. My home. They will need us.”
Max looked at him sharply, reading the fierce protectiveness etched into every line of his mate’s face, arms still around him.
“They won’t stand a chance if we’re not here to defend them.”
For a long moment, the small room was silent except for the light sniffles still coming from Charles and the deep sound of Max’s breathing.
“And if you leave me here. Then I will have to face him myself.”
Max closed his eyes, taking a slow breath through his nose in a long, controlled huff.
“Then we must stay,” Max said, voice quiet but absolute, sealing the vow between them. “The guardian can feel deeper into space than both of us. Perhaps his warning will be enough for us to decide what to do when the time comes.”
Charles sagged against him in relief, pressing his forehead against Max’s chest, arms squeezing tightly around his waist.
As limited as their choices were, staying put would be best for the three of them.
They would stand in this together.
Chapter 57: Climb That Mountain
Summary:
Max starts training again and Charles takes him to his cabin for some alone time.
Chapter Text
- a few months later -
The drone exploded in a shower of sparking metal and wires beneath Max’s outstretched palm, the force of his ki punching through its core with brutal efficiency.
He didn’t pause, despite the increased gravity pulling on every cell in his body.
Spinning midair, muscles screaming in protest, he launched himself at another bot closing in from behind, twisting sharply to avoid the thin laser beam it fired. His fist connected squarely with its sensory hub, sending it careening into the reinforced wall of the training chamber before it disintegrated into scrap.
Max dropped low next, crouching for a moment on the warm tile floor, sweat dripping into his eye, stinging as he pushed on.
There was no stopping. No slowing down.
He snarled under his breath, driving forward as another wave of round drones entered the chamber through their deployment ports in the ceiling, their metal hulls gleaming under the harsh overhead lights, the room bathed in red.
Every strike, every blast, was another step toward getting stronger, toward making sure he was ready, toward keeping Charles and their pup safe.
After he and Charles had made the decision to stay, to stand their ground rather than run, Max had thrown himself into preparation with a single-minded ferocity. He’d worked closely with Hannah, repurposing one of Capsule Corp’s old testing facilities into a full-scale training ground designed specifically for his needs.
And to her credit—despite their rocky start—Hannah had delivered.
Better than even the most advanced training rooms on the PTO ship.
The sprawling facility stretched across the far fields of the compound’s private lands, hidden from prying eyes by dense forestry and specialized cloaking fields.
Inside, it was a marvel of ingenuity: autonomous training drones, programmed for both hand-to-hand and energy-based combat, target zones outfitted to endure high-intensity ki blasts, variable environment simulations—including weather manipulation for combat in rain, snow, or hurricane winds.
And the gravity chamber he was in now—
Max grunted as he kicked a bot directly into the wall with enough force to leave a crater, feeling the weight of five times Earth’s natural gravity pressing down on every movement. His muscles burned, joints ached, but he refused to deactivate it, not having lasted at this level for more than a few minutes.
Pushing his body to the limit was the only way he could force himself to heal properly, to rebuild what Jos had broken, to push until his lungs would give out, to crawl just a little further up that mountain.
Every fiber of him had to be stronger, faster, sharper. Because this time, there would be no chains.
There would be no games or helplessness.
When he saw the warlord again, only one of them would walk away from the encounter. And no one—no one—would take Charles or their pup away from him.
His vision blurred for a second from exertion, but he shook it off, gathering a tight ball of blue ki in his palm as he spotted a small, mocking drone zipping in from the edge of the chamber. Max let the energy expand, pulse alive in his hand, and with a roar, he hurled it forward.
The bot didn’t stand a chance, disappearing in a flash of white light and a shockwave that rattled the walls.
Panting hard, Max dropped to one knee, every inch of his body thrumming with pain and fatigue, his mouth twisting into a grim, determined smile.
Not enough yet, he thought savagely. This was the longest he’d managed so far at this level and he could do a little more.
Max pushed himself upright again, sweat dripping off his jawline.
When the next wave of drones activated with a sharp electronic screech, Max bared his teeth and launched himself back into the fray.
Hours later, Max finally emerged from the heavy reinforced doors of the training facility, each step dragging as exhaustion settled deep into his bones. His body ached in that satisfying, raw way that told him he’d pushed himself to the limit—and maybe even beyond it.
The still foreign world outside greeted him in a blaze of soft golds and deep violets, the Earth’s sun dipping low behind the distant ridge that bordered the compound.
Max paused for a moment, standing in the open air, letting the cooling breeze skim over his sweat-damp skin.
A rush of realization had guilt twisting in his chest.
That wasn’t good.
Charles had asked him—specifically, sweetly—if they could have a quiet dinner together tonight, no company, no distractions, just the two of them. And judging by the position of the sun, and how heavy the scent of freshly watered gardens was in the evening air . . . he was late. Very late.
Damn it.
Charles had probably already eaten by now. Maybe even retired to their bed.
Max sighed, scrubbing a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. Maybe that was for the best, he reasoned half-heartedly.
Because lately, being alone with Charles had become . . . dangerous. Ever since the Eldri had gotten further along in his bearing period, recovering enough to regain some of his old spirit, he’d been pursuing Max with a persistence that was both endearing and infuriating.
However, Max couldn’t say he was surprised. Charles had been the same after their first time together on the PTO ship, so long ago now. His instincts had guided him into all kinds of enticing displays that had the prince climbing the walls.
But this time was different.
Charles had his tail.
Every night, after dinner, after soft smiles and lingering touches, Charles would crawl into his lap, nuzzle his throat, and whisper about how Hannah had assured him it was safe now—that it was safe for them to be together again.
And maybe it was.
But Max wasn’t easily convinced. Not when it came to their pup.
His Oozaru instincts, however, had no such reservations.
The primal side of him had been clawing at the inside of his skull for weeks now, urging him to take, to claim, to mark what was already his. Especially when Charles’ new tail moved with such blatant, thoughtless seduction that it was driving Max to the very edge of his self-control.
It swayed behind Charles like a siren’s call, slow and inviting, curling suggestively around the legs of chairs, sweetly circling Max’s wrist when he reached for something at dinner, brushing tantalizingly against his thigh under the table.
Charles didn’t even realize he was doing it, that was the worst part.
He didn’t realize that every sway, every accidental touch, every wafting jet of honeyed pheromones was the Torossian equivalent of throwing himself across the nearest flat surface and presenting.
Every night at dinner had become a fresh hell of restraint for Max.
A dinner fork snapping in his hand. A chair groaning ominously as he gripped it too hard. Breathing shallow. Muscles taut.
It was like being on the PTO ship all over again, Charles moaning his name in the shower, scent of his slick filling their bed.
The Eldri had the sweetest touch to his scent now that he was carrying their pup, and that fertile musk seemed to cling to everything Charles’ touched. Max’s Oozaru howled gleefully in his head, a growling mantra, “Neem hem. Neem hem. Neem hem.” [Take him. Take him. Take him.]
Max grit his teeth and shook himself roughly from the thought, forcing his body back into motion as he strode across the path back to the guest wing.
Their room was dim and quiet when Max returned, the shades drawn tightly across the balcony doors, allowing only the faintest outline of the setting sun to bleed through at the edges. The sound of soft, even snoring filled the space, and Max’s heart eased a little at the familiar, comforting noise.
Charles was fast asleep, curled up in the nest of blankets they shared, his tail wrapped loosely around his thigh like a lazy, unconscious shield. His face was relaxed, lips parted slightly in sleep, one hand resting protectively over the gentle swell of his stomach.
The sight made his Oozaru purr in the back of his skull, pleased with the nurturing instincts being shown by their mate. Just like his tail’s movement, Charles wasn’t aware that he’d started nesting.
A singularly Eldri trait for Torossians.
It had started slowly, with Charles bringing a few extra blankets from the closet onto their bed, but before the week was out, every spare blanket in all the rooms on their floor had migrated to their room, tucked and folded and shaped into a warm, inviting space.
Max wasn’t complaining.
The act of fluffing it before bed brought a pleased smile to the Earthling’s face and Max couldn’t agree more. Anything that helped Charles relax and get better sleep was music to his ears.
The pup was taking a lot from him these days.
Max could see it, even if Charles stubbornly insisted he was fine.
He moved more slowly now, tired easily, and most nights he went to bed early, only to wake two or three times in the night to shuffle sleepily to the bathroom.
Max watched him for a moment from the doorway, the flicker of protective instinct coiling in his gut.
He hated that he couldn’t feel what was happening inside Charles.
Couldn’t sense it.
Couldn’t share in it.
Charles swore he could feel the movement already—small, delicate sensations he called “flutters”—but every time Max pressed his hand reverently over the small bump, willing himself to feel something, there was only stillness, a steady thrum of energy below.
It left him feeling disconnected from the whole miraculous process.
Useless.
And the more he thought about it, the more unfair it seemed.
This was his pup too. His family. Yet he was trapped on the outside, a mere spectator to the bond already blooming between Charles and the little life they had created.
Shaking his head to clear the ache building there, Max moved quietly across the room, careful not to disturb the slumbering Eldri. His boots came off with barely a sound, and he pulled his training shirt over his head in one fluid motion, dropping it silently into the nearby laundry bin.
The heavy scent of sweat and grease clung to his skin after hours of brutal training, making his nose wrinkle, and he grimaced, already peeling off the rest of his gear as he padded toward the ensuite bathroom.
He needed a shower.
Desperately.
The warm water would scrub away the grime, the soreness, and maybe some of the tangled thoughts that refused to leave him be.
Max closed the door behind him with a soft click, already reaching for the shower controls.
Not yet tired, Max slipped quietly through the balcony door after his shower, careful not to disturb his sleeping mate. He checked on him briefly, placing a gentle peck on the crown of Charles’ head before he padded barefoot across the cool tile, steam still curling lazily off his skin in the night air, loose shorts and a plain t-shirt clinging to his damp back.
The sky above was a deep, velvet black, stars just beginning to flicker into view like tiny pinpricks against the vastness. Without really thinking, Max lifted off the terrace, rising smoothly into the sky.
He didn’t go far—just enough to breathe, to feel the open air cradling him instead of walls closing around him.
He’d done this a few times since . . . stealing moments to himself.
Moments when he needed to remember that he was really free, that no chains held him, no cold metal tanks awaited his return.
He drifted down gently into the garden below, landing with a soft whisper of grass beneath his bare feet. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine and damp earth from an earlier watering.
Finding a soft patch of ground, Max lowered himself into it, laying flat on his back, staring up at the endless sky, arms behind his head.
The stars here were so different from the ones he’d grown up under.
Back on Toro, the stars had been brighter, bolder, painting sweeping trails of silver across the midnight burgundy. As a boy, he used to lay on the high balconies of the royal palace, tracing imaginary paths between them, dreaming of what lay beyond.
These stars were smaller, more timid somehow.
Still, he found comfort in them.
He spent a few minutes searching the sky, looking for any familiar patterns, any connection to the life he’d left behind. To his surprise, there were a few he recognized—twinkling quietly, stubborn remnants of distant systems he had once visited on assignments.
One cluster in particular caught his eye, a jagged arc of stars he remembered seeing on a water planet far in the outer regions of this sector.
That had been one of the worst assignments of his life.
Sent with no real intel or suitable equipment, Max’s pod had splash-landed in an endless, roiling sea, miles from any landmass. He could still feel the bone-deep panic of water flooding the pod’s interior, the hatch jammed, the systems malfunctioning in the brackish water.
He’d nearly drowned before even stepping onto the planet.
The memory tightened like a vice around his throat, an old, instinctual fear rising—drowning, gasping, trapped.
Just like in the tank on the PTO ship.
Max’s chest burned painfully, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe through it.
You're free, he told himself harshly. You’re free now. You’re safe.
A shadow moved over him, fast and silent, and Max startled violently, instincts surging as he jerked upright, ki flaring around him—
Only to freeze when a familiar hand touched his shoulder.
Charles.
Standing over him, barefoot in the grass, his green eyes were soft in the moonlight. His mate said nothing at first—just knelt beside him, brushing a damp strand of his hair back from Max’s forehead with gentle fingers.
Max exhaled shakily, tension bleeding out of his body in slow, reluctant waves.
“Can I join you?” Charles asked, voice soft and tentative, almost blending into the quiet night around them.
Max stared up at him, willing his breath to steady.
He’d surely woken Charles with the spike in his energy, and Max cursed under his breath. Was he ever going to be able to put his past nightmares behind him?
Slowly, he nodded, and shifted his arm out across the grass, stiff muscles pulling from the strain of training, making space for his mate to nestle against him. The blades of grass tickled his skin, cool and dewy under his fingertips.
Charles wasted no time.
He curled into Max’s side like he was made to fit there, resting his head on Max’s shoulder, one hand splaying lightly across his chest where his heart thundered.
“I missed you at dinner,” Charles murmured, his breath warm against Max’s collarbone.
Max’s arm folded around him, holding him close. He pressed a soft kiss into Charles’ curls, breathing him in.
“Forgive me,” Max said after a moment. “I lost track of time with the new drones. They’re very good. Much more variable than the last version. The fabricated intelligence in them is better at picking up patterns.”
Charles just hummed, the vibration traveling through both their bodies, as his fingers absently traced slow, idle patterns over Max’s ribs.
“I figured,” he teased lightly, nuzzling in closer. “All the two of you have talked about for the last month are those damn training bots. Hannah’s like a kid in a candy store with all the data she’s collecting from your sessions.”
“What is a candy store?”
Charles hummed, relaxing his palm against Max’s chest. “It’s a place where you can get things that taste sweet, like a place just for desserts. They’re usually whimsical and kids like to go to them.”
Mulling that over, Max smiled. “Sweet things. Like the chocolate thing you eat after dinner?”
“Kind of. Maybe we will have to find a shop I can take you to.”
“I’d like that,” Max said.
He was pleasantly surprised to learn that the dessert Charles told him about many times on the PTO ship was not in fact made out of the fingers of females, but more a soft, spongy cake. It had a bitter flavor as well as a light creaminess that felt nice against his tongue. A whole store just full of that dessert sounded divine.
Maybe Max could stock up since Charles seemed to always sneak an extra portion of the food when he thought no one was looking.
“I agree. She does seem very engrossed in the training session data, but I can understand it from the intel point of view. I’m sure this planet’s pitiful military units can learn a thing or two from a real warrior.”
Charles scoffed but cuddled in tighter. “When you didn’t come back, I went to look for her, but she wasn’t in the main house. She must have worked through dinner as well,” he murmured, his tone accusatory but unserious. “I ate by myself.”
Max pinched his lips together, closing his eyes briefly.
He really shouldn’t have missed dinner. Yes, he and Hannah were making good progress towards more drone upgrades, but he’d been a little neglectful of his mate.
The guilt gnawed at him in ways even a thousand broken drones couldn’t erase.
“How about this,” Max said, squeezing Charles gently. “I will take the day off from training tomorrow. No drones. No gravity chambers. Just us. We’ll do whatever you want. How does that sound?”
Charles lifted his head slightly to look at him, a mischievous glint sparking to life in his warm eyes.
“Anything I want?” he asked, voice low and playful, the barest hint of challenge curling at the edges.
Before Max could answer, Charles flicked his gaze down, lingering on Max’s lips with such blatant hunger that Max’s entire body tensed under him. The Eldri’s tail drew his attention next, sliding up the inside of his leg, tip dipping under the hem of his shorts.
Max’s Oozaru rumbled in the back of his mind, ears perking at the invitation it recognized.
He swallowed hard, tail twitching once against the grass.
“Anything but that,” Max managed, voice deepening with the effort it took to keep himself still.
Charles’ smile dropped off his face in a hurry.
“Max.”
“We can’t be sure that it’s safe,” he murmured, though the conviction in his words wavered slightly—especially as his hand drifted lower along the curve of Charles’ spine, fingers brushing the soft fabric of his shirt.
Charles let out a soft, breathy whine, burrowing closer. “It is safe,” he insisted, the plea in his voice almost childlike in its desperation. “Please, Max . . . ”
The prince closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to breathe deeply, though that honeyed smell arguably made things worse. The sound of Charles' voice, the warmth of his body pressed along his side, the way his tail was sneakily winding itself along the waistband of his shorts—goddess, it was all unraveling every last thread of restraint he had.
His hand slipped down, curling around the shaft of that teasing tail, and with a firm but gentle tug, he pulled it free. Charles gasped softly in protest, immediately squirming, a flush blooming across his cheeks in the dim starlight.
Max held him tighter, running a soft thumb over the auburn fur.
“Just—just let me think about it a bit more,” he said softly, more to himself than to Charles. His tail coiled slightly behind him, betraying his own rising need. “Perhaps . . . when we have a bit more privacy.”
Eyes flicking up, he scanned the edges of the compound beyond the gardens.
From where he lay, the black lenses of several security cameras were clearly visible, nestled into corners of the rooftop, tucked behind decorative panels, mounted discreetly in trees. The entire property was a fortress of observation—understandable, given the scientific research, experimental tech, and high-profile occupants housed within.
But it certainly didn’t make for the most romantic atmosphere.
Not when all Max could imagine was some tech intern reviewing footage of him grinding into Charles in the middle of a flower bed like a beast in rut.
Charles groaned, slumping back down with a dramatic exhale. He rested his head on Max’s chest again, arms hugging him close.
“I swear,” he muttered, “you are the most frustrating mate in the universe. I can’t believe you’re doing this to me again.”
Max smiled, tail wrapping loosely around Charles’ waist again, protective and possessive all at once.
“You could’ve wished for anything else,” he teased gently, pressing a slow kiss to the top of Charles’ messy curls.
They lay like that for a while—quiet, safe, under a blanket of stars. The ache between them didn’t fade, but for now, the warmth of their bond was enough.
“Have you been to any of them?” Charles asked quietly, voice soft as the breeze that stirred the grass around them.
“Hmm?” Max asked.
He followed Charles’ gaze instead, letting his eyes trace the lines of the stars above—the distant glimmers scattered across the night sky like ancient stories waiting to be retold.
He hummed, low in his throat, the sound thoughtful. “Some of them,” he said, after a long pause.
Charles shifted beside him, brushing their shoulders together. “You don’t have to talk about what you did . . . just tell me what it looked like when you got there.”
That request made Max go still for a moment.
The Eldri knew his past now, knew the kinds of things his assignments entailed and the brutality that was commonplace in the PTO. Those assignments weren’t things Max wanted to think about anymore, but he decided to indulge him.
Reaching up, his finger pointing to a dense cluster in the western sky.
“That one,” he said, “is the Artessa system, or at least it’s called that in the PTO. They might have different names here. The third planet there is mostly ocean, but the islands . . . they float. Not on water, but on air. Giant stones suspended in the atmosphere by magnetic fields. The skies there turn purple at dusk, and the birds sing with voices that echo like bells.”
Charles let out a soft breath, absorbing every word.
Max pointed to another, a lone speck just above the horizon. “That one’s called Alvirax. It has twin moons, and the land glows with bioluminescent moss that pulses under your feet when you walk. Forests stretch endlessly, full of trees with white leaves that shimmer like snowfall when they shed.”
He moved his hand again, finding another familiar cluster. “And over there—that’s the Mer'kai belt. Harsh place. Desert planets mostly. But one of them, Baros Minor, has these stone formations shaped like spires, rising out of the sand like claws. The winds howl through them all night, making it sound like the planet is singing to itself.”
Charles let out a sleepy hum, his head tipping gently onto Max’s shoulder.
Encouraged, Max kept going. He spoke softly about golden savannahs and underground crystal caves, about rain that fell in slow motion and rivers that sparkled with suspended particles of starlight. Great golden trees and stone-winged beasts stirred from the deep recesses of his memory, as well as harsh fire lands and lakes of rot. Vast plains and twisted waterfalls that fell in reverse, entire civilizations that thrived on branches wider than mountains.
He described the scent of alien flora, the way some planets had sunrises that stretched across entire days, or rains that came in color—red, green, even blue. He talked until Charles went still beside him, his breathing evening out, the slow rise and fall of his chest telling Max he had drifted off.
Even so, Max kept talking, living in the moment of his own sentimentality. He had been to so many worlds, seen so many fantastic places. And still none were as wonderful as the one he was on right now.
Max looked down at him, the smallest smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
Charles was curled into his side, a hand resting on Max’s chest, tail wrapped around Max’s thigh like a lazy tether.
He looked peaceful.
Safe.
Settling his palm over Charles’ side, Max closed his eyes.
_____
Charles crossed his arms with a dramatic huff, standing on the edge of the Capsule Corp rooftop, the morning wind tugging at his curls and ruffling his oversized hoodie. The sun was barely above the hills, a golden glow over the fields below and making the compound’s white paths look like polished marble. It was the perfect morning—calm, warm, full of promise.
After breakfast, he’d declared that today, Max’s promised no-training day, would be spent somewhere meaningful. Quiet. Private. And there was only one place that made sense.
His cabin in Eze.
He hadn’t been back there since his return to Earth, and the idea of revisiting that quiet, tree-wrapped sanctuary made something soft twist in his chest. He missed the calmness of it. The sound of leaves brushing against the windows, the smell of the old cedar floorboards and wild herbs growing just off the porch in his garden.
Plus, if he was being honest, he liked the idea of having Max there. Of making new memories between its worn-in walls.
And since the trip was less than fifteen minutes by flight, Charles thought it would be a quick and easy escape from the prying eyes and cameras of Capsule Corp.
But of course—of course—Max had other ideas.
Charles narrowed his eyes at the prince standing beside him, blond hair already catching the breeze. Max was checking the direction of the wind, his tail curling and flicking thoughtfully, muscles rippling under his fitted black shirt as he casually surveyed the sky like a hawk preparing to swoop down on prey.
Charles had barely gotten the word “fly” out of his mouth before Max went full protective Oozaru.
“Absolutely not,” the prince had said.
“Too much strain on your body.”
“We don’t know how long the pup will tolerate being airborne.”
“Your ki is still unstable and still needs to be conserved.”
Ridiculous.
Charles was perfectly capable of managing a fifteen-minute flight. He wasn’t made of glass, despite Max's sudden belief that he’d crumble into dust if a breeze hit him wrong.
But when he opened his mouth to argue, Max had just . . . scooped him up, bridal-style.
Effortlessly. Like Charles was a bouquet of flowers.
The Eldri had yelped in surprise, momentarily clutching Max’s shoulder in reflex as the ground disappeared beneath them.
“I told you I’d carry you,” Max said smoothly, already lifting into the sky without a trace of strain. “Now just point me in the right direction.”
Still bristling slightly, Charles scowled at the horizon, tail flicking in irritation.
“Head northwest,” he grumbled. “You’ll see a big drop in the tree line and then a road that forks. It’s just beyond the ridge.”
“Understood,” Max said, voice low and smug as the wind rushed past them.
Charles huffed again, arms crossed stubbornly over his chest, but after a few minutes nestled against Max’s warm, solid frame, his frown began to ease.
The truth was . . . it did feel kind of nice.
Soaring above the treetops, safe in Max’s arms, the world beneath them quiet and far away. And if Charles let himself relax just a little, the idea of being carried like this didn’t feel quite so ridiculous after all.
“Is that it?” Max asked after a little while, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the rush of wind, already adjusting their angle of descent.
Charles leaned forward in his arms, brow furrowing slightly as he looked down.
There it was.
The familiar clearing nestled deep in the pines, the rooftop of the old cabin peeking through it all like a worn but old friend.
“Yeah,” Charles said, heart lurching with something between relief and anxiety. “Just ahead.”
Max didn’t slow immediately. Instead, his arms tightened around Charles, muscles flexing, body coiling in midair. Charles didn’t have time to ask why before he saw it.
A massive crater just beyond the treeline, its jagged edges partially hidden beneath a carpet of moss and fallen pine needles, nature slowly attempting to reclaim what had once been violently stolen.
He swallowed hard.
It had been so long, but the memory came back in a rush, flooding his senses, tightening his chest. He could still smell the burning wood, taste the metallic tinge of scorched Earth in the back of his throat. The sharp tang of ozone after the crash.
He’d been halfway through pulling on his pants, late for tending the field, when the sky split open with a boom that shook the glass panes in their frames. Moments later, Carlos had entered his cabin like he owned the place, shoulders taut, jaw set, eyes filled with restrained intent.
He hadn’t knocked or spoken, just walked through the shattered doorway and forced a truth into Charles’ life that would change everything.
Max’s descent slowed, and Charles unconsciously clutched tighter to the prince’s shirt.
They landed just in front of the cabin, boots sinking softly into the uneven, overgrown earth.
Charles stared.
The cabin’s door was lying where it had fallen—twisted off its hinges, warped by weather and time. The edges of the frame were splintered, jagged like broken ribs. The small vegetable garden beside the cabin was a graveyard, once vibrant rows of greens and herbs now dry, brittle tangles of lifeless brown.
The soil itself was disturbed, patches of it upturned and trampled, scars left from his brief, desperate fight with Carlos.
The clearing felt quiet. Too quiet. Like the ghosts of that moment still lingered, trapped in the shadows of the trees. Max looked around slowly, his tail flicking once behind him, reading the land like it might still hold some danger.
Charles said nothing at first.
He just stood there, breathing in the stillness, letting the quiet press against him. The wind moved gently through the surrounding trees, brushing past the ruined cabin with a kind of reverence, like even the forest remembered what had happened here.
His gaze traced every detail—the weathered planks, the crooked frame of the porch, the familiar tilt of the chimney that still leaned just slightly too far to the left.
Max shifted beside him, fidgeting slightly, and Charles could feel the weight of his guilt without the prince even saying a word.
“Charles, I—” Max started, voice low and careful, but the words dissolved like mist on his tongue. His fingers twitched at his sides, clearly wrestling with the desire to apologize for something that couldn’t be undone.
Charles looked up at him, seeing the tension in Max’s shoulders, the regret etched into the curve of his mouth, but he didn’t want that. Not today.
What’s done is done, he thought, and he was tired of dragging ghosts into the light.
“Let me show you around,” he said gently, taking Max’s hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not much, but it’s mine.”
He offered a small smile—worn around the edges, but genuine. Max nodded once, following his lead.
“Let’s see if there’s anything left—”
Charles stepped onto the porch threshold and was yanked backward so abruptly, it knocked the breath from his lungs. Max’s arm had clamped around his waist like a vice, pulling him flush against the prince’s chest.
A sharp, high-pitched squeal split the air and a blur of brown fur shot out from the cabin interior, hooves thundering against the wooden floor. Charles didn’t even register the large, muscular shape, low to the ground, eyes wild before Max’s hand shot out.
A searing beam of ki lanced through the air and the creature collapsed mid-charge with a final shriek, skidding into the dirt with a heavy thud just feet away from them.
Everything went still again.
Charles blinked, heart pounding in his ears as he stared at the crumpled form in the grass.
A wild boar. Male. Big. Maybe a hundred kilos. Its tusks were thick and yellow, caked with soil, and one of the sides of its head was singed where Max’s blast had passed clean through. The scent of burnt hair and churned earth filled the clearing as Charles slowly stepped out of Max’s hold, exhaling as the adrenaline left his body in a rush.
Without a door, his cabin had been left wide open to the elements, and clearly, to any curious animal in the area. He shouldn’t have been surprised.
Max lowered his arm, fingers still crackling faintly with residual energy.
“That wasn’t like . . . a pet, was it?” he asked, voice a touch sheepish.
Charles couldn’t help it. He barked a short laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“No,” he said with a grin. “But it can certainly be our lunch.”
Max arched a brow. “Is this beast edible?”
“Almost everything in the forest is edible, ” Charles said, already stepping over the boar to retrieve what was left of his firewood pile from under the porch. “You’re not the only one with survival training, your highness.”
Max chuckled under his breath as Charles moved toward the side of the cabin with purpose.
“Come on. I’m sure you don’t want me carrying this all by myself.”
After setting the boar to roast over an open fire—spitted on a makeshift rotisserie fashioned from salvaged metal rods and an old tripod mount of his father’s—the pair wasted no time rolling up their sleeves and throwing themselves into the cabin’s repairs.
The work was quiet and strangely therapeutic.
Max focused on the door first, brow pinched as he assessed the warped hinges and shattered wood. His strong hands moved carefully, refitting the aged frame with ease, his tail occasionally flicking out to hold a plank or steady a nail. Charles couldn’t help but watch him for a few heartbeats, something captivating in the way Max moved when he was focused.
All efficiency and control. All strength and calm.
Meanwhile, Charles—tasked with less strenuous activities—busied himself with the interior, sweeping out layers of leaves and dirt with a wide-bristled broom he found leaning beside the fireplace where he'd left it. Dust rose in lazy clouds around him, motes catching the slanting light filtering in through the cleaned windows.
Surprisingly, the cabin wasn’t nearly as ruined as he feared.
Most of the damage was superficial—chairs knocked over by curious animals, a few tattered cushions clawed through by something that had likely taken refuge during a storm.
His books were scattered across the floor, but mostly intact, their worn spines a comforting sight as he returned them to the shelves with careful hands.
And most miraculous of all, his old phone, caked in a fine layer of dust, still rested exactly where he’d left it: on the nightstand by his bed. The screen was dead, of course, and likely beyond salvaging without a long charge, but just seeing it brought a wave of unexpected nostalgia.
By the time they stepped back outside, the sun was slipping lower in the sky, passing midday. The field itself was a patchy mess, long overgrown and tangled with dead roots, but Charles worked diligently to pull the worst of it while Max wandered closer to the impact crater, gathering fallen branches and dry timber for their fire pit.
The crater, even half-reclaimed by foliage, was still massive. A jagged scar in the Earth that held the weight of a memory Charles wasn’t quite ready to revisit.
But he didn’t need to say anything—Max didn’t linger there long. He returned with arms full of firewood, massive logs that would've taken five men to carry, sweat lining his brow, and they spent another hour patching the makeshift fence and re-clearing the edges of the field.
By the time the smell of the roasting boar reached its peak, rich and savory, the fat sizzling softly as it dripped into the fire, Charles’ stomach gave a very loud, very undignified growl.
“I didn’t realize I skipped breakfast,” he muttered, eyes alight as he crouched beside the pit.
“You told me you had one of those bottles with your vitamins? Charles, you must eat for the pup.”
Rolling his eyes, the Eldri said, “I was a little nauseous and nothing sounded good then. This smells good, though.”
He’d noticed lately he was mostly craving meat and proteins.
“Then let’s not wait,” Max answered, already slicing into the flank with a borrowed field knife. He handed over a hunk of perfectly roasted meat wrapped in a strip of clean cloth.
“Eat.”
Charles bit in, the meat hot, tender, and smoky, and nearly moaned.
It was, without a doubt, the best thing he’d eaten in weeks. Maybe longer.
“This is amazing,” Max said between bites of his own massive hunk, chewing with enthusiasm. “Puts shletar to shame.”
Chuckling through a mouthful, his tail flicked behind him in pride. His Eldri purred low and satisfied in his mind, warm and pleased by their mate praising their cooking.
He hadn't done much while staying in the compound, Hannah’s mother a far better cook than he could ever hope to be.
“I’ll take that as the highest compliment,” Charles said, licking grease from his fingers. “After you raved so much about shletar.”
They sat shoulder to shoulder in the light, the warmth of the fire flickering between them.
They only worked a few more hours after lunch, just enough to finish clearing the last of the weeds from the fence line and gather a few more branches to stack near the woodpile, before Charles declared, with no room for argument, that they were due for a proper rinse.
Sweaty, dirt-smudged, and sore in places he hadn’t remembered having muscles, he tugged Max’s hand and led him toward the stream tucked deeper into the tree line.
The path was familiar beneath his bare feet, moss-draped stones and cool earth giving way to the sparkling ribbon of mountain-fed water he’d splashed in as a boy. He could still remember those afternoons, his father laughing as they tried to catch fish with their hands, the sound of water and joy echoing between the trees.
The stream hadn’t changed. Still clear as crystal, flowing gently over smooth stones and fallen leaves, dappled in sunlight breaking through the forest canopy.
Without hesitation, Charles stripped off his shirt, kicked off his pants, and waded into the water with a sigh of relief. It was cool—icy in truth—but after hours under the sun, it felt like heaven.
He dipped down fully beneath the surface, hair streaming like ink around his head, before bursting back up with a grin, shaking his curls and flinging droplets into the air.
A few feet away on the grassy bank, Max stood barefoot. His shirt off, sweat still clinging to his torso and he crouched beside the water, using cupped hands to splash it over his head and neck.
Charles paused, watching him.
There was a tension in Max’s shoulders, a stiffness that hadn’t been there just a moment ago. The prince's gaze was locked on the water with a kind of wary detachment, like it was something to be tolerated—not enjoyed.
Charles felt a pang in his chest.
Max hadn’t said much about his time on the PTO ship after their separation. But he didn’t have to.
Charles had seen the scars and coaxed Max from his panic that morning. Had woken to the prince’s gasping nightmares, his body jerking away from phantoms.
Water hadn’t been kind to Max. Not in that place.
Wanting to shift the mood, Charles waded closer and tilted his head with a soft smile. “Could you help me with my back?” he asked, voice light.
Max’s eyes flicked up from his hands, drawn from whatever dark place his thoughts had wandered. He nodded silently and moved slowly into the stream, feet careful against the stones as he approached.
When he reached Charles, his touch was gentle but firm, large hands settling on overtired shoulders, kneading in slow, steady circles. His thumbs pressed into the tense spots, coaxing muscle and breath alike to ease.
Charles exhaled with a pleased hum, head tilting forward. “Mmm . . . god, that’s perfect.”
The prince stayed quiet while his hands moved rhythmically, body warm even in the cold stream, presence calm, but guarded.
Charles didn’t press. He simply leaned back, letting himself rest fully against Max’s chest, the prince’s arms steady around him. For a long, peaceful moment, the only sound was the trickle of water and the breeze rustling through the trees.
Eventually, Max’s voice broke the quiet.
“We should return to the compound soon,” he murmured, chin brushing Charles’ temple. “Before the sun sets.”
Charles frowned.
He tilted his head back just enough to see Max’s face—still composed, still beautiful, but with something shadowed in his gaze.
“Do you not like it? I was hoping you would call this place home too.”
“No, it—it’s lovely. Just . . . wouldn't you be more comfortable in the guestroom? Your nest is there.”
“Nest?” Charles scrunched his brows. “What nest?”
Pulling back to look at him, Max smirked. “The structure of blankets and pillows on our bed that you've been fussing with every night. That is a nest. Something Torossian Eldri do for comfort and soothing.”
Charles felt his cheeks heat up just a little bit, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.
He was nesting? Like a bird?
“I just have this urge to be surrounded by something soft,” he admitted quietly.
“It's completely natural,” Max hummed, rubbing his large hands up and down Charles’ chilled back. “You built a very comfortable nest if I might add.”
A soft purr started in the back of his throat and Max rested a large palm over Charles’ belly. Being in their bed at the compound did sound nice, but Charles wanted to enjoy the quiet for a little longer.
“We'll stay here just a few more minutes then,” Charles whispered, turning to wrap his arms loosely around Max’s waist. “It’s nice here. With you.”
“A few more minutes,” he agreed softly.
So they stood together, knee-deep in the stream, holding onto each other like the world would wait a little longer with them.
Eventually, Charles tilted his chin up slowly, gaze drawn to Max’s mouth. His lips parted ever so slightly, not needing to speak the request. The invitation was written in the tilt of his head, in the warmth of his gaze, in the silent trust that only mates shared.
Max didn’t hesitate as he leaned in, brushing their lips together in a soft, reverent kiss.
It was patient. Unhurried.
But it burned.
Like the first spark of flint on dry grass, the contact ignited the slow-simmering hunger Charles had been carrying for days. Weeks. His body pressed closer, tail curling unconsciously behind him in a low arc of need.
Max’s hand came up to cradle his jaw, steady and warm and Charles deepened the kiss, mouth opening in encouragement, wanting more—needing more.
Responding in kind, the prince's tongue flicked lightly into his mouth, slow and claiming. The taste of him sent a jolt of heat through Charles’ entire body, knees weakening slightly under the sheer presence of the prince’s energy coiled so tightly against him.
His fingers slid up from Max’s waist to his shoulders, curling behind his neck, holding him there. The kiss turned molten, breath mingling, both of them pulled into the gravity of each other.
Max’s fingers tightened on his hips, thumbs rubbing slow, aching circles into his skin. Charles gasped softly against his lips, eyes fluttering closed, every nerve alive with sensation.
They were alone this time.
Truly alone.
No cameras. No medical personnel. No well-meaning friends hovering just out of frame.
Only the quiet hum of nature. Only them.
“Max . . . ” Charles whispered between breaths, voice trembling with want. “Please?”
His voice cracked slightly on the word, the plea spoken with reverence—hopeful and needy, yet gentle.
Max pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. The blue gleam in his irises was molten now, burning with something raw and hungry. His tail snaked slowly behind Charles, coiling alongside his own like a braided promise.
The contact, soft and slow, sent a shudder through Charles so violent he nearly stumbled forward into the prince’s chest.
Max caught him easily, expression softening.
“In the cabin,” he said firmly. “I don’t want even the trees to see what I will do to you.”
Charles felt the air vanish from his lungs.
Scooping him up and out of the water with effortless strength, Max cradled Charles against his chest, the prince’s bare skin warm despite the chill clinging to their damp bodies. Charles rested his head against Max’s collarbone, the steady thump of his mate’s heartbeat a calming rhythm as they crossed the mossy ground toward the cabin.
The repaired door creaked as Max nudged it open with his foot. Inside, the room smelled faintly of pine, smoke, and something sweetly nostalgic, Charles’ past wrapped in comfort and memory.
The door clicked shut behind them with finality, muffling the outside world.
With a careful tenderness that made Charles’ throat ache, Max lowered him onto the center of the bed. The spare linens, slightly rumpled from earlier, drank in the lingering droplets clinging to Charles’ skin, cool and soft against his back.
He didn’t bother covering himself, body still bare from the stream, water sliding in rivulets along his sides. Propped up slightly on his elbows, he looked to Max with a silent invitation, his expression open, eyes half-lidded with want.
Max didn’t move between his legs like he usually did.
Instead, the prince lingered at the edge of the bed, eyes tracking slowly down Charles’ form, over the slope of his collarbone, to his swollen pecs, across the gentle curve of his belly, and down to where his thighs parted in welcome. Max looked contemplative and Charles’ chewed on his cheek.
He didn’t want Max second-guessing again. Not now.
“They’re fine,” he said quickly, more anxious than he meant to sound. “The pup’s fine. I promise. Please please—”
Max hushed him softly, crawling onto the bed, pressing his full lips to the hollow of Charles’ throat. Perched up on his elbows, Max kept his weight suspended, making Charles frown.
He wanted to feel him. Feel the heat of his mate above him, feel the pounding of Max’s pulse against his skin.
Pulling at Max’s back with grabby hands, Charles whined when Max held his ground, staying above him as he worked his lips down the Eldri’s neck to his collar bones.
“Max,” he whined, tail wrapping around Max’s bicep, pulling lightly.
But Max said nothing.
He simply smiled, something soft passing across his features as he descended further, stalking something cherished, not to devour, but to worship.
Pausing his journey at the Eldri’s right pec, Max cupped it lightly in his large palm, giving a gentle squeeze. Charles shuddered, biting back the urge to shrink away from the touch. He’d been ignoring the obvious changes to his chest thus far, not yet ready to untangle the knot of his feelings about it.
“I’m jealous of our pup already,” he smirked, laving his tongue over the perky bud he found there.
An embarrassingly loud and completely unsexy squawk left Charles’ throat before he covered his mouth, eyes blown wide.
Max paused, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “They won't go hungry.”
God, Charles didn't even want to think about that. He'd taken one look at the section in Hannah’s book titled Breastfeeding: Basics and tips for nursing your baby, and quickly decided to skip that part entirely. He wasn't sure why he’d drawn the line there, but the idea of it was just so foreign and a part of him was still in complete denial.
“I—I will feed them from my . . . ?”
“Yes?” Max said, like it was the most normal thing in the universe. “Do humans not feed their pups from their bodies?”
Charles’ face flushed hotly at the earnest tone in Max's question.
“They do,” Charles answered a bit breathless. “I just never imagined that I would be doing that too.”
“You will,” Max murmured, gently nosing his way across his sternum, “You’ll be so good, princess.”
A low keening sound escaped Charles as wet lips pressed a kiss into his heated skin and suddenly Max was grinning up at him, “Maybe I should sample some first?”
There wasn’t a moment to question his meaning before those same full lips sealed over Charles’ nipple, sucking hard.
Fuck, it was so sensitive. Even the lightest brush of his shirts made him shiver, but this was so much more intense.
More suction followed with a warm swirl of Max’s tongue and Charles fought to stay still, toes curling as he gripped the sheets.
Alright, maybe the changes in his body weren’t so bad after all.
The prince’s hands slid up Charles’ legs with frustrating slowness, the calluses on his palms catching on sensitive skin, sending goosebumps in their wake. When he’d finished completely abusing Charles’ pec, Max moved down to the juncture of Charles’ thighs, fingers gently coaxing them wider.
Charles gasped softly, already achingly hard, pulse stuttering when Max leaned down and pressed a kiss against the inside of his knee. Then another, closer to the ache growing in his core.
Wordlessly, Max took him into his mouth, warm and wet and perfect.
Charles’ entire body arched off the bed in shock and pleasure, a strangled moan ripping from his throat as his head tipped back into the pillow. His tail fluffed beside him, twitching as it brushed against the blankets, completely undone already.
The Eldri hadn’t even so much as touched himself over the last few weeks, and the stimulation from Max’s hot mouth was almost too much.
His hands found Max’s hair, fingers threading through the golden strands as he gasped again, pleasure spiking with each pass of Max’s tongue.
The prince had never done this for him before.
Max had used his mouth plenty of times, in places that made Charles blush instantly when he thought about it, but not once in the many times they’d come together, in all their desperate entanglements and slow nights of discovery, had Max used his mouth on Charles’ dick.
He wasn’t sure if it had been a matter of preference, or if it stemmed from something deeper, some quiet, unspoken reservation born from the pain and control Jos had stolen from him during his captivity.
Maybe Max had never felt comfortable enough to give like this? Maybe he'd never believed he could.
Those fleeting thoughts left him as the prince wrecked Charles in the best way.
He moaned around the edge of his hand, biting down on the soft pad of his thumb to keep himself grounded. The wet heat of Max’s mouth moved lower, slower, then faster again as he changed his pace, taking more of him in with every pull and slick slide. His hand, large and warm, shifted further between Charles’ parted thighs, trailing teasingly close to where Charles ached the most.
Then—god—the prince’s fingers circled his entrance.
Just the lightest brush at first. A question asked without words.
Charles gasped, hips twitching against the mattress, thighs shaking under the overwhelming blend of sensations. It had been a long time. Too long, and Max’s attention was relentless.
The dual stimulation unraveled him inch by inch as Max worked him open slowly, skilled fingers patient, alternating between stretching and soothing, giving Charles just enough pressure to send sparks crackling up his spine.
Charles was soaked, slick wetness pouring from him as felt himself building toward something sharp and inevitable, body trembling under the weight of it, and still Max didn’t stop. He moved in perfect rhythm, his mouth and hand working in tandem until Charles felt flushed and open and ready.
Max must've sensed it too, his eagerness and desperation, because his touch slowed. Withdrawing gently, Max's fingers left Charles empty and gasping, but only for a moment.
Something softer replaced them.
Thicker. Warmer. Alive.
Charles’ head dropped back against the pillow, mouth open in a silent cry as the familiar, supple pressure of Max’s tail breached him. His entire body arched, back bowing as the smooth appendage pressed in with infinite care.
Stars above. It was perfect.
That gentle coil moved inside him like it knew him, dragging along every sensitive inch with slow, maddening precision. When Max curled it just slightly upward, it brushed against that spot with such direct accuracy that Charles nearly sobbed.
His fingers clutched at the sheets harder, thighs trembling around Max’s shoulders, and his tail twitched, wrapping reflexively around Max’s forearm in a loose, helpless grip.
He couldn’t form words. Could barely hold a thought.
All he could do was feel, just like he knew Max wanted.
Charles could’ve stayed like that forever, sprawled beneath Max, open, exposed, and wanted. There was a sacredness in it, in being seen and touched like this by someone who knew every scar, every story.
He felt cherished and treasured, but his body had other ideas.
Need coiled tighter in his belly, skin alive with sensation, nerves singing with every stroke and motion.
His own tail betrayed him, moving of its own accord across his stomach. It snaked up his chest, curling with intention unknown to Charles as it rubbed against his swollen pecs, brushing across the firm peaks of his nipples.
Charles gasped—eyes snapping wide, stars bursting across his vision like tiny suns.
Max groaned around him in response as the prince watched him with dark eyes, the sound vibrating against Charles’ cock in a way that shattered what little composure he had left. And then—god help him—Max’s tail curled even deeper inside, unerringly pressing into that devastatingly perfect spot with a pressure that buckled Charles’ spine.
He was so full, stretched to his limits and Charles couldn’t take it.
Couldn’t hold on.
A climax ripped through him like a storm breaking over the mountain ridge after a long drought.
White heat exploded behind his eyes as he cried out, loud and wordless, shouts echoing through the empty woods, through the open window, sunlight spilling across the old floorboards. There was no one else to hear it but the birds and the sky, and that made it feel even more powerful, more real.
Wave after wave crashed through him, muscles locking tight, then releasing again in stuttering spasms. Max didn’t stop, his tail moving with slow, coaxing precision, drawing every ounce of pleasure from Charles’ trembling body like he was wringing him dry, tail working in an out an inch at a time, bunching up at the tip like a knot.
He was wrung out, chest heaving, toes curled, hands tangled in the sheets, tears slipping unnoticed from the corners of his eyes.
Only when Max’s mouth finally lifted from him, and only when that sinful tail withdrew in a slick, slow slide, followed by the gentle gush of release, did Charles begin to collapse back against the bed.
Boneless. Breathless. Completely undone.
The room spun gently around him, body feeling like liquid gold poured into the mattress, chest rising and falling as he fought to remember how to breathe.
“You’re so beautiful like this. Full of our pup. Belly swollen with life.”
Max placed a few slow kisses to Charles' stomach, before his tail ventured back inside to start a steady pace again.
Looking devious, Max watched as Charles’ tail swayed in front of him, dancing under his nose. Catching it between his lips, Max rolled his tongue around the auburn tip and nibbled lightly, his own blond tail finding a devastating rhythm.
“Max, oh my god,” Charles cried, head rolling listlessly.
Outside, the world faded into silence.
Inside, it was just the creak of the old bed frame, the sounds of worship, and the bond between them, deepening with every breathless heartbeat.
Chapter 58: Unleash the Lion
Summary:
Hannah's birthday brings everyone together, including an uninvited guest.
Notes:
Things heat up until the end.
Chapter warnings: None
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Are you sure we have to attend this function?” Max asked, voice carrying easily over the wind whipping through his hair as they soared above the treetops.
Charles shifted slightly in his arms, head tucked under Max’s chin as the breeze rustled through his tousled curls. His tail flicked lazily against Max’s thigh, clearly more interested in the warmth of his mate’s body than the conversation.
It was the morning after their night at Charles’ boyhood cabin, a place Max had only just begun to appreciate, like a balm he hadn’t realized he’d needed. The quiet, the scent of pine, the distant rush of the stream, and Charles, warm and sated beside him, tangled in their shared aftermath.
They’d stayed up late into the night, wrapped around each other in the comfort of rough sheets and slow touches. It had been a long time since they’d let themselves be that close, truly that free, and Max had been hesitant at first. Nervous, even.
Not of Charles, but of himself, his own baggage and issues never too far away.
Sex, in the truest sense, had been something Max had carefully kept at bay since Charles rescued him from Jos’ clutches. He wasn’t ready for that full surrender, especially not with Charles carrying their child, and the thought of putting even the smallest pressure on Charles’ abdomen made his protective instincts coil like steel around his ribs.
Most positions were out of the question.
But he’d found other ways to worship his mate, ways that didn’t demand weight or dominance or risk. Charles had been so patient with him over the last few months, so gentle in his encouragement, Max couldn’t deny him what he clearly needed.
This was about normalcy, about not letting the frost demon take anything else away from them.
Charles’ quiet moans and the soft curl of his fingers in Max’s hair had steadied the prince’s breathing, helping him push through those initial tremors.
He hadn’t thought it would be possible to give that part of himself again.
After Jos, the very idea of using his mouth in such a way had made his stomach twist with revulsion. He could still taste the emperor’s cruelty sometimes when he woke from nightmares, still feel the phantom bruises on the roof of his mouth. But last night, with Charles, those memories melted away like shadows at dawn, and he had finally reclaimed something.
Not for himself.
For them.
The memory stirred something warm in his chest, and he adjusted his hold on Charles, brushing his lips to his mate’s temple. The Eldri looked two seconds away from passing out again, fighting the urge to close his eyes.
“We were up so late,” he murmured. “You should still be sleeping.”
Charles snorted softly. “You’re the one who insisted we fly back this morning.”
“I insisted we get back to the nest, not about you staying awake. You looked too peaceful and I didn’t want to wake you by putting you on your feet.”
In truth, he just didn't want Charles straining himself.
The compound was getting closer, its sleek silver and glass lines rising from the greenery below. Max’s eyes narrowed slightly, eyeing their balcony. It wasn’t that he hated the Capsule Corp facility—he understood its purpose, its usefulness. But it was all artificial edges and humming technology.
There was no wind in the trees, no birdsong, no scent of rain-drenched bark.
“I like it better at your cabin,” he said quietly.
Charles looked up at him with a sleepy smile. “Yeah, me too. Maybe we can convince my overbearing nursemaid that we don’t have to stay the whole time and go back after.”
That would be nice.
They descended slowly toward the balcony of their room, and Max spotted a small gathering forming in the courtyard—a cluster of people all scurrying around, pushing crates and containers of goods into odd looking vehicles.
“So,” he prompted again, adjusting his grip as they neared the ledge, “what is this gathering?”
Yawning softly against his chest, the Earthling’s tail twitched across Max’s forearm. “It’s a birthday party for Hannah,” he said. “Her family is throwing it. She’s thirty today, which is kind of a big deal on Earth—a milestone in life. There’ll be food, music, people. You’ll hate it.”
“Fantastic,” Max replied flatly, earning a faint chuckle from the Eldri in his arms.
Thirty.
Max considered the number as they descended.
It sounded wholly unremarkable. If his calculations were correct, and he’d always prided himself on being precise, thirty Earth cycles was just around the age Torossians reached full biological maturity. Their true prime didn’t even begin until around fifty, and considering their average lifespan was nearly 150 Earth years, it seemed strange to place so much significance on such a . . . premature figure.
It was like celebrating that you’d survived a few successful seasons without tripping into a hole and dying.
Why bother?
Still, he knew better than to say that aloud.
Humans were a bit strange.
They landed gently on the outer balcony, shoes soft against the glass tiles. The wind settled around them, and Max kept Charles close for a moment longer before setting him gently on his feet. Charles stretched with a lazy sigh, the hem of his loose shirt fluttering slightly over the small swell of his belly.
The sight of it always gave Max a strange, tight feeling in his chest. Wonder. Fear. Pride. All tangled together.
They stepped inside, the air-conditioned interior immediately wrapping around them like a synthetic blanket, much less homey than the cabin. Walking toward the bed, Charles reached for a fresh towel when Max’s question escaped before he could stop himself.
“What is a birthday party?”
Charles froze, hand halfway to their folded stack of linens, and turned slowly to look at him.
“ . . . What?”
Scratching the back of his neck, the prince was suddenly aware that he might’ve sounded like a total idiot. “I assume it’s meant to commemorate being given life. The day one is born,” he clarified. “But are you celebrating the goddess on this day? Or one’s parents for creating you? Who receives the offerings? What is the purpose of this . . . ‘party’?”
Charles stared at him for a long beat, then burst out laughing.
Max blinked, slightly affronted.
“I’m serious,” he added, crossing his arms.
“I know you are,” Charles said between giggles, sitting on the edge of the bed. “God, Max . . . you really haven’t been to a birthday party before?”
“No,” Max replied, utterly matter-of-fact. “I don’t remember any such thing on Toro. No celebrations for birth, only rites of ascension. Obviously there was no such thing in the PTO.”
Charles let out a long breath, still smiling but now a bit more softly. “Well . . . on Earth, birthdays are kind of just for the person. Their life, their growth. It's a way for friends and family to say, ‘Hey, we’re glad you’re alive.’”
“ . . . Why would you not be glad someone was alive?” Max frowned slightly.
“It’s more symbolic than literal,” Charles said with a laugh, reaching for Max’s hand. “It’s a celebration of them . Of who they are. It’s a reminder that they matter.”
Max was quiet for a moment, digesting that. There was something oddly beautiful about it. Extravagant and unnecessary. A little inefficient, but beautiful.
“Will I have a birthday gathering?” he asked slowly, lowering himself to sit beside Charles on the bed.
“You most definitely will.”
“How will you know what day it is?” Max asked.
The concept still felt oddly abstract to him—marking time by an arbitrary day, as if a calendar could capture something so personal.
Charles tilted his head and reached out, fingers curling around Max’s hand with that casual intimacy that always caught Max off guard. “We can share my birthday if you want,” he offered. “Celebrate together.”
Blinking at him, the prince was momentarily stunned by the warmth behind the offer. The simplicity of it. The kindness. But he shook his head gently, thumb brushing over the back of Charles’ knuckles.
“No . . . I don’t want to steal your sacred day. It should be yours. Unshared. Celebrated for you.”
He looked off toward the balcony, already mentally calculating. “If I cross-reference the orbital alignment and time-lapse logs from when I was . . . released, I might be able to match it to an Earth cycle,” he murmured. “It wouldn’t be exact, but it would be close.”
Charles leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Well,” he said, stretching slightly, “let’s have a shower before we get ready.”
“What, you don’t want to smell like your mate around this gathering?” Max raised an amused brow.
The grin that crept onto his face was downright wicked.
“I worked very hard last night to ensure my scent wouldn’t fade so easily.”
Charles flushed, smacking Max's bare chest lightly with the back of his hand, though the pink rising in his cheeks betrayed how much he was still thinking about it.
Max smirked.
He liked that look on Charles—rumpled and a little sore, thoroughly claimed, still glowing with the aftershocks of the night they’d shared. A small bruise stood out on the Eldri's neck, and Max traced a thumb over it.
“I’m serious,” Max added. “You could bathe in citrus and flowers, and I’d still know you were mine.”
“Fuck, you’re impossible,” Charles muttered, though he was grinning as he tugged on Max’s hand, leading him toward the bathing area. “Come on. I don’t want to be late. And we still need to pick you out an outfit.”
That wiped the smirk off Max’s face.
He stopped short in the doorway. “Outfit?” he repeated, like the word personally offended him.
“Yes, outfit,” Charles glanced back, utterly unfazed. “We’re going to a party. You can’t show up looking like you just rolled out of the training chamber.”
“I like what I wear.”
“Well,” Charles said brightly, already turning on the water, “you’re about to like something else.”
“No,” Max said flatly, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Absolutely not.”
He stared at the abomination dangling from Charles’ hands like it was a personal insult to their very species. The shirt—if one could call it that—looked like it had been half-eaten by moths and then stitched back together by someone with a grudge against symmetry. The fabric was paper-thin, sheer in places that absolutely should not be sheer, and riddled with pointless, decorative holes.
A tactical nightmare. Zero coverage. Zero structure. And was that . . . fringe?
The pants were worse, somehow.
Baggy, wide-legged monstrosities that looked like they were meant for two beings to wear at once, or for one to get tangled in and die embarrassingly. There wasn’t a single reinforced seam or practical pocket in sight. How was he supposed to defend himself, or worse, defend Charles, if he was dressed like he was about to fall off the edge of a whore stage?
“That shirt is a poor excuse for armor,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the offending garment. “It has more weak points than functionality. And those pants? They’re an entrapment hazard.”
Charles groaned, rolling his eyes like Max was being the difficult one. “Max, come on. This is nice. You’ll look good in it.”
He didn’t budge.
“And it’s a yacht party, not a battlefield,” Charles added for what had to be the tenth time like that meant something to him. “That means you dress up in nice clothing. Not armor.”
Max gave him a long, unimpressed look. “What is a yacht?”
“A boat,” Charles said patiently. “A big, fancy boat. For fun.”
The Torossian’s expression didn’t change. “Boats are for transporting resources. Not . . . Fun.”
Charles flopped dramatically onto the bed, one hand to his forehead like a swooning noblewoman. “We’ve been at this for thirty minutes.”
“That’s generous,” Max muttered. “It’s been twenty-eight.”
Every single thing Charles had pulled from the closet had been increasingly absurd—tight white pants with a belt made from odd little skeletons of sea creatures, sheer button-down shirts with wild prints, something that looked suspiciously like netting. Max didn’t know Earth fashion could be this impractical.
They were getting nowhere.
“I think I can dress myself,” Max said finally, voice calm but firm as he turned toward the closet. “Let me look. Then you can tell me if something needs to be changed.”
“Fine. But don’t take forever. You’re worse than Hannah when she gets ready for galas.”
Max raised a brow. “I don’t know what that is. Besides, I don't see you dressed.”
“Just find something nice, ” Charles mumbled into a pillow, “and not your training clothes.”
Max cracked the smallest smile as he stepped up to the wardrobe, eyes already scanning for something neutral, sleek, and—most importantly—functional.
He looked through a few options before something fell on the floor by his feet. Looking down, Max frowned and leaned down to pick it up.
“Charles,” he said, walking out into the bedroom, seal clasp in his hand.
Looking up from the bed, Charles stared at the object in his hand.
“You—you found this?” Max asked breathlessly.
He'd thought it was gone forever. The only piece of Alonso he'd still had, a symbol of the elder's sacrifice and what they’d been through together.
“I couldn’t just leave it there,” Charles said softly. “It took a while to find it in the wreckage of our old cabin.”
Stepping to the bed, fingers numb, Max slipped his hand firmly behind Charles’ nape and pulled the startled Eldri into a fierce kiss, Max's tail quickly wrapping tightly around Charles’.
Gasping into it, Charles moaned against him, soft palm coming to rest on his cheek.
“I miss him too,” Charles whispered against Max's lips.
Pulling back, Max rested their foreheads together, squeezing the clasp in his palm. “After this gathering. I will have you waking the whole house,” Max purred, tail ruffling up the fur on the underside of Charles’ tail. “I don't care who hears.”
Charles outright shivered and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “After you find something to wear.”
Damn humans and their celebrations.
After a few more slow kisses that promised another passionate night, Max went back to rummaging in the closet, his standards very different from his mate's. Deciding on something, he stepped out of the closet, exhaling softly through his nose. He tugged at the hem of the unfamiliar fabric and hoped that Charles wouldn’t hate it.
He wore a pair of navy trousers, not too fitted like the PTO regulation gear he’d hoped to never see again, but with a comfortable taper that hugged his thighs and draped cleanly down to his ankles. The material was light, breathable, but structured enough that he didn’t feel underdressed or exposed.
The shirt he’d chosen was soft, white, and long-sleeved. The subtle vertical lines woven into the fabric gave it a quiet elegance, the pattern catching the light only slightly when he moved. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, a practical decision more than a style one—he wasn’t quite sure who would be attending this event, and he wanted the option to cover the scars still stretched across his forearms.
“What about this?” he asked and ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, watching Charles carefully for any reaction.
Sprawled on the bed, still in his towel from their shower, Charles sat up quickly at the sound of Max’s voice.
He watched Charles’ eyes roam—openly and without shame—from head to toe, trailing down his chest, to his waist, to the bend of his arms and back up again.
It was hard not to straighten beneath that gaze, something about it making Max’s breath catch. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants in what he hoped was a casual pose, though he was suddenly very aware of how warm his ears felt.
“I’m impressed.”
Max’s smile broke over his face like sunlight through storm clouds. Small, genuine, and maybe a little proud. That smile wasn’t something many people had earned. But Charles always had.
“Let me change quickly,” Charles added, already moving to the closet with a hand smoothing down his front. “Then we’re ready.”
Max nodded, his gaze trailing after him with a soft hum in his throat—half purr, half low amusement.
With the promise of another late night together, maybe the evening wouldn’t be such a chore after all.
They arrived slightly late to the gathering, something Max would've normally considered a sign of disrespect or poor coordination, but Charles assured him, with a teasing smile and a gentle nudge, that it was completely normal by Earth’s standards.
“Being fashionably late,” he’d called it.
Max was not impressed.
Still, he said nothing as their car rolled smoothly down the winding seaside road, the blue shimmer of the Mediterranean stretching wide beneath a cotton-candy sky. In his free time between training and taking care of Charles, he'd borrowed a few geography texts from the compound's library.
This place was called Monaco, but everything about it—its clean streets, the hum of affluence, the overly perfumed air—made his shoulders tense. The people here were . . . different from the few other places he's been on the planet. Like delicate glass hiding sharpened edges.
When they reached the “port,” Max was instantly on alert.
It didn’t look like any port he’d ever known—not a space terminal, not a military launchpad, nothing functional or fortified. It was just a long stretch of pier and glittering vessels bobbing lazily in the water like oversized ornaments.
And the “yacht”?
Massive. Ridiculously so, though he'd guessed the scientist was one of the wealthier Earthlings.
Max’s brow furrowed as he took it all in.
The vessel loomed like a gleaming white palace on the water, its lights already glowing in the fading sun. He counted at least four visible decks, with sleek rails, oversized lounge chairs, and what looked like a shallow pool at the top. There had to be over a hundred people milling around the decks, most in some kind of formal wear, others already holding glasses of sparkling drink, laughter trailing on the breeze.
His instincts roared.
Too many unknowns. Too many scents. Too many places to be ambushed from.
“Sterke mensen,” [strong humans] his Oozaru rumbled.
Scanning quickly with his mind, Max identified a handful of people on the ship with considerable energies beyond the average human.
As they climbed the ramp together, Max placed his hand firmly at the small of Charles’ back. It was partly possessive, partly protective—mostly both. His eyes darted constantly, scanning every face, every motion, cataloging potential threats and picking out the ones he felt amongst the crowd.
His mate's safety came first, even if this place was full of soft voices and expensive shoes.
To his surprise, no one turned to look at him. No wary gazes and no fearful stares.
That was . . . that was a welcomed relief, even if it was small. Human’s couldn’t sense energy levels or someone’s aura and in this place, Max was just another one of the crowd.
How odd.
Both of them had their tails curled tightly around their waists, hidden and tucked beneath their shirts. Charles had asked him to do it, not because he was ashamed, but because he didn’t want to be stared at.
The thought had baffled Max at first. Their tails were symbols of status, of power, of identity with their people, but when Charles had touched his wrist and said, “Just this once, for me,” Max hadn’t needed another word.
His Oozaru had grumbled about it. Low, discontented rumbles in the back of his mind. But Max had reminded the primal spirit that they’d spent decades under suppression—one evening without displaying their tail was nothing, especially if it made Charles feel safe.
Still, Max’s fingers twitched near his side, never straying far from instinct.
“Charles!” a familiar voice called from across the crowded deck.
Max turned sharply, only to relax slightly when he saw Hannah approaching with confident strides. She looked striking in a deep red dress that hugged her frame, the lines of it both elegant and commanding. Her hair was pinned back in a complicated twist, jewels hanging from her ears and catching the golden light.
“I’m glad you convinced His Highness to join us,” she said, clearly as her gaze flicked to Max.
“Happy birthday,” Charles chimed back, tone light and affectionate.
Max gave a polite nod, standing tall beside him, expression unreadable. “Yes. Congratulations on surviving another orbit.”
Charles coughed behind his hand, but Hannah just laughed. “That’s . . . not wrong, actually.”
Max kept his eyes scanning even as he attempted to look at ease. The deck swelled with laughter, the thrum of music, and the clinking of glass.
He wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to relax.
At least not until they were back on solid ground and back in their nest.
_____
Charles could tell Max was tense.
Not from anything he'd said—because Max hadn’t complained once—but from the way his shoulders never fully dropped, the way his eyes kept flicking to each new guest as though expecting one of them to bare fangs and lunge at any moment. His arm never left Charles’ back.
Not once.
The prince followed him dutifully. Protectively.
They made a few rounds across the lower deck of the yacht, the late afternoon sun sparkling over the water. Charles chatted with a few familiar faces and even exchanged a handful of polite greetings with people he didn’t recognize at all, likely friends of Hannah’s extended family.
To his surprise, Max held his own with quiet dignity, even offering a few nods of greeting and the occasional grunted pleasantry. That was about as far as Max’s “socializing” limits extended, but it was more than Charles had hoped for.
They found Lando standing near the drink table, deep in conversation with Master Vasseur, who looked somehow even smaller and more sun-weathered in the daylight. The old man greeted Charles with a sharp grin and wasted no time launching into a few hilariously mortifying stories involving him and Lando sneaking off with hoverboards and breaking into restricted areas while looking for the wish orbs.
Charles groaned, burying his face in his hand as Lando doubled over in laughter, and to his shock, Max actually chuckled.
Chuckled.
Between bites of the delicate hors d'oeuvres Hannah’s team had meticulously prepared, the prince even offered a low chuckle when Master Vasseur mimicked Charles’ teenage voice cracking mid-excuse to the local constable.
Eventually, Charles felt the fatigue start to settle into his legs. His feet—already aching from standing too long—gave him that quiet pulsing warning he recognized from overexertion.
Max noticed before he even said a word.
With a subtle brush of his palm against Charles’ lower back, the prince leaned in and murmured, “Come. Let’s get you off your feet.”
He guided them away from the noise, away from the crowd, over to a quiet corner of the deck where a set of cushioned lounge chairs had been arranged in the shade of a cream-colored canopy. The scent of salt and wind filled the air, a momentary reprieve from the buzz of voices.
“How are your feet?” Max asked, already crouching slightly, to examine them. He pressed the tips of his fingers to the inside of Charles' ankle. “Do you need to elevate them? Or do we need to go back—?”
“I’m fine,” Charles groaned, dropping into the chair with a grateful sigh and waving him off. “You don’t have to be so—”
“Charles,” a smooth voice cut through the calm from just behind them.
Max turned instantly, body tensing beside him like a spring wound tight, eyes already assessing the speaker for any threat.
Charles followed his gaze and was met with the familiar silhouette of Lewis stepping forward with a glass of something bubbly and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” he said.
Charles’ spine straightened.
They hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms after their return to Earth. At one time, Charles would've even considered Lewis a good friend after the many years they'd faced each other in the martial arts tournament.
Charles hadn’t even known Lewis would be here tonight. Hannah certainly hadn’t mentioned it, likely intentionally. He supposed he should've expected him to make an appearance—Monaco was practically Lewis' playground. His many GP wins here on the famed track made him synonymous with these parties.
“I guess I should congratulate you as well,” Lewis said smoothly, turning to Max and extending his hand.
Max made no move to accept it. His stance was still, the line of his shoulders sharp as granite. Charles knew that look; it meant the prince was deciding whether or not he should punch him in the face.
And Lewis looked like he was considering the same.
“Congratulations for what?” Max asked, voice low and clipped.
“The success of Charles’ wish,” Lewis said without missing a beat. “And on the child, of course.”
The shift in Max was instant, weight centered, posture tall, eyes narrowing just enough that the air around him seemed to tighten.
“And where,” Max said slowly, “have you gotten that piece of private information?”
“Max,” Charles interrupted gently, reaching up to place a hand on his arm. “It’s alright. This is Sir Lewis.”
Lewis gave a small, entirely performative bow of his head. “I simply came to offer my congratulations, nothing more. I imagine you’re both just as eager to get out of this place as I am. Crowds like these always attract too many dull conversations and not enough oxygen.”
Max still didn’t speak, but he stepped half a foot closer to Charles.
“Sir Lewis,” Max repeated slowly. “The king you bested in the tournament.” A slow smile spread on the prince's face before he added, “twice.”
Lewis frowned at that and Charles exhaled softly.
“When is the next tournament?” Max asked smoothly. “Perhaps I should join amongst its competitors.”
This impending pissing contest was the last thing Charles needed with his growing headache.
“I’m a bit thirsty,” Charles deflected, keeping his voice warm. “Would you mind grabbing me some water from the bar, Max?”
Max’s eyes flicked to his. Charles gave the best pleading look he could to diffuse the situation, and after a beat, the prince gave a small nod, then slowly peeled himself away, gaze lingering on Lewis the entire walk to the bar.
Charles waited until Max was out of earshot before turning back with a tired smile.
“He’s a load of fun, isn’t he?” Lewis said with a crooked grin, taking a sip from his champagne. “Seb told me about the kid by the way, though he didn't really explain how that's possible.”
“Don’t start,” Charles replied.
“Start what?” Lewis raised a brow. “I’m just admiring the feral devotion. I mean—I know you said you two were some kind of item, but I never imagined you were so set on getting him back because he knocked you up.”
“I said I was going to get him out of there and that's what I did. You shouldn't be so shocked. And for your information, Max has been here for months now without incident. There is no reason to be so hostile about him. Seb wouldn’t have allowed him to stay—wouldn’t have given me the final orb —if it wasn’t safe.”
Lewis set his plate down. “Seb also said that he had some kind of tracking device on him when he got here, and that the frost demon could be looking for him.”
Charles’ smile vanished. “I’m not doing this with you, Lewis.”
“Just an observation,” Lewis shrugged and swirled his drink lazily. “Seb told me today he hasn't detected any hostile beings nearby this morning, so I guess we just hope you got away with it.”
His eyes flicked over to Max again, the prince's blue eyes still burning a hole in the older man as Max waited for the bartender.
“Is he always so . . . territorial? Or does he just know something we don't?”
Charles’ stomach twisted slightly, his tail tightening. What the fuck did that mean?
“Seb is tracking Jos. If he comes near, Seb will let us know well in advance.”
“A being older than the universe itself,” Lewis intoned. “I hope you actually have a plan if he does come. Something more than fists blazing and waving your tails.”
Charles Eldri growled loudly in his mind and he opened his mouth to tell Lewis to fuck off, before the man spoke again.
“Here comes his majesty, prince of fists and tails now.”
Max was back at his side in a flash, cold water in hand before Charles could even look over, cutting into their conversation.
“I’ve thought it over, and we don’t have to wait for a tournament. I will accept a proper challenge from you at any time, Sir Lewis. Including right now.”
“Some other time. Enjoy the party,” Lewis said, stepping away without another word.
Charles took a long sip of the chilled water, savoring the cool relief as it slid down his throat. The tension still lingered, but he focused on watching as Max's eyes followed Lewis' retreating form with a glare that could have melted steel.
“I don’t trust him.”
Rolling his eyes, Charles huffed in reluctant agreement. They had been enemies turned comrades with a common goal, but that didn't seem so true anymore. Now he just wanted to get back to the party.
"How about a quick swim?" Charles suggested, hoping to lighten the mood.
Brows raised, the prince glanced out at the vast expanse of the ocean. "Out there?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah," Charles replied with a grin, pointing to a lowered platform at the back of the yacht where guests were diving into the sparkling Mediterranean waters.
“The water is nice this time of year.”
The scent of salt and the sound of laughter filled the air, reminding Charles of his childhood days spent on the beaches with his adopted father and later, the serene times on Master Vasseur's island. The idea of immersing himself in the familiar embrace of the sea was enticing.
His aching feet also agreed with the idea.
Max, however, looked skeptical. "What about the pool?" he suggested, nodding toward the upper deck where a serene, deserted pool awaited. "There will be no predators in there but me," he smirked, running his tongue against his bottom lip.
He always knew just what to say to make Charles feel better.
"Alright," he agreed, "whatever you prefer, my prince."
They found Hannah, who directed them to her suite where she kept spare swimwear. Charles selected a pair of navy trunks that fit snugly, while Max chose a simple black pair, the fabric clinging to his muscular frame, keeping his shirt on.
They both tucked in their tails, though it was much harder for Charles to do with his bump, but he managed. He slipped on a loose button-down shirt, letting it hang open lightly.
As they made their way back out onto the main deck, warm sea air brushing against his still-damp skin, Charles took a moment to thank Hannah again for the use of her suite. She waved him off, smiling before disappearing back into the flow of mingling guests.
She always had a way about her, small talk coming naturally and the embodiment of life of the party.
He turned to rejoin Max, but paused, a ripple in the air, subtle and unsettling. That creeping sensation—eyes on him.
Charles glanced casually out of the corner of his eye and caught the sharp, unmistakable glances of a group of guests gathered near one of the bar setups. They weren’t being subtle, heads leaned together, one of them pointing, discreet, but not discreet enough.
At his stomach.
The slight but undeniable swell beneath the opening of his shirt. His bump.
A flush of heat crawled up Charles’ neck, spreading fast across his cheeks and ears. Shame was a sharp and confusing thing, especially when tied to something that, not five minutes ago, he’d been proud of and grateful for.
He clutched the shirt closed in front of himself, angling his body away from the curious eyes, wishing suddenly he had more than a thin cotton layer to shield him from the stares. His earlier confidence evaporated. He'd forgotten.
Forgotten that here, among so many strangers and even a few friends, his body wasn’t a miracle. It was an anomaly, just like his tail had been as a child.
Those feelings of alienation and being different from his youth flooded him again, sharp and painful.
He turned toward the cabin, heart racing, throat suddenly dry, the desire to swim vanishing as quickly as it had come. It wasn’t a good idea anyway.
They should just go home.
Gasps stopped him, followed by the sound of several voices, soft and sharp at once. Oh god, had more people noticed? He was too scared to look and see the looks on their faces, but it sounded like it was from a different group.
He froze, still half-turned in retreat, and reluctantly followed their gaze behind him. To his surprise, the crowd wasn’t looking at him.
Instead, they had turned their attention to Max, standing on the edge of the deck, his shirt now in his hand, torso fully exposed under the descending sun. His chest, arms, and back bore the unmistakable canvas of pain, dozens of scars, some healed smooth and pale, others deeper, more jagged, crossing muscle and bone like stories left untold.
Charles blinked, stunned.
The group that had been so fixated on Charles moments ago had gone utterly silent, their attention pulled away by the raw truth of the prince’s body.
And Max?
He just stood there. Unmoving. Unbothered, a hand outstretched toward him.
His blue eyes swept across the deck, daring anyone to say something.
Charles’ breath caught, and his embarrassment slowly melted into something warmer. He reached back and took Max’s hand, intertwining their fingers without shame, standing tall beside him.
Max held out his own shirt to him in offering, but Charles shook his head.
If they were going to be seen, they would be seen together. As they were.
Standing straighter, Charles turned back toward the stairs to the upper deck pool. They climbed silently until they reached the top level and Charles slipped into the cool water, sighing in contentment as it enveloped him, and Max followed, movements cautious but graceful.
There was no one up here, and the pair swam side by side, the party fading away as they enjoyed the quiet tranquility. Charles floated on his back, gazing up at the clear blue sky, while Max watched him with a soft smile.
The weightless feeling felt so good on his sore back and Charles decided he needed to swim more. The pup was so heavy now.
After a while, they settled on the pool's edge, feet dangling in the water as they stared at the skyline of Monaco in the short distance, lit by the setting sun. Charles leaned against Max, dropping his head to rest on the prince's shoulder.
"Thank you," he murmured.
"For what?" Max asked, wrapping an arm around him.
"For doing that."
Max pressed a gentle kiss to Charles' temple. "Always," he whispered. “I couldn’t let you have all the attention. I am royalty after all.”
Charles couldn't help but snort at that.
The air was still and quiet, the yacht gently rocking beneath them. Charles sat nestled close to Max, their skin still warm from the sun and the subtle motion of the sea lulling him into a sense of peace.
He was tired, content even. “We can leave soon. just give me a few more minutes and I will find the will to move.”
He’d done his part tonight. He’d smiled, made polite conversation, endured far too many hugs from people he barely remembered, and filled his plate with expensive hors d'oeuvres he couldn't even pronounce. Now, all he wanted was to return to the nest he’d missed last night, maybe curl up with Max beneath a light blanket and listen to the prince grumble about Earth furniture not being built to proper Torossian standards.
Releasing his tail from the waistband of his swim trunks, Charles let it curl slowly toward Max’s waist, brushing just enough against him to coax the prince’s tail free too. It didn’t take long for it to respond, wrapping gently around his own in a warm spiral, solid and reassuring.
Yeah . . . just a few more minutes—
A thunderous explosion split the sky.
The deck jolted beneath them, water splashing over the edge of the pool, a sharp blast of sound ringing through the air, followed by a shockwave of hot wind and the unmistakable roar of fire. Charles jerked upright, water from nearby glasses sloshing over rims as people on the lower decks screamed and stumbled.
He whipped his head toward the source.
In the near distance, just beyond the line of docked yachts, a large vessel had gone up in flames, releasing an enormous plume of smoke skyward. Metal groaned and twisted, the night turning orange as the fire consumed the hull.
Max was already on his feet, scanning the horizon. Charles scrambled up beside him, gripping the railing for balance as they rushed to the side, following the crowd of stunned guests.
They made it to the edge just in time to witness the second blast, a deep, rumbling concussion of sound and flame as another explosion erupted from deep within the vessel. The impact tore through the side of the ship with devastating force, shattering the waterline and sending debris flying in every direction.
Charles watched in stunned horror as the name painted on the yacht’s stern, “Unleash the Lion,” warped and buckled, then vanished beneath the water as the vessel began to sink.
People screamed on deck, scrambling back from the railings below them.
Others on shore were already fleeing, sprinting away from the chaos, shielding their children or diving behind nearby cars. The peaceful evening had turned to panic in mere seconds.
And then everything stopped.
A hush swept over the crowd as something moved in the sky, rising from the smoke and ruin like a specter. A figure, hovering calmly above the sinking wreckage, unbothered by the flames licking below him, green energy burning bright against the backdrop of Monaco.
Charles’ stomach dropped.
Even from here, even in the chaos, the silhouette was unmistakable. Slick uniform. Powerful build. That familiar cold poise and flapping mantel against his back.
Commander George.
“Prince of Torossians!” He shouted over the screaming crowds, voice echoing off the water. “Come out and face me!”
Chapter 59: Prince vs Prince
Summary:
Monaco harbor is rocked by a clash of titans.
Notes:
Welcome back!!
Chapter warnings: Violence, blood, referenced SA, death
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Charles,” Max said sharply as his hand clamped around the Eldri’s arm. “You need to go.”
The chaos was swelling like the waves around them—people screaming, lights flashing, smoke billowing up from the harbor as flames danced along the shattered hull of the yacht now sinking in the bay. Max could already sense the sharp, twisted edge of George’s energy crackling through the air, aggressive and cold.
Charles turned to him, startled, eyes wide and glinting with worry. “No,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “No, I have to—I can help you—”
They didn’t have time to argue.
Placing both hands on either side of Charles’ face, forcing their eyes to meet, the prince’s thumbs brushed across the Eldri’s cheeks, warm from the Mediterranean sun and now flushed with fear. He pressed their foreheads together for just a heartbeat.
“I need you to take care of the pup,” he said firmly. “I will handle this, Charlie. Find Lando and Lewis—tell them to start clearing the yacht. Get everyone off and to safety.”
Charles’ eyes shimmered with his lower lip trembling, but he nodded, hands curling tightly around Max’s wrists. “Promise me,” he whispered.
“I will meet you at the cabin,” Max said. “No matter what. Please Charles, I can't focus if I'm worried about your safety. Go there and wait for me.”
Grabbing the shirt he’d been wearing off the lounge beside them—thin and soft and utterly useless in battle anyway—Max handed it to Charles, using the gesture to press a final kiss to his temple.
“Go,” he said. “Now.”
Charles clutched the shirt to his bare chest, the slight swell of his abdomen visible as he turned. Max’s breath caught for a fraction of a second, but he pushed it down. There wasn’t time.
The Eldri vanished down the upper deck stairs, his footsteps barely audible beneath the sound of another explosion ripping through the harbor. Max turned back, his gaze locking on the shadowy silhouette floating above the water, arm outstretched, ki flaring in a blazing arc of green and gold as another moored vessel erupted into flame.
Commander George hovered there, calm, composed, and terrifyingly still.
Waiting.
From the moment Hannah told him there was a tracker on him, a clock had started ticking in his mind. Max knew that the emperor would come for him, it was just a matter of when. And though he couldn’t sense him at the moment, he knew Jos wouldn’t be far, likely on his ship just outside the planet's atmosphere, waiting for his commander to return.
Typical.
Never getting his own hands dirty unless he had to. And of course, the warlord had sent George instead.
He'd worry about the rest of his plan later. For now, he had to deal with George and then get Charles off the planet as fast as possible.
Max stepped forward to the edge of the deck, letting the wind sweep back his damp hair, the scent of salt and smoke filling his lungs. His muscles tensed as his tail flicked once behind him before wrapping tightly around his waist.
All he had was the soaking shorts on his body and decades of pent up rage.
With a flash of blue energy, he launched into the sky, screams of yacht guests following him as he crossed the distance to the pier in a flash. Clenching his jaw, he soared over the yacht’s bow, the wind slicing past his face.
It had been years since he and George had faced each other like this. Not on a battlefield under orders, not within the rigid hierarchy of the PTO, not for the emperor’s twisted pleasure, but man to man.
Prince to prince.
Max’s thoughts raced back to some of those moments, trying to remember anything useful. George was fast, cunning, and thought quickly on his feet. He liked combat in close quarters, drawing his opponent in to go hand-to-hand, using that small ki dagger to get up under armor.
Max needed to keep some distance if he could, but that was easier said than done. All he could think about was Charles’ tears as he told him about what George had done.
The violation. The fear.
The memory of Charles cowering on the floor, baring his neck in terror, sobbing and apologizing for a sin that was not his to carry. Max’s vision flickered with red, his Oozaru snarling, begging for release, tail snapping like a whip behind him, restless and wild.
As he neared the dock, his rage thickened, focus sharpening with the weight of Charles’ voice echoing in his mind.
What a coward George was.
Feeling superior in his rank. Always hiding behind orders, protocol, and the frost demon's authority. For twenty years, the man had stalked Max’s heels with too much pride and not enough spine. Taking liberties. Twisting the blade with smirks and thinly-veiled threats and cruel little jabs.
Max was ending all of it.
Today.
He descended like a meteor, ki burning in a blue hum around his skin, drying himself almost instantly, stopping just above the water's surface. The air rippled from the force of his hover, waves cresting outward from his sheer presence.
George turned to meet him with a familiar sneer, as calm and smug as ever.
“Look at you,” he drawled, motioning lazily to Max’s state of undress—shirtless, bare feet, swim trunks still clinging too tightly to his thighs. “Charming the locals already. I guess entertainment was something you monkeys were always good for. Did you dance for them too?”
Pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, Max let the insult hang in the air like an ember on the breeze. George wanted a reaction, that old version of Max—tense, unsure and obedient to a fault.
But that prince was long gone.
“I’m not here to entertain you,” Max said, seething. “I’m here to bury you.”
“Could have fooled me. But you were always a better court jester than soldier.”
The moment the words left his lips, Max surged forward, a flash of blue streaking across the sky. He crashed into George with the force of a falling star, their bodies exploding backward in a shockwave of power that shattered nearby windows and sent docked boats swaying wildly on their moorings.
Snarling, the commander caught himself mid-air, twisting into a brutal counter-punch that Max barely deflected. Their fists collided, a pulse of raw energy snapping through the air, and the surface of the harbor water buckled beneath them in the standoff, dozens of Earthling’s fleeing in all directions.
George bared his teeth. “Still pathetic,” he spat, “as always.”
Max responded with a savage kick to the gut, sending George rocketing backward through the hull of a nearby luxury yacht. The vessel groaned, splintered, and collapsed inward, flames from earlier explosions catching on the exposed fuel tanks.
The detonation threw fire into the sky as George burst from the wreckage, surrounded by a green aura, his ki flaring violently.
“You seem a bit winded,” Max chided. “Does the old man need a break already? We've hardly started.”
“My superior lifespan does not make me old,” he hissed, catching Max around the ribs and dragging him through the air before slamming him into the pavement of the Monaco promenade. Stone shattered beneath them, leaving a crater where fine cobblestone once was.
Shop alarms wailed in the distance, the high-pitched whine joining the screaming civilians still fleeing the scene.
He turned his head to see humans scattering like ants, clenching his teeth. This was Charles’ home, not a battlefield . . . Max had to end this quickly to prevent further damage.
“Nice place,” George shouted, perching himself on top of a nearby boat. “It will be a shame to purge it after I've dealt with you. Perhaps I'll go for a swim first?”
Hardly listening, Max's eyes caught onto a woman screaming and leaning over into the water from the dock, frantically stretching to rescue a young child drifting away on a small craft cut loose from its moorings. Its single sail was engulfed in flames, spreading dangerously close to the child as the side started to dip under the black, wreckage-filled water.
The sight of those tiny hands, scrambling out for a mother just out of reach, twisted in his chest. Flashes of his own unborn pup came to mind. Soft cheeks, sloped nose and precious fingers.
Not giving himself time to second guess, the prince rocketed out of the rubble of the promenade, and barely reached the child in time as the craft sank under the surface. Sliding his hands under the boy's arms, Max hovered gently and placed him back onto the ground, the shrieking woman rushing over with large tears in her eyes.
“François!” the woman yelled, lifting the child into her arms and sprinting away from the burning harbor.
“My . . . ” George cooed from behind him, toying with a ball of energy in his palm. “The fabled Prince of Death has changed his ways. Our lord will be so disappointed.”
George launched the ball of ki into Max's back, hurdling him through a tall statue and plowing him into the ground.
“They die now, or they die later,” George said, practically emotionless. “Doesn't make much difference to me.”
Max wheezed, pain radiating through his back, but it faded quickly, already dulling.
Because George was right. Max had changed. Not in perceived weakness, but in strength.
At one point in time, he and George were evenly matched in their energy levels. Always circling each other as they climbed higher and higher after every assignment and purge. But when Jos tortured him, starved him, pushed him to the boundary of his limits and beyond, something had awakened, that ancient defense embedded in every Torossian cell. He hadn’t just healed over the last few months.
He had rebuilt.
Every nerve, every muscle fiber, every bone that had been broken had been reforged better than before, and this regeneration had made him far stronger.
Stronger than George.
Tapping on his scouter, George turned and scanned out over the water, “Maybe I'll take a dip with that little whore of yours? I know he's around here somewhere—”
Max launched back to his feet in a blur, vanishing and reappearing mid-air behind George, fists slamming into the commander’s back. His scouter shattered as it came loose and hit the ground, each strike driving George down further until he crashed through the roof of a seaside casino boat, sending poker chips and playing cards flying in a storm of dust and smoke.
If George thought he was going to get anywhere near Charles again, he was sorely mistaken.
Max followed him in with a blast of blue ki, the beam carving a perfect path through the boat’s interior and detonating against the far wall. The casino burst outward, rubble raining across the dock as sirens began to echo all over the city.
Coughing as he emerged from the wreckage, blood trailing from one corner of his mouth, George grinned, eyes wild. “That’s your problem, monkey,” he panted. “You always thought you were better than me.”
“No,” Max scoffed. “I know I’m better than you.”
_____
Charles was drenched in sweat and seawater, his breath labored as he helped a trembling woman over the railing and into the waiting arms of the city’s emergency responders. His tail flicked anxiously behind him as he scanned the deck again to make sure they hadn’t missed anyone.
He was out of breath, rushing to help as many people as he could, but he wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer, exhaustion getting the better of the pregnant Eldri.
It had taken him a few moments to find Lando and Lewis on the lower deck, the pair of them looking like they were gearing up for a fight while watching George smash into the harbor. Charles knew after their last run-in with Carlos, those efforts would be better spent getting passengers to safety.
George’s strength made Carlos look human.
“Max will handle him, I need you to help me get everyone to shore!” he’d told them, and quickly, the three of them had started flying guests back to the mainland while the boat’s crew loaded people on lifeboats with the help of Master Vasseur and a few others.
“Lando!” he shouted over the mayhem. “That’s the last of them!”
Lando jogged up from below deck, dragging an elderly man over one shoulder. “Good!” he barked, teeth clenched, “Get the hell out of here, Charles! We’ve got it from here. Go with Hannah to the compound.”
But he hesitated, panting, eyes drawn back to the horizon and the flames.
From the edge of the dock, he saw them. Two brilliant flashes of light locked in a vicious, mid-air battle, the sky over the Monaco harbor turning into a burning aurora of blue and green with every impact. Boats exploded in the background like toys being smashed in a child’s tantrum, and entire sections of street and port had been reduced to rubble.
Every now and then, a sharp burst of pain pinged through Charles’ skull, echoes of the battle shared through their fragile bond, but it wasn’t like before.
This wasn’t Max struggling.
This was Max winning.
Charles exhaled, shoulders shaking. His heart was still caught in his throat, panic brimming but underneath it all was a calm deep in his chest.
He could feel it.
Max was stronger now. So much stronger than George. It throbbed in the air around the prince, pulsed in the back of his mind like the rhythm of a drumbeat.
Still, the Eldri’s hands trembled as he pressed them briefly to his abdomen, over the gentle swell of life beneath. He needed to do what Max had asked of him.
Keep their pup safe.
It went against all his instincts, not to join his mate in combat and tear George limb from limb.
“We must help,” his Eldri bristled. “Our mate needs our help.”
He looked over at Lando, who was already coordinating the medical crews and sending people into secured transports, Lewis a few meters away doing the same, barking orders with that sharp efficiency Charles had come to respect.
Hannah was elbow deep with the medical personnel, helping put pressure on a man's badly sliced leg.
Max had his fight, his friends had a handle on the wounded, and Charles had his purpose.
“Max is fine,” he whispered to his instincts.
Wrapping the loose shirt tighter around himself, Charles turned away from the burning skyline and took to the air, ki pulsing under his feet as he lifted off and angled west. The cool wind rushed against his skin as the city lights grew smaller behind him, and the forested hills of the countryside began to rise ahead.
His mind was focused now, crystal clear, tuned to the tiny flutter beneath his ribs and the promise it carried.
He was so tired, but home wasn’t far.
_____
The harbor was in ruins.
Shattered hulls of luxury yachts burned on the water, sending black smoke spiraling into the sky like war banners. Docks were splintered, some dragging into the bay in jagged spikes, and the promenade lay in tatters, craters and gouges marring the once-pristine stone.
Max was the storm at the center of it.
He darted forward with another surge of energy, slamming a heavy elbow into George’s jaw. The commander reeled, crashing into the skeletal remains of a moored boat that exploded under the impact. Fiery debris scattered across the waves.
No breath. No pause.
It was like he didn't even feel the blows, reserve tanks of his energy hardly depleted, mind focused on his singular goal.
Retribution.
For Charles. For himself.
Max shot through the smoke, his fist connecting with George’s stomach so hard the air trembled. The older man coughed blood, a wet sound barely audible over the roar of flames and sirens. Still, George didn’t fall. He twisted and landed a solid blow across Max’s shoulder, but the Commander couldn't keep up.
With a burst of speed, Max shot down from the air and tackled George hard, slamming him onto the remains of the pier with a devastating crash. Stone shattered beneath them, sending wooden planks flying into the churning water below.
George was dazed—pinned, his back arched against the cracked surface, Max’s forearm pressing across his collarbone.
Panting, furious, Max looked down at a man who had spent twenty years tormenting him. He hadn’t been his captor, but his rage for him felt all the same.
“I know what you did,” he growled, pulling George up and slamming him back down with a thud. “To Charles.”
George’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed again with cold amusement.
Max pressed harder, his tail curling tight with rage. “You touched what is mine,” he snarled. “You laid hands on my mate. I will rip you apart for that alone.”
Lips bloodied and teeth flashing, the commander chuckled with a low, cracked sound.
“Oh,” he rasped. “You mean when he cried?”
Max’s breath hitched, muscles tensing.
“He begged me, you know.” George’s smile widened cruelly. “Begged me to stop. Said your name like it would save him. Like you could hear him across the galaxy.”
Max’s vision blurred, red bleeding into the edges, ki flaring uncontrollably around his form.
“I bet he still thinks that now. That you'll save him from what's coming. That you can move systems and disappear across the stars.”
George sputtered, red seeping from the corner of his mouth.
“And when he realizes that you're no god, no promised fairytale warrior, and no one is coming for him, he’ll know the truth . . . ” George leaned in slightly, grinning through a smear of blood, “Just like he did in my office.”
Max's pulse was pounding in his ears.
“A shame really. You've trained him well. Such a perfect slutty mouth—”
The prince roared, instincts breaking through with blind rage.
He realized—half a second too late—that in his outburst, his grip faltered, and George used it. The commander slammed his forehead into Max’s nose with a crack, and as Max reeled, George rolled them both, twisting violently and throwing the prince off of him with a grunt of effort.
Max slammed into a collapsed section of the pier, splinters tearing across his bare back. He groaned, blinking blood from his eyes, struggling to rise as George staggered to his feet, his ki flaring like a wildfire around him.
“You’ve gotten strong, I’ll give you that,” George spat. “But you’re still a fool, plagued by your attachment to that harlot.”
“Say one more thing about my mate,” Max breathed through his teeth, “and I’ll make sure there are only pieces of you for Carlos to find in the afterlife.”
That struck a nerve, George tilting his head, a tremor visible in his fists.
“Maybe he can make a pile big enough to fuck. Just for old times sake. That's how it went right? You bent over for a ‘filthy monkey’, huh? Let him have his way with you—”
“Please,” George spat. “I will not be lectured by Jos’ chew toy. How many times did you bend over for him?”
The fight raged on, a spectacle of fury and pride turned warpath. The dockyard was almost unrecognizable now, flames flickering from every surface, the water below a reflection of the carnage, riddled with debris and smoke.
Thankfully, most of the humans had retreated from the area, leaving them to finish their battle of wills.
George struck like a man possessed, landing heavy blows, and Max countered each with brute force, his own body bruised and bloodied, but nowhere near breaking.
They clashed midair, collided through stone and steel, hurled each other across shattered rooftops. The Monaco skyline trembled with every impact.
But Max could feel it: George was tiring. His movements a half-second too late, his breathing a fraction too shallow.
He darted past the commander's guard, landing a punishing punch to his ribs—crack. Another uppercut sent the commander reeling backward, stumbling on shredded boots as he fell to one knee on the fractured pavement.
Landing hard in front of him, the Torossian prince panted. Blood dripped from his temple, but his stance was solid, unwavering. George looked up at him, mouth crooked in a sneer.
“You didn't deserve him,” he rasped.
Max blinked.
“Carlos,” George coughed, blood splattering onto the dock as he struggled to speak. “You never deserved his loyalty. His blind devotion.”
Max’s jaw tensed, the pain of losing his childhood friend burning all over again.
“He is my brother in arms, even in death,” he admitted softly, stepping forward. “You’re right. I didn’t deserve him, but neither did you.”
Leveling his arm at George's chest, killing blow at the ready, he said, “I was wrong for how things ended between him and I, but I don’t intend to make those mistakes again. Not with Charles.”
George’s eyes narrowed, locked on the ki building in Max's palm. Slowly, with a crooked smirk he said, “Too late for that.”
Max’s head tilted, brows pulling together.
This fight was over, George unable to breathe let alone keep fighting.
“It’s pathetic you can’t see it. You really are just like him, you know? Jos’ perfect toy. The fate you wish for Carlos will be yours, and I only wish I could watch as you sift through the ashes,” George hissed, voice a death rattle. “I hope you can find all the pieces of the whore—after Jos is done with him.”
The words didn’t register at first until they sank in like ice water in his veins, Max's entire body stilling.
“Charles . . . ” Max whispered.
Heart dropping into his gut, lungs failing to draw breath, the Torossian prince’s senses exploded outward, desperately seeking—reaching. He felt the space where Charles had been in his mind, quiet and focused, flying west.
Alone.
“Men like us . . . the real monsters in the night, are unworthy of love. And your mate will burn for it.”
“I’m nothing like you,” Max ground out, hand eerily still in front of him. “Not anymore.”
Without thinking, Max fired the ki in his palm through George's chest, adrenaline surging with the impending threat for Charles.
The commander's body slumped to the side, lifeless eyes staring toward the burning sea with a smile still on his lips, but Max was already gone—racing through the air, heart pounding, rocketing towards the cabin.
George wasn’t here for a fight or some misguided attempt at justice for Carlos. He was sent as a distraction.
_____
The wind bit at his cheeks as Charles flew low through the dark sky, the outline of the mountains growing clearer with each passing second. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the world below was bathed in deep violet shadow, the trees swaying gently in the night breeze.
His tail flicked anxiously behind him, twitching every few moments as his stomach tightened with unease.
Wanting to go back, his Eldri whined, but Charles soothed it with a soft stroke on his tail.
He was fine. Max was fine. His friends were fine. Everything was going to be okay.
He could see the clearing up ahead now, where his cabin was tucked neatly in the shadow of the woods. The soft babble of the stream nearby reached his ears, and the familiar scent of damp earth and pine filled his nose.
Hitting the ground lightly as he landed just outside the cabin, dust rose up softly around his bare, aching feet. Really starting to feel the effects of the short flight, Charles swayed slightly on his wobbly legs.
It had only been about ten minutes or so, but as much as he hated to admit it, Max had been right. Even a short flight like that drained so much of his energy, and Charles felt a bit lightheaded. Maybe even nauseous.
But he'd made it.
Just a short distance now and he could lie down and rest.
He took a tentative step forward, eyes flicking to the treetops, scanning for any sign of Max yet.
Nothing. No presence.
No sound except for the stream and the gentle rustling of wind in the leaves. There was stillness in the air, a distinct absence of deer or small wildlife. A distant explosion rolled on the wind, shifting lights far off in the distance.
Charles chewed on his lip, pushing his senses farther to feel the intensity of that battle raging on. He desperately wanted to go back and help, give in to the instincts begging him to be close to Max, but Charles was doing the right thing, keeping their pup safe. He would just distract Max and put himself in harm's way if he went back now, he reasoned, but his Eldri was having none of it.
“Something is wrong,” it hissed in his ears, tail winding around his abdomen. “Find our mate.”
“It’s okay,” Charles soothed aloud. “Max is fine.”
He crossed the small path toward the cabin, the worn boards creaking under his step as he padded onto the porch and neared the door. The shirt Max had given him hung loosely around his frame, his only warmth as the night air grew cold, swim trunks still lightly damp.
There were some of his old clothes still inside, a few hoodies and old jeans, and Charles wanted to get out of his bloody, sweat-soaked clothes as soon as possible before making a nest in his bed. Hannah and his friends would be busy with all the wounded bystanders, and Charles figured he should stay out of their way as much as possible.
Reaching for the doorknob, he exhaled slowly to steady himself, and opened the door.
The hinges creaked and the familiar scent of old wood and dried herbs hit him instantly, mixed with the musky scent of Max from the night before. But he caught the scent of something else, and he stopped dead in his tracks, frozen air invading his lungs.
The cabin was dark, except for a single flame glowing on the kitchen table from a half-burnt candle, and seated directly behind that halo of flickering light, draped in unnaturally dark shadow, was a figure.
Long limbs, pale gray skin, and glowing red eyes that burned like coals.
The warlord sat at the table expectantly, like a guest waiting for tea, his clawed fingers lightly tapping the wood in a steady cadence.
Click. Click. Click . . . Click. Click. Click.
“Well, hello there,” Jos said smoothly, voice like silk over broken glass. “Very few have kept me waiting and lived to see another day. But for you, I think I’ll make an exception.”
Panic filled every crevice of his soul as Charles stood frozen in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob.
Jos stood slowly, his tall frame almost filling the tiny kitchen space.
“I believe you have something that belongs to me—”
Charles bolted out the door, feet barely touching the ground as he propelled himself into the night sky, desperate to escape. It was dark, his eyes straining to get a clear line between the treetops, but before he could gain altitude, his leg was seized from behind and yanked violently downward. Charles crashed onto the forest floor with a bone-jarring thud, dirt and leaves exploding around him as he skidded to a halt on his side, wind knocked from him.
"Why in such a hurry?" Jos' voice cooed from behind, three-fingered toes digging into the dirt. "I don’t believe we've properly met."
Pain radiated through Charles' side as he tried to crawl away, fingers digging into the earth despite quiet gasps. He managed only a few feet before that powerful, lizard-like tail coiled around his wrists, flipping him onto his back, the weight of Jos' body pressing him into the ground.
Snarling, Charles twisted and landed a solid kick into Jos' abdomen, but the frost demon didn't even flinch.
“Just like your prince,” Jos mused.
He knelt beside Charles, crimson eyes gleaming as they followed the frantic movements of Charles' tail, twisting and lashing against the ground, pulling up Max’s shirt as it did so. Without a word, Jos extended a clawed finger and traced along the length of it.
The feeling burned, sharp pressure choking Charles’ throat with a strangled cry.
Capturing the tip of Charles’ tail between his claws, Jos brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply, red eyes narrowed before closing. Charles doubled his efforts to try and free his arms.
A shudder ran through him, a mixture of revulsion and helplessness. The touch was cold and invasive, sending a wave of nausea through him. Charles couldn’t remember a time in his life when he'd felt so helpless.
Trapped.
Petrified of whatever would happen next.
“My, my,” Jos sneered, voice a venomous whisper. “Such spirit for a Torossian Eldri. I did always admire that about your kind. Though, I’m not sure how you managed to escape me for so long.”
Charles struggled against the tail restraining his arms, but it was futile. Jos just shifted his weight, kneeling over Charles' leg to keep him pinned as more panic surged through Charles, his Eldri instincts screaming.
He could still feel Max—not far, but not close enough. The prince's ki pulsed in his mind, a distant beacon of hope.
If he could just hold on a little longer . . .
Red eyes darted away from his face, something catching the warlord's attention, and Charles gasped as more pressure was put on his right leg, straining the bone. Tail and arms stretched above him, Charles’ shirt was pulled up, exposing his midriff and inadvertently, his unmistakable miracle.
Charles snarled, baring his teeth as the warlord ignored his struggles. The Eldri’s entire mind warped, instincts blazing to the surface with the threat to their pup.
“Get off of me!” He growled deep, hips bucking against the pressure.
Suddenly, Jos' claw sliced down the center of his shirt, pulling it open to expose more of his skin, making Charles freeze. The fabric parted easily, exposing his chest to the cool night air. The only illumination came from the full moon above, casting a pale glow over the clearing.
Even in the dim light, Charles could see the wicked smile that spread across Jos' black lips as he looked down, face lit up in glee that looked more like madness.
"Now, what do we have here?" Jos murmured, eyes roaming over Charles’ stomach with predatory interest. A cold palm pressed against his abdomen, cradling the swell below his belly button. "No wonder my prince has been acting so foolish."
“Don’t touch me!” He snarled, jaw snapping sharply.
His brain felt like it was on fire, instincts and struggles misfiring all at once, halves of himself struggling to work together.
Charles' heart pounded in his chest, as frigid fingers spread across his abdomen, caressing it almost lovingly. Struggling again, Charles failed to gain and ground against the tight hold.
“Yes, I think this will do nicely.”
Quick as a flash, Charles was yanked onto his feet, frozen claws in his hair as the emperor dragged him away from the cabin into the forest. Charles twisted and lashed, but it only brought pain to his scalp, feet scrambling to regain purchase.
He was stronger than this. He knew he was, but the fear flooding his system was so great, Charles couldn’t get his limbs to cooperate, legs loose like jelly.
Max.
Max was coming.
Charles could feel his aura burning bright, headed straight for them as Jos breached the treeline, dragging Charles further into the dark underbrush.
There was a blur of blue in the corner of his eye, tears slipping free from the burning in his scalp, and Charles yelled with all the force of his lungs.
“MAX!”
Chapter 60: The Price of Freedom
Summary:
Had he not given enough? Had he not paid the highest price to stop the warlord from his continued reign of terror? What more must he sacrifice for the goddess to grant him the strength necessary—
Notes:
Welcome back!!
Chapter warnings: Grab your tissues folks
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max’s aura was blazing.
The sky screamed in his wake, the air itself warping around him from the sheer velocity of his arc. Trees blurred beneath him like streaks of ink, his vision narrowing to a single point of clarity: the place Charles called home, the place Charles should’ve been safe, the place Max had told him to go.
But the pain clawing at the back of his mind told him otherwise. It wasn’t just the distant thrum of their bond anymore. It was fire. Raw, unchecked fear, blooming in his chest like a second heart. Charles was terrified, Max could feel it.
His worn teeth ground together, the edges of his vision glowing gold. His Oozaru howled inside him, not in panic, but in unrelenting fury. It surged against his control, clawing at the boundaries of his flesh, begging to be let out.
The clearing was in sight.
Then—he heard it.
“MAX!”
Charles’ voice tore through the air, broken and desperate, and that primal tether snapped inside Max.
His heart stopped when he cleared the treetops.
Jos, pale and monstrous, was dragging Charles across the clearing by his brown curls. The Eldri’s shirt was torn wide open, dirt smeared across his chest, his wrists clawed raw and flailing. His tail thrashed wildly, trying to wrap around something—anything—to resist, and that look on his face . . .
Terror.
White-hot, soul-crushing terror.
He’d seen this before, many times in his nightmares, Charles lost in the clutches of the warlord as Max jerked awake.
This wasn’t ending like that. Not today.
He dropped like a meteor, slamming into the ground between them and the trees with such force, the earth cracked and split beneath his feet. Blocking their path, the shockwave sent leaves and dirt blasting into the air, a deafening boom reverberating through the trees, birds urgently flapping away.
Jos halted, red eyes snapping forward to meet Max’s burning gaze.
A low, guttural snarl rumbled from Max’s throat as he straightened to his full height. He stood tall, wide, the moonlight catching the lines of his scarred muscles, his tail lashing in tight, sharp arcs behind him.
“Step away from him,” Max growled, voice low and dangerous.
His gaze didn’t flicker once to Charles or the surrounding terrain. Only trained on Jos.
Unlike before, Max wasn’t bound by rank or fear or submission, unburdened by his past servitude. There was too much to lose this time, and the prince was ready to end this, once and for all.
For his father, mother, and sister. For Alonso and for Carlos. For the many that had fought to free him and the many who'd fought for their own freedom. For the legacy of his people.
For his mate and pup.
Jos’ grin widened, lips parting to reveal far too many teeth. “There he is,” the frost demon purred, slowly releasing his grip on Charles’ head.
The moment his claws slipped free, Charles recoiled like he’d been burned, gasping as he scrambled backward through the dirt. His shoulder hit the base of a tree just beside the cabin, and he curled in on himself, clutching his ripped shirt closed, shielding his abdomen.
Jos didn’t even look down at him, eyes fixed on Max with a serpent’s glee. “My lost little prince. It seems you’ve been keeping secrets again.”
Jaw locked, Max’s fists clenched so tightly, the knuckles cracked, loud and sharp like bone splitting stone.
“You had no reason to hide such a discovery,” Jos continued, tone sickly sweet. “A Torossian pup should be celebrated, after all. The first in—what? Seventeen years?” His voice lilted upward, soft and almost wistful. “So rare now . . . so precious.”
“Rare because of you!” Max barked, voice thick with fury, blue aura roaring to life around him in a flare of light and heat.
“Now, now.” Jos made a small noise in the back of his throat. “We both know who’s really responsible for Toro’s extinction. I gave my warnings. You defied me. Actions, consequences. Isn’t that what your people used to say?” He gave a mocking hum and turned his head just slightly, crimson gaze flicking over to Charles.
The Eldri was trembling, breathing ragged, tail wrapped tight against his belly. He hadn’t looked up from the ground since Jos let him go, not even to Max.
“But I’m willing to forgive,” Jos said softly. “I'm not unreasonable as you are well aware . In light of this new development, I will commute your death sentence—if you're willing to come quietly that is. Don't worry, your little mate will be coming too as well as upgraded accommodations for the lovely family.”
A whine split the quiet clearing, Charles pressing his back as tight to the tree as he could.
“You’ve given me something far more valuable than your loyalty or defiance, Prince Max. An Eldri pup . . .” Jos licked his bottom lip. “Not only a powerful mother, but mixed with your superior strength—thanks to my training of you—just think what I could do with that kind of power raised in my image.”
The words hit Max like a blade through the gut. His vision blurred with white-hot rage and the ground trembled beneath his feet, small cracks forming as the sheer force of his energy made the air shimmer.
“You will not touch him,” Max growled.
“Oh, but I don’t need to,” Jos smirked, an unnatural sounding chuckle leaving his lips. “Clearly, you’ve already done enough of that for me, and if you behave, I might even let you make a few more with him. A whole litter of little monkey pups at my disposal.”
That was it.
With a roar that split the night, Max launched forward, aura blazing, fist cocked and ready. The ground behind him cracked open, pressure bursting outward like a sonic boom as he charged straight for the warlord.
Jos simply opened his arms like he was welcoming him home. The moment Max’s fist collided with Jos’ jaw, the clearing exploded with sound. The warlord’s head snapped to the side, the blow sending him careening through the air and into a thick pine tree that splintered like a toothpick under the force.
Already moving, the prince charged after him with another explosive burst of speed.
Jos righted himself mid-air, laughing even as sap and bark fell from his shoulders. “How impressive!” he cackled. “Show me that Torossian blood that I remember. That blood that tastes so sweet.”
Max hit him again—this time a rising knee to the gut, followed by a heavy elbow to the back. Jos snarled as they crashed to the forest floor, gouging a deep trench into the earth. The ground shook with their impact, a crater forming around them as trees toppled like dominoes.
Another whine halted his assault, Max looking back to the cabin. Charles was on his feet, jumping away from a falling tree nearly landing on top of him.
“Get out of here Charles!” Max roared, following up with a barrage of ki blasts that detonated all around Jos, reducing more trees and rocks to ash.
Charles was a blur to the side, darting into the dense forest, his tail whipping behind him as he ducked into the shadows. Max tracked him briefly out of instinct, just long enough to make sure he was safe and out of the line of fire, but not for too long. He had to keep his focus.
The warlord erupted from the smoke, claws flashing, slashing through the air. Max blocked two strikes, the force rattling his bones, but a third caught him across the ribs while he was still distracted by Charles’ fleeing. He hissed in pain, stumbling back before using the momentum to counter with a hard palm to Jos’ plated sternum that sent the frost demon flying.
The mountain groaned as Jos smashed through another layer of terrain, snow and stone sliding down in a small avalanche.
For a long moment everything was still, just Max breathing heavily in the air, and Jos nowhere to be seen.
Descending slowly, Max scanned over the rubble, eyes darting back and forth.
It was quiet, only the soft whisper of wind over the mountain face echoing in the clearing. Max approached slowly before halting at a sound.
Laughter.
Deranged and distant. Behind him.
Max turned just in time to see Jos’ tail as it smashed into his side, sending him careening through a large tree. Dazed Max blinked his eyes as he peered through the falling debris.
Righting himself, Max leapt up with a roar, landing a two-footed kick directly into Jos’ chest. They both went tumbling through the underbrush, smashing through boulders and uprooting entire trees as they crashed down into a lower valley behind the cabin.
Jos rolled to a stop and sprang back up, laughing again—high and unhinged.
“You’ve grown stronger,” he mused, brushing black blood from his lip with the back of one claw. “Is that the work of love or desperation?” He flicked a glance toward the treeline where Charles had disappeared. “Funny how such petty, meaningless things make you so predictable.”
Max growled, tail lashing as navy light flared around him again. “If I’m so predictable, then why are you the one on the ground?”
“That pride,” Jos scoffed. “The curse of all Torossians. The same weak sentiment that cost your people their future. The same pride that led Christian to challenge me with no hope for victory.”
Max dug his heels into the ground, shoulders squared as he studied Jos’ stance. The frost demon’s movements had been fast, calculated, but predictable until now—each attack just another rhythm Max had learned to dance around.
Then he felt it.
A shift.
Subtle at first, like the ripple of a breeze across a still pond, and then growing—suffocating, invasive—as Jos’ aura warped and deepened. The once-electric hum of indigo around him now throbbed with something darker.
“Unlike your father,” Jos said, each word slithering into the space between them, “you will receive the honor of facing me . . . in my true form.”
The ground beneath Max’s bare feet cracked as Jos’ ki spiked, sharp and heavy, flooding the clearing like a tidal wave. The air shimmered, bending in unnatural waves as the demon’s energy poured outward, rolling in rhythmic pulses that threatened to crush the breath from Max’s lungs.
He braced himself, jaw clenched, arm over his eyes to shield himself from the wind as the frost demon's change began.
It started at Jos’ feet—his clawed talons sinking into the dirt like anchors, the earth fracturing outward beneath them. His pale gray skin rippled unnaturally, dark veins glowing underneath as the hue shifted, bleeding into a brilliant, unnatural gold that climbed his legs, torso, and neck in slow waves.
The dark purple plating along his chest, arms, and legs didn’t change; it remained like a carapace, polished and deadly, contrasting violently against the gleaming gold now dominating his form. His musculature swelled, arms and legs elongating as power gathered in violent, thrumming bursts beneath his skin. The plates along his shoulders jutted out more sharply, serrated edges catching the shimmering light of his aura.
His face changed last. The narrow openings for his eyes stretched, red pupils blazing as they seemed to cut through the haze of his ki, searing into Max’s senses like molten steel. His lizard-like tail uncoiled and lengthened, swaying behind him with serpentine menace as arcs of golden energy crackled along its length.
And then Jos grinned.
A cruel, jagged grin that bared not just his existing fangs, but new ones—lengthened, predatory—his lips a slick black slash across the gold of his face. The sound of his voice deepened, rumbling with the layered distortion of his ascending state.
“I have not used this form in millennia,” Jos’ aura pulsed violently, the ground trembling beneath his weight as cracks spiderwebbed outward. “This is power your bloodline could never dream of . . . this is the last sight you will see, as all who have bore witness to it before you.”
Max’s eyes narrowed, golden light settling in around them, almost blinding in its intensity. He exhaled slowly, watching as Jos’ transformation drew to a close, and flexed his fingers at his sides.
It was now or never.
He lunged forward, fast as lightning, and the two collided again—fists, claws, and energy flying like sparks from a forge.
One moment Max had Jos on the defensive, his blows forcing the warlord back, cracking the mountainside, scarring the trees, and the next, he’d left a single opening. A fraction too slow.
Jos slipped inside his guard, palm slamming into Max’s chest with devastating force. A concussive wave exploded out, and Max felt himself lift from the ground, every nerve in his body screaming as he was hurled backward, smashing through rock and forest alike.
He hit the ground hard, bones rattling, lungs empty, everything spinning violently around him.
Branches snapped overhead, leaves fluttering down like ash. He tried to move, but his arms barely responded as he gasped, chest heaving, air refusing to return to his lungs. Up above, perched like a golden god on judgment’s throne, Jos sat atop the roof of Charles’ cabin—legs casually crossed, watching him with maddening patience.
Waiting.
The moment was oddly reminiscent of how his last fight with the warlord went, when Jos had given him the option. If you can defeat me, I'll let you and your Torossian comrades go, he'd said.
No tricks. No catch. All Max had to do was make Jos yield.
He'd done well, letting the cheers of the ship's bystanders spur him on until there was a similar change in the tide. Too open. Too slow.
Alonso had carried him to the healing tank, barely getting him there in time.
Max’s vision blurred at the edges. His back was burning, old familiar pain in his leg and arm flaring to life. He'd come so far, decades of pain and suffering, years of torment and grief to fuel his fire. He’d grown stronger, fought harder.
Trained, healed, a never-ending cycle that pushed himself to the brink. And yet—
Was it still not enough?
Was he still so far away from that promised potential, that flicker of hope he’d held onto that his father was right about him, that legend Alonso had spoken of beside his bunk as a child?
If he failed here, Jos would take Charles. Would take their pup. Destroy this planet and everything precious within. Everything Max had clawed his way back for would be gone. Violated. Erased.
Just like Toro.
His fists clenched in the dirt, struggling to get control of his breathing.
“Take your time,” Jos said, shifting on the roof. “The night air is quite refreshing on this planet.”
Fuck, his leg was starting to go numb.
Charles, his mind reeled, Oozaru panting with his need to keep the Eldri safe. He had to get up.
Uncooperative, Max scrubbed the back of his palm across his forehead, dirt and blood smearing, a weak tremor making the motion labored.
Jos was almost twice as strong now as he was before, and who knew how much more energy the warlord was masking behind his altered state.
After everything, how was he truly still so weak?
Had he not given enough? Had he not paid the highest price to stop the demon from his continued reign of terror? What more must he sacrifice for the goddess to grant him the strength necessary—
“Max . . .” The voice was a whisper, gentle and desperate as a familiar hand spread on his cheek, guiding his head to the side and soft green eyes met his. “It’s okay, you’re okay. You can do this.”
There was a hum of power that wasn’t his and through the mess of dirt and blood he saw him. Charles, kneeling beside him, hands glowing in a deep, vibrant red. His aura was alive—pulsing like a heartbeat. It radiated outward in rhythmic waves, wrapping around Max’s broken body like a cocoon of flame.
“You need to run, Charles,” Max wheezed, grabbing his wrist. “You can’t stay here.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Charles whispered. “We need you. I need you.”
“Get as far away from here as you can. Take Hannah's ship. There’s a star system—”
“You can do this,” Charles said firmly, the tone in his voice changed, more raw and animalistic.
Eyes opening wider, Max's Oozaru recognized their Eldri speaking to them, making its way forward in his mind.
“Wij zullen samen vechten." [ We will fight together. ]
Max blinked, brows pulling up at their native tongue coming from sugared lips.
Placing his hands firmly in the center of Max's chest, the Eldri forced his energy against Max's skin, the heat blazing before it started to sink in. Max tried to speak but only managed a gasp. His head dropped back against the forest floor as warmth spread through his battered limbs.
It hit in a rush, like a dam breaking.
Charles’ energy merged with his, flowing into every frayed nerve, every aching muscle. His own ki surged upward in response, spiraling with Charles’ until the air around them rippled, Oozaru roaring from deep within.
The wind swirled, trees swaying as the pair’s combined light lit up the forest, rain starting to fall from the sky.
Blue flared first—wild and frantic, the color of unrefined power, scorching the air as it surged upward from Max’s skin in jagged, pulsing arcs.
Then came red—a darker, deeper force, driven by compatibility. It crackled like lightning, wrapping around his limbs like shackles preparing to snap.
And then—Gold.
Not fire or light, but radiance.
It didn’t just flare, it consumed, swelling outward in a blinding sphere that tore through the night like the dawn itself had fallen from the sky. The forest trembled under its weight, trees bowed, grass singed in a perfect circle around them. The air vibrated with a resonance that was no longer sound but presence.
Max’s eyes snapped open, glowing with incandescent fire, their deep aqua eclipsed by golden white. The ground beneath him fractured outward in a spiderweb of cracks, pieces of earth levitating under the force of the energy radiating from him.
With a final surge, Charles stumbled back from the epicenter, shielding his face with one arm, his own shimmering aura shrinking under the magnitude of the light. His mouth hung open in awe, green eyes wide with shock but not fear.
There was no fear.
Only wonder.
Max could feel it now—not just the surge of new power, but something else woven into it. Something warm, steady, and familiar.
Charles.
His energy had rooted into Max’s soul like a beacon, a tether, and not merely as a gift of strength. It had unlocked something long buried. The barrier Max had fought for years to break had crumbled—not because he’d raged harder, not because he’d reached deeper into his own power—but because he had let someone else in.
Rising slowly from the crater he'd carved into the earth, Max stood straighter than he ever had in his life. His breath was calm, controlled draws—his chest steady, shoulders squared. Golden light rolled off his body in smooth, rhythmic pulses, like the heartbeat of something ancient and divine.
His tail, once wild and chaotic, now floated behind him like a banner of fire. His Oozaru and his foremind were not at odds anymore, not two warring instincts clashing for control, but united.
Harmonized.
It wasn’t his energy anymore.
It was theirs.
Two souls intertwined, two forces forged in fire and devotion, now flowing in perfect synchrony. They weren’t just bonded—they were ascended.
And Max could feel it, truly feel it: the legend of the Torossian warrior, realized.
He took a step forward, and the world trembled.
Another, and time itself seemed to slow, the air humming in anticipation as he stepped back into the clearing, golden light casting his shadow long behind him.
Jos, still lounging above, sat up just a little straighter, eyes narrowing, face going slack as the realization settled deeply in his features.
Max didn't emerge from the trees as a warrior, he walked out as a legend made flesh. Squaring his shoulders, the fire of their combined spirits burning behind his eyes.
“Now, I'm ready,” he said softly, voice echoing through the clearing like a divine judgment.
“After all this time,” Jos said, almost reverent, his claws digging against the roof. “You had the potential after all. Thousands of years, fabled myths and stories all, finally coming to fruition, right in front of me.”
The gilded emperor rose from the rooftop, descending slowly into the bright clearing, their auras dancing around each other, long tail trailing behind him like a shadow made solid. His feet crunched into the broken earth where Max stood, the scorched grass still steaming from their earlier clash.
The demon circled him slowly.
Studying Max with a wide, toothy smile, his crimson eyes drank in the power that now radiated from him in pulsing waves.
“Though, of course, I never doubted you,” he continued. “You always were different. Special.”
Max scoffed and stood his ground.
“Decades of molding . . . countless reprogramming exercises. All leading to this moment. My masterpiece. My greatest creation. My legendary Torossian warrior.”
The light of Max's aura painted the woods in fire-gold, the edges of his eyes glowing white. His tail swayed slowly behind him, heavy with great restraint.
“All that I am,” Max said, voice deep and steady, “I owe to my mate. To my people. I have become this in spite of you.”
“In spite of me?” Jos laughed, sharp and barking. “No. No, Max Emilian. You are what you are because of me. Did you think I was playing games all these years? Every broken bone, every mission into hell, every scream you choked down in silence—do you believe all of that was for nothing?” He leaned forward, lips pulled into a grin. “There is only one way to produce greatness: with an iron fist and an unbreakable will. You were forged, not born.”
“You may have invaded my mind,” he said through gritted teeth, “and my body. But you will not take this from me too. My pride is mine and mine alone.”
Max's aura flared again, golden light crackling into the sky like lightning, the trees trembling from its sheer force. Charles’ energy pulsed in Max’s chest, tethering him with their bond.
“I am not your weapon,” Max growled. “I am not your pet. I am a prince of Toro. I am my father’s son, and I will die before I let you touch what I love again.”
Jos’ grin twitched just slightly. Not faltering, but the edge of amusement dulled, just enough to betray the slightest recognition.
“So be it. I have waited years for that energy. It belongs to me, and I intend to have it.”
_____
Charles stumbled forward until his legs gave out and he sank back against the gnarled base of an old pine, bark scraping his shoulder as he lowered himself slowly, too weak to stand any longer. Above him, fire and gold danced with shadows and frost, bursts of ki lighting up the sky like thunderheads caught in a storm. Trees swayed and cracked with the force, their tops trembling from the shockwaves that rippled through the clearing.
His breathing was shallow. Unsteady.
His Eldri had gone quiet now—slid low and deep inside him like a guttering flame. Not gone, but barely there, like the last flicker of a candle.
They had given everything. All their energy. All their strength.
That had been their final offering for their mate.
All they had.
Charles hadn’t even understood what was happening when his Eldri first screamed inside his mind, loud, wild, and relentless. He’d thought it was fear, but it wasn’t.
They were pleading. Urging him forward. Telling him he could help. That he had to.
That Max needed him.
So he’d moved without thinking, without knowing what he was doing, and when his hands touched Max’s chest, his instincts had taken over. A bond older than blood, ancient and primal, flared to life and his energy had poured into his mate like a flood breaking loose from a dam.
It felt so similar to the pull from his Veyöra, a powerful draining sensation, zapping his strength.
He’d felt everything snap into place, all that he was meant to be. That invisible thread between them, his ki, tangled with Max’s. Mutating. Amplifying. Giving.
And with it, his fate was sealed.
Now, his limbs were cold. Not from the wind. Just . . . empty. Hollow.
But what Charles could still feel—what burned like fire in his chest even now—was Max. His presence was unmistakable. A beacon in the night, brilliant and towering. The strength of a kingdom wrapped in the body of one man.
Ten million voices made one.
The prince’s ki shone above the trees like the sun itself, blazing golden, crackling with fury and justice and something else.
Hope.
He was glorious.
All the cold, cruel darkness that had clung to them, the shadows of their pasts, the specter of Jos—it all felt like it was being burned away. Like Max was lighting the sky with everything they had suffered, and turning it into something unfathomable.
Max was going to end this.
For himself. For Toro. For every ghost the frost demon had left in his wake. And maybe even for Charles too.
Max yelled as he launched Jos into the side of the mountain, the force of it rocking the foundations of Earth.
But even as pride swelled in his chest, Charles couldn’t hold on. His head lolled to the side, vision beginning to blur, the edges of the world curling into dark. His fingers twitched weakly in the dry pine needles, trying to stay awake, but it was getting harder.
Lifting his eyes, crown of his head scraping against the rough bark, Charles tracked the ball of gold for a few moments, wanting that to be the last thing he saw, bearing witness to Max's full potential.
Raising a hand to the swell of his belly, Charles felt that flicker of ki beneath his fingertips.
He closed his eyes.
If he had any regrets, it was this. That it wasn’t just his own energy he’d sacrificed, but everything his pup had as well.
In the distance, he felt Max move. Like the roar of a lion just before the kill.
He was going to win, and for that, all of this was worth it.
The price of freedom, paid in his blood. The blood of the last of his people.
A flicker of light danced behind his closed eyelids—soft and pulsing like the reflection of moonlight on a still lake.
Charles stirred, his brows twitching as he fought to open his eyes. They felt impossibly heavy, lids dragging upward like lifting iron gates as his body remained slack, limbs numb, tail at rest, the bark of the pine pressing against his spine as his consciousness wavered in the in-between.
He expected pain or the familiar tremors of fear. The crashing sounds of battle.
But instead there was silence, and that light growing stronger.
Blinking through the haze, he saw it.
At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, crafting dreams from exhaustion and magic from weakness. But no dream could be this vivid. This impossibly . . . real.
A woman floated toward him without touching the ground, her steps like ripples through the forest floor. Her hair, long and silver as moonlight, flowed behind her in a current of unseen wind, catching the pale glow of the full moon above. Draped in layered silk that shimmered like opal, she radiated calm amidst the chaos.
On her forehead, resting just above her serene brow, sat a delicate crescent-shaped headpiece, a moon cut from crystal.
His Eldri stirred, not in fear or surprise, but in reverence. In knowing something he didn't.
She said nothing as she approached, watching him with luminous pools of gentle light in her eyes, quiet and endless.
Kneeling beside him with the grace of falling snow, she placed a single hand atop his own where it rested protectively over his belly. Her touch was neither cold nor hot. It was warmth in its purest form—gentle, timeless and maternal. It sank into his skin, into his spirit, and Charles felt his shoulders finally relax for the first time in hours.
His chest filled with a deep breath, unprompted, and his Eldri purred.
A soft, resonant hum vibrated in his ribs, low and melodic, syncing with hers, because now he could feel her ki too. It pulsed in rhythm with the moon, brushing against him like the way the tide kisses the shore.
“Rest now, my child,” she spoke, voice distant and ethereal.
Charles closed his eyes again, not from fatigue this time, but trust.
Everything was still.
No more explosions. No more cries of war or the cracking of earth.
Only moonlight.
_____
Max moved like liquid fire—each motion crisp, each attack effortless, his body now an extension of pure will. His strikes found seams in Jos’ armor like water slipping through cracks, exploiting vulnerabilities Max hadn't even known he could perceive.
The warlord was still no easy target by any means, landing heavy blows and dealing his own great deal of damage, but it was not insurmountable like it was before.
He was no longer fighting—he was guiding inevitability.
It was unlike anything he could describe. The air itself bent around him as he danced through Jos’ attacks, each movement telegraphed in the warlord’s body before it ever reached Max’s skin. What once would've been a mortal threat now passed harmlessly within centimeters, easily sidestepped or parried with a flick of his wrist.
As the fight wore on, Jos fought like a beast cornered—vicious, relentless—but desperation was a weight on his limbs. His strikes, once perfectly measured and thunderously fast, grew sloppy, heavy and wild.
Max countered with growing effort, flowing from strike to strike, each one faster, harder, more punishing.
They tore across the mountain side turned battlefield, shattering cliff faces and sending trees flying like matchsticks. The skies flashed with golden arcs and champagne-black bursts of energy as their duel blazed into the heavens and back again.
But it couldn’t last.
Even gods had limits.
Their final clash echoed like a thundercrack through the valley below, and when the dust cleared, Max stood tall, his feet planted firmly on either side of Jos’ cracked chestplate. The warlord lay on his back in the debris, torso impossibly still.
The once-immaculate gold of his armor plating was split and chipped, dark grooves revealing the exposed black bio-weave underneath, whatever twisted form truly made up a frost demon exposed to the light. A crooked line of blood—thick and unnatural—trickled down the side of his jaw, staining the fine edge of his chin.
Max said nothing at first, only stared, the wind whistling mournfully through the ruined mountainside, golden energy flickering around him like an aftershock.
Jos’ dull crimson eyes met his.
There was a long silence between them, a stretched heartbeat in the void of the battle’s end.
Jos’ lips pressed firmly together, offering no words. Only a harsh, rattling stare of malice. Pride, hatred, and disbelief warred across his face as he struggled to push himself up—only to fail. His fingers clawed at the dirt, then stilled.
“This is how it ends,” Max said softly, more to himself than to Jos. “Not with glory. Not with legacy. Not with some well-crafted barb about your supremacy or grandiose plans. Just . . . silence.”
Jos bared his elongated teeth, some still gleaming, others shattered. The gaping wound in his left shoulder dripped a thick puddle of black onto the dirt, his arm torn clean off when the demon had tried to siphon some of Max's energy through small barbs in his frigid skin. He’d managed it for a few moments, the prince feeling the unnatural pull before he’d put an end to that cheap trick.
Max would be forever grateful to the Earth Guardian for his warning about Jos’ true intentions. Without that prior knowledge, the prince could have seriously miscalculated how to handle that power move of desperation.
Voice undeniably steady, Jos said. “I could have killed you . . . a million times.”
Max crouched slowly, the golden light still humming around his form as he grabbed the base of Jos' tail, snapping the gold band in half like a twig. “And yet here I am.”
He watched as Jos’ looked down at the band, Max crushing it in his palm, metal screeching and snapping. There was no redemption in him, no final plea.
Only frozen hatred and now—defeat.
“I’m not afraid of some monkey,” Jos growled with the last of his strength.
Max’s gaze was steady and unrelenting. “You should be.”
With that, the light around Max surged one final time, rising into a column that lit the fractured battlefield like a second sun, a tornado of fire and destruction.
When it faded, there was nothing left of Jos, his reign shattered at last.
The frost demon was gone.
And Max—finally—stood free.
“Charles?” Max called softly, walking through the broken and scorched trees.
His breath was heaving, energy still spilling out of him in waves, bare feet crunching on branches. He was covered in bruises, gashes, and black splatters, Jos’ acidic blood still clinging to him.
He was numb, brain alight with the overwhelming energy still filling every crack and dip, eyes blown wide. Hands shaking, Max couldn't stop smiling, having finally achieved what he'd set out to long ago. He’d only taken a moment, standing over the crater of the emperor’s decimated corpse to assuage his fears that the frost demon was really dead, before he’d immediately started looking for his mate.
The trees around him groaned in the wake of the battle’s destruction, their limbs blackened and smoking with fires smoldering low in the underbrush. The stench of burnt wood, scorched alien flesh, and blood clung to the air like a curse.
The flicker of a form by the base of a tree caught his eye, Charles.
Max smiled at the sight as he walked closer. His mate was curled at the roots of a tall pine, hands on his chest, tail loosely wrapped over his bump.
“Charles?”
Max’s smile vanished. Charles was too still, too pale against the blackened forest floor.
Rushing forward and dropping to his knees, he skidded across the dirt with a growl of effort, hands already reaching. He gathered Charles’ face in his hands, trembling fingers brushing soot-streaked curls from his forehead. His mate’s skin was like ice, dirt smudged across his cheeks, a smear of dried blood under one nostril, his shirt still torn, revealing the curve of his belly where his tail rested.
Max shook him lightly. “Charles!?”
There was no answer.
Max leaned in, pressing his forehead to Charles’, breath ragged, eyes wild with panic. “Charles, open your eyes. Please. Please.”
A flicker.
Barely there.
Charles’ lashes lifted, revealing a glimmer of soft green beneath. Max choked on a sob, relief crashing into him like a wave.
His eyes were so beautiful. Max wanted to see them every second of every day for the rest of his life.
“There you are,” he whispered.
Charles’ lips curled at the corners, a ghost of a smile. “You beat him,” he breathed, voice so soft it was almost soundless.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding fervently, pressing kisses to Charles’ temple and then to his forehead. “Yeah, we beat him. Together.”
Charles closed his eyes again, and Max's whole chest cracked.
His ki flared gently, not violent but still golden as Max reached out for Charles’ energy and found nothing.
“Hey,” Max urged softly, voice a brittle thing against the broken hush of the clearing. “You’re okay. Keep talking to me, Charles. Open your eyes.”
Charles’ tired eyes looked at him again, but remained unfocused, heavy and lidded.
“Can you—tell me five things you can see? Any five things?”
Max remembered this series of questions from back on Lawrence's ship, Charles helping him to re-center himself, but the Eldri didn't answer.
“Four things you can touch, or—or three things you can hear?” Max pressed in desperation.
There was no answer to those questions either.
His hands moved instinctively, pressing over Charles’ chest, trying—failing—to channel his energy back into him. The warmth of his ki crackled in his palms, steady and golden, the same radiant fire that had ripped Jos from the sky. But here, now, it was useless. His ki danced over Charles' skin like sunlight over stone, illuminating but not healing, not sinking in.
“Come on,” Max whispered, breath catching. “Come on, take it. Take whatever you need. Take it all.”
But Charles just exhaled, a soft, trembling breath, and his lashes fluttered shut again.
“No.” Max’s voice cracked sharply. “No, Charlie.” He shook him gently, fingers trembling on his jaw. “Stay with me. Open your eyes. Look at me—please.”
He leaned in, the scent of pine, smoke, and the barest trace of Charles’ natural sweetness clung to his skin, honeysuckle and earth. His body was far too still, too light in Max’s arms.
“I’m so proud of you,” Charles whispered, quiet and threadbare, but his eyes stayed closed.
That was when the first tear slipped free, dropping onto Charles’ cheek, mixing with the fresh rain. Max didn’t brush it away as more followed, hot and fast, cutting down through the soot and blood still clinging to his face. His energy flared again, wild and unchecked, sparks of gold and red hissing in the grass around them as his desperation spilled out into the world.
“Charles,” he choked, pressing a kiss to his temple, “Please. Don’t do this. It’s over. We're safe now. Our p–pup is safe now.”
His aura flickered, unstable, dancing between brilliance and burn-out, his Oozaru mourning before Max could even breathe.
“We don't have to run or fight. We can stay here, in the cabin, in your home,” Max's voice shook. “I'll manage the field—and take everything to that market you spoke of—an–and I'll do everything so you'll never have to worry again. Everyday, I'll take care of you—love you. You just wake up and open your eyes and I'll take it from there. All you have to do is open your eyes, Charlie. Please, just open your eyes. Please—”
The air was so still, as still as the fading Eldri in front of him, flame of ki burned out.
“Let me give it back. Let me—” Max cut himself off, throat closing.
He couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not when they'd finally won. Not when Charles had saved him, not just from Jos, but from himself.
And still . . . the Earthling didn’t stir, head lulling back against Max’s grip, muscles letting go of their tension.
Max dropped his head, pressing his forehead to Charles’ chest, willing him to breathe deeper, to move, to say something.
But only silence answered him, and the tremble of his own breath in the darkness.
Rain pelted his bare back, icy needles biting into his skin, but he barely felt it, his body a shell wrapped around grief. Each drop was a ghost, a whisper of what he'd lost. They traced the grooves of old scars and new wounds, mingling with the black smears of battle still clinging to him, but the rain couldn’t wash him clean.
Nothing could.
Max crouched low in the mud, cradling Charles’ still form against his chest, rocking slightly, like he could will life back into the limp body with motion alone. His golden aura had all but flickered out now, dimmed and directionless, the power that had lit the sky above the mountain retreating into nothingness.
Without purpose, it was just noise. Just light.
He’d already lived through this once.
That first time—alone in his cell, wrists bleeding from restraints, half out of his mind—he'd felt the cold certainty that Charles was gone, and it had shattered something inside him. Back then, he'd begged the goddess, whispered to her through cracked lips and broken ribs.
If there was anything divine in the universe, he'd prayed to it for mercy. Just one more moment. One more chance.
She had answered him.
And this . . . this was her answer?
To give him a reason to survive, a reason to live, a reason to put decades of torment behind him, only to snatch it away the moment he found peace?
How cruel.
How senseless.
He buried his face in Charles’ damp curls, fingers twisted tight in the strands like a man clinging to wreckage in a storm. A soft, wheezing sound escaped him, and then another, until it was a sob, raw and primal, wrung from the depths of a soul long since frayed to its core.
A few measly months. That was all the universe had offered.
A few weeks of Charles’ smile in the mornings, of laughter at the dinner table, of the soft weight of his body curled against Max’s in sleep, their tails entwined. The tender swell of his belly. The future he’d started to believe in.
A family.
Gone.
The prince's body trembled against the wet earth, his forehead pressed to Charles’ trying to share breath. Share life.
It should have been him.
He'd become what they'd all feared—what they’d always said he would be. The harbinger. The cursed scion. The Prince of Death, bathed in divine power, unmatched in strength.
The legend untold.
The most powerful being in the known universe.
And completely, utterly alone.
He'd stolen life with his ascension. Of his mate, of their pup. It hadn’t been a gift—it had been a trade.
The ultimate price.
Max’s fingers squeezed tighter into Charles’ hair as the sky cried harder with him, and with a roar that cracked the silence of the night, he screamed his agony into the storm. A sound that was not a battle cry, but the death rattle of a soul who had lost everything worth fighting for.
He'd take it all back. Every single moment of joy and comfort. Max would take everything back to spare Charles this fate.
He wished they'd never met.
The Earthling would be happy and oblivious to the horrors of the universe. Pure and radiant in his dimpled smile and unshakable kindness.
He would give anything else. Anything but this.
Shuddering, Max moved his hand over the soft, vulnerable swell of Charles’ abdomen, fingers splayed with reverence as they shook violently with grief. His heart was breaking, shattering into pieces around his ribs, but something . . . something caught his attention.
A spark.
Not from Charles, but from within him.
It brushed against his senses like the flutter of wings, a tiny thrum of life still holding on. Max’s breath hitched in his throat, and he gasped sharply, nearly choking on it. His hand stilled, frozen, terrified to hope.
Then, it pulsed again. A beat of ki, steady and fierce.
Alive.
With trembling hands, he moved his touch upward, sliding gently under Charles’ jaw, pressing two fingers to the side of his neck. For a few terrifying seconds, he felt nothing before a weak, defiant beat throbbed.
The world tilted around him, the weight of despair cracking apart to make room for urgency. For action. For salvation.
“Hold on,” Max whispered, voice rough and raw as he slipped one arm beneath Charles’ knees and the other around his back, lifting him into his arms with infinite care. “Stay with me, Charlie.”
His ki ignited again, burning blue this time, clean and direct, as he surged into the sky. The wind screamed in his ears, whipping through his soaked hair as he tore through the night. The moon was high and bright, casting silver across the ruined mountains and blackened trees as Max reached out with his senses.
Hannah.
The sharp clarity of her energy stood out amid the fog, intense and focused scientific precision woven into her very essence. He locked onto it like a compass needle finding north.
The stars blurred above, wind howling around him, Charles limp in his arms.
When the outline of Capsule Corp’s compound came into view, Max saw flashing lights, the rush of movement, dozens of figures in white coats and dark uniforms pouring through the main doors, flanking the lit entrance to the emergency wing.
There were people everywhere, injured from the harbor.
The prince’s arrival was a shockwave. He descended fast, feet skidding across the platform outside the emergency bay, blue energy flickering in his wake. People turned, startled, and a few gasped when they recognized him.
“Help!” Max barked, voice ringing with command. “Help me! Help me please! He’s alive—barely. I need Hannah. Where is Hannah!?”
The main doors to the facility flew open, spilling warm light onto the cool night and Max burst through them, carrying the person he loved more than life itself. He saw Hannah running from down the corridor, the other Earthling, Lando, hot on her heels, additional staff turning to join the group coming toward him.
Falling to his knees, his own exhaustion started to settle in from the brutal fight he’d just endured, Charles still pulled tight to his chest. Ears ringing, everything sounded far away, foggy and muffled like he was underwater.
Hannah knelt in front of him, small hands quickly checking over Charles’ unconscious form before pressing a palm to his forehead, Max struggling to see her through his tunneling vision.
“Help,” the words sounded distant. “Help him—”
Chapter 61: Too Deep To Follow
Summary:
Now that the game is over, what pieces are left?
Notes:
Couldn't finish this without another round of sad Max 🤧
Chapter warnings: You might need more tissues
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max was numb in a way that went beyond the skin and bones of his body. It was in his breath, in the hollow ache of his chest, in the burning of his eyes that refused to blink.
He stood rigid, a sentry at the edge of chaos, wide-eyed and hyper-focused as the staff swarmed around the room like bees defending a failing hive.
Charles laid on the bed now, limp and fragile in a tangle of wires and pale sheets. Max’s hands were still shaking, slick with rain and black blood, hovering at his sides as he battled every instinct he had not to shove everyone away and shield his mate with his own body.
Raging in the back of his mind, his Oozaru wanted to tear into the people swarming over Charles, to rip away the tubes, the blinking machines, the unfamiliar hands. It saw threat in every movement, heard danger in every clipped instruction passed between nurses.
Max fought it. Just barely.
His jaw locked, teeth grinding against the tension as he watched every step, every tool, and every sound. He catalogued them all with the precision of a seasoned warrior tracking enemies on a battlefield, someone who'd seen countless wounded and even more too far beyond help.
But there was little he could do.
He'd carried Charles through fire, through death, through gods and monsters, and now, powerless yet again, he could only watch as others decided if his mate lived or died.
When they’d arrived, Hannah had spoken rapidly to the staff, instructing them to prepare the secure medical suite. Max hadn’t heard all her words, too focused on trying to find Charles’ ki again, and when they tried to take Charles from his arms, he'd refused.
He didn’t let go until Hannah touched his arm gently and said, “You need to put him on the bed so we can help.”
Reluctantly, he'd laid Charles down, feeling like giving away the last warm ember of a dying fire, skin still so cold to the touch.
There was so much noise.
Footsteps pounded across the floor, machines beeped with relentless urgency, voices barked out readings and vitals. It was a chorus of fear and science, humming in the background of Max’s growing dread.
He recognized some of the wires, the same that had been drilled into him after he’d woken up here, when Earth’s scientists didn’t yet know how to treat him. The same machines had read his life signs, his pain, his struggle to survive.
And now they surrounded Charles.
There were symbols and signs that meant nothing to him, markings and colors that told a story he couldn’t read.
His eyes flicked to the steady drip of clear fluid entering his mate’s veins, to the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the sensors, to the mask over his nose and mouth, to the faint, fluttering blip of his heart on the monitor.
Slow.
Much too slow.
His tail lashed violently behind him. It slammed against the reinforced wall with a dull thud, cracking the surface as it whipped out again to strike his own arm. The impact stung, but Max ignored it just like he ignored his Oozaru’s demands to clear the room and keep their mate safe.
He was keeping their mate safe, Max thought bitterly. This was the best facility for the Eldri and he was too full of adrenaline to think straight, their combined energies still dancing through him.
But all his hard-won logic evaporated in an instant the moment a staff member peeled back the blanket.
Charles was pale and motionless, the thin fabric now pooled at his hips, exposing the soft swell of their pup. Max's entire body tensed as the woman reached out and pressed down on Charles’ belly. Then came a strange band, white and stretchy as it tightened around Charles’ bump with a small device affixed to it.
The moment it beeped, a snarl ripped out of Max’s throat and shook the walls.
Every head in the room turned toward him, eyes wide, postures freezing mid-motion. Everything was still, held in suspense by the raw ferocity of a prince on the verge of losing control.
Max didn’t remember crossing the floor, but suddenly he was halfway to the bed, aura flaring to life around his body, the air itself trembling with heat. His vision narrowed to nothing but Charles and the foreign object strapped to his belly.
His mate, helpless. His pup, threatened.
“Max!” Hannah’s voice cut through the haze, firm and sharp. She stepped into his path, bracing her hands against his bare chest. “It’s just a monitor. To track the pup’s heartbeat and oxygen levels. It’s not hurting him, I swear.”
His fists were clenched so tightly, his fingers ached, and the hum of his ki was rising, dangerously close to bursting.
“Look at me,” she said, gripping his forearms now. “You trust me, yes?”
Max didn’t move or didn’t blink, eyes remaining locked on the device—the thing—still touching Charles.
“You know I’d never let anything harm him,” she pressed gently. “You brought him to me to save him. Let me do that.”
Chest heaving, the growl in his throat began to lessen, fading into a low rumble as his breathing steadied, inch by inch. His aura dimmed slightly, though his tail still twitched with nervous tension.
Reluctantly, he turned his eyes to her.
“It won’t hurt him?” he rasped.
“I promise,” she said quietly. “It’s just a monitor. Charles is stable now and we are checking on the pup.”
“Is . . . Is it okay?”
Checking over her shoulder, Hannah paused for a moment before turning back to him. “They look okay, Max, but we need to run a few more tests, just to make sure.”
His stance didn’t soften, and his eyes never left the device on Charles’ stomach for a second longer than he had to.
Hissing sharply, Hannah recoiled with a breath of pain. She yanked her hands away from his arms as if she’d touched a fire, the black residue from his skin trailing like oil between her fingers. Her breath caught, and she stared at her palms, red welts already rising where she’d made contact.
Quickly, she wiped her hands down the front of her shirt, smearing black across the fabric, then held them up for him to see, burned, raw and shaking.
“What's this all over you?” she demanded, voice tight with alarm.
Max blinked from his daze, and finally looked down at himself. His body was a wreck, skin streaked with dried blood and dirt, muscles trembling under exhaustion. He was still in the borrowed swim shorts from the party, the only scrap of clothing left on him, torn in several places. Mud caked his feet, dried blood matted against his hair.
But most of all, Jos’ stench was everywhere. Thick and tar-like, clinging to his chest, arms, and hands like it didn’t want to let go. Even in death, the warlord’s presence refused to be cleansed from his body.
“It’s blood,” Max said hoarsely. “From the emperor.”
Hannah stared at him, wide-eyed, still holding her hands gingerly in front of her. “It burned me,” she rushed out. “We need to get this off of you. Now. Before it touches anything—or anyone—else.”
Dread curled in his gut.
“Charles,” Max breathed.
The words escaped like smoke from a fire, heart dropping into his stomach. His head snapped toward the bed.
He hadn’t thought . . . hadn’t even considered.
He'd carried Charles here, held him close the entire flight, his hands never leaving his mate’s body.
Had that corrupted blood touched him?
Had it hurt him too? His eyes scanned over Charles now, trying to see, trying to feel if there was damage, if he'd made whatever happened worse. Max didn't even notice until now the odd tingling sensation on his exposed skin.
“I—I carried him,” Max said, voice cracking.
He was trembling now, not from rage or the overwhelming combined power, but sheer helpless fear.
Hannah saw it, saw the panic cresting in his throat.
“He’s okay, Max,” she said gently, voice trying to soothe. “You got him here how you had to and we've checked him over. I didn't see any burns like this. His vitals are low, but they’re not dropping any further and we're doing our best to get them to where they need to be.”
But she didn’t touch him again, burned hands curled to her chest.
“The pup's vitals are strong and not at all at risk.”
Breath shuddering, Max looked up at the ceiling. “Are you sure they’re okay?”
“Yes,” Hannah pressed. “The readings from the monitor look promising.”
Max didn't even know what he would do if the news was bad. Losing their pup was one thing, but Charles was another. He couldn't even imagine how he could go on without either of them or worse.
That moment in the forest when he'd thought he was too late was enough to never want to feel that pain again.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” she offered. “We can’t have that stuff eating through any equipment, or gods forbid, touching anyone. I’ll take you—”
“No.” The word was sharp, immediate.
“Come on,” she tried again, more urgently this time. “You don’t want to touch him with that all over you, do you? Besides, you can come right back and sit with him. No one will bother you or keep you from him. Your guest room is just this way—”
“I know where it is,” Max said firmly. “I’m not leaving him.”
“Just for a few—”
“NO,” Max’s Oozaru rumbled from deep in the back of his throat, Hannah snapping her mouth closed in front of him.
He could feel his instincts were dangerously close to breaking free, and she must’ve seen it too, taking a step back. If he let his Oozaru take over completely, there was no telling what would happen or who would be harmed in the process.
“Okay,” she said with a placating gesture. “I–I will bring you something to clean up with. Just . . . Don’t touch anything.”
Turning back to watch the doctors move around Charles, Hannah rushed past him and out the door while Max quietly took up his guard in the corner of the room.
A few days passed.
The light in the room barely shifted, filtered through the drawn blinds as Max sat in the same place he had since he'd brought Charles in. A chair had been pulled close to the bed—too small for his frame, too firm for long hours—but Max barely noticed. He only left for the restroom and only when absolutely necessary.
Even then, it felt like abandonment.
As promised, Hannah had brought him new clothes and some damp towels to clean up with and everything the emperor’s black blood had touched was quickly disposed of.
Good, Max thought. He had no desire to ever see any piece of the frost demon again.
It was bittersweet.
He'd wanted that for so long, decades of thinking about what he would do after he defeated the warlord. Now, all he wanted was to see the deep green of Charles' eyes again, the flecks of gold around the pupils and the little wrinkles around their edges when the younger man smiled at him.
He should've been proud. Cavalier in his victory, yet there was only loneliness.
Charles had said he was proud of him.
Occasionally, Hannah brought food, plates balanced delicately in her hands, speaking softly when she entered. Sometimes she’d linger to give updates, her voice clinical but gentle, listing off blood panels and scans and neurological activity like he was supposed to understand what any of it meant.
“Everything looks good,” she’d said, seeing the confusion on his face. “There’s nothing physically wrong with him.”
But Max didn’t need charts or data.
He could feel it—or more accurately, couldn’t feel it.
Charles was still. Silent. Ki glaringly absent.
In that silence, Max understood the many ways a person could die and still be alive.
The Eldri's chest rose and fell in rhythm with the machines, but there was no spark behind the stillness. No energy that whispered to Max’s senses when their bodies were close. No soft pulse through the bond that had once throbbed with life and laughter and fierce emotion.
It was like Charles had gone somewhere too deep to follow.
Max reached for that presence constantly, his aura scanning, aching for something—anything. But where he’d once felt Charles glow so clearly, there was now only a faint, fading echo. If his mate was in there, he was buried too far under.
Max’s jaw clenched as he sat there, elbows on his knees, head bowed.
But not everything was still.
Their pup's ki pulsed within Charles, bright and undeterred, like a defiant little star pushing back against the dark. Sometimes it flared in short, bright bursts—startling enough to make Max jerk his head up from where he’d been watching the monitors.
He didn’t know what it meant. Was it healthy? Was it in pain? Was it stressed by its mother being unresponsive?
Max had asked Hannah, even let her place a hand over the swell in Charles’ belly while he watched like a hawk, but she couldn’t give him answers beyond the technical. “Heartbeat’s steady. No sign of distress.” She had even brought that strange machine back in to get a look at their pup beneath the skin, and found ‘nothing of concern.’
Max held the little printout from the machine in his shaking hands, fingers tracing over the slope of its nose.
He could feel more than machines ever could and he watched that energy every waking moment, tracking every fluctuation and movement, every flicker of life. It was all he had left.
And he was holding onto it with everything he had.
On the fifth day, something inside Max began to fray.
The air in the medical room was cold and too still, save for the beeping of machines and the soft mechanical hum of Charles’ monitors. Max didn’t even hear them anymore. He only heard the absence of Charles’ voice, the silence where laughter or soft sighs should’ve been.
He curled himself into the bed beside Charles, his larger form pressing gently along the Eldri’s side. Max barely fit, legs bent awkwardly, body turned inward to avoid disturbing the wires and medical bands still wrapped carefully across Charles’ body.
He carded one hand through Charles’ soft brown curls, combing his fingers through them over and over like a prayer.
The room had become a sacred space—no one was allowed near it without his express permission. The staff had stopped arguing after the third time his tail cracked the floor in warning.
Instinct ruled him here. This was his den, his mate, and his pup.
And his Oozaru would protect them, a constant presence pacing in his mind, watching everything.
It was late—how late, Max wasn’t sure anymore. The days and nights bled together under the artificial lights and he hadn’t really slept in a week, hovering in and out of consciousness, sitting upright or pacing the room like a caged animal to stay awake. But his limbs felt heavy, the edge of his senses dulled.
He’d memorized the shift schedule of the staff who came and went; Hannah’s careful steps, that technician with the nervous hands checking the monitors, the soft-footed night nurse who always paused at the door to glance in before continuing on.
Max had several hours now before the next one came in—just enough time to maybe let go for a moment.
He lowered himself further, resting his head beside Charles’ on the pillow, the scent of his mate sinking deep into Max’s chest. He nuzzled his nose against Charles’ cheek, cold but familiar.
A low whine slipped from his throat, involuntary and aching, vibrating with the rawness of loss and longing.
His Oozaru within stirred, its mourning breaking through.
Max had kept it at bay for days, fearful it would act out, lash out, destroy everything in grief, but he let its grief merge with his own, just for a moment, letting that part of himself mourn the way it knew how—quiet and close, tucked around their mate.
“I know you are still there,” Max whispered hoarsely, the weight of sleepless nights soaking his words as his eyes finally slid shut. “I’ll stay right here with you until you’re ready.”
Max had seen this before, had heard Charles speak of it in passing—a low ki reading that had made even him believe the Eldri had died. But Charles had clawed his way back on his own, a miracle. Something special.
Having a low energy reading was the whole reason he was sent off Toro in the first place, deemed unworthy of training and resources.
They were all wrong about Charles.
Carlos, Jules, even Alonso. No one but him truly knew just how special Charles really was.
It didn’t make any sense, defying all logic and explanations, but true nonetheless. Anyone else with no energy like this would be considered dead, but Max knew in his bones that wasn't true.
Charles was different.
Carefully, Max worked his arm beneath the thin hospital blanket, the warmth beneath already starting to ebb back into his skin. He found the slight swell of Charles’ belly beneath his hand and let out a shaky exhale as a faint but steady pulse met his touch—a flicker of life, like the heartbeat of a tiny star.
His tail, long since unable to remain still, curled gently across Charles’ side, nuzzling against his hand seeking comfort of its own. The low vibration of a purr began to build, not just from his chest but deep in his bones, echoing a sound that only their kind would understand—promise, patience, and protection.
He held them both—Charles and their pup—in his arms, weaving his energy around them like a vow. He’d tried several times to give it to Charles, bestow the energy on the Eldri that he’d so readily given him, but it was useless.
His blue ki only warmed, never sank in.
He didn’t care how long it took. He would wait, right here until Charles opened his eyes again. Until his voice returned. Until the warmth in his hands matched the strength Max knew still flickered inside.
“I need to discuss something with you,” Hannah said gently, her voice threading through the still air like a needle, quiet but precise. She sank into the chair beside him, her movements respectful of the silence that had wrapped itself tightly around the room.
Max didn’t look at her.
He couldn’t, eyes remaining fixed on the same sterile patch of flooring a few feet in front of him—speckled gray tiles, slightly scuffed at the edges. His vision blurred from staring too long, idly counting the small bits, but he made no move to blink it away. The tension in his body was coiled tight, tail wrapped around the chair’s arm like a lifeline he might fray apart just by holding too hard.
Beside him, a tray of Earth food—some comfort items she had insisted on—sat untouched from hours ago. The once-warm meal had long gone cold, a sheen forming on the surface of the soup. He couldn’t remember what it was supposed to be anymore.
A vegetable? Tomato, maybe. It didn’t matter.
“It’s been over a week, and so far there have been no changes in Charles’ condition,” Hannah continued, her tone even, but beneath it Max heard the subtle falter, the quiet dread she tried to hide. She glanced down at a data pad in her hand, fingers scrolling through information he refused to absorb. “We’ve run every test we can think of, checked all possible avenues to see if we can find something, but all his results are within acceptable ranges. I’m at a bit of a loss to be perfectly honest, and . . . I’ve been talking with some of the other physicians.”
Max turned his head slowly to face her. His movement was sluggish, like surfacing from deep water, his expression unreadable. Hannah rubbed her thumb and index finger together—a small, familiar gesture Max had learned to read as nervousness and his stomach clenched.
Whatever she was about to say, it wasn’t going to be good.
“I wanted to ask if you’ve thought about prioritization.”
He blinked at her, disoriented by the word.
“Prioritization?” His voice came out hoarse, thick with disuse, cracking slightly at the edges.
“Yes,” she confirmed softly, eyes meeting his now, steady and sorrowful. “If something were to change . . . if there’s a decline in Charles’ condition, or the pup’s vitals begin to deteriorate—we may be faced with a decision. If anything were to happen . . . which one should we—”
She cut herself off, a tightness in her voice betraying her professionalism, but Max only felt anger in the wake of her sadness.
He sat up straighter, disbelief clawing at his chest.
“I don’t understand,” Max said, not because he didn’t grasp the meaning, but because he couldn’t accept it. His heart thundered, dread blooming like rot. “You’re saying I have to–to choose?”
The unspoken part of that sentence screamed inside his skull: Choose between the man I love . . . or our child?
“You don’t have to decide anything now,” Hannah said quickly, her words tripping over each other in her rush to soften the blow. “It’s just something to keep in your mind if—”
“Get out.” Max’s voice was low, but venomous, each syllable forced through clenched teeth.
Fury surged through him so fast and so violent it nearly stole his breath. His blunt nails flexed against the arms of the chair, scraping faint grooves into the material and his tail uncoiled, lashing once like a whip before snapping back with tension.
“How dare you.”
Hannah flinched, but stood her ground, lifting her hands slightly, palms out. “This is the reality of where we are right now. We can’t keep going like this for much longer without having this discussion. You need to stop—”
“Don’t tell me what I need to do!” Max snapped, the volume of his voice cracking the silence like lightning. He surged to his feet, towering over her, eyes blazing. “I am the Prince of Torossians and this is my mate and pup! I will not be made to choose between them. I won’t—do you understand me?”
The suggestion—no, the implication—that he could or should choose one over the other was not just unbearable, it was blasphemous. Every cell in his body rebelled at the thought.
Hannah sighed, her expression tight with restraint, like his outburst was little more than an inconvenience. She didn’t meet his gaze now, but she stood slowly, tablet hugged to her chest like a shield. “I will leave you to think about it. I’ll check in later.”
“I don’t need to think about it,” Max growled, his voice sharp with finality. “My answer is no and it is final. Do not come back here unless you’re going to offer something of use.”
He didn’t watch her go. Instead, he turned back toward Charles, whose still form remained untouched by the firestorm erupting just feet away. The gentle rise and fall of his breathing remained the only proof he was still with them. Max dropped to his knees beside the bed, one hand clutching the edge of the mattress like an anchor.
They were not pieces on a board. They were not options to be weighed.
They were his family.
More days passed.
The same silence blanketed Charles’ room, until it wasn’t. There was rustling beside him, soft and tentative—like a whisper trying not to wake a storm.
Max blinked his heavy eyelids open, disoriented. The sterile light filtering from the ceiling panels stung slightly, and for a moment, he couldn't recall where he was or why his body ached with such strange, residual tension.
He didn’t remember falling asleep. How long had he been out?
The comforting scent of Charles was still present, floral and sharp like crushed greenery, heat and skin. Shifting lightly, Max turned his head from the crook of Charles’ neck, unwilling to leave the warmth but drawn by the disturbance. His instincts prickled, sharpening as his gaze landed on the figure beside the bed.
His tired eyes widened.
A man—someone Max had never seen before—stood hovering over Charles with clinical detachment. The blanket had been pulled back and Charles’ medical gown was lifted, revealing his belly and far more skin than anyone but Max should see. The man’s gloved hands moved with hesitation, holding a length of tubing and Max couldn’t make out exactly what he was doing, but the implication was clear enough: Invasive. Unauthorized. Wrong.
A pulse of fury surged through Max’s chest, a low growl boiling up from deep in his core before he could think to restrain it. The room snapped into crystalline clarity and he was off the bed in a blink, bare feet slapping the floor as he launched forward with the unrelenting power of instinct.
He didn’t think, only reacted.
The stranger barely had time to flinch before Max barreled into him, tackling him to the cold floor with a hard thud. The staffer's breath whooshed out on impact, but Max was already on top of him, pinning him down with a force that made the floor groan beneath them.
Max's hands closed around the man’s throat like iron cuffs, body vibrating with tension, lip curled back in a feral snarl. His teeth bared, breath heavy, Oozaru stirring violently in his mind, a blur of crimson and wrath, howling for blood.
The door hissed open at the far end of the room.
“MAX!”
Hannah’s voice cracked through the haze, her shoes skidding against the polished floor as she ran in. Her tone was frantic, but her words were just noise to him—unintelligible through the roaring in his ears. His pupils were blown wide, heart racing like a war drum.
Someone had touched his mate while he slept. Vulnerable. Unprotected.
“Max, get off of him!” Hannah’s voice broke through clearer this time, her hands grasping his arm, tugging hard—but it was useless. Her touch was like a leaf against stone and his muscles didn’t even register the resistance.
The prince was incomparably stronger than anyone on this planet—than anyone in this room. A force of nature when provoked. A protector without limits.
“Stop! Let him—”
A lightning-fast reaction—Oozaru’s will surging forward, unfiltered. There was a flash of movement and then contact—flesh against flesh, force against fragility. His palm struck her chest with frightening ease, the power behind it sending Hannah flying backward. She crashed against the far wall with a sickening thud, her body folding as she hit the floor, unmoving for a moment.
Her data pad crashed to the tiles, along with some other small items from her lab coat.
Time stuttered.
The sound of the blow rang out like a gunshot, followed by the dead silence of shock.
Max’s eyes snapped to her, horror slicing through the haze. The violence of the moment jarred something loose in him, pulling him back from the ledge of pure instinct. In that heartbeat of hesitation, the staffer beneath him—a pale-faced shadow of a man—scrambled free, crawling backward in panic. He slipped through the doorway and vanished, the door slamming behind him with a metallic finality.
And then silence.
The kind of silence that screamed.
Max rose quickly, the rage still pulsing beneath his skin, but dulled now by the chill of realization. His body was trembling from the violent confusion of the moment as he turned toward Hannah, who'd started to push herself up slowly, her eyes wide with shock and pain, holding her arm, blood on the side of her head from a spit brow.
He hadn’t meant . . . He hadn’t thought.
Pressure exploded across his cheek with a loud crack, Hannah’s palm connecting hard and fast, the sting blooming in sharp contrast to the numbness that had overtaken him. His head jerked slightly from the impact, his blond, unshowered hair falling into his eyes, but he didn’t flinch or break eye contact.
He just stared at her.
“You need to get a fucking grip!” she spat, voice raw and ragged from her earlier fall. Her chest heaved with each breath, fury vibrating in her slender frame. “What kind of prince are you!?”
Max didn’t answer, arms still trembling with the dregs of adrenaline coursing through his system—an aftershock of what his Oozaru had almost made him do. His fists clenched and unclenched, nails digging crescents into his palms as he stood motionless, his jaw locked.
“You aren’t helping Charles like this,” she snapped. “Growling at everyone and behaving like some kind of wild animal. Everyone here has done nothing but help you, but you can’t get over this superiority complex you have that you know better than everyone else.”
Each word landed like a fresh blow, too close to the truth.
“I don’t know if it hasn’t occurred to you yet or if you are just that much of an ass, but we are here to help Charles. To take care of him.”
Max didn’t move, embarrassment starting to build, hot and acidic, curling in his gut.
“I spent months in space to get my friend back,” Hannah continued, a mist gathering in her eyes, “and then spent months more bringing him home. Only for him to be a complete mess. He was pregnant and scared and determined to go after you, even if it got us all killed in the process. After all of that, we had to run all over this planet to rescue your sorry ass off of some evil slave ship or whatever fucking hell hole you crawled out of. A little appreciation wouldn’t kill you. But at this point, I don’t even think you’re capable of it! Even capable of thinking about anything but yourself!”
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but her voice was iron.
“Charles spoke of you like you walked on water. Like you moved mountains. Like you were a god among men. I'd never heard him speak with such admiration for someone else in his life and maybe in some ways, you are all of those things . . . But not here. Not anymore. Out there, you are feared and bend the galaxies to your liking, but here, all I see is a selfish child with a temper who needs to grow the hell up, so focused on his own pain he practically chokes on free air, paralyzed by change.”
Max’s heart thundered in his chest as he swallowed.
“I understand you’ve been through some things,” Hannah said, tone shifting, bitter with restrained emotion. “But this behavior? It’s unacceptable.”
“Been through some things?” Max rasped, aghast at her dismissal of the last twenty years of his life. “Do not pretend you know anything about me, woman. Or that you know anything about my mate. I have seen and endured more than you can possibly imagine—”
“Once again, not everything is about you! My mate, my pup . . . You are not the only one who suffered on that ship,” she cut in biting, stepping quickly inside his personal space. “Do not weaponize your pain to hurt everyone around you.”
Max closed his mouth sharply.
“We both know what happened on that ship with Charles and how he got there. He only agreed to stay there to save us from some horrible fate at your hands. He is the most selfless, caring person I know, and even after all of that, Charles defended you. Even to our Guardian. You were only allowed here—trusted—because of him vouching for you. Promising Seb that he would take responsibility for anything that happened and you've done nothing but make mess after mess that everyone else has had to clean up and answer for.”
She shook her head slowly, a look of utter disappointment in her eyes.
“And you’re not just embarrassing yourself, you’re embarrassing Charles for his faith in someone who clearly doesn’t deserve it. Who clearly has not changed at all from their ‘well deserved’ titles. Someone who so easily spit in the face of all the help that has been offered to them. He deserves far better than what you've given him and we deserve a hell of a lot more than you've given us.”
Max felt something rupture deep in his chest.
The slow, gut-wrenching ache of guilt.
Charles had said such things of him? Said that he was someone worthy of trust and such blind admiration? He'd had to argue to make the wish in the first place?
Max swallowed, casting his eyes down and away. He’d sworn to protect Charles. Sworn to be worthy of him, and here he was, making a mockery of that vow and everything the Eldri had done to bring him here.
“I—” Max started but the words died in his throat.
What was he supposed to say?
He felt thoroughly chastised, almost exactly the same as he did when Alonso used to smack some sense into him as a teen, or tell him when he’d done wrong, tail curling lightly around his thigh. No one but the elder had dared to speak to him so directly.
“Go take some time for yourself,” Hannah said, pointing at the door. “You haven’t showered in over a week or left this room for more than a few minutes. My staff need to do a bedding change for Charles and I don’t want you in here while they do it until you can control yourself. If you can't handle that, then you won't be let back in here. So help me god, if I have to get an army to restrain you, I will.”
Max turned back to look at Charles, still unmoved and peaceful on the bed, but his feet stayed rooted to the floor.
“Get out, Max.”
“Will you stay here?” he asked quietly.
The air between them crackled, confusion on her face for a moment.
“If I leave, will you stay with him?”
“Yes.”
Max stepped to Charles’ bed slowly, wrapping his hand around the Eldri’s limp palm, before bending down to give it a firm kiss. Leaving felt like torture, but he knew she was right. Everyone was just trying to help Charles, and as much as his instincts insisted that he was all the Eldri needed, that was a lie.
“I am holding you to your word,” he said, every syllable heavy when he turned around. “That you won’t let anything happen to him. You stay here when I cannot be present.”
Hannah pinched her lips but nodded, silent with her arms crossed and Max didn’t wait for more.
He turned and walked out, the weight of his mistake going with him down the hall.
The shower hissed as hot water coursed down his body, steam clinging to his skin like the ghosts he couldn’t shake. Max scrubbed hard and methodical in his effort to erase every scrap of dirt and grime still on his skin, any trace of Jos from his flesh, hands raw, shoulders trembling as black and gray sludge swirled into the drain.
He hadn’t realized he didn’t remove all of Jos’ blood with his rushed towel bath many days ago now, how much he’d missed that was dried and caked to parts of his skin under dirty clothes.
He was fighting the urge to rush, desperate to get back to Charles, but also wanted to respect Hannah’s wishes after the stunt he’d pulled. Giving his tail a harsh yank, Max grit his teeth as he cleaned it clinically, Oozaru chuffing and crossing its arms in his mind’s eye.
How long did a bed change take? How many of them were around Charles?
What if he woke up while Max was gone or his vitals changed and they had to make a decision?
Each pass of the wet cloth over his skin provided relief, his well practiced ritual after countless nights spent trying to purge the emperor’s essence. But this time was different.
This time would be the last. A victory again tainted by the agony of loss.
He had no idea what time it was after being woken up by that staffer, but every moment was too long away from his mate.
The water scalded against his skin, but Max barely felt it. He scrubbed until his knuckles ached, until angry red blotches bloomed along his arms, his chest, his sides—areas rubbed raw in a futile attempt to assuage his anger, to cleanse not just the grime but the shame festering underneath his skin.
Eventually, the strength to keep scrubbing drained from him and he dropped the cloth, letting it fall soundlessly to the slick floor. Steam curled around him, dense and suffocating, wrapping him in a thick fog that felt more like punishment than comfort.
He stood there beneath the spray, unmoving, water cascading down his back and over his bowed head, dripping from his hair in a steady rhythm. Each drop sounded like a ticking clock, counting down the moments since everything had cracked open.
His throat tightened painfully, not wanting to do this, but he couldn’t stop it.
He couldn’t believe what he’d done.
He could’ve seriously injured Hannah, or worse, killed her. One reflex. One uncontrolled burst of fury. That’s all it would’ve taken. His instincts had overridden reason, overridden his control.
After everything she’d done for him. For Charles. For their pup.
Taking care of him while Max was gone, giving him medicines and making sure he’d slept enough. Helping Charles eat what he could and monitoring his symptoms. Goddess, she’d even stopped him from using his veyöra, a mistake that would’ve had dire consequences on their child.
If not for her and the facility that took him in after Charles’ wish—patched him back together from barely-breathing scraps—he might not even be alive.
Fuck.
Max clenched his jaw, but the ache didn’t help him keep the tears at bay. They came anyway, hot and silent, mingling with the water streaming down his face. It was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
He was a mess.
Sliding down the cool tile wall, his knees gave out, folding beneath him like paper, his tail resting beside him on the tile floor. The contact was sharp, jarring, but he welcomed it. Maybe pain was all he deserved right now.
That was something familiar. Something different from this gaping hole in his chest choking him every second.
He fisted his fingers through his soaked hair, gripping hard, trying to ground himself—but instead he just sat there, broken and trembling. His lip wobbled despite his best efforts to keep it still, his body shuddering with every breath.
It should’ve been him.
If he’d been strong enough on his own, Charles wouldn’t have had to help, to offer his energy. Wouldn’t be in a hospital bed, silent and still, caught in a limbo Max couldn’t fight his way into or out of.
Right now, Max had no idea if Charles was ever going to wake up, if their pup would be okay, if he would lose them both.
Would that then be enough?
The retribution of the universe for all the mothers and children he'd taken the lives of?
How many more lives had to be taken from him to balance the scales of his sins?
Too many.
An atonement too great.
A choked gasp escaped him before he could hold it back and a sob followed, strangled and raw. He pressed his forehead to the tile, the coolness doing nothing to stem the heat crawling beneath his skin.
Even here he couldn’t escape the feeling of Charles, the memory of when he’d held him together through one of his moments of weakness, just like now, cleaning his tail with a gentleness Max could never hope to replicate.
Charles hadn’t even said anything about the mangled base of his tail, missing patches of fur. Torossian hair, once cut, didn’t grow back, those patches now a permanent reminder of his pain. The spots made his tail look haggard and uncared for. Certainly not the tail of someone from any kind of high status.
But Charles still held it with his own. Soft and delicate, auburn fur luscious and radiant.
Max was unworthy.
Unworthy of Charles’ devotion. Unworthy of the warmth of his touch, the joy in his laughter, the blinding beauty of his love, the budding life of their pup. He didn’t deserve the sparkle in those green eyes when they looked at him like he mattered. Like he was good.
Good enough to give Max the very essence of his being when he knew Max couldn't give it back.
He wasn’t.
He hadn’t changed.
He was still that same boy—same creature —shaped by fear, forged in rage, and ruled by instincts that had never really been tamed. The lost crown didn’t change that. The titles, the bloodline, the new scars—all just decoration on the same broken frame.
He was the destruction of innocence. A violence embedded in flesh. Pain in the bones of a mortal shell, the dark heart of the universe.
Max was hell.
And that is where he should’ve been. Not Charles.
Charles was good. Pure in spirit and light.
He’d give anything to trade places with him, to be the one that others questioned if he was a priority. Whether his life was worth saving over someone else's.
Max sat under the water for a long time, slowly coming back to himself, getting his breathing under control.
Hannah was right.
He wasn’t any kind of prince anymore, certainly not with how he was acting.
Alonso would be so disappointed.
He knew better than that, had more decorum than he'd shown the people only trying to help. Alonso had spent years teaching him how to carry himself, how to wear his title with pride, even when those lessons sometimes seemed unnecessary given their circumstances. But he understood now.
The elder had known he would escape one day, had believed Max was capable of vanquishing the frost demon and that they would live a life outside of that hellscape.
Alonso had always believed.
When he’d deemed himself fit to return, Max stepped out of the shower into the dark guest room he’d shared with Charles. He barely toweled off before stumbling into the closet, grabbing the first pair of soft drawstring pants he found. A plain long-sleeved shirt followed—white, maybe gray, he didn’t care—just something to cover himself, to be presentable, to move.
Padding into the bedroom, intent on the door, Max paused.
Charles’ nest still sat in the middle of their bed, slightly disheveled from their frantic prep for the party more than a week ago. Clothes, Max’s rejected outfit options, laid strewn across the mattress, the imprint of Charles’ body still visible on the pillow.
Kneeling beside the bed, Max pressed his face into that pillow, inhaling deeply the scent of his mate and no traces of warmth left behind.
He’d been so cold for the last week . . . body still not fully returning to the higher temperature maintained by a Torossian, not including being an Eldri.
“Hij heeft zijn nest nodig, ” [ He needs his nest ] Max's Oozaru rumbled and for once over the last week, Max quietly agreed.
Choking down a wave of emotion, Max clutched the pillow tighter.
He stood and started gathering every blanket and pillow he could find in a frantic rush, all the extras Charles had acquired from the other guest rooms. Armfuls of soft warmth piled high, nearly spilling out of his grip.
Just as he turned for the door, a sharp knock echoed through the room. He shifted his hold, the top pillow toppling to the floor, and turned quickly toward the sound.
The door creaked open before Max could respond to the knock and Lando leaned inside, his expression cautious, eyes quickly assessing the scene—Max’s hair still dripping, arms full of blankets, a mess of tossed linens strewn around the room.
“Hannah sent me to check if you needed anything,” Lando said, voice low. “And to see if you'd be returning. Charles is still fine and sleeping. They just finished his bed change.”
Glancing down at the nest materials still scattered across the bed and the lone pillow lying on the floor like it didn’t belong without Charles’ head resting on it, Max turned back to Lando.
“Will I not be granted access?” He asked tensely.
He'd given them the space like she'd requested. Was that just a ruse to get him to leave and now not allow him back with his mate? Max respected her intellect well enough but if that was the case, he didn't think he could stop his Oozaru from slaughtering his way back into Charles’ suite.
“Hannah said you can come back when you are ready. Charles doesn't need all those blankets though? They just gave him new ones—”
“Grab those,” Max said, nodding toward the remaining pile. “If you want to help him, bring them and follow me.”
He didn’t want help. Not from Lando or from anyone after decades of refusing to beg for even common decency, but the idea of making two trips—leaving Charles alone again, even for a minute—turned his stomach.
His tail twitched in silent protest.
Without a word, Lando scooped up the rest and followed Max out into the hallway, their hurried footsteps muffled by the soft floors of the Capsule Corp guest wing.
When they reached the medical ward, the atmosphere was hushed. Charles’ room was still quiet, his position changed slightly with clean bedding.
Inside, Hannah stood in the far corner, deep in conversation with the man from before that Max didn’t recognize and almost strangled.
The prince didn’t acknowledge them, not even sure what to say for himself, crossing straight to Charles’ bedside, focusing on the shallow rise and fall of his mate’s chest beneath the thin sterile blankets.
He placed the bundled nest materials carefully in the chair beside the bed, arranging them with more care than he’d shown anything else all day. Behind him, Lando stepped forward to join him, but Max turned, cutting him off with a sharp look.
“Just leave them on the other chair,” he said, nodding toward the corner. “I–I need privacy.”
The whole room smelled of chemical cleaner, Charles’ natural scent washed away with the bed change and Max didn’t want Lando’s scent sticking around for longer than it had to.
Lando looked like he wanted to argue, but just nodded silently and stepped back, placing the rest of the pile on the designated chair and retreating into the hall.
Max turned to Hannah next, who'd watched the exchange quietly and she gave him a soft, understanding nod.
“I’ll check back in a bit,” she said gently, leading the other staffer out the door who looked at him with terrified eyes.
Once the door clicked softly shut behind them, Max turned back to the stillness that now filled the room. His steps were slowed, reverent as he approached the edge of the bed where Charles lay.
He looked peaceful. Just like he had for the last week.
Like he was simply asleep—eyes shut, lashes making shadows on pale cheeks, mouth relaxed. His breathing was shallow but steady, each breath so quiet Max had to strain to hear it over the soft hum of the monitors. That tiny detail helped soothe the firestorm of anxiety in his chest, but only slightly.
His Oozaru whined.
A low, desperate sound only Max could feel vibrating behind his ribs. His tail moved before he could stop it, stretching across the bed and reaching toward Charles’ hand that lay limp on the blanket. The instinct to touch, to anchor, to feel that pulse of life up close was overwhelming.
But he stopped it short.
Drawing his tail back with a trembling breath, Max clenched his hand around it tightly, wrestling it into submission. He didn’t know why he’d pulled it away, whether it was shame, fear of hurting him like he’d almost done with Hannah, or simply the guilt gnawing at him since the moment he’d woken up in this very room all those months ago.
He'd already caused enough.
Too much.
Charles wouldn't be in this state if it wasn't for him. If he'd just been stronger.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Max wiped his nose with the back of his hand and busied himself with the nest.
It was clumsy and uneven compared to Charles’ perfect creations, and Max moved with more muscle than finesse, grunting with frustration as he tried to fold and layer the soft fabrics the way Charles had. Every pillow seemed either too firm or too floppy, the blankets felt too thin or bunched in the wrong place.
But still he tried, taking his time.
He fluffed and tucked, rearranged and cursed under his breath until he'd surrounded Charles with a makeshift cocoon of warmth and safety, making sure not to interfere with any of the tubes or wires helping the Earthling. The warmest blankets were placed closest to Charles’ still-chilled body, one draped over him up to his chin and Max carefully brushed a few strands of hair off his mate’s forehead before retreating to the chair by the far side of the bed by his feet.
He sat slowly, one leg curled under the other, tail coiled around his ankle. Watching.
Tangling his fingers together, Max shifted to pull his knees up to his chest, pressing his face into them. He took a few deep breaths, but nothing seemed to settle his stomach, light rocking back and forth.
Even if his nest wasn’t perfect and his hands were clumsy, instincts too raw, Max would keep Charles warm and safe.
Chapter 62: Suffer No Longer
Summary:
Hannah discovers something odd in Charles' vitals and gives Max the answers he's been looking for about how to save his mate.
Notes:
I want to say a special thanks to everyone who stuck with me through this insane ride of a story and the many people I bounced ideas off of along the way. ❤️ Would not have been able to finish this without the encouraging comments and asks!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Can I speak with you for a moment?" Max asked quietly.
Hannah froze mid-step, her hand hovering near the door’s touchpad. She turned, brows drawn together in surprise, like she hadn’t expected him to say anything—certainly not to her.
“Sure,” she answered cautiously, watching him with wary eyes before stepping back toward the bed where he sat at the end, careful not to disturb any of the monitors still tethered to Charles or his nest.
Max stood slowly, like gravity pulled harder on him today, and he looked down at Charles briefly—his mate’s eyes still closed. A part of Max wanted to reach for his hand, to hold it like he always did.
“Can we talk somewhere other than here?” he asked, gaze still fixed on Charles before finally tearing himself away.
Tilting her head slightly, surprised again, she nodded. “Of course.”
She opened the door, and Max followed her out into the corridor. The walk was short, but stretched out like a gauntlet in his mind, the weight of his guilt dragging at his heels. They entered a small, unused room tucked off the main hallway—a space meant for storage or a moment of private reprieve for staff. There was a narrow desk, a couple of chairs, some stacked crates, and shelves lined with supplies.
Nothing cozy, but it would do.
Max waited until Hannah shut the door behind them before speaking.
He'd spent most of the night sitting in that chair beside Charles, not really resting. Just thinking. Turning over every word, every movement, every raw nerve that had been exposed between them. For hours, he'd tried to find a way to explain himself.
But somewhere around dawn, he’d realized that was the problem. He was always explaining. Always justifying or dismissing, even to Charles. And what did that accomplish?
Nothing.
His Oozaru grumbled, but Max plainly ignored it.
“I would like to offer my apologies for yesterday,” he said, voice thick but steady. “I was not myself. I haven’t been since I arrived here.”
The words hung in the air, hollow at first—familiar in their phrasing, but different in their weight. Max didn’t look at her either, focused on the way his hands twisted together, thumbs scraping the jagged edge of a nail.
“I could say I was overwhelmed, upset and angry. That I wasn’t thinking clearly, and all of that would be true, but the truth doesn’t undo what happened.”
He looked up then, eyes tired, but resolute.
“I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
The words felt foreign in his mouth, too soft, too exposed—but necessary.
Hannah looked at him like he’d grown a second head and her posture stiffened with stunned disbelief. The arms she’d crossed tightly over her chest like a barricade of justified resentment lowered slowly, hands falling to her sides as her eyes flickered across his face.
Max shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.
He didn’t really know how to do this. Maybe in another life, his father would have taught him how to handle his wrongdoings with grace and humility befitting of his title, but in this one, apologizing was a language he’d never learned properly. The only person he’d ever even tried to apologize to was Charles, and even that had taken Alonso shoving the truth in his face and calling him a stubborn jackass to accomplish.
Which, if he was honest, was accurate.
More than accurate.
Standing here under the weight of everything he’d done wrong, Max realized Hannah was right, too. About everything she’d said.
The silence stretched uncomfortably, and Max rubbed the back of his neck, fingers brushing over the roots of his hair. The movement was aimless, anxious—until his eyes landed on the purpling bruise darkening the skin of her upper arm, a small bandage on her brow.
His stomach clenched and guilt bloomed all over again. His tail twitched, then coiled lightly around the bruise in his thoughts. Frowning, Max forced the limb to wrap tightly around his waist, like a leash reining in something dangerous.
Hannah’s eyes tracked the motion, and for a brief, breathless second, the old tension returned.
“Thank you,” she said, stiffly, “And I will take that as an apology from your Oozaru as well, then?”
Max blinked, startled and his tail instantly unwrapped from his waist and coiled out behind him again, a twitch of defiance.
“Oh, I see,” Hannah raised a brow with dry humor. “It doesn’t agree.”
“We . . . do not always see things the same,” he said. “But I mean what I said.”
Hannah gave a soft snort, “Charles seems to have a similar problem.”
That pulled a breath from Max—not quite a laugh, but something near it. “We are meant for battle,” he said quietly, glancing down at his hands. “Most other things, even the ones so simple as talking, are secondary. And you humans . . . interact so strangely.”
He hadn’t meant it as an excuse, but a simple truth. Oozaru—his instincts, his rage, his lineage—had always been hardwired for conflict. That was how they survived. How they were made.
“Charles filled me in the best he could about how it works,” Hannah said, watching him carefully. “But I would still like to ask you a few questions sometime. If you’re going to be staying here, that is.”
Max’s eyes flicked up to hers. Would they try to send him away? Decide he was too much of a risk, no matter what Charles had said?
Would they tell him he had to leave before Charles woke up?
Teeth creaking under the pressure, Max didn’t know how he would defend himself if they demanded that of him, but he knew he would only leave if Charles asked him to.
“This is Charles’ home,” he said slowly. “If he desires for me to stay . . . then I will stay. If he desires I leave,” Max swallowed hard. “Then I will go. I will not force my presence where it is unwanted.”
The room stilled again and after a moment, Hannah gestured to a pair of chairs tucked around the small table. “Let’s sit for a second.”
His first instinct was to say no, to return to Charles’ side where his presence might somehow anchor things, even if his mate couldn’t feel it. But refusing now felt . . . childish. Counterproductive.
So he nodded once and slowly lowered himself into one of the chairs, tail flexing awkwardly before he forced it to settle around the base of the seat. He folded his hands over the table, mimicking a composure he didn’t fully feel.
He was ridiculously oversized for the awkwardly small seat.
“Will there be any others coming after you that I should be aware of?” she asked, her voice shifting to professional clarity. “The harbor is still a warzone and I have officials looking for answers as to what the two streaks of light were that smashed into the casino and destroyed over a billion Euros worth of property.”
Max blinked once. He hadn’t thought about that. Not really.
Jos was dead. George was dead. Most of the PTO command had been decapitated in one single, bloody night.
There could be generals left—opportunists clawing at the ashes, scrambling for a throne with no real ruler, especially General Toto. But they didn’t concern him. The PTO was wounded, bleeding out, and surrounded by enemies who’d been sharpening blades in the shadows for years.
“I doubt it,” Max said after a long pause. “The chain of command was severed and the frost demon’s reign is over. There may be some who try to make a move in the chaos, but not for us. Not here. This planet is far beyond the outer rim of PTO territory and they will be bleeding regions far more . . . rich in resources than this one.”
“Still,” he added, “I wouldn’t trust peace to hold for long. Those who rule through fear tend to be replaced by others just as bad—or worse. But I will defend this place as if it were Toro, for sheltering and being a place of peace for Charles. You are under no threat from me and any enemy of Earth is an enemy of mine.”
“Is that thing? The frost demon—really dead?” Hannah asked skeptically. “Lando and Lewis said his energy was like nothing they’d ever felt before, and then they said yours . . . changed. In the middle of your fight. Like you became something else. What was that?”
Max exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth lifting into a sad, crooked smile.
He hadn’t really thought about that either. About what he’d done.
About what he’d become.
The stuff of Torossian legend. Ascended. Transcendent. The so-called “perfect form” his father told him about as a child.
It sounded like something out of a bedtime story. A sacred transformation whispered about in hushed tones across generations of warriors and scholars. He’d spent the better part of his life in chains, chasing that myth—training until his body failed, fighting until he bled out, risking everything just to get close.
And none of it had mattered.
All the pain. All the brutality. All the loneliness.
Jos had pushed him to his limits and beyond in search of that perfection for himself, to absorb Max once he’d achieved it. But even he had underestimated what it would take.
Nothing he did had brought him to that final threshold. Charles had.
Without his mate—without that last act of sacrifice, of love and defiance in the face of death—Max would still be clawing at a glass ceiling with bloodied hands. The transition hadn’t come through violence or rage. It had come through love.
Maybe that part of the legend had been forgotten over the last thousand years? Maybe the scrolls and scholars had only told half the truth?
You didn’t get there alone and you weren’t meant to.
Max’s smile faded. The ache in his chest settled in tight again, low and quiet.
Was it even worth it?
What was power, really, if the one who had helped you reach it was left shattered in its place?
“Yes,” Max answered softly. “He is dead.”
He glanced toward the floor, collecting himself, then met Hannah’s gaze with quiet certainty.
“Your Guardian said the only way to destroy him was to eliminate his source of energy. No food or water or rest was ever consumed by him—only stolen energy that fed his life force. I wasn’t exactly sure where in his form his life source was, so I figured it was best to not leave a trace of him to be found.”
There was no bravado or pride in the way he said it. He hadn’t ascended to be a hero. He’d ascended to end something. To make sure no one else would ever suffer under that monster’s reign again. Suffer the things he had suffered or meet the same fate as his people.
“I take it I don’t need to send a retrieval crew up to Charles’ cabin then?”
“No,” Max answered. “But there isn't much left of the cabin. I will have to rebuild that . . . ”
Shit.
How was Max supposed to take Charles home when he woke up? There was nothing left of his cabin but a few burnt half walls, piles of splintered and scorched wood, all covered in ash and blood.
“I can send people to take care of that. You should stay here with Charles. Don’t worry at all.”
Max nodded, rubbing his thumb against his finger.
“What happened, Max?” Hannah asked quietly. “With Charles. I know you said he gave you his energy when we conducted his admission interview, but what does that mean? Is that related to this whole Eldri Oozaru thing? Is that like how the weird stone works?”
Exhaling slowly, his breath caught a little at the edges and he shook his head, more in helplessness than denial.
“I don’t know exactly what he did,” he admitted. “He put his hands on my chest and suddenly . . . it was like a curtain lifted. Like the goddess herself was pouring power into me.”
He closed his eyes, seeing it all again—the blinding light, the warmth of Charles’ hands, the overwhelming sensation of being seen by something divine and ancient. It hadn’t been just a surge of energy—it had been a revelation. Like standing at the eye of a storm and feeling the stars realign around your soul.
“I’ve never felt anything like it before,” Max said, voice hollow with awe and guilt. “And I don’t think I ever will again. There was an incident with his veyöra on Namek, but it hadn’t felt like that.” He squeezed his fingers together, the tension creeping back into his body like a slow tide. “I tried to give it back. Whatever it was—whatever he’d given me—I tried. Gods, I tried. I pushed everything I had into him, tried to coax his ki to stabilize, to catch flame again.”
Max swallowed hard, his eyes burning. “But it wasn’t working. His ki was just so weak , like it was already fading an–and he wouldn’t open his eyes.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fend off the shaking in his hands. “I didn't even realize he was still alive until I felt the pup, and like I said before, I brought him straight here. I didn’t know what else to do. I–I just don’t know enough about Eldris. I should’ve listened better. I should’ve learned more before—before any of this—”
Fingers fisting in his hair, he dragged it back from his forehead like that could somehow undo the panic locked inside him.
Hannah reached out, her hand warm on his arm.
“You did all the right things, Max,” she said gently. “Sometimes, it’s out of our control. Decisions are made . . . and we can’t go back.”
Max looked away, jaw clenched. Her words were meant to soothe, and some part of him appreciated them, but they didn’t dull the ache in his chest. Didn’t soften the guilt gnawing at his bones. His tail uncoiled restlessly beneath the chair, twitching as he swiped angrily at the corner of his eye.
“I need to get back to him,” he said, voice low and raw. He pushed himself to stand, body vibrating with anxious energy.
But Hannah’s hand tightened slightly on his arm.
“Wait,” she said. “I found something during the last ultrasound that I want to show you.”
Max froze mid-rise, breath catching. He lowered himself back down, barely aware of it. “What is it?” he asked, pulse thudding hard in his ears.
Max’s heart started to pound again, a different rhythm now—anticipation tangled with dread. His mind spun through the worst possibilities. Was this it? The moment he’d been fearing since the conversation with Hannah in Charles’ room? The moment where the universe forced him to choose—between his mate and their pup?
He felt sick.
“I can’t choose between them,” he croaked, hand shaking. “Don’t ask me to choose.”
He knew deep down what he would do, what the right choice was in that impossible situation, but he couldn’t bring himself to voice it. Make it real.
“They are okay, Max. We aren’t anywhere near that point. Charles’ vitals are stable and still improving. This is about something else.”
His breathing faltered slightly as Hannah reached into the inner pocket of her lab coat. From within, she pulled out a small, folded square of black-and-white film—the grainy, ghostlike capture from an ultrasound.
Max’s trembling hands lifted instinctively as she carefully unwrapped the folded edges and held it out to him. He took it like it was made of glass, afraid it would crumble under his touch.
His brow furrowed as he stared down at the image.
At first, it was incomprehensible, a swirl of shadows and light, the blurred edges of a world not quite formed. He didn’t see the familiar curve of the small face from the first image he kept tucked beside Charles’ bed, didn’t spot the gentle slope of a forehead or the tiny clenched fists he’d memorized.
Instead, the shapes were different, unfamiliar and alien even in their closeness. He stared for long moments, eyes darting over the photo, trying to will it into focus, to extract meaning from the haze.
Nothing.
He looked up at Hannah, a question unspoken but etched across his face.
She smiled, her tone gentle. “I wasn’t sure if I should share this with you yet. But I thought maybe . . . you could be the one to tell Charles.”
Her fingertip moved over the glossy film, landing gently on a pale blur in the center. “Here,” she said, “that’s its lower abdomen. These are its legs . . . and tail—see the way it curls just slightly?”
Max leaned in, eyes narrowing with concentration.
“And this,” she added, tapping a spot just between the legs, “this is—well. This is his . . . ”
Max blinked once, confusion evaporating like fog under sunlight.
Then he blinked again.
Something in his chest shifted, then softened, all in a single breath. A soundless gasp escaped him, and he drew the photo closer. And now, with her guidance, it clicked into place. He could see it. Could map it out in his mind.
His son.
“A male,” Max whispered, reverent. The word was sacred, full of wonder and disbelief. He said it again, slower this time. “A son.”
His throat clenched, fingers trembling harder, but he didn’t let go of the photo. His tail, which had been coiled tight around his leg, loosened just slightly, twitching with some unnamed emotion.
His child. His son.
Their son. Charles’.
“It's a boy,” Hannah echoed.
An heir.
The words felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, sudden and warm and impossible. The idea bloomed in his chest, lifting something heavy that had lived there for far too long.
It was an irrational fear, perhaps—a remnant from a life carved in shadows—but he’d carried it all the same: the fear that his bloodline would end with him. That he would die as the last link in a broken chain.
No legacy. No child. No continuation of anything beyond violence.
He’d never said it aloud. Never even allowed himself to think of such things when death had seemed the only certainty in his life. But in his trembling hands, he held the image of a future he hadn’t dared imagine.
A son.
Max rubbed his thumb gently over the blurred curve of the tiny tail in the photo. His breath hitched, and he forced himself to breathe through his mouth, trying to calm the whirlwind inside.
He didn’t deserve an heir.
“I failed them,” Max whispered, voice unsteady. “Charles and him . . . ”
The scientist sat silent with him for a long moment as Max's grief crested. He didn't know if knowing it was a boy made it worse, the pain of uncertainty.
“Charles,” Max croaked softly, just trying to get the words out. “You prioritize Charles. Do everything you can for him.”
Hannah nodded slowly, running a thumb over the back of Max's hand.
“Can I tell you one of my favorite stories?” Hannah said softly.
Max swallowed hard, but nodded, eyes still locked on the photo in his hands.
“In a mother's womb, there were two babies,” she started slowly, squeezing their fingers together. “One of them turned to the other and asked, ‘do you believe in life after delivery?’”
Max's lips pulled down, confused but let her continue.
“‘Of course,’ the other one said. ‘There has to be something after delivery? Maybe that is what we are here for, to prepare us for what happens later?’ But the first one replied, ‘Nonsense. There is no life after delivery. What kind of life would that be?’”
Hannah smiled, gesturing softly to indicate the two pups in disagreement, the mental image of it so clear in his mind.
“‘I don’t know,’ said the second. ‘Maybe there will be more light than there is here and we will walk with our legs and eat with our mouths and we will have other senses that we don't understand now?’”
“The first baby scoffed and said, ‘That's ridiculous? Walking is impossible and eating with our mouths is absurd. The umbilical cord is what scientifically supplies all that we need and is far too short. Life after delivery is to be logically excluded.’”
He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but the tone in her voice pulled at his chest.
“‘What if it's somehow different than it is here?’ the second one asked. ‘Maybe we wouldn't need that physical cord anymore?’”
“The first goes on to argue, ‘Okay then, if there is life after delivery, then why has no one ever come back from there? Delivery is obviously the end of life and the after delivery is nothing but darkness and silence and oblivion and takes us nowhere.’”
Chewing on his lip, Max couldn’t help but disagree with the first one in his mind. Obviously there was a life after delivery. That was the entire point of being born? To live this life? How could it not see that there was more—
“The second one says, ‘But certainly we will meet mother there? And she will take care of us.’”
Max closed his eyes, tightness in his chest expanding while thinking about how wonderful of a mother Charles would be for their pup.
“‘Mother?’ the first objects,” Hannah said. “‘How can you believe in mother? If mother is real, then where is she now?’”
Hannah smiled as she continued, taking hold of Max’s hand again still gripping the ultrasound photo. “‘She is all around us,’ the second one said. ‘We are of her, it is in her that we live. Without her we could not survive and this world wouldn't and couldn't exist.’”
“And the first says, ‘But I don't see her . . . ’”
Max opened his eyes to look back at Hannah's rich brown.
“‘I can hear her,’ said the second. ‘When I sit in silence and I really listen, I know she is with me and I believe.’”
A tear rolled down Max’s cheek.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Hannah reached for her datapad again. “I’ve found something interesting happening with the pup while it's been monitored,” she said, sliding the slim device across the table toward him.
Max leaned in as glowing charts and graphs flickered to life. He didn’t understand all the symbols, but the patterns were clear enough—oscillating lines rising and falling in tight synchronization.
“There are moments when the pup's pulse spikes,” she explained, pointing to the top graph. “And every time that happens, Charles’ pulse follows,” she pointed to the correlating graph on the bottom. “But when the pup calms, Charles doesn’t return completely to his baseline. His vitals remain elevated—stronger.”
Max’s eyes narrowed, his mind catching the rhythm instantly. “Yes,” he murmured. “I’ve felt that. His energy—brief bursts of it. I didn’t know why it was happening or if he was in distress.”
“I have a theory,” Hannah said, her tone cautious, almost reluctant. “Though I admit, I’m very out of my depth here.”
Max nodded, his gaze sharp. “Tell me.”
“When this happens, Charles’ vitals improve, but not just temporarily. They stay improved. Like the pup is sharing something with him when his pulse spikes. Not everything it has, but enough. Little short bursts of life force, maybe. Like it’s—”
“Giving Charles his energy,” Max finished, sitting up straighter as his mind accelerated, heart slamming against his ribs.
Could that be it? Had Charles given everything to him—to save him, to elevate him—and now their son was giving everything back to Charles, cell by cell, heartbeat by heartbeat?
A closed loop. A cycle of sacrifice. A family holding each other together through sheer will.
“Your pup is the second baby. The one who believes,” Hannah whispered. “He believes in Charles, in the existence of his mother without proof, the same way Charles believes in you—has faith in you.”
Max glanced at the photo again, exhaling shakily.
“This new life for you, life after ‘delivery’ from your prison, from all that pain and suffering and death and destruction . . . requires faith. Belief in the unknown, just like your belief in your goddess of Toro. You did not fail them. You saved them, saved all of us from Jos, and for that . . . we thank you.”
“I . . . ” Max’s voice faltered, a tremor beneath the words.
“They need you to believe in yourself, Max. Believe that this life for you has only just started. For them.”
“I need to get back.”
There was so much going on in his head. So many possibilities and explanations just out of reach, her strange story ringing in his ears.
Hannah nodded, already dimming the datapad. “I’ll continue monitoring this, but Charles is getting stronger, Max. Every day. This—” she gestured to the photo, to the screen “—this is good news.”
Max was already moving.
He shot to his feet, barely registering her words as he crossed the room in a blur, his footsteps heavy with urgency but buoyed by a sudden, desperate hope.
By the time Hannah stood from her chair, Max was already halfway down the corridor, the ultrasound still clutched in his hand like a sacred token.
Max didn’t say anything—not to Hannah, not even to himself—but the more he turned the idea over in his mind, the more it settled into place like a final piece in a long-unfinished puzzle.
Hannah was right. She had to be.
Each time their pup’s energy flared, it didn’t just stir Charles’ ki—it lifted it. Strengthened it. Like a candle being coaxed back to flame by the breath of another. Max couldn't believe he'd missed it, having now witnessed it in flickers—subtle, delicate waves of energy that pulsed through the nest at irregular intervals.
Now that he recognized the pattern, he couldn’t unsee it. It was real.
And it could only mean one thing.
Their pup was an Eldri—like Charles.
Born of two legacies, two bloodlines tempered by fire and devotion.
Eldri were the givers, the healers and the special ones chosen by the goddess for their purpose.
And he needed Max’s help.
“I can hear her,” echoed in his head from Hannah’s story. “I know she is with me and I believe.”
Max returned to their room with a new kind of reverence thrumming through him. The lights were low, warm and golden, and the quiet hum of medical monitors faded into the background as he stepped inside. Charles lay as he had before—serene in his stillness, his brow smooth, his breathing unchanged. Beautiful, even in stasis.
Especially in stasis.
Max moved carefully, climbing into the nest beside him, mindful of every shift of the mattress, every rustle of the soft blankets around them. He lay on his side, tucking himself close, his hand sliding over the soft curve of Charles’ belly with gentle reverence. The warmth beneath his palm grounded him instantly.
He lowered his lips, pressing them tenderly to the cotton of Charles’ gown, letting the familiar scent wrap around him. His voice, when it came, was soft.
“Hallo, kleintje,” [Hi, little one,] he whispered.
His palm stroked lightly across the swell, feeling the subtle pressure underneath. He imagined tiny kicks, imagined their little one hearing him, sensing him, but he'd still never felt him move.
“Je hebt de meest fantastische moeder van het universum. Wist je dat?” [You have the most incredible mom in the universe. Do you know that?]
He pressed another kiss to the fabric, lingering there.
“Dapper. Briljant. Fel. Hij heeft mij vaker gered dan ik kan tellen en ik weet dat jij je best doet om hem te helpen.” [Brave. Brilliant. Fierce. He has saved me more times than I can count, and I know you're doing the best you can to help him.]
He shifted just slightly, his fingers splaying protectively over the life growing beneath. “Je hebt geluk, weet je. Je bent gemaakt van alles wat goed is in hem.” [You’re lucky, you know. You’re made of everything that’s good in him.]
Max spent the afternoon like that—speaking soft and reverently. Telling stories not just to pass time, but to connect . To offer his son something of himself beyond blood and bone. Letting their pup know there was this life, a whole world waiting to be discovered.
He talked about Charles during their early days—when sparks flew in every direction but none of them romantic. He smiled as he described their first sparring match, Charles sharp-tongued and relentless, his green eyes flashing with wildfire.
“When I first saw your mom in the med bay,” Max murmured in Torossian, “he had those eyes—like a star gone nova. He didn’t want anything to do with us, with me . But even then, I knew he was different. I knew he’d be a challenge.”
He laughed softly, the sound breaking into the quiet room like a whisper of joy. “A good one. The best kind. His Torossian spirit burns bright, just like yours.”
“He even challenged me to that spar. Charged head first into a duel with someone so much stronger than him.” Max sighed, glancing up at Charles’ sleeping face. “But he had a secret. Your mom knew how to feel my energy with his mind then, knew how much stronger I was, and still he challenged me anyway.”
As the hours passed, Max never moved far from the warmth of Charles’ side or the silent presence of their child. Entwining his tail with Charles' limp one, his blond fur moved back and forth slowly, willing Charles’ to squeeze him back with everything he had.
More days went by, the hours spent enraptured in quiet tales.
He told more stories—some real, many half-invented—each one a thread spun in hope, love, and promise.
It was working.
Everyday their pup would pulse its energy up, pushing Charles’ with him, slowly bringing a stirring pulse of ki back to life inside the Eldri.
He could feel it. Glowing embers ready to ignite into flames.
And as the room dimmed into night, Max closed his eyes, lips brushing the swell of Charles’ belly, heart tethered by two silent but steady beats.
Hannah had been by a little over an hour ago, quiet and efficient in that way she always was when trying not to disturb him. She’d brought a meal—hot, freshly packed—and gently nudged him out of his haze to eat. He’d downed it quickly, barely tasting it, hunger catching up with him only once the scent had reached his nose.
She’d checked Charles’ vitals with her usual precision, eyes scanning the readouts on the monitor, a smile tugging at her lips.
“They’re the best they’ve been since he arrived,” she said softly. “Whatever you're doing, keep doing it.”
Hope had flared in Max’s chest like a struck match. It wasn’t dramatic—no miracle—but it was progress . A fragile thread of possibility he could wrap his fingers around. Something he could do to help.
Something he could believe in again.
Encouraged, he reached out and ran his fingers gently through Charles’ hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, the strands silken and slightly warm beneath his touch. He could still remember how it felt when Charles leaned into his hand, sleepy and smiling. That memory kept him going.
“Charles?” he whispered one morning, leaning closer. “Charlie, can you hear me?”
There was more energy there this morning, not just from the pup. Charles had more of his color back too, a flush to his pale cheeks, a little rouge on the tip of his nose.
There was no reply—no flutter of eyelids, no twitch of fingers—but Max didn’t let the silence steal his voice.
He kept talking, kept pouring warmth and love into every word, telling Charles about their son, about Hannah’s theory, about how strong he was.
And when he felt that familiar flicker of ki—delicate, like the brush of wings rising in steady rhythm—he smiled.
“You’re doing so well, little one,” he murmured in Torossian to their pup. “Keep helping him. Just like that. You’re so strong already.”
Fatigue crept in slowly, sinking into his bones as the lights dimmed. He was so sure today would be the day, and his body protested every blink, limbs heavy from days of tension, sleepless nights, and the overwhelming strain of hope. He laid his cheek lightly against Charles’ shoulder, eyes closing for longer stretches.
Just resting them. Just a minute.
Just enough to rest . . .
Then he saw movement.
A gentle rustle.
Max’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused and slow. Something had shifted in the periphery of his vision—a ripple of presence in the still air. His gaze sharpened gradually as he turned his head, just in time to see someone approaching.
A woman.
Tall and graceful, her steps soundless like she wasn’t fully tethered to the floor. Silver eyes caught the low light and shimmered like the surface of still water. She looked directly at him and Charles—focused, calm, with something almost mournful in her expression.
Max blinked again, harder this time.
That was . . . odd.
Hannah had never come by this late in the evening, and there hadn’t been a sound from the door—no whoosh of it opening, no beep from the control panel.
His heart thudded once, hard.
Eyes widening, Max sat up straight in the bed, all traces of sleep evaporating as his instincts flared to life, but he was frozen, muscles locked in place.
The woman moved with an eerie grace as if her feet never quite touched the ground. A crescent-adorned crown rested delicately across her brow, and her robes floated around her like mist, fluttering gently despite the stillness of the air, shifting and curling as if stirred by a breeze from another world.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t acknowledge Max directly.
Her gaze was trained solely on Charles—on the quiet rise and fall of his chest, on the swollen curve of his belly under the blankets of the nest. Her expression held no judgment, no emotion Max could name. It was serene, yet fathomless. The look of someone who had seen galaxies born and buried and had never once blinked.
A few days ago—hell, even yesterday—he would’ve torn someone apart for coming this close to Charles without invitation. His Oozaru instincts would’ve risen in a red haze, and he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill to protect what was his.
Not with her.
Her presence blanketed the room like snowfall—silent, still, and holy. His Oozaru, usually clawing beneath his skin at the slightest provocation, was quiet now. Watching. Waiting. Reverent.
For the first time, Max felt that beast within him . . . kneel.
The woman reached the edge of the bed, her fingers extended—slim, pale, almost translucent—and she reached for his hand.
Max didn’t stop her.
There was no heat to her touch. No chill either. Just a soft pressure, gentle but insistent, guiding his hand over the swell of Charles’ belly. Her palm came down atop his, their joined hands resting over the very center where he could feel the hum of life pulsing beneath the skin.
Their son.
She didn’t look at him or explain.
It felt like he was standing on the edge of something vast and a soft flicker of light bloomed beneath his palm.
Golden energy swirled around his fingers like smoke catching sunlight, shimmering with delicate pulses. And then, in perfect synchrony, the pup’s ki stirred—rising like a song remembered, mixing with Max’s in a dance of harmony. The sensation was so intimate, Max barely dared to breathe.
He stayed perfectly still, wide eyes fixed on the glow beneath his hand. His muscles were tense and he could feel something now, not from outside, but within, a light pulling sensation in his arm, like his energy was being gently tethered, threaded through something more.
It lasted only a heartbeat.
Maybe two.
Barely enough time to register fully, and yet Max was certain: he hadn’t taken a single breath since the silver-eyed woman entered the room. Everything felt suspended.
Closing his eyes, Max focused on the feeling below his palm.
Thump.
Not energy, but force.
A kick.
Max’s heart jumped. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes snapped wide again.
There it was again—another kick, solid and sure, just beneath the warmth of his touch.
His chest squeezed with a sudden wave of emotion, fierce and overwhelming. For months, Charles had told him—glowing with quiet joy—that he could feel their pup moving. Max had always come rushing, every time, eager and hopeful. But it had always been just out of reach for him, too faint, too subtle, never quite enough to cross that barrier between expectation and reality.
His lip wobbled, trembling with the force of it all, and from somewhere deep within his chest, a low purr rumbled up, unbidden. It spilled from his throat in a sound that was both ancient and instinctual, comfort and awe wrapped in one, vibrating gently through the air.
It was a different sound than he usually made, more of a choral than a purr, laced in deeper tones.
Another kick.
And another.
Their son—his son—was reaching out. Responding.
So strong already. So determined to be felt. To connect.
Max bent his head, eyes still closed, and pressed his forehead lightly to Charles’ belly, the purr still vibrating in his chest.
“Hi,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I feel you. I finally . . . I feel you.”
The golden light slowly dimmed, but the warmth remained, etched into his skin like a promise.
“You have suffered greatly, my champion,” the woman’s voice washed over him like a wave over soft sand. “Suffer no longer.”
The sound wasn’t loud, but it rang through Max’s bones with the clarity of truth, a soft echo in his ears that settled into his spirit, like warm sunlight seeping through cold stone.
He opened his eyes slowly, but she was gone.
No footsteps. No flicker of movement like before. Just . . . gone. Her robes dissolved into air like early morning fog vanishing in the rise of the sun. Not a trace remained—not even the shimmer of her energy.
Max blinked once.
Twice.
His senses stretched outward, sweeping the space for anything, but all he found was the soft hum of monitors and the familiar, grounding rhythm of Charles’ presence—still, steady and warm.
Slowly, Max sank back down against the bed, his breath shaky but calm. His palm remained where it had been, resting protectively over the curve of Charles’ belly. The golden flicker had faded, but an echo still pulsed there.
Max’s purr didn’t stop. It rumbled deep in his chest, a low, steady vibration that wrapped around Charles and their pup like a blanket of sound and soul. It wasn’t something he controlled anymore. It was instinct. Devotion.
Love made sound.
And then a second sound joined his.
Softer. Higher. A whisper against his own.
A purr.
Max froze, heart skipping, breath catching in his throat as his eyes slowly moved up, drawn toward the source like a magnet to iron. Charles’ eyelids fluttered, breath escaping parted lips. Emerald eyes, brilliant and glassy, blinking slowly as they focused on him.
“Max?” Charles’ voice was the barest whisper, dry and hoarse, but it cracked the silence like thunder. “What's wrong? Why are you crying?”
Was he crying?
If he was, he hadn’t noticed, and more tears rose so quickly he couldn’t stop them. Something tugged at the base of his spine and he realized, only then, that his tail—still wound protectively around Charles’—was being gripped gently in return. Held quietly in the Torossian embrace of mates.
He looked down at the contact, then back up, eyes wide with disbelief and joy.
“Charles,” he breathed, voice cracking. “Charlie . . . ”
“Max,” Charles responded, this time more concerned. “What’s wrong? Is—” he looked around the room, taking in his surroundings before his eyes tracked down to the hand over his belly. “Is the pup okay? Are they—”
“Yeah,” the prince answered softly. “He’s okay, Charles. Just fine. Healthy and strong.”
“He?” the Eldri questioned, mist in the corner of his eye.
Max pushed back the curls on Charles’ forehead, placing a gentle kiss on his nose. “He,” the prince confirmed. “A boy.”
Gasping, the Eldri looked back down to his belly, hand spreading over it with a wide, dimpled smile.
Goddess, Max missed that smile.
His larger hand joined him, just in time to feel a firm kick under his palm, and Max took a deep breath.
Everything else faded.
There was only them. A prince of nothing but what mattered most, his mate against all odds, and their impossible child.
Alive. Together. A family made whole.
Chapter 63: A Strong Name
Summary:
While Charles and Max are planning for a celebration, Charles decides on a special gift for his prince.
Chapter Text
- 2 years later -
Charles stared down at the fabric swatches spread out on the table in front of him—plum, ivory, navy, silver—dozens of shades blending together in a dizzying mosaic. His eyes glazed over slightly, caught somewhere between color fatigue and creeping existential dread over napkin textures. Somewhere in the haze of options, Hannah was still talking.
“This one,” she said, tapping a rich sage green, “would be nice for the centerpieces. And this one here would coordinate perfectly with the place setting options we looked at last week.”
Charles nodded vaguely, not trusting himself to answer without accidentally committing to something covered in sequins.
His eyes drifted to the side, and on a blanket inside his little playpen, was his son.
There he was, fast asleep, cheeks flushed from his afternoon nap, a teething toy still clutched tightly in his small, chubby fingers. One foot was kicked halfway out from under the blanket, and a drool spot had begun to form near the corner of his mouth. His tiny blond tail twitched slightly in his sleep, a telltale sign of whatever baby dream was unfolding in that busy little mind of his.
His chest filled with warmth so strong it made his eyes sting.
A lot had happened.
A lot.
And still, somehow, they were here. Raising a child. Living.
He took a deep breath, the kind that settled in your bones and felt like a beginning and an end all at once as he reflected on the past few years.
After he’d woken up in the med center—confused, sore, and more exhausted than he’d ever been in his life—it was Max’s face that had greeted him first. Tear-streaked, relieved, and so full of love, the memory of it nearly took Charles’ breath away all over again.
Max had told him everything, after he physically checked that Charles was okay about a dozen times and called in the staff to check him again. He’d told him what he’d done, what Charles had done—giving the prince his energy, pushing him across that impossible threshold, enabling Max to complete his breakthrough transition and finish Jos once and for all.
And then . . . nothing.
Almost two full weeks of darkness. Of uncertainty. Of waiting.
The prince had no idea if he was going to make it, but Max stayed by his side without fail, keeping their pup safe and trying to undo whatever exchange had been done.
It was their pup who'd saved him in the end, sharing his energy to help coax Charles’ ki to catch light while he rested.
His little helper from the very beginning.
Somehow, they’d pieced their lives together from there.
He still had moments, quiet ones usually, where the weight of what they’d survived crept in, where he looked at their son and realized how easily none of it might’ve been. How close everything had come to ending before it ever really began.
But then there were mornings like this one, where the only stress was table linens and floral arrangements, and his greatest concern was whether or not the pup in the playpen would wake up cranky from his nap.
He’d take it.
Every second of it all again.
Pulling his attention back to Hannah, he settled in for another long session of what had quickly become more of a stress than a joy.
Wedding planning.
Smiling softly, Charles reached across the table and dragged a muted, deep red fabric swatch closer to him, rubbing it between his fingers. “This one, I think,” he said, interrupting Hannah’s monologue with a spark of mischief in his tone. “But only if we can avoid those glitter monstrosities from last week.”
“That was one set,” Hannah rolled her eyes. “And for the record, they were gorgeous.”
“Gaudy,” Charles replied dryly, and leaned back in his chair, eyes sliding once again to the little boy with the stubborn cowlick and sharp pine green eyes he shared with his mother.
Their pup was just over six months old now, a bundle of endless curiosity and sharp, squeaky babbles, his tail always in motion and his hands constantly reaching for everything. Watching him grow had been the most surreal experience of Charles’ life—and that included being abducted by aliens. Life had become equal parts awe and sleep deprivation, but it was all worth it.
Of course, none of it had gone how he originally expected.
He thought back to his growth check-up with Hannah during the pregnancy, when Max, his sweet, brilliant, frustrating mate, had casually dropped a bombshell with all the intensity of someone commenting on the weather.
“Your calculations are incorrect. Torossian pregnancies are longer than human ones,” the prince had said, like it was no big deal. “Based on this planet’s orbit around its sun, the gestational period should last around fifteen Earth months. Not nine.”
Charles had blinked at him, certain he’d misheard.
“FIFTEEN!?” he and Hannah had shrieked in unison. Charles had almost fallen off the damn exam table.
He’d been waddling around under the impression that he was just over the halfway mark—hormonal, sore, with heartburn that could’ve burned a hole through steel—and now he was supposed to endure another nine months of this? That was more than half a year. Half a year of swollen ankles, back pain, sore, leaking pecs, and Max fussing over him like a worried bird with too much muscle mass.
At the time, Charles had wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both.
Max, for his part, hadn’t seemed particularly concerned about Charles’ stress. He was more focused on the fact that Charles was carrying the pup at all.
“I don’t remember much,” Max had said with a furrowed brow, “but I do remember that carrying pups to term was not common. Especially not in the high houses.”
Charles had looked up from where he was half-lounging on the table, eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”
“We had gestational pods,” the prince said matter-of-fact, crossing his arms over his chest. “Once a fetus reached viability outside the mother, they were transferred. The pods would sustain them to full term, provide a personalized nutrient distribution, monitor their vitals, do everything a mother would and more. That way the mothers could recover sooner and get back into battle faster.”
“At what point in the pregnancy was that?” Hannah had asked.
Max shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“The pups were surgically removed, then?” she’d pressed.
“I was seven, ” Max had snapped, looking exasperated. “Not exactly taking notes on obstetrics at the time. Not really something Alonso felt the need to educate me on either.”
Charles had groaned and flopped back on the table. “So I could’ve opted out of the third trimester from hell and no one told me?”
“Well, if I’d known, I would’ve said something, but I haven’t seen any such technology on this planet.”
Turning to Hannah, Charles had given her the best pleading eyes he could, silently begging if she could produce such a technology. Fate was not on his side it seemed, his friend adamant in her unwillingness to attempt such a feat.
Despite the chaos, the exhaustion, and the sheer absurdity of it all, Charles wouldn’t have changed a thing. He’d carried their pup to term “the old-fashioned way,” gone through hell and back in labor to get him here, and now that little miracle was napping ten feet away, drooling on a blanket and kicking softly in his sleep.
Their little Alonso.
From the moment Max told him they were having a boy, Charles hadn’t even hesitated. The name had come to him like it had been waiting—etched into his soul before he even knew why.
Alonso.
Named for the elder Torossian who’d saved both of their lives, who’d willingly followed the prince into that hell.
Alonso had been a teacher, protector, and father-figure when Max had needed someone the most. And in his final moments, he’d sacrificed himself without fear, knowing what was at stake and what it would cost him to send Max away with Charles.
When Charles had suggested it for the first time, Max had just looked at him—stunned for a heartbeat—and then smiled. That rare, soft smile he only gave to the two people who truly mattered to him. His chin had trembled a little, and he nodded, agreeing without a word, but Charles had seen the tears welling behind his eyes.
Ever since then, a seed had taken root in Charles’ mind. An idea.
A gift.
A wedding present, not of silver or gold or engraved cufflinks Max would never wear, but something far more precious. Something deeply personal. Something that meant something.
“Have you and Lando had any luck finding the orbs?” Charles asked casually rubbing his thumb over a piece of fabric, pretending like those balls weren't the only thing he’d been thinking about for weeks.
“We have just one left to find,” Hannah said, not looking up from the notebook she was writing in. “The rest are tucked away in my vault.”
Charles nodded slowly, hiding his excitement behind the rim of his cup.
Perfect.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re going to wish for?”
“Nope,” Charles smiled to himself. “It’s a surprise.”
The plan was simple on paper, but monumental in practice. After talking to Seb—who’d confirmed it could be done—Charles just needed to find them all for his perfect wedding present for Max.
The prince didn’t care for jewelry or sleek Earth vehicles or lavish gestures. He didn’t even like having attention on himself, and the concept of receiving gifts made him visibly uncomfortable. Charles had learned that when he’d tried to throw Max a birthday like they’d talked about, and once the prince learned that that came with a mountain of gifts and being the center of attention for an entire day, he was horrified and said he would not be indebted to anyone—not fully understanding the concept of a gift—and canceled the whole thing.
But this?
This was different.
Charles knew in his bones this was the gift Max would cherish. They both would.
They were planning a traditional Earth wedding, with some carefully integrated Torossian flare, of course. It had started with Charles asking an innocent question over dinner one evening when the baby had finally fallen asleep and they’d had a rare moment of peace.
“What were weddings like on Toro? Did you ever attend any?”
He hadn’t expected Max’s face to go so still.
Putting down his fork, Max's jaw tightened slightly, and after a long pause, he simply said, “Toro is gone.”
“I would still like to know?” Charles had asked. “I know we already agreed to have a small wedding here, but I want it to be as special for you as it will be for me.”
“Just do whatever Earth’s culture demands.”
The answer had floored him, not just the bluntness but the avoidance, the way Max’s entire posture had shifted, shoulders a bit too square, tail a bit too still. Charles had known then, without a doubt, that there was more to that story.
They’d been working on communicating more openly, and he knew it would just take time. Max was not really the ‘talk about my feelings’ type, but they were making progress.
Slowly.
Many long months of progress and then setbacks, but progress nonetheless. The prince still amazed Charles with his willingness to listen and learn even after all that was done to him, a deep-natured kindness buried under his hard exterior.
He didn't like to talk about himself, but what Max loved talking about was Toro.
He loved telling their son bedtime stories about the twin moons, about the bioluminescent forests that lit up with every step, and the way the stars shimmered differently in Toro’s sky than from anywhere else. He could go on for hours about the temples, the warrior academies, the cities carved into mountain spires.
But the moment Torossian mating came up, Max would shut down, become stiff and guarded.
According to Max, they were already mated, having been linked together with their energy and bedded each other more times than he could count. Why did they need a forgotten ceremony from a lost world to make that official?
Admittedly, this was all Hannah’s idea, but the thought had stuck with him.
Charles wasn’t really sure why he wanted a wedding, but he felt like it was something they should do, something his Earth friends could share in and his Earth father could watch from where he rested.
Some of his fondest memories were his Earth father talking about his wedding ceremony with his late partner who'd died long before Herve had found him in the forest. There was always a sparkle in the old man's eye when he talked about her.
So, several months back, Charles had brought the topic up again. Gently.
They were curled up on the couch, their son nestled between them, gummy-mouthed and clinging to his chest for an evening feeding. Max had been unusually quiet, fingers absently stroking Charles’ ankle while he read from a book.
That’s when the Eldri tried again. No pressure, just soft curiosity and a desire to learn.
And finally, Max had told him.
Charles wasn't prepared.
On Toro, mating wasn’t just instinctual—it was highly ceremonial. Much like human weddings, it involved vows, commitments spoken before a few witnesses, and a physical symbol of union.
Not a ring, but a band, worn around the base of the tail.
It was sacred, unmistakable—a deeply personal sign of chosen partnership, worn only by mated pairs.
When Max spoke of it, there was a reverence in his voice . . . and a quiet pain. Charles was in shock when he put the pieces together.
Jos had stolen the band that belonged to Max’s father—his real mating band—and used it to stage a false mating when Max was recaptured, a humiliating display meant to strip Max of autonomy and to remind everyone on the ship that even a prince could be owned.
Charles would never forget the ordeal it was to remove it, but he’d never guessed what it meant. Never guessed the weight behind it. All he’d really known about it was that it wasn’t there the last time he’d seen Max, and that his prince was greatly distressed by having it on.
The haunted whine from his Oozaru still made Charles ill just thinking about it.
Max had been branded with something that should've been special, and he couldn’t bear to repeat that pain.
Heartbroken for his mate, Charles understood Max’s reluctance to have anything like that included in the ceremony, but even more so Charles yearned for what Max had lost—the ability to associate his own cultural tradition with something beautiful.
That bastard lizard didn't get to win again.
So, together they’d made the decision to follow Earth tradition instead.
They would exchange rings, worn on fingers instead of tails. A symbol Max could reclaim, one that meant something new. Something theirs.
It would be no less binding and no less meaningful. Charles had already picked out a design that reminded him of the way Max spoke about starlight glinting on Toro’s twin moons.
Hannah of course had paid, Charles having no money without being able to work on his farm and sell vegetables. She’d generously taken him shopping and told him to pick out what he liked, and to not look at any of the prices. She'd also done the same with Max, though Charles was sure that experience for Hannah was much more taxing than their trip.
That was one part of the puzzle down, a million more to go.
“Focus, Charles,” Hannah said. “We have more swatches to look at.”
“Are you sure we’ll have enough time?” Charles asked as he climbed into the hovercraft. His hands trembled slightly on the edge of the hatch, nerves bunching tight in his stomach. “I don’t want Max to know I’ve left.”
Hannah glanced back from the pilot’s seat, one brow raised with a smirk that barely disguised the gleam of conspiracy in her eyes. “Are you kidding? With the upgrades I just installed in his training bots, he’ll be buried in combat simulations for the rest of the afternoon. You know how he gets.”
“Yeah,” Charles chuckled despite himself. “He does take training way too seriously.”
“That’s because it’s not training to him—it’s a war,” she said, cinching her straps tight. “You do something for your whole life like that, it just becomes a part of you. At least he has a good outlet for that skill now, and he's been invaluable for my research. But trust me, by the time we’re back, he won’t have even noticed you’re gone, and little Lonso’s still napping like a champ. My mom nearly tackled me with excitement when I told her she could babysit. He’s got her wrapped around all four of his little fingers.”
Nodding, the Eldri pulled the buckle over his chest with a quiet click . He hated being away from his pup—even for a few hours.
He hadn’t spent much time apart from his son since his birth. Not because of obligation, Max was always available to give him a break when he needed, but he simply didn’t want to. Every coo, every tail twitch, every new discovery filled Charles’ heart with an aching kind of joy he didn’t know he’d ever experience.
There also were these intense feelings of protectiveness, raw thoughts from his hind brain that demanded he keep everyone away. Max had also had a similar reaction from his Oozaru, loud growls and snarls escaping him anytime someone had gotten too close.
That only lasted for a few months, before the feelings faded and they both settled down and accepted the help they both desperately needed.
Hannah’s mother had graciously jumped at the chance to help, cooking them meals and giving them both time to take care of themselves and their basic needs.
Miss Sarah quickly became one of the few in their trusted circle. But the lookout wasn’t safe enough to bring the pup and his wish had to be made in complete secrecy.
Lonso would be just fine with Miss Sarah, though his tail flicked, betraying his Eldri’s nervousness.
“You remembered to bring the ki suppressor, right?”
“Yes, Charles,” Hannah replied. “But I still think it's ridiculous you won't tell me what it's for. You're starting to worry me.”
Charles reached down to his satchel, where the seven orbs were carefully tucked into padded compartments and rechecked just before take-off.
After months of planning, of collecting, of hiding his intent in carefully folded conversations and late-night brainstorming with Seb—today was the day.
Today, he would make his wish.
The hovercraft engines roared softly to life, lifting them into the sky with a smooth hum. Charles looked out the window at the clouds parting ahead, the curve of the world tilting ever so slightly as they banked toward the horizon.
It wasn't far, but Charles’ nerves built more and more the closer they got.
Charles didn't waste time once the hovercraft touched down with a quiet hum atop the wind-battered Lookout. He slipped out of the cockpit, shoes landing with a soft thud against the white stone platform, and made his way across the expanse with purpose.
Seb was already waiting near the edge of the temple, hands folded behind his back, white robes fluttering slightly in the ever-present breeze.
“I trust you know your way this time?” the guardian asked, voice as timeless as ever.
“I think I can manage,” Charles replied, offering a tight but genuine smile. “Thank you. Can you keep tabs on Max for me while I’m inside? He doesn't know I've left.”
Seb’s gaze drifted off, unfocused for a moment, and then returned with a small nod. “The prince has not moved from his position in the compound. He is quite . . . absorbed.”
Charles snorted softly. “I’d better make this quick, just in case,” he said, more to himself than to the guardian, and turned toward the temple’s inner corridor.
As he stepped through the stone archway, the air shifted—cooler and quieter that made the fine hairs on his arms stand at attention. He rubbed his clammy palms on his jeans, trying to steady himself.
He was so nervous. Not afraid, but aware—so very aware—of what he was about to do.
Was this a bad idea? Would his guest have his own thoughts about this?
Would Max be upset with him?
The orbs pulsed gently in the satchel slung across his chest, their hum growing ever so slightly stronger the closer he got to his destination.
Eventually, after what felt both like moments and an eternity, Charles reached the door—tall, ancient, and etched with golden script he still didn't know how to read but somehow understood. It radiated energy, like a heartbeat waiting just behind the stone.
He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath.
Goddess, he prayed in his mind. Forgive me.
Drawing on the strength that had carried him through so much, Charles reached for the heavy handle and pushed. The door groaned open with a low creak, spilling light across the corridor.
He stepped inside the Room of Spirit and Time and the door sealed shut behind him with a final, thunderous clang.
_____
Max pressed his palm firmly against the scanner inside the gravity chamber. In an instant, the oppressive weight, equivalent to ten times Earth’s gravity, lifted heavily from his limbs. The red emergency lights shifted back to soft white, and he exhaled in relief, leaning forward and resting both hands on the control console.
The room hummed gently, a calming background he’d learned to rely on and Max took a slow breath, letting it back out in a long exhale.
Training today had been intense, but exactly what he needed: a way to work the anxious tension out of his muscles, brought on by all the recent planning and stress.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the humidity in the chamber making it cling to his skin.
The new training bots Hannah designed had performed beautifully: sleek, agile, and unpredictable. Max admired their clever engineering—internal gyros that spun them off-balance when hit in the wrong spot, variable power shields, and assault appendages designed to mimic sentient-like attacks. And now, their added game, a small deactivation button hidden on different parts of the hull, had turned his workout into something more mentally challenging, rather than just physically.
He glanced down at his palms, still damp and chalky. Each body-on-bot takedown had required more finesse and speed than brute force. He dodged their arcs of sonic whips and energized gauntlets, his reflexes razor-sharp to close the distance, pressing the tiny red button on the bot’s underside as it slumped silently into inactive repose.
He valued the change of pace.
After countless sessions where his goal had been simply to destroy , this new format forced him to stay mentally engaged, to pace himself, to think and feel his way through each encounter.
There was also far less mess to clean up.
The gravity chamber’s lights shifted again, signaling the early end of his session, machines whirring as they powered down. Stepping back from the console, the prince's long legs stretched and his tail uncurled from his waist.
He’d told Charles he wouldn’t be finished training until after dinner—buying himself time to put his plan into motion. Max hated lying to him, even by omission, but this surprise was worth it.
It had all started a few weeks ago, during what Charles had naively referred to as a “casual discussion” about wedding attire. In reality, it had been a diplomatic standoff worthy of the PTO Galactic Council.
And Max had endured it as long as he could.
The first time Charles brought up clothing options, Max had tried to feign indifference. But when Hannah showed up the following day with garment bags full of what humans apparently deemed as “formal wear,” he realized he was under siege. Every option felt like a trap, collars too tight, pants that pinched in all the wrong places, fabrics that itched or clung like static to his tail.
And worst of all?
That horrible, knotted strip of fabric they called a tie.
Who designed that? Some ancient warrior with a neck kink and a death wish?
Max had yanked it loose the second they tried it on him, growling under his breath. “Why would anyone tie something around their throat willingly? That’s just inviting someone to strangle you.”
But Charles . . . stars, Charles had smiled at him with those big green eyes, the kind of look that could melt mountains. Max had folded instantly. Like paper. Like wet paper.
He tried on suit after suit—black, navy, charcoal—standing stiff and awkward as Charles and Hannah offered opinions and suggestions, barely able to move without something pinching or tugging at him in ways he didn’t like. And all the while, Charles kept giving him those looks . Encouraging. Endearing. Endlessly patient.
Max had lasted through five outfits.
After the sixth, he finally snapped, green doe eyes be damned.
“I will wear what I want,” he said, arms crossed firmly over his chest like a soldier issuing final orders. “None of this restrictive nonsense.”
Charles sighed, not annoyed but exasperated, setting down the fabric swatches in his lap.
“Max. You can’t wear training clothes to a wedding,” he said gently, like he was explaining to a stubborn child. “Especially not if you’re the groom.”
They'd given up for the night, but Max had gone to work. Quietly. Secretly.
He wanted to wear something that felt like him . Something that honored both Earth and Toro, their union and their journey. Something that wouldn’t make him want to crawl out of his own skin.
So he'd gotten an idea and today, with Charles none the wiser and probably absorbed in centerpiece debates with Hannah, Max would make it happen.
He stepped out of the training chamber, brushing dust from his hands, and headed toward the main house.
“Miss Sarah,” Max said, as he stepped through the arched doorway into the spacious seating room, the late afternoon light filtered through the sheer curtains. “I would like a word—”
His sentence faltered, unraveling the moment she swiveled in her chair.
The older woman sat nestled on one of the overstuffed cushions, gentle as a priestess before an altar, cradling his son in her arms. The pup was curled against her chest, face tucked into the soft wool of her cardigan, his tiny tail loosely wrapped around her wrist. He was fast asleep, mouth slightly open, a little snore escaping his nose.
Entire body softening, Max's posture, expression, even his tail gave a slight flick as he took in the sight.
“Oh, Max dear,” Sarah whispered with a smile, not moving too much or disturbing the slumbering bundle in her arms. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Max nodded silently, stepping closer. No matter how many times he’d held his son—rocked him through teething fits, sung to him in Torossian when no one else was listening, or traced his tiny fingers while telling bedtime stories— this still brought him to his knees. The miracle of him.
A full-blooded Torossian pup.
His heir.
A boy born from love and survival, bearing the name of the elder who saved Max’s life more than once. Alonso’s legacy.
Their legacy.
Sarah glanced down fondly at the boy nestled against her. “He fussed a little during his nap, but I just got him back to sleep. Little guy had a nightmare.”
Max sank into the seat beside her, careful not to jostle the chair. He leaned in slightly, gaze fixed on the rhythmic rise and fall of his son’s chest.
“Is Charles here?” he asked softly.
“I think they took a quick trip into town,” Sarah replied. “Something about meeting with the cake vendor again? I’m sure they’ll be back any minute.”
That tugged at Max’s attention. Charles never left their son for more than a few minutes—especially not now, with the wedding so close. It wasn’t worrying exactly, but curious. Still, he supposed Charles deserved a moment of normalcy. Of cake samples and air that didn’t smell like baby wipes and full stretchy wraps called diapers.
Charles was, after all, a phenomenal mother.
Max watched his son’s tiny hands twitch in his sleep, and a warm ache filled his chest.
He hadn’t thought he could love anyone the way he loved Charles—but seeing that same love echoed back through the child they’d created together?
It defied everything Max thought he knew about himself.
He leaned forward slightly, brushing one knuckle gently across his son’s chubby cheek, his voice a whisper of awe. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop being amazed by him.”
“He’s just the sweetest thing,” Sarah cooed, eyes never leaving the small form nestled against her chest. She adjusted her arms slightly as the pup gave a soft sigh in his sleep, little tail giving a lazy flick against her wrist. “The tail takes some getting used to, but I’m getting the hang of it. It does make diaper changes more complicated, though.”
Max smiled and brushed the pad of his thumb across the soft curve of his son’s cheek. The skin was warm, impossibly delicate.
“He looks just like you when he's sleeping,” Sarah said fondly, casting a glance up at him. “Except with Charles’ nose, thank goodness.”
Chuckling under his breath, Max pulled his hand back, folding it in his lap as he tried to remember why he’d come in the first place. The tranquility of the moment almost made him forget.
“I'm sure Charles will be back soon. If you’re hungry, there’s food still in the fridge,” Sarah offered, still gently rocking. “Dinner won’t be for another couple hours."
“I actually came to talk to you,” Max said, clearing his throat.
That got her attention, rocking slowed just a bit as Max shifted in his seat, fingers twisting together in his lap.
“Hannah mentioned,” he started carefully, “that you used to work with Earth clothing.”
Sarah’s expression brightened instantly. “Oh yes,” she said. “I was a seamstress for many years before I retired. Mostly formalwear and custom pieces for all the fancy events held in the city. Now it’s just one of my hobbies—I still keep a small studio here in the house for old loyal clients.”
Max nodded, then looked down at his hands, tail twitching slightly behind him. “Could you . . . help me with creating my attire for the wedding?”
“Oh my,” she said gently. “It's only a week away now. That isn't much time to have something done, but go on and tell me—what are you envisioning?”
He hesitated, his throat a little dry. He was never very good at describing things in his head and the prince had spent days scrolling through Earth’s chaotic digital labyrinth, typing in keywords, trying to find something—a garment, a silhouette, a texture—that felt like what he had in mind. That felt like Toro.
And he’d failed.
Miserably.
Nothing on Earth came close to what he saw in his mind or remembered from his father's ceremonial regalia.
“I already have a suit that Charles picked out, but if it’s feasible, I’d like something more Torossian, like the clothing I remember my father wearing when I was a child,” he said slowly, “I will wear the suit if you can't do this in time, but I at least wanted to see if it was possible to have something that shows who I am and what this union represents for us.”
He paused. “Something that will look right next to Charles in whatever he has chosen.”
Charles and Hannah had already decided everything else for goddess sake. Max at least wanted this.
Staying up late the last few nights, Max had worked on a few sketches. He was far from an artist by any means, but he hoped he could get his vision across. The first was for his breeches and vest, the best memory Max had of what his father wore.
His design was a fitted black bodysuit, the material imagined as something flexible yet resilient. Bands of gleaming gold encircled his thighs and wrists—markings of nobility, but also functionally placed for combat readiness. Twin shoulder plates, regal and angular, sat atop the frame and over his chest, a tightly fitted white vest, broken by panels of gold filigree. On the right side, over his heart, was the crest of the House of Toro.
It was dramatic, bold—Torossian .
Sarah took the drawing in her free hand and stared for a long, thoughtful moment, nodding to herself.
“Do you have any more details about the back?”
Unfolding a second sketch, he chewed on the inside of his cheek and passed it over to her, his heart thudding once sharply in his chest.
The finishing touch? A long, flowing red mantle. It swept down from the shoulders like a banner of blood and fire, a symbol of his lineage. His father always wore one just like it.
Sarah’s eyebrows lifted subtly as she took it in. “This is . . . breathtaking,” she said genuinely after a moment. Pointing to the shoulder, “What attaches this piece here?”
“This,” Max replied, voice caught slightly in his throat. He reached into the pocket at his side, retrieving the small object.
The seal clasp.
Alonso’s final gift.
He held it like it was sacred, and in a way, it was. Delicately, he passed it to her, watching as her fingers carefully traced the edges. The Torossian insignia was stamped in gold, its ridged, ancient lines catching against her skin.
“This was your father’s?” she asked softly.
“No . . . It was mine. From my old uniform in the palace. My mentor saved it and gave it to Charles before he died.”
His gaze dropped to the sleeping pup nearby. “I want it to have purpose again.”
“Then let’s give it the future it deserves.”
They talked over the designs for what felt like hours. Sarah had taken a few notes and made small adjustments to the drawings with her free hand, even offered to reach out to a few of her old connections to get materials that could replicate the armor-like sheen Max described.
But as dinner time crept closer, Max’s focus began to slip.
Charles still wasn’t back.
He’d glanced at the clock more than once, tail twitching low and slow behind his chair. Reaching out through the bond, Max extended his senses, trying to pinpoint the familiar flicker of Charles’ energy—so warm and unique, like sunlight reflecting off water.
Nothing.
His brows furrowed.
Strange.
He’d been practicing this every day for years now—learning to recognize Charles’ ki even through noise and distance after he'd lost it for those horrible weeks years ago. They hadn’t been that far apart lately, true, but he could still usually catch a whisper of Charles no matter where he was on the planet.
Maybe the trip just took them farther than he expected or maybe there was interference from surrounding structures. Still, a sliver of unease edged into his thoughts.
“Here,” Sarah said softly, lifting Lonso off her chest with care. “I’ll go check on dinner. You should enjoy some daddy time.”
Max nodded distractedly, rising to his feet and carefully taking the bundle into his arms. The moment his son settled against him, cheek smooshed against his shirt, little hand twitching at the new contact, all his worry softened at the edges.
He sat back down and tucked the blanket securely around them both, pressing a kiss to the soft, downy hair atop Lonso’s head and started to hum.
It was an old Torossian folk song—one of the lullabies he barely remembered the words to but never forgot the melody of. It vibrated low in his chest, the rhythm slow and steady, wrapping the room in a protective hush. His purring underscored the tune, the resonance soothing not just for the pup, but for himself.
Max had just started the second round of the chorus when it hit him like a flare across his senses.
Charles.
His energy erupted in his mind, familiar and bright, like the Eldri had simply stepped back into existence.
Max’s eyes snapped open.
Warmth flooded through him, a soothing, radiant pulse, and he felt the unmistakable connection settle like a hand on his shoulder.
He was close. Just a few rooms away.
Why hadn’t he sensed him earlier?
Max tilted his head slightly, listening for footsteps as they came closer and entered the sitting room.
“Max,” Charles said, sounding surprised as he stepped through the doorway. His expression brightened quickly, but not quite fast enough to mask the flicker of guilt that flashed in his eyes. “You finished training early? H—Here, let me take him for you.”
The Eldri crossed the room with hurried steps, already reaching for Lonso where he lay nestled against Max’s chest, but Max shifted slightly, his arms tightening in a protective cradle.
“He's fine, Charles,” Max said gently, eyes locked onto his mate. “How was your discussion about the cake?”
Charles blinked. “The cake?”
His brows lifted a little too high and Max watched him carefully.
“Miss Sarah said you and Hannah went to speak to the cake maker—”
“Oh!” Charles interjected, his smile blooming quickly—but not naturally. “Yeah, it was good. You said you wanted just vanilla, right? Something simple?”
Max didn’t answer.
Instead, he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.
Charles was a terrible liar. Always had been.
His posture was too straight, shoulders squared like he was trying not to show how tired he was. His hair, usually tucked neatly behind his ears, was slightly mussed. A fine sheen of sweat glistened across his brow, and there was the smallest tremble in his fingers as he brushed them against his pant leg.
Max’s tail flicked once, low and slow.
“Are you alright?” he asked, reaching out with his free hand to gently take Charles’ wrist, lightly scenting the air.
He felt the warmth there. The quick thump of a racing pulse.
“You look . . . unwell.”
Torossians didn't get sick. An insidious thought crept up Max's spine.
Could it be that Charles . . . was he carrying again? So soon?
Scenting the air again, Max couldn’t catch a hint of change in Charles’ scent beyond the honeyed sweetness of their pup in his arms.
Charles glanced down, and Max watched the hesitation in his mate’s eyes, the war of conflicting thoughts. He didn’t care if Charles was hiding something like that from his friends, perhaps waiting for the right moment to tell them. He cared if Charles was hiding something from him. A seed of doubt planted itself in Max’s chest as his thumb swept over the delicate bones of Charles’ wrist.
“I’m fine,” Charles said too quickly, before biting his lower lip. “I just—did too much running around, that’s all. The city was hot and my feet kinda hurt.”
Max didn’t believe him. Not for a fucking second.
The prince shifted Lonso higher on his chest and cradled Charles’ wrist a little tighter. “I think dinner is almost ready. It smells delicious. Are you hungry?”
“Y–Yeah okay. No– I'm not very hungry, but, um, let me get changed and I'll be right back,” Charles said and hurriedly scurried out of the room.
Not hungry?
Torossians were always hungry. Charles was still also the main source of nutrition for their pup, which made him extra hungry, a fact about nursing Max had learned when Charles nearly ate twice as much as him at a meal.
“Our Eldri will grow round again soon,” his Oozaru purred, tail flitting excitedly at the thought.
Max pinched his lips.
Resuming his rocking, Max chewed on the inside of his cheek, worry blooming for his mate.
_____
“Fuck,” Charles hissed under his breath, smacking his back lightly against Hannah’s office door with a muffled thud . His pulse was racing, a cold sheen of sweat still clinging to his neck. “Max finished training early and is in the family room.”
“Great,” Hannah muttered, arms crossed and eyes rolling skyward. “So what do we do with the big guy now, since you apparently thought of everything else, genius?”
Charles flinched slightly at her tone but didn’t blame her.
Nothing on the lookout had gone according to plan.
“If you would’ve just told me what you were going to wish for, we could’ve figured this out together!”
“It was a surprise!”
“For Max, not for me,” Hannah hissed.
They were flying by the seat of their pants now, thanks to Max’s unexpected schedule change.
Together, he and Hannah turned slowly toward the corner of the room where a mountain of muscle stood like a stone pillar, arms folded across his chest, expression unreadable but undeniably smug.
“Yes, Charles,” Alonso said, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “What is the plan?”
Charles swallowed, his mind racing through contingencies. Stall him? Hide Alonso in a closet? Say he’s a distant cousin of Hannah's that bore a striking resemblance to Max's long lost mentor?
Jesus. How had they gotten here?
Oh right. Because he'd made a wish to bring back a dead war hero as a wedding present.
Brilliant.
Getting Alonso back to the compound from the Lookout had been—intense.
The elder Torossian hadn’t materialized with no resistance like Max had when Charles made his wish years ago.
No. Alonso had crashed onto the white tiles of the Lookout like a comet, already moving before the light had fully faded from his form. The moment his PTO boots hit the ground, he was crouched in a defensive stance, muscles coiled, eyes burning with instinct and confusion.
Seb barely had time to react before Alonso’s ki flared dangerously high, sending crackling pulses through the air.
Charles hadn’t even blinked before the Guardian snapped a containment field into place—just in time to stop what looked to be a full-powered energy blast aimed directly at Hannah, who’d only stepped forward to offer a hand.
Snarling, guttural and panicked, it took nearly a full minute before they could convince Alonso he wasn’t in enemy territory and that he hadn’t been captured.
It was so much harder to convince a dead person that they had been resurrected than Charles had originally thought.
Finally, the elder calmed when Charles stepped through the energy barrier, gently placing a hand on his arm and whispering a name.
“Max.”
Recognition had washed over Alonso’s features. Pain. Then awe. Then . . . sadness.
Now, standing in the corner of Hannah’s office, still in his full PTO uniform he must've died in, Alonso looked like a predator on pause, arms crossed and tail twitching with quiet impatience.
“Should I just throw a blanket over him and tell Max you're redecorating?” Charles muttered under his breath, half-joking, half-praying for a miracle.
“You do seem to have a flair for dramatic entrances,” Alonso chuckled dryly. “This one might be your best.”
Charles took a deep breath as he gestured quickly at Alonso. “Okay, okay—this is fine. You’re wearing the ki-blocking band, so Max won’t be able to sense you. You can just . . . stay here until the wedding.”
Heavy brows furrowing, the elder glanced down at the sleek metallic band clasped around his bicep. “You are certain it works?”
“If it didn't, I'm sure Max would've broken the door down already and Hannah calibrated it herself. Max won’t have a clue,” Charles said hurriedly, then turned toward Hannah, hopeful.
Her hands were already on her hips.
“Are you out of your mind! ?” she asked, voice pitching upward. “You want me to babysit a massive alien you just wished back from the dead—for a week?”
“Please?” Charles put his hands together. “I’ll owe you so big. I’ll clean the lab, I’ll help your mother garden every Saturday—just name it.”
“I am naming it,” Hannah said flatly. “And it’s ‘don’t bring dead people back to life without warning me first.’”
Alonso tilted his head. “Why can I not just see my prince now? If we really are on your home planet and free of Jos’ tyranny,” his voice was genuinely confused. “Then I must see him. He is my charge. My sovereign . . . And what in the goddess is a wedding?”
“What is even happening right now,” Hannah deadpanned.
Charles winced, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know, there is a lot to explain but this has to be a surprise. If Max sees you now, it’ll ruin everything I’ve planned.”
“My prince hates surprises.”
“Too bad. He's getting this one,” Charles countered. “And I’ve spent months planning this for him and our son. So I’m begging you—please go along with me on this.”
“Son—” Alonso breathed, arms falling down to his sides. “An heir? You’ve born a p–pup?”
This was so much more complicated that he'd imagined.
He turned back to Hannah, clasping her shoulders with both hands. “Can you keep him here and answer what you can until I come back and explain the rest? Max is waiting on me for dinner.”
“I'm calling the cake vendor,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “And changing to the seven tiered one with the pillars. And no more wishes without telling me first.”
“Deal,” Charles said instantly, already halfway to the door.
He didn’t dare linger. If Max got suspicious and came looking for him, this whole surprise would be toast. And the look on Max’s face—when he finally saw Alonso again—had to be perfect.
As he darted out into the hallway, Charles called over his shoulder, “Just . . . keep the destruction to a minimum!”
“Define minimum!” Hannah shouted back.
The next day, Charles made his way quickly down the corridor toward Hannah’s lab, his son balanced snugly on his hip. Lonso sucked lazily on his pacifier, eyelids half-lidded, his tiny tail curled around Charles’ forearm as they moved.
Max was back in the training center for the afternoon, which left Charles just enough time to check in before his fiancé started wondering where he'd disappeared to.
His phone had been going off non-stop since sunrise:
Hannah
This is the WORST idea you’ve ever had!
I swear I’m gonna kill you when you get here.
If I survive the week with this man, I’m sending you my therapy bills!
Charles winced as he scrolled through the litany of complaints on his phone, whispering down at his son. “Sounds like Aunt Hannah’s not having fun with Uncle Alonso, huh?”
Lonso, of course, offered no commentary—just a soft suck on his pacifier and a little hum that might have been approval . . . or gas.
Still, Charles frowned. Really, how much trouble could Alonso have caused? It had barely been a day since they’d brought him back and the elder Torossian had been stoic during the initial chaos, quiet, even, after Seb calmed him on the Lookout.
Surely he wasn’t that difficult to deal with.
As Charles rounded the corner leading to Hannah’s lab, a loud crash echoed down the hallway, making him pick up his pace.
Another sharp bang followed.
Charles all but jogged the last few steps and shoved the door open—just in time to see Hannah hurling a metal tumbler of water at Alonso.
“Fuck, woman!” Alonso barked, batting the projectile aside with one hand, water splattering across the floor. His voice thundered through the lab, every bit as commanding and powerful as Max’s, though with a rougher, gravelly edge that carried the weight of decades of battles. “Calm down!”
Hannah spun on her heel, hair askew and eyes blazing. “Charles, thank God, ” she yelled, throwing her hands in the air as soon as she saw him. “Your surprise? Off. Completely canceled. I am not—not—spending a week trapped with this brute who does nothing but insult my lab protocols, knock over my equipment, and eat everything in sight!”
Blinking, Charles shifted Lonso higher on his hip before a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Eat everything?” he echoed carefully, glancing toward Alonso.
The elder Torossian stood near a counter, arms crossed, tail twitching lazily behind him. His expression was somewhere between annoyance and amusement, though his jaw worked, chewing on something. A lot of something, judging by the now-empty snack containers littering the table beside him.
“Your friend,” Alonso said, gesturing toward Hannah with a broad, scarred hand, “has no concept of hospitality. On Toro, guests were fed. Not starved.”
“You fed on my research specimens, you overgrown—” Hannah snapped, cutting herself off with a frustrated growl.
Charles sighed, rubbing his temple with his free hand. Lonso, sensing the tension, pulled his pacifier free long enough to babble nonsense sounds, drawing a fleeting smile from his parent.
It had only been 24 hours.
And already, the chaos was . . . exactly what he should’ve expected.
“Max is back in the training arena for the next hour. Can Miss Sarah whip something up really quick and bring it down? I just stopped by to check in.”
“Something with more meat on its bones would be preferable,” Alonso drawled, leaning against the counter. He casually plucked a small fragment of bone from between his teeth, flicking it into a nearby waste bin. The gesture made it painfully clear she hadn’t been exaggerating about her “specimens.”
“They weren’t food, ” Hannah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was trying to physically push her frustration back into her skull. “Fine. I’ll see what I can bring back. But it’s your turn to babysit.”
She turned sharply and stormed toward the exit. Just before pushing through the door, she pivoted on her heel long enough to shoot Charles a scathing glare that promised a future argument about resurrected aliens. Then she was gone, the lab door hissing shut behind her.
Alonso snorted, the sound like a low rumble in his chest. “You had to come from a planet with such an infuriating female species,” he muttered, but his voice trailed off, the last word barely leaving his mouth as his gaze drifted downward.
His eyes landed on the small, squirming bundle nestled against Charles’ side and the elder Torossian froze.
“Is that . . . ?” His voice softened in a way Charles had never heard before, like gravel smoothed by water.
Charles’ lips curved into a quiet smile as he adjusted Lonso, pressing a light kiss to his son’s temple before stepping closer to Alonso. The pup stirred at the motion but didn’t make a sound, one tiny hand gripping the edge of Charles’ shirt with surprising strength.
“I wanted you to meet him properly,” Charles said, his tone warm.
Alonso’s eyes, sharp and battle-hardened, softened at the sight. For a long beat, he said nothing, simply watching the boy breathe until he hiccupped. The harsh lab lights caught on the glossy sheen of Lonso’s tail where it curled lazily against Charles’ wrist.
“He carries my prince's line,” Alonso murmured, finally, gaze shifting briefly to Charles, then back to the boy. “But . . . I see his mother in his eyes already.”
“He’s got Max’s stubbornness, too. You can already tell when he doesn’t like something. That face? The same one Max makes when someone tries to put him in clothing ‘unsuitable for battle.’” Charles chuckled, fluffing the tufts of blond hair on Lonso’s crown. “Fifteen earth months plus labor, and he comes out looking just like Max. There’s no justice in the universe.”
That earned Alonso’s first true smile since his return—subtle, fleeting, but genuine. He extended a hand, the size of it nearly dwarfing Lonso’s whole body, and gently brushed a knuckle against the pup’s tiny fist. The boy responded, gripping the elder Torossian’s finger.
“He will be a strong one,” Alonso said quietly. “Stronger than his father, perhaps. Stronger than both of you.”
Charles’ smile softened, his free hand resting protectively against his son’s back. “Let’s hope he gets Max’s fighting instincts and my patience. Otherwise, Hannah might actually follow through on her threats for us all.”
Coming out a low, rolling chuckle, the elder’s voice reverberated off the sterile walls of the lab like distant thunder and his gaze softened as it fell once more to the tiny bundle nestled against Charles’ chest.
“May I?” the elder asked, as he extended his massive hands.
Charles hesitated only a moment—protective instinct warring with trust—before he carefully shifted Lonso into Alonso’s waiting arms. The size contrast was staggering; the pup, with his soft blond hair and little fists, seemed impossibly small cradled against the old warrior’s scarred palms.
“What is your name?” Alonso asked the pup, his voice a quiet rumble, soothing pup purr rumbling from him. “Surely this is little Prince Max the Second. Or perhaps . . . Christian, for his grandfather? Or Jules?”
Charles chewed the inside of his cheek. He’d been anticipating this question, but even so, his throat tightened as he answered.
“We named him Alonso,” he said softly. “Or Lonso, for short.”
The elder Torossian froze, his deep brown eyes snapping up to meet Charles’. For a heartbeat, his expression was unguarded—raw shock flickering across the weathered planes of his face.
He schooled it quickly, swallowing thickly as he looked back down at the pup.
Lonso’s tiny tail had looped around Alonso’s thick wrist, perhaps sensing something familiar in the man’s aura. Alonso adjusted his hold carefully, tucking the boy close to his chest with surprising gentleness for someone whose hands had likely done far more harm than good in his life.
“A strong name,” he murmured, voice wet around the edges. “He will be flying in no time.”
Charles’ stomach dropped a little at that. Flying? Oh God, he hadn’t even thought about that.
“When can pups actually learn to fly?” he asked cautiously.
“Long before they can walk,” Alonso said with a small, nostalgic smile. He adjusted his stance, then, with the ease of someone handling his hundredth infant, he tossed Lonso upward into the air.
“Wait—wait—!”
Charles lunged forward on pure instinct, heart hammering as his hands twitched to grab his son mid-air.
“Relax,” Alonso said, utterly unfazed. “See?”
He caught the pup effortlessly, a massive hand cushioning the boy’s head and back like he’d done this exact thing a thousand times.
Before Charles could say anything, Alonso tossed Lonso again—slightly higher this time. Charles’ breath caught in his throat as his son hung in the air for what felt like a full second, tiny limbs outstretched before Alonso plucked him safely from gravity’s pull.
“He will have to learn how to use his tail for balance,” Alonso explained, almost amused, as if Charles’ panic were the most unnecessary thing in the world.
“Okay, yes,” Charles said quickly, as he extended his hands to take his son back. “No more throwing for now, thanks. My heart can only handle so much.”
Alonso’s smile was warm as he surrendered Lonso back into Charles’ arms. “Torossian instincts will guide him. And you. You’ll see.”
Charles exhaled shakily, clutching his pup a little closer, his own heart finally starting to steady.
“Here comes the woman now,” Alonso said, scenting the air. “I smell meat. Let us dine and you can tell me more of this surprise ceremony for the prince.”
“I actually wanted to discuss that with you,” Charles answered, following him. “I have some questions about mating ceremonies from Toro. Is there anything you can tell me?”
“The great hunt!” Alonso bellowed, putting his hands on his hips and puffing his chest out. “There is much I can tell you about it.”
Notes:
ALONSO 😭😭😭
Up next: Epilogue part 2
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Chapter 64: My King
Summary:
Today was the day.
Today, he would stand beside Charles in their Earth mating ceremony. After months of planning, decisions, tastings, fittings, and the endless logistics of having a gathering like this on Earth—it was all here now. The final step.
He told himself he was ready.
He tried to believe it.
But last night . . . he’d returned alone to the empty cottage, pacing back and forth under the stars while the forest’s nocturnal hum wrapped around him. Crickets, whispering trees, distant hoots of owls—it all had whispered at him that he was different now. That the ritual tomorrow held weight beyond just a tradition and he felt it in every nerve, coiled just beneath his chest.
Goddess he was so nervous.
Notes:
Final piece of the story! Thank you all so much for reading and I can't wait to be back with my next work❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Shoes touching down softly on the narrow ledge of the Capsule Corp guest room balcony, Max stilled as the lightest tap echoed against the metal rail. The ledge swayed under his weight for a fraction of a second before he steadied himself with the night wind.
He stepped down onto the balcony proper, eyes scanning the dark room beyond the sliding glass door.
It was late.
The air smelled of smoke from the lanterns still burning and somewhere far off, laughter echoed—a leftover remnant of the day’s endless festivities.
Tomorrow, they were to be mated.
Or as Earth called it, “married.” Their mating ceremony, their binding. He’d heard several similar phrases repeated over and over by planners and decorators and well-meaning humans who didn’t seem to understand that in his heart, Charles had been his mate for years.
None of them had any idea how deeply Max and Charles felt for each other.
Yet . . . here he was, sneaking across a dark balcony because this planet had rules.
Strange rules.
Earth tradition dictated that the couple was not to see each other for a full twenty-four hours before the ceremony. “Bad luck,” Lando had told him with a grin, pressing another glass of some burning amber liquid into his hand. Each half of the couple was meant to have a final night of “freedom,” celebrating their so-called last evening as a single person with friends.
Max found the notion ridiculous.
He’d humored them of course, endured the “bro-time” festivities as Lando called it, even as he sat stiffly in the loud, smoky rooms full of human vices. Beverages were poured freely, acrid smoke from burning plants curled through the air, and tiny tabs of chemical concoctions were slipped beneath tongues like sacred offerings while naked bodies moved on stages to obnoxious pounding music.
None of them looked even remotely enticing, or smelled half as good as his Charles.
They all had a similar almost amber like smell. Strong and overpowering any natural smells in the room.
Much to his Oozaru’s displeasure, one of them, a female, had even come over to him directly, splaying her body across his lap, cinnamon scent an assault on his sensitive nose while she rubbed in all manner of ways against him.
Max had to keep a hand on his tail to stop it from throwing her clean off.
It was odd, though Lando and Charles’ old mentor, Master Vasseur seemed to enjoy the display of debauchery with enthusiastic glee. It wasn’t any kind of dancing Max was familiar with and his Oozaru bristled the entire time, craving the softer smell of their mate and milky, honey-scented pup.
Once the dancer had moved on to Lewis—who looked just as enthusiastic as he did only a few minutes before—the prince had sat back, sipping his beverage slowly and had even tried some of the little burning sticks when Lewis passed one to him. It reminded him of the time he spent on Borinna, lost for days in a haze of smoke and laughter before purging it.
These types of places were not unique to Earth—he’d seen a dozen variations of the same on just as many planets. And as a reckless, wandering teenager in the PTO, he’d indulged in more than a few of them. The memories were as hazy as the substances themselves, fragments of a life spent running away.
The prince actually didn’t mind the second inhalant he’d tried from a long bubbling tube, an interesting flavor bursting over his tongue and a pleasant tingling sensation dancing over his limbs. Maybe he would have to indulge in that one more often or try with Charles.
But wasting away his nights was another life ago.
Now, the smell of spiced liquor, burnt leaves, and overly fragrant skin clung to his senses like a film, and he longed for something entirely different. Not distraction or chaos.
Just home.
He would’ve rather been with Charles all evening, tucked into the quiet comfort of their bedroom, their pup asleep between them, his mate’s soft breath lulling him into calm. Not out there, navigating a human superstition that said he couldn’t so much as see the man who had long since been his other half.
Max exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the cooler night air as he reached for the balcony door.
Rules or not, he wasn’t spending his last night before their ceremony apart from Charles and his pup.
Not when every instinct in him demanded otherwise.
They were vulnerable without him close by, and his Oozaru wouldn't be silenced.
Sheer fabric drifted inward as the door slid open with a muted hiss, Max slipping silently inside. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cut through the dark just enough for him to see.
The room was empty.
Charles and Lonso were staying here for the night, tucked into the comfort of the suite, while Max had been banished—politely, but firmly—to the rebuilt cabin in Eze.
The humans had insisted.
Tradition, they’d barked, as though that word could placate instincts that didn’t recognize their customs.
Looking around, Max’s ears caught the sound of running water almost immediately. The steady stream filled the otherwise quiet room, echoing off the tiled bathroom walls and his senses reached out, brushing over Charles’ familiar ki—warm, steady, glowing like an ember.
On the other side of the room, the softer rhythm of Lonso’s breathing tugged at Max’s attention, his ki even and steady with sleep. Their son slept soundly in the crib Hannah had insisted on dragging into the suite, his tiny tail looped protectively around his favorite blanket.
Pausing, Max crouched, his large hand dwarfing his son’s face as he brushed a gentle finger across Lonso’s chubby cheek. The pup shifted slightly but didn’t stir, only letting out a soft, contented sigh.
The calmness he'd missed all evening settled over his chest instantly, pulling his lips into a smile.
Then his gaze flicked toward the bathroom door and he couldn’t have walked away if he tried. He rested his palm briefly against the cool wood before pushing it open without a sound. Steam rolled out to greet him, carrying the scent of Charles’ soap and the prince's eyes immediately found him.
Charles stood with his back turned, head bowed slightly, fingers buried in his wet hair as suds slid in rivulets down the tanned lines of his spine. The sight drew something primal and soft from Max all at once, his tail giving a slow, contented sway behind him as his chest loosened.
His Oozaru stirred with interest.
Charles’ tail swayed behind him in calm flicks, coiling a little at the end like it sensed his presence. Still not quite taming it, the Eldri’s emotions remained easy for Max to read with the pleased little flutters it was giving him.
In silence, Max undressed, stripping off his clothes and left them on the bench by the door. The air was warm and damp, clinging to the scars and planes of his body as he crossed to the sliding glass door of the shower.
He rolled it aside, the light scrape of metal against track the only warning before he stepped in.
Startled, Charles’ head snapped around, wide green eyes finding Max in the mist. Suds still crowned his hair, trailing down his face and shoulders in thin foamy strands. The Eldri pressed back against the tiled wall as Max closed the distance, the prince's broad chest filling the narrow space.
“Max,” Charles breathed, the name caught between reprimand and relief as Max’s lips brushed his. “What are you—” Charles’ words faltered as Max’s hand found his jaw, tilting his face upward. “You can’t be here. It’s . . . bad luck.”
Max’s smile turned sultry, his forehead brushing Charles’.
If only his mate’s mouth was half as honest as his tail, already coiled tight around his thigh, pulling him closer.
“Earth superstitions,” he whispered before capturing the younger man’s lips in a fierce kiss.
Charles melted into him without hesitation, his soft body molding perfectly against Max’s harder frame as one toned leg hiked up around his hip, anchoring him close. The Eldri’s damp skin was slick beneath Max’s hands, warm from the cascading water, his breath already growing shallow against Max’s mouth.
It had been too long since they’d been alone like this—truly alone. Since Lonso’s birth, every night was a cycle of tending, rocking, feeding, and falling into exhausted sleep. And in the weeks leading up to tomorrow, Charles had been buried in final arrangements, darting between Hannah, the wedding planners, and staff like any one mistake might bring the whole ceremony crumbling down.
There was also something Charles was hiding. Max hadn’t quite figured it out yet, but Charles had been behaving so strangely over the last week.
Hiding his phone when Max walked by, acting anxious if he was a little late in starting his training for the day, confirming and reconfirming when Max would be finished.
He didn’t begrudge him. Not really. He knew this was a special moment for Charles and his Earth friends and tensions were a little high.
But the distance had begun to itch beneath his skin, a subtle ache that coiled tighter every time Charles disappeared for another errand or late-night meeting. Instinct screamed to keep him close, to remind them both who they belonged to, even if Charles was so consumed by the chaos he didn’t notice the way Max’s eyes lingered longer each night.
His eyes had traced over every subtle curve in Charles' body, searching for any signs that the Eldri was with child again, but Max hadn't noticed any changes.
The ache unraveled as Max’s hand slid lower, fingers trailing along the base of Charles’ tail.
He gasped, a sharp, breathy sound swallowed by the steam as his back arched. His head tipped back with a soft thud against the tile, eyes fluttering half-shut, lashes dark and wet against his pale cheeks and his fingers dug into Max’s shoulders, gripping tight as a shiver ran through him.
“Always so . . . sensitive,” Max murmured against his ear in a deep velvety purr.
He let his lips trace down the elegant curve of Charles’ neck, teeth grazing lightly before he sealed his mouth over the pulse point, the Eldri’s slick skin tasting lightly of soap and warmth.
“Lonso is in the bedroom,” Charles breathed, words a weak protest, though his nails bit into Max’s shoulders, urging him closer instead of pushing him away, tail already exploring his length unabashedly.
“I just checked on him,” Max countered smoothly, voice nothing more than a soft rumble against Charles’ throat. “He’s still sleeping.”
It was odd that for once, Charles wasn't the one pursuing. The intimacy of Max having to chase lighting fire in his veins. His own tail dipped low, encouraging a wider stance from Charles.
They shifted together, movements fluid despite the slick tiles beneath their feet, until Charles’ lips parted for air. Max didn’t give him much space—kept him pressed firmly against the wall, their bodies molded. His mate’s fingers threaded into the short hair at the nape of his neck, tugging just enough to send a jolt through Max’s spine, his tail flicking in response. He pulled back only a fraction, just far enough to look at Charles properly, blue eyes heavy-lidded as his thumb brushed over the Eldri’s jaw.
“Are you drunk?” Charles murmured against his mouth as he smacked his lips together softly. “What is that I taste?”
A low and rough snort escaped him. “It would take a lot stronger stuff than the swill I was served tonight to impair me,” he said, brushing his thumb lazily across Charles’ jawline again. “The children on Axious drank spirits of higher quality than that . . . and with more bite.”
Emphasizing his point, Max ran his teeth across the juncture of Charles’ throat and shoulder, gently pressing down but not breaking the skin. If they were having a true Torossian matting ceremony, Max would claim Charles on that patch of skin after their hunt.
Charles let out a breathy giggle, soft and unguarded, before his lips returned to Max’s, teeth grazing his lower lip before sucking gently on it. The sound that rumbled out of Max’s chest was somewhere between a growl and a purr, his fingers tightening briefly on Charles’ hips.
“Did you have a good time? Lando didn't go too overboard did he?”
“It was tolerable. But the fun of my evening has not reached its peak yet,” Max breathed.
Pulling back just enough to guide him, Max shifted a step to the side and lowered himself onto the small tiled bench built into the shower wall. The warm water cascaded over his shoulders and down his scarred chest as he leaned back against the cool tile. Charles followed easily, like water flowing into its basin, settling into Max’s lap, his knees bracketing Max’s thighs.
Charles’ tail now flitted excitedly behind him, arching high over his back while Max caressed it gently with his fingers. It was always so expressive.
For a few long minutes, they stayed like that, lips locked, breaths mingling in the humid air. Max let his hands roam—over Charles’ back, along the elegant line of his ribs, down to the curve of his hips—memorizing the feel of him all over again.
Then Charles’ hand slid between them.
Max’s breath hitched as deft fingers wrapped around him, firm and sure, sending a sharp jolt up his spine. His head tipped back against the wall with a muted thunk, a low groan slipping past his lips as his hands tightened around Charles’ waist.
“We’ll have to be quick,” Charles whispered against his ear, as his strokes began to smooth into a steady rhythm. “Before someone finds out you’re here.”
Max’s groan deepened, his tail curling possessively around Charles’ thigh as he fought to keep his breath even. “I am within my rights,” he muttered. “To ensure my mate and pup are safe. If that requires my physical presence . . . ” His hips shifted to chase the pressure around his cock, emphasizing his point. “ . . . then so be it.”
Pulling back just far enough to meet his eyes, a small, exasperated smile tugged at the Eldri's lips. “You’re impossible,” he breathed, though his hand didn’t slow in the slightest.
“You’ve known this since the moment we met.”
Charles leaned forward, his lips crashing into Max’s with renewed heat, his breath warm and shallow against Max’s mouth. The kiss deepened for a moment, hungry and wild and all teeth, before the Eldri shifted, adjusting his position. His knees pressed against the bench on either side of Max’s thighs, his hands bracing on Max’s shoulders as he slowly positioned himself and slid down.
Sucking in a sharp breath, a deep rumble rolled from Max's chest as velvety, heated tightness enveloped him inch by inch. The sensation swallowed him whole, drawing a low groan from his throat that echoed in the steam-filled shower. Across from him, Charles exhaled shakily, a soft sound escaping him as he settled into Max’s lap, their foreheads brushing.
They just breathed—hearts thudding in sync, bodies pressed flush, heat radiating between them as the water pattered against their shoulders.
Max’s eyes slid shut, savoring the feeling.
He would never get used to this. Never. Every time Charles took him in like this, it felt like the first time, like his mate had stolen every ounce of willpower and resolve straight from his veins, leaving him stripped bare but whole, his Oozaru rumbling with bone-deep contentment.
But there were changes now. Subtle, yet undeniable.
Charles’ body had softened in ways Max hadn’t expected since Lonso’s birth—hips fuller, chest plush where it once had been leaner, muscles less defined from endless training but still firm beneath the skin. Where others might see the remnants of sleepless nights and the physical toll of parenthood, Max saw something entirely different.
Beauty.
Strength of a new kind. A form that spoke of resilience, of nurturing, of everything Charles had endured and still carried with quiet grace. His mate was still elegant and strong, but now his body bore traces of the life they'd created together, and Max wouldn't change a single thing.
He belonged to Max. To them .
Rising up on his knees, Charles shifted, only to sink down again with a quiet moan and Max saw stars. His jaw flexed, his large hands gripping his mate’s hips, guiding his movements as his lips trailed upward to latch gently onto the sensitive spot along Charles’ right pec.
Charles’ fingers twisting lightly in Max’s hair, pulling him closer. That spot had become particularly sensitive since their pup was born, and Max knew it. He relished the shiver that rippled through Charles, the involuntary arch of his back as Max’s tongue traced small, teasing circles before his teeth grazed the delicate skin.
The taste of him, warm and sweet from the soap and the water, stirred something primal in Max’s chest.
He couldn’t help but think of all the nights he’d watched Charles feed Lonso, bathed in the soft glow of the cabin light, their son curled against him, sustained by his body.
It had struck Max then, as it did now, with an overwhelming rush of awe.
That his mate could nurture life in such a way—provide for their pup with a tenderness Max had never known growing up—was almost too much to hold in his chest. It was humbling, grounding, and yet it stoked the fire of his desire, his love, all at once.
Pressing a deeper kiss to Charles’ chest, Max murmured against his skin in reverent growl, “You are perfection.”
“I’m not your wife yet,” Charles whispered against the top of his head, breath warm and shaky. He yanked Max's head back, fingers fisted in Max's wet hair while he ground down hard on his lap. “Don’t be so gentle.”
“As you wish, princess.”
Without warning, the prince shifted his weight, grip on Charles’ hips tightening as he planted his feet firmly on the slick tile. With a grunt, Max rose to his full height, lifting Charles with effortless strength.
The sudden movement stole the breath from Charles’ lungs, the Eldri letting out a startled squeal that quickly broke into a gasp as his arms wound tight around Max’s neck. The air punched out of his chest when his back met the cool tile wall, the contrast against the shower’s steaming water making his skin prickle.
Max’s hands were steady, unyielding, fingers digging just enough into the curve of Charles’ hips as he held him aloft. With his mate secure in his arms, Max pulled his hips back and drove forward, setting a punishing rhythm that made the water splash and cascade violently around them. The sound of the shower all but swallowed the slick, obscene noises where their bodies met, though Charles’ breathless cries easily cut through the white noise.
He was soaked, slick smacking against the top of Max's thighs.
“Max—” Charles choked out, voice pitched high with pleasure. “Oh god , oh fuck—”
“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know I’m here?” Max murmured, grin sharp as his pace didn’t falter. Each thrust drove another sound out of his mate’s mouth, loud and needy, the steam amplifying the heat clinging to their skin.
Charles flushed crimson, biting down on his lip to stifle his voice, but it was a losing battle. It had been too long since they’d had this, unrestrained and consuming, both of them starved for contact after weeks of being pulled in opposite directions by planning and parenthood.
Every nerve in his body betrayed him, begging for more, deeper, harder.
Max felt Charles trembling, the Eldri’s nails digging crescents into his shoulders as his own breath hitched. They were both teetering on the edge, a shared tension coiling tight between them.
Adjusting his stance with a shift against the wet tile, Max slid a hand lower to brace Charles a bit higher, angling his hips for deeper strokes. His tail uncoiled and moved on its own, winding snugly around Charles’ flushed, pulsing length leaking between their slick bodies.
Charles’ strangled gasp was nearly a sob, his entire frame shuddering the only warning Max had. He clamped his free hand over his mate’s mouth just in time as Charles’ release hit him, his muffled cry spilling hot against Max’s wet palm as his green eyes fluttered, rolling back with the intensity of it.
Max grunted, hips driving hard through the aftershocks as he chased his own edge, his Oozaru rumbling deep in his chest at the feel of his mate unraveling against him, just as he always had and always would.
He only lasted a few moments longer, hips snapping through a final series of deep, measured thrusts before the tension in his spine coiled tight, cresting and breaking like a wave. With a low, guttural growl, Max pulled back, slipping free of Charles’ trembling body before his release spilled hot and heavy against the tile wall beneath them, splattering and mixing with the rivulets of shower water running down the slick surface.
Charles’ head thudded lightly back against the wall, breath uneven, shaky pulls as his own aftershocks still rippled through him.
The Eldri whined, deep in his chest, but Max just steadied him with a palm against his lower back, keeping him supported, though his own knees nearly buckled with the intensity of his release.
They hadn’t spoken much about the possibility of another pup, but Max knew better than to leave something so important to chance.
Not yet—not until Charles told him outright he was ready for that kind of step again.
Watching his mate deliver their pup, almost breaking his hand several times in the process, had been an ordeal Max wasn’t prepared for, and he'd never been so terrified outside of a battlefield in his life.
He’d learned from the chaos of their past, from the reckless abandon they’d indulged in years ago, when consequences had been the last thing on his mind.
This time, he would be better. Careful. He wouldn’t burden Charles with another pregnancy until his mate chose it freely. If he was even ever ready for one again. Max could live the rest of his days happily with just his mate and their pup.
It was why, much to his own misery, Max had endured an excruciatingly awkward conversation with Hannah about Earth’s options for contraception—a discussion he’d approached with all the enthusiasm of walking into battle without armor. Predictably, it had gone just as poorly as he expected, Hannah’s dry sarcasm making every moment feel twice as long.
And after testing one of those strange, stretchy sheets humans insisted on using, Max had concluded that nothing could feel more unnatural. The way it dulled every sensation, reduced something sacred to something clinical, made his skin crawl.
Barbaric. Crude.
Charles had also expressed his displeasure with using them, saying they pulled in all the wrong places inside him.
So, this had become their compromise. A method that kept them both safe, or as safe as they could be, without stripping away the closeness he craved.
A soft, familiar sensation ghosted over him then, and Max’s eyes fluttered shut, a low hiss slipping past his lips. Charles’ tail had coiled loosely around him, milking the final pulses of his release with a slow, steady pressure. Not just pleasure but acknowledgment.
A wordless exchange of shared intent.
Not yet, but someday. Together.
Max shuddered through the lingering waves, his forehead dropping against Charles’ damp shoulder as he rode out the last of his climax, the heat of his mate’s skin grounding him as the storm inside him quieted.
When the last tremor faded and Charles’ auburn tail left him, he exhaled slowly, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Charles’ neck in silent gratitude and set him back on his feet.
“Are you staying?” Charles asked, pressing a chaste kiss to Max's lips.
“I will return to the cabin to honor the Earth tradition,” Max smiled. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
Now he could be banished to his lonely night in their cabin with all of the promises that sunrise held.
The sun rose triumphantly over the forest canopy the next morning, golden fingers weaving through the open window of what Max once called a cabin. Now, after Hannah and her crew had rebuilt it into a spacious, modern cottage, the space felt more like a place designed for the family they were building. Extra rooms for pups, a kitchen robust enough for Torossian appetites, reinforced structural beams under the floorboards of their bedroom, comfortable privacy was layered into every corner.
Max rolled onto his back, flinging one arm across his eyes to shield them from the brilliant morning light. It felt almost rebellious—one last moment of resistance before the world demanded his full attention.
Today was the day.
Today, he would stand beside Charles in their Earth mating ceremony. After months of planning, decisions, tastings, fittings, and the endless logistics of having a gathering like this on Earth—it was all here now. The final step.
He told himself he was ready.
He tried to believe it.
But last night . . . he’d returned alone to the empty cottage, pacing back and forth under the stars while the forest’s nocturnal hum wrapped around him. Crickets, whispering trees, distant hoots of owls—it all had whispered at him that he was different now. That the ritual tomorrow held weight beyond just a tradition and he felt it in every nerve, coiled just beneath his chest.
Goddess he was so nervous.
He had Charles and their pup and defeated the tyrant of the universe, but none of that stopped him from practicing placing a ring on Charles' finger over and over again, determined not to fuck it up.
What if he fucked it up?
He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of pine, damp earth, and the first bloom of morning settle into his senses. Today was more than just a ceremony—it was affirmation. Of their love. Their family.
And he'd better not spend it in bed.
Max pushed the blanket down and sat up, letting his feet touch the wooden floor. He flexed his toes, feeling the solid beams beneath him, wings of doubt falling away.
He dressed slowly, methodically—dark trousers that Earthlings called jeans, tailored just so, followed by a crisp white shirt. He paused for a moment, adjusting his hair in the mirror.
He stood, shoulders squared, aura humming quietly in harmony with his resolve.
The ceremony wasn't until after nightfall, set to unfold beneath the glow of the full moon—an intentional choice Max had insisted on preserving from Torossian tradition. That celestial alignment wasn’t just superstition; it was spiritual, binding, powerful. The light of the moon had once shone on the mating rituals of his ancestors, and it would shine on him and Charles tonight.
Ever since he'd seen the goddess with his own two eyes, Max's faith had been strengthened and the few Torossian traditions they'd decided to incorporate felt that much more special.
That—and his ceremonial attire—were his only non-negotiables.
His surprise uniform had been painstakingly kept under wraps, something he’d coordinated in secret with Miss Sarah during stolen moments. He hadn’t seen the finished version yet, but he trusted her completely and he could barely contain his excitement, eager to step into the full regalia of House Toro once again—this time, with pride and purpose, not as a relic of a fallen prince, but as a man who had carved his place in a new world.
Still barred from seeing Charles today, Max had made arrangements for Sarah to bring the completed attire to the cottage that afternoon.
The wait was torturous.
He had to do something to keep from pacing a hole in the floor.
Pulling on a worn pair of boots by the front door, Max stepped outside, the air crisp and clean against his skin. He moved toward the small garden plot they’d cultivated together; a square of earth where peace seemed to settle deepest in his chest. Rows of thriving vegetables peeked from the soil, the result of Charles’ patient lessons in Earth agriculture. Max had learned how to rotate the crops, how to enrich the soil, how to listen to what the plants needed.
This wasn’t battle, but growth, sustained through attention and care and it was one of the first human things Max had truly fallen in love with.
There was structure. Order. Everything had a place and he could let himself be at peace in that space of predictability.
As he moved down the rows, inspecting stalks, checking for pests, turning soil gently with his fingers, he let his mind drift—reviewing, again and again, what he was expected to do later. He would arrive at the compound just before sundown, change into his ceremonial uniform, and take his place under the arched structure that Hannah’s team had built from metals and Earth wood. As the moon rose to its peak, Charles would make his entrance, and the ceremony would begin—
Should Max dress at the cottage instead? Before he left for the compound? Should he confirm with Hannah that he understood her instructions?
Wait. Which side of the arch was he supposed to stand on?
Where was the officiant again?
Max dragged a hand across his jaw, sighing.
He needed to stop overthinking it.
Everything would be fine.
He did have a few regrets. He didn't know enough about Torossian traditions to help them perform the “rights of the moon goddess” ceremony, though he did remember a few odds and ends from his childhood lessons.
On Toro, things were simpler.
A ceremonial hunt to claim one’s arranged mate, a private exchange of vows and energy under moonlight and trees, away from the eyes of dozens of witnesses. Max would've loved to scoop Charles into his arms, run through a forest, fight for the right to keep him, and mate then and there, tradition roaring in his blood.
But this was Earth and their new home.
Over the last few years, Max had tried to take things in stride, not worrying too much about maintaining old traditions of a forgotten land. He didn't always succeed, but he tried everyday with everything he had to be better. Be more understanding and patient.
For Charles and their pup.
Some things would take time to unlearn, decades of twisted and warped thoughts and he wasn't sure he would ever not assess all exit points of every room he walked into.
The hours bled together—he finished working in the garden, ate lunch more to occupy himself than hunger, then took a quick shower in an attempt to calm nerves. The afternoon light grew softer when he finally heard something stirring on the winding path leading to their rebuilt cottage. His Torossian senses picked up the soft crunch of tires on gravel before sight could register meaningfully.
Sarah, always on time.
Determined not to fidget, Max strode to the door and swung it open the moment she pulled up in her modest Earth vehicle. The older woman stood there, cool gray waves of hair pinned neatly, her face warm with familiarity.
“Max dear,” she greeted softly as she stepped inside, Max closing the door behind her. She made light chatter about the ceremony, the weather, atmospheric chemistry of Earth rain versus Toro drizzle, and smoothly hoisted a large black garment bag with both hands. The bag was sturdy, oversized, and zipped at the front, a bundle of brass hooks peeking over the top.
His heart hammered in his chest.
With careful hands, Sarah rested the bag over the top of the door frame, its weight impressive looking as the wood groaned lightly. Max nodded once in appreciation, then took a slow breath.
He unzipped it.
And froze.
It was unlike anything he’d let himself imagine . . . but infinitely more.
He inhaled sharply as the garments came into view, pulling back the black cover.
They were perfect.
The breeches were skin-tight, black—cut to fit his thighs smoothly and precisely where his musculature flared in subtle waves above the knee. The material was high-tech, some foreign feeling Earth blend: breathable but form-fitting. Underneath, the vest caught every bit of light, its crisp ivory panels embroidered with swirling golden moons and shooting stars.
Between the edges of the vest, decorative button-like clasps interlocked across the chest, connected by thin golden chains. A single shoulder band ran from left to right, divided in the middle by the seal clasp from Alonso—the same mark of the House of Toro impressed on the right shoulder of the vest, mirrored by a matching clasp on the left.
The black epaulettes on each shoulder came down to the middle of his upper arms, and had matching moon symbols like the vest.
Behind it all draped a deep-red mantel, the length falling almost to his ankles. It caught dust motes in its fall—silky enough to ripple when the afternoon air stirred around him.
Fingers trembling, he allowed himself to touch the clasp, tracing the familiar seal as an unexpected wave of emotion, nostalgia or maybe pride stung him. It felt like destiny sewn in fabric form.
He paused, head tilting as Sarah cleared her throat gently.
“Would you like to try it on, dear?”
Nothing but a slow, breathless “Yes” escaped him.
Getting into the ensemble took longer than Max anticipated. The fit was precise, requiring careful adjustments—tugging here, fastening there—and he had to stop himself from rushing. When he finally clipped the last clasp into place and the high collar of the vest nestled into the hollow of his throat, he exhaled. The weight of the red mantel settled onto his shoulders like a memory, pulling him back in time and, somehow, forward into something new.
He hadn’t worn one since he was seven, Jos tearing it from his back in his cell as a child.
"You won't need this anymore," he'd whispered, voice dripping with contempt. "A Torossian prince means nothing here. You are now a prince of nothing.”
The memory was still so fresh, but that's all it was. A memory. He didn’t need to be a prince of anything, only needing to serve his mate. Clenching his fist, he remembered many years ago when he was lost in his brainwashing from the emperor, he’d told Alonso he didn’t need to live forever like Jos.
He just needed to die a king.
He turned to the mirror across the room.
Hovering in front of him, his hands slowly rose to brush over the gilded embroidery on his chest—the constellations, the crescent moons, the delicate arcs of Torossian artistry woven into white Earth-born fabric.
“I pulled in some favors with an old colleague who specializes in embroidery. I hope we got the symbols right. Your drawing had us using our imaginations.”
“They are exactly how I remember them,” he said numbly.
In truth, the last time he’d seen them was on his father's lifeless body, limp and bleeding out onto the floor of Jos’ private travel ship.
“I think I need to make a slight adjustment at the back,” Sarah said gently, crouched behind him. “Stand straight for me. It’ll only take a moment.”
Max squared his stance, shoulders drawn back, posture tall and regal. Warrior-born. He felt the old instincts of discipline slide back into place like armor, but beneath them churned a whirlwind of emotion, tail betraying his unease. The memories surged: a frozen ship bathed in blood, his father's ruined crest, the cold detachment in Jos’ voice as he ordered Max to remove his father's tail.
The frost demon had killed them all that day: Christian, Jules, the entire high council envoy.
So much death. So much needless war.
This garment wasn’t made for war. There was no need for chest plates or pulse-bound armor. What he wore now was for ceremony, remembrance and reclamation.
A statement.
It wasn’t exactly what had been assigned to him in the Earth wedding plans. No bowtie. No tuxedo. No suffocating shirt collars or choking hazards. But this—this was him. It honored his people. His house. His past and future all at once.
Still, one thought refused to let go.
Would Charles understand?
Would the Eldri be disappointed? Would he see it as disrespect, or going against the Earth traditions they'd agreed on?
Would Charles think it was ugly?
“There,” Sarah murmured, rising to her feet with a satisfied nod. “My, it is handsome, isn’t it? Some of the best work I’ve done in years.”
“Yes,” he said quietly to his own reflection in the mirror. “It's exactly what I wanted. Thank you.”
As night fell, Max gently suspended himself in the air, hovering just long enough to drink in the stillness before drifting toward the compound. The moon had only just cleared the horizon, painting the ground in silver light.
He had time. Not enough for dread to set in, but enough to draw a steadying breath and steel himself for what came next. He'd promised himself a grand entrance, and his standoffish Torossian pride wasn’t about to bow to Earth etiquette.
As the compound drew closer, Max allowed his senses to wash over the night: the fragrance of honeysuckle, the rustle of silk gowns, distant laughter held back behind polite restraint. His fingers clenched as he surveyed the garden below.
Rows of white linen chairs were set in perfect alignment, their backs trimmed with dark red drapery that fluttered softly in the breeze. Lanterns and candles lined the walkway and soft twinkling lights made the garden come to life under the blanket of stars. At the end of the center aisle—lined with gold-framed lanterns and fresh vines—stood a simple archway, where an officiant was supposed to be waiting under a canopy of golden starbursts.
That was where he was supposed to stand, and where his mate would meet him to begin the ceremony.
He soared above the carefully constructed setup, silent before gently coasting down to his spot beside the arch. His long red mantel flared behind him in a soft, flowing arc, pooling around his feet like living silk.
A hush fell over the gathered guests as he landed, breath puffing in the crisp night air. The soft murmur of conversation died as heads turned in unison to all stare at him.
He hated it instantly.
So many eyes.
Being the center of attention was never his strong suit, but he stood taller, chest lifted, the princely figure of Toro’s royal seal blazed in gold on his shoulder. Every star-embroidered thread on his vest caught moonlight, glittering like foreign constellations brought to Earth.
He was both an alien prince and a bridegroom bound by love.
And he was ready.
The seconds ticked by and Max did his best not to let his eyes lock on anything for too long—lest they betray his growing unease—but his gaze still darted periodically to the guests seated in neat rows. The murmurs had started again, low and curious, threading through the crowd like wind through leaves.
His hands, clasped tightly behind his back, were beginning to ache from how firmly he squeezed them together, tail flicking lightly under his mantle. Still, he didn’t move. He kept his spine straight, chin lifted, the high collar of his ceremonial vest brushing his throat with every breath. His hair was lightly styled in place, a strange Earth substance used to keep it from falling in his eyes when the wind blew.
Guests craned their necks toward the entrance to the garden, only to glance back at him moments later, whispering to one another behind delicate hands and raised eyebrows.
Their curiosity scratched at him.
Turning to check around him, the officiant had also not taken their place yet . . .
Was he too early? Had something gone wrong or had he misunderstood his assignment?
Swallowing tightly, Max’s eyes flicked to the front row. Hannah sat there, composed but whispering behind her palm to Sarah, who leaned in with a furrowed brow, bouncing Lonso on her lap. On Hannah’s other side, Lando didn’t even try to hide his scrutiny, gaze sweeping over Max’s ceremonial regalia with a complex expression.
Max resisted the urge to scowl.
He was still never going to forgive that prick for squeezing Charles’ tail.
Looking up, Hannah caught his eye. Her smile was quick, reassuring, but vanished the moment she turned back to her phone, fingers tapping rapidly across the screen. Max watched her brow crease with every word she typed.
He rolled on the balls of his feet.
A cold breath of worry crept down the back of his neck. Still no sign of Charles and no movement by the garden entrance. He shifted his stance slightly, the gold-embellished cloak trailing behind him like liquid fire in the moonlight.
Had Charles changed his mind? Was that why he'd been acting so strange all week, like he was hiding something important?
Shifting again, Max pulled gently on the tight collar around his neck, swallowing thickly.
He pulled down on the cuffs of his sleeves and brushed his thumb over the thin red twine on his wrist, cool metal grounding him a bit.
Just as his nervous fidgeting reached a peak, soft music started to play.
Max straightened, the swell of orchestral notes tugging on the edges of his breath. He exhaled slowly, reaching out with his senses and felt Charles’ energy, bright and steady, approaching from beyond the garden entrance. Just out of sight, but near enough to make his chest ache.
The officiant still hadn't appeared beside him yet, and Max twisted his fingers together tightly. Obviously he'd missed something very important.
Lonso cooed softly from Sarah's lap, and Max smiled, letting go of a deep breath.
A collective hush fell over the crowd as all eyes turned toward the garden path.
And then Max saw him.
Charles stepped forward under the arch of golden starbursts, the moonlight catching the gentle sheen of his white robes. The layers moved like water, ethereal and perfect. Golden accents peeked through at the collar and cuffs, and snug bracers hugged his biceps, sparkling softly in the lantern light. A thin, traditional-looking Eldri band rested proudly across his forehead, catching the light with every step he took. It had a crescent moon in the center, clusters of stars lining both sides.
Max’s heart clenched so tightly it was almost painful. His lips parted, but no words came. Charles was wearing the ceremonial dress of the ancient Eldri court—robes long lost to time, robes Max had only ever seen as a child or heard about in glimpses from his father’s retellings. He’d never seen them worn in full, never seen them worn properly. Certainly not like this.
How would Charles even know about them?
Where would he find such a garment?
Max’s arms fell numbly to his sides, fingers twitching. His eyes tracked Charles’ every step like a man starved, devouring the grace and intention in each footfall.
Then he saw the man walking beside him.
Max’s knees nearly gave out. He grabbed the edge of the arch to steady himself, breath catching painfully in his throat.
It wasn’t possible.
He couldn't be seeing what he was seeing, but the image didn't falter.
It was Alonso.
Not a mirage, not a memory—but his Alonso, alive and walking tall. Clad in formal armor that mirrored Max’s own without the royal crests and mantle, his posture as proud as Max remembered, the old glint of tempered steel in his eyes.
Max blinked hard, vision tunneling as emotion roared up from his chest. Charles and Alonso . . . together walking toward him.
His past and future, side by side.
Max’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. No battle, no victory, no transformation had ever shaken him like this moment. Somehow, Charles had given him the impossible, and Max didn’t know if he was even still breathing.
As the pair reached the end of the aisle, standing in front of Max, Charles offered him a beaming, dimpled smile, his green eyes catching the glow of the moonlight like polished jade. That smile—so full of love, pride, and just a hint of mischief—was enough to make Max's chest tighten with the effort it took not to sweep Charles into his arms then and there.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his gaze to shift.
Standing tall and steady before him Alonso’s presence alone seemed to root Max to the ground. His posture hadn’t changed. His expression, though softened by time, still held the hard lines of command Max remembered, the kind that had once taught him discipline with a single arched brow.
He wanted to hug him, hands twitching at his sides, desperate to embrace the elder and close the impossible distance with a hug that he had been waiting for what felt like a lifetime. But Max couldn’t move.
Alonso was really here.
The elder stepped forward without hesitation, claiming the officiant spot with silent authority like he belonged there. Charles moved with him, never breaking eye contact with Max until he stood at his side. With gentle fingers, he took Max’s hand.
“Kneel, my prince,” Alonso said, voice low and resonant like thunder rolling through a valley. Max had not heard that tone in years, and it nearly undid him.
His heart pounded in his ears as he let Charles guide him, their fingers locked, both men lowering themselves to their knees beneath the archway. Above them, the clouds parted just enough to allow a shaft of moonlight to pour down like a spotlight from the heavens, bathing the pair in its glow.
It felt holy.
Max closed his eyes for a beat, drawing strength from the warmth of Charles’ grip, the scent of the nearby honeysuckle blossoms, the presence of his mentor standing over them, and the heartbeat of the man who knelt beside him—his mate, his moon, his everything.
“A lifetime ago, I swore an oath to protect my prince,” Alonso’s voice rang out, low and even, but powerful enough to still the very wind. The gathered crowd all quieted immediately. “To remain by his side and stand against all who meant harm to the House of Toro. The greatest regret of my life is that I failed in my goal. Failed to keep you safe.”
Max swallowed hard, his gaze locking on the elder Torossian’s face. His expression was open, honest—lined with sorrow, but emblazoned with unshakable resolve.
“But it seems the goddess has decided to take pity on my soul and grant me a second lifetime for redemption. I will not disappoint her or you again.”
Max barely noticed Charles tightening his hand gently, grounding him, as Alonso turned to retrieve a long, rectangular black box from the pedestal behind them.
Had that been there the whole time? Max hadn’t noticed.
They hadn’t planned this. Not in the months of preparation. Not in the ceremony notes he'd buried himself in, or the guest rehearsals Max had sleepwalked through.
This wasn’t part of the program.
Stepping back in front of them, Alonso smiled.
He opened the box and a crown was revealed, its delicate gold metalwork etched with the sigils of the House of Toro. Max’s world slowed to a halt, his lungs locked and his vision blurred.
Shaking his head, Max stared hard at Alonso.
The golden points shone beneath the full moonlight, reflecting not just celestial light—but a truth Max had yet to fully claim, a truth others clearly saw in him.
He blinked, eyes stinging, unable to look away from the crown that had once only existed in bedtime stories and broken memories. The five sharp spires, the tallest in the center, were shaped just like the ancient regalia he’d seen once in a preserved holo-image of his father, a symbol of legacy, of sovereignty, of Toro.
Max was not a king.
He had never aspired to be one. That title belonged to ghosts—his father, his ancestors, warriors long gone and glorified in legend. Not to him. Not to the orphaned prince raised on fear and rebellion. Not to the weapon trained for destruction.
But the emperor was gone.
And his father was too.
“I will not fail you again . . . my king,” Alonso said softly.
Without fanfare, he placed the crown carefully upon Max’s brow.
The metal settled like a whisper against his temples, perfectly weighted, not oppressive but anchoring, like the missing piece of a puzzle finally clicking into place. He felt everything at once—his blood roaring, his heart cracking open, the whisper of his people’s hopes stretching across time and space to reach this moment.
Max looked up into Alonso’s face, then over at Charles, who smiled with tears in his eyes and nodded once, firm and full of faith.
“Rise,” Alonso ordered, and Charles stood first, pulling a numb Max up along with him. “Turn and face each other."
They both turned slowly, Max’s mantle fluttering behind him and Charles’ long robes billowing lightly in the breeze.
“This next part I have instructions for, Alonso chuckled and Max couldn’t help his smile as the elder Torossian unfolded a piece of paper and started their Earth ceremony.
“Dearly beloved. We are gathered here today—”
_____
Charles shifted slightly in his seat, careful not to jostle the small, warm bundle resting against his chest. Lonso’s tiny fingers were fisted in the fabric of his robes, soft tail draped lazily over Charles’ forearm. Each slow, steady breath from his son tickled against the curve of his neck, lulling the Eldri into a quiet, content haze as he rocked lightly.
He still couldn’t believe he'd managed to pull it all off.
A full week of whispered coordination, sneaking moments with Hannah in shadowed corridors, smuggling Alonso food like some fugitive. It had been maddening, and risky. More than once, Charles had been certain Max was going to stumble into Hannah’s lab and ruin everything.
But when he pictured the exact moment Max had seen Alonso walking beside him at the end of the aisle. The way the prince’s starlight blue eyes had gone wide like the ground had vanished beneath his feet. That stunned, raw joy had been worth every bit of the deception.
For him, at least. Hannah might have her own opinion.
Charles’ gaze drifted to where Max now sat at a long, linen-draped table, deep in conversation with Alonso. Max’s voice carried across the garden reception, rich with energy he hadn’t heard in his mate’s tone in years. His hands moved animatedly, sharp gestures cutting through the air, and Alonso matched him movement for movement, the two slipping seamlessly back into some old rhythm they’d never really lost after a long embrace.
The crown perched on Max’s brow caught the lanterns strung above, making him look every inch the ruler Alonso had named him.
And the outfit—oh, the outfit.
Even now Charles felt that rush of emotion from earlier, the sting of tears he’d barely kept in check when Max had stood waiting beneath the archway. Black, white, and gold, proud and fierce, the colors of Toro woven into every seam. The red mantle was stunning under the moonlight as Max turned to watch him approach, and Charles had seen it in his mate’s eyes.
Pride. Not just in himself, but in where he had come from. In who he was.
Max told him to trust him for his own attire, and Charles was not disappointed in the slightest.
Smiling, he pressed a kiss to the downy hair at Lonso’s crown. Max was home. Not to a place, but to himself.
“Do you think he's ready to go down for the night?” Sarah's voice broke into his thoughts as she slid into the seat beside him. “Don't worry about a thing dear. Just enjoy your night and I'll bring him by in the morning like we discussed.”
Nodding, Charles patted Lonso's back before he slowly shifted him into Sarah’s arms.
He still had one more surprise in store for Max tonight and he would gratefully accept the help where he could get it.
Glancing over, Sarah and he both paused as Alonso suddenly rose from his seat, a wiry smirk on his face, and turned to approach another table. Max looked amused while he watched, and Charles followed his line of sight as the soft music shifted around them, people swaying together on the dance floor.
The Elder Torossian strode proudly, stopping just in front of Hannah as she turned from her conversation to look at him with a pinched expression.
“Oh my,” Sarah said from beside him. “Hannah has been quite taken by him since he arrived.”
Charles guffawed at her as he watched the two have a tense exchange.
He stared in disbelief as Alonso bowed low before extending a hand to her, and Hannah looked taken aback despite a bright blush spreading on her cheeks. She settled her hand in his, letting him pull her to her feet and be guided over to where others were dancing.
Charles leaned back in his chair, unable to stop the slow grin tugging at his lips as the scene unfolded.
Sarah’s comment still hung between them, but ‘taken’ was hardly the word Charles would've chosen to describe Hannah’s attitude toward Alonso over the past week. More like ready to throttle him at any given moment.
It had been a daily spectacle—Alonso leaving empty plates stacked like trophies on Hannah’s lab counter, Hannah threatening to toss him off the Lookout without a parachute, despite knowing the man could fly.
The tension was bound to snap sometime.
The Elder Torossian, ever the picture of confidence, led with a courtly precision that made Charles’ brows lift. He had that same commanding presence as Max, but refined—older, perhaps a touch more dangerous in its subtlety. Hannah, for her part, looked like she was trying not to enjoy herself, her eyes darting around like someone might catch her betraying her own irritation.
But there was an ever-present smile on her lips as Alonso glided them effortlessly across the dance floor under the stars, red dress twisting around her lithe form.
Charles chuckled under his breath, watching Alonso take her hand with exaggerated gallantry before guiding her into a slow turn. The pair slipped into step with the other dancers, Alonso’s tail swaying behind him, moving to the music.
Sealing his lips over the back of her palm, Charles smacked his own hand over his mouth at the display.
Blush deepening on his friend, Charles caught her gasp when Alonso's hand then settled over her waist.
He shook his head. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, taking a sip from the drink at his elbow. The week of verbal sparring and mutual exasperation hadn’t cooled anything—it had just been foreplay for whatever this was turning into.
Just beyond the dancing pair, Charles caught sight of Lando staring daggers into the back of Alonso's head, ears red and teeth clenched. Lewis was sitting beside him, a hand on his shoulder with a sympathetic expression.
What a turn of events that was.
“Enjoy your night dear,” Sarah cooed as she stood, taking Lonso back into the main house nestled against her shoulder.
On cue, Max’s tall frame emerged through the mingling crowd, moonlight catching the proud tilt of his crown. He stopped Sarah on her way, giving Lonso a kiss on his head before turning back toward Charles.
The prince’s lips curved into a knowing smirk as his gaze followed Charles’ toward the dance floor. Alonso’s broad form moved with surprising grace, the elder dipping Hannah so low her braid brushed the polished floorboards.
“The old fool still thinks he’s a young pup,” Max chuckled.
Huffing a laugh, Charles’ eyes tracked Hannah’s reluctant but smooth spin back into Alonso’s arms. “He has the moves, I’ll give him that. Maybe you should ask him for some lessons.”
The tips of Max’s ears flushed a betraying shade of red, and his gaze slid down toward Charles with a sly squint. “Are my moves not living up to your standards, my queen?”
Rising from the table, he stepped close enough that the gold embroidery on Max’s vest brushed against his fingertips. He traced the ornate stitching, feeling the solid muscle beneath. “Let’s go to the cabin and find out, my king.”
Whatever retort Max had was lost to a mischievous glint in his eyes and without a word, he swept Charles clean off his feet, strong hands slipping beneath the folds of the Eldri’s ceremonial robes to find a firm hold. The motion drew a sharp gasp and a burst of laughter from Charles before Max launched them skyward.
The cool night wind rushed around them, Max’s red mantle streaming like a banner against the silver-lit clouds. The reception lights blurred into warm golds and soft whites, fading into specks as they climbed higher. Charles clung to him with mock protest, his giggles carrying on the breeze while his mind raced.
The short flight gave him only moments to quietly set the wheels of his final surprise into motion.
Max landed with the soft thud of boots meeting damp earth, the scent of late-night dew mingling with the crisp forest air as he set Charles back on his feet.
Their fingers linked naturally, Max’s warm, calloused grip tugging Charles toward the glow of the cabin’s front door. The soft crunch of grass and the distant hum of night insects framed the moment—until Charles stopped.
Max slowed, half-turning, head tilting with a frown as his eyes followed Charles’ wandering gaze. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
He said nothing, but his lips curved slowly. The Eldri’s eyes flicked over the tree line, tracking the shadows and trunks as he planned his route and he took a slow step back. Then another.
Max’s brows rose in question, but Charles spun on his heel, robes fluttering like pale wings as he bolted into the treeline. His feet were silent over the moss and leaf litter, body weaving effortlessly between the trunks, the swish of white fabric trailing behind him.
“Charles!?” Max’s deep voice rang out, both with command and disbelief, but it only made Charles’ chest tighten with laughter. He grinned wider, the sound of pursuit—or the promise of it—spurring him faster.
He’d been thinking about this for days, ever since that conversation with Alonso. At first, Charles had been simply curious about what a “true” Torossian mating ceremony entailed. But the elder’s answer had left him both fascinated and mildly horrified.
It began much like the human version—vows, tokens exchanged, family and friends gathered. But once the public spectacle was done, the real ceremony began: a hunt. A raw, primal chase where the Torossian partner would track down their mate using instinct, cunning, and strength. The Oozaru’s guidance was key, each movement charged with the energy of their bond.
For some couples, the hunt was swift, a matter of minutes. For others, it stretched into hours or even days, a relentless dance of evasion and pursuit Alonso had said.
Some couples would even fight to the death. Both simply refusing to yield to the other for the right to claim their prey.
Charles was under no illusions about this though.
He didn’t have hours, much less days. But he could give Max a taste of it. Just enough to see that flare in his eyes, to pull the prince into a game as old as their traditions.
If he was lucky . . . he might even make him work for it.
Doubling back over his trail, Charles suppressed his energy as low as he could manage.
A fierce, guttural growl ripped through the forest, so deep it vibrated in Charles’ bones. He skidded in the loam, sandals scraping against damp earth as he cut hard to the right, darting around the moss-covered trunk of a fallen pine. His breath came fast, fogging in the cool night air, but his legs didn’t slow. He knew these woods like the back of his hand. Every narrow gap between trees, every slope and dip in the ground, every patch of roots that would trip the careless.
It should give him an advantage, a chance to keep Max off his trail for as long as possible. But he also knew just how relentless the prince could be when he had a target.
He pushed harder, feet pounding over a carpet of pine needles, the moonlight flashing silver between the branches overhead. Reaching a small stream, Charles vaulted upward, clearing the water in a clean leap before diving back into the shadows.
His mind replayed Alonso’s words from earlier in the week:
“Max might be confused at first, but his Oozaru will quickly take over and start its pursuit of you. The traditional mating rites of our moon goddess would see him leave a bite on your shoulder after he’s caught you, but I’m not sure my prince will feel the need to stake his claim since there has already been an exchange of energy. Just a precaution that it could happen, instincts being too strong. It would be best not to fight him.”
Charles had turned those words over and over in his head for nights afterward, lying awake with Lonso’s soft breathing beside him.
Would Max bite him? For real this time?
He'd playfully run his teeth over that spot in the shower last night, and all Charles could think about was how it would feel if Max did it for real. If the prince left his mark on him in his skin.
The thought sent a shiver down his spine now, even as he ducked low under a branch. Part of him wanted it—wanted the mark, something tangible and permanent from a Torossian tradition that was theirs. Max had given so much of himself adapting to Earth customs for Charles’ sake, this . . . this could be Charles’ way of giving something back.
A gift of his own heritage.
If Alonso was right, the process would be primal and unrelenting. Once Max’s Oozaru took hold, the chase would sharpen into a game of instincts—Charles’ job was to evade, to test him, to make him earn the catch. And once caught, the claiming would happen swiftly: a pin, the press of teeth, the symbolic seal of their bond.
Charles’ heart thundered at the thought, half from the pounding of his run, half from anticipation.
And somewhere far behind, closing the distance with every heartbeat, he could already feel Max’s energy flaring wild, focused, and entirely locked on him.
Charles pushed himself forward until his lungs burned, legs aching from the relentless sprint. He'd lasted longer than he'd thought he would, though he could tell Max was taking the opportunity to play with his prey a bit.
The forest blurred past in streaks of dark trunks and pale light, every breath a harsh pull of cold air into his chest. He pressed a hand to the rough bark of a tree, leaning into it for a heartbeat to steady himself. There was no rustle of leaves, no pounding footsteps behind him—just the deafening rush of blood in his ears.
But his instinct screamed at him to keep going, Eldri dipping in and out of control when it felt Max getting too close.
He pushed off the tree, weaving between the undergrowth, until a sudden, sharp tug yanked hard at the trailing fabric of his robes. The force spun him sideways, balance gone, and he toppled into the earth with a breathless thud , the scent of damp underbrush rushing up around him.
He had only a second to register the impact before a shadow fell over him. Max’s golden-tinged eyes blazed into his vision, pupils blown wide and his body crouched low with an intensity that stole the air from Charles’ lungs. Strong hands planted on either side of his shoulders, pinning him with the kind of command that made Charles’ pulse race for reasons beyond exertion.
The cool moss cradled his back, and Charles let himself go limp, chest rising and falling as he took in the low, resonant purr rumbling from deep in Max’s chest. The sound wrapped around him, familiar and grounding, and despite the wild chase, his lips curled into a small, helpless smile.
It was achingly familiar, Max hovering above him like this, victorious, just as he had been after their first sparring match years ago now. He was just as beautiful now as he was then, commanding and so misunderstood.
“I yield, my king,” Charles murmured, the words slipping out almost automatically. The moonlight spilled between the swaying treetops, casting silver over Max’s sharp features as Charles rolled his head to the side, baring the vulnerable curve of his throat in invitation.
The change in Max felt like a blinding rush. The gold threaded through his cerulean gaze deepened, spreading like molten metal until his entire stare burned with Oozaru fire. Charles barely had time to gasp before Max’s mouth descended, teeth sinking into the juncture of his shoulder with sure, claiming pressure.
A dizzying rush of sensation flooded his core—heat, energy, and something wild and electric bursting outward from the bite, wrapping around him in a pulsing halo of light. His breath caught, body trembling against the cool forest floor, and when Max finally drew back, copper stained his lips.
There was no time to recover before those same lips found his, warm and insistent, sealing the moment with a kiss that tasted of iron and moonlight.
They stayed like that for a long moment, the world beyond their patch of moss and starlight fading into nothing but the warmth of their bodies pressed together. The forest hummed quietly around them, but all Charles could hear was the steady panting of Max’s breathing against his skin.
When Max finally leaned back, his tongue traced languidly over the fresh bite mark, the warm rasp sending a shiver straight down Charles’ spine. The sting of the wound was already giving way to something deeper: comfort, safety, a bond renewed. Charles felt his own chest rumble with a soft, involuntary purr, the sound blending with Max’s until they were one vibration in the cool night air.
“Thank you,” Max murmured, lips brushing the edge of the mark. “For doing this. For bringing Alonso here. For everything. I don’t know how to begin to repay my debt to you. No amount of time with you will ever be long enough.”
Charles’ arms tightened around him, one hand tangling in the thick hair at the base of his neck below Max's crown. “You don’t have to,” he whispered, eyes closing as his cheek rested against Max’s temple. “Here with you, I am finally home.”
The prince exhaled, a deep, contented sound that seemed to sink into Charles’ bones. For all the ceremony, the surprises, and the chaos of the past weeks, hell the past years, this quiet moment under the full moon felt like the truest part of their union.
Max shifted, wrapping his mantle around them both like a shield against the chill, and Charles let himself melt into the embrace. His last thought before the moment consumed him entirely was that the journey had been worth every step, every gasp, every scream, every heartbeat, because in the end . . . it had brought him right back to where he belonged.
In his mate’s arms.
Notes:
Dedicated to all the Lestappies out there and Akira Toriyama. RIP ❤️
I will be having a few weeks off before returning with my new work!
Comments are always welcome. Come say hi on Tumblr
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Precious lady (Guest) on Chapter 1 Thu 17 Jul 2025 07:34PM UTC
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