Page 76 of Blinding Light

Cyprian and his canvas.

Time stood still when he started to draw, but it was peaceful. Cyprian mumbled to himself while tonight’s event played through his mind like a film, again and again. He’d felt humiliated.

On edge. Fragile.

Discarded.

Finally, he stopped and just stared. The painting he’d drawnhad once been the house of his biological family, with the butterfly roof and the large windows, but dark streaks of charcoal had turned it into an obsidian, filthy smear. It had even leaked onto the blue bathrobe he was wearing.

What if Moargan wanted to dispose of him as well? Regardless of what he’d said earlier, he was right in one thing. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted. He was the Imperial Prince, after all. And he didn’t hesitate to show that on every occasion that didn’t go as planned. Moargan was unbreakable. Strong in body and mind. He had a family on his side. Friends.

His Royal Consort.Him.

Cyprian bit his bottom lip and drew another line. He was a joke. He had stood there, in front of his father, and had let his mind leave. Instead of finding more closure, as cruel as they came, he found himself with more questions.

He had been sold to the Imperials as a baby. Did that make him Dariux? Moargan had admitted that not all babies had made it to the laboratory. Perhaps he was one of those, with the luck he had in his life. Although…he appeared to have three siblings somewhere out there. Had they survived as babies, or had they died like most of the newborns had?

Cyprian took in a deep breath and put away his utensils.

As he walked toward the kitchen, he realized he should probably have changed into something more appropriate. It was too late for that now, judging by the voices heading his way.

Two uniforms.

They nodded their heads as Cyprian passed by.

He eyed the blue bathrobe. Yeah, he should have changed. In his defense, this meeting had been one big disappointment. A painful one.

Fortunately, the kitchen was empty. Cyprian got himself a glass of water from the fancy fountain that was placed above the double sink. Finishing his drink, he was about to head back to his room, when he heard Aviel’s unmistakable, teasing voice.

“There you are. Took you long enough.”

Cyprian spun around, facing the other guy who entered the kitchen on a smooth step.

“I’ll go and make us mocktails.”

Cyprian watches his lithe movements.

”Why do I get the feeling that you knew I would be here, in the kitchen?”

“Because I did, Cyprian.” Aviel’s eyes shone in amusement. “Tell me, can you feel my presence as well?”

Unsure about the answer to that question. Had he felt Aviel’s presence?

“I met with my father today,” he blurted instead.

“I know.” Aviel’s gaze softened just that little bit, but when he blinked his usual golden glow was back. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.” But the moment the word left his mouth, his decision faltered. He missed Moargan. He needed him to find the words he felt in his mind. In his heart.

“They’ll be back soon.” Aviel slid his drink over the bar.

Cyprian frowned. “Can you read my thoughts?”

Aviel grinned and shook his head. “Your eyes reflect your thoughts, sweetheart.”

“No. That’s not good enough, Aviel, and you know it.”

“Ahhh…” Aviel took a sip, still grinning. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

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