Chapter Text
His Royal Highness Veritas Ratio is missing. This land’s ruler is missing and all eyes are on Aventurine, for better or worse.
It’s time to play the game.
★★★★★
“I thought we were past the point of masks, Ifrit.”
Aventurine does not need to look over his shoulder to know who has entered the eerily quiet throne room. Usually bustling with fanfare and banter, today it is silent save for Aventurine’s soft breaths and the click of steel-toed boots. A rusty scent hangs in the air that has Aventurine’s hair standing on end.
“Is it what you dreamed it would be?” asks Ifrit.
Aventurine hears the rustle of elastic followed shortly by the ruffling of hair. All masks have finally been removed, it seems. He does not turn around.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” says Aventurine, pleasantly.
“Your freedom,” says Ifrit, stopping two paces behind Aventurine. The man’s scent grows heavy in the air, threatening but perfectly kept in check. It singes the insides of Aventurine’s nostrils all the same. “Or has this peacock realized that flying is not all it is cut out to be?”
Aventurine laughs. It is a sound without mirth. Lowering his gaze to the floor, Aventurine counts to ten. Any less and he’d risk exposing the bravado flickering all over his face.
Finally, he turns.
“Did King Sunday send you here?” Aventurine’s arms fold to his chest, the edges of his royal cloak catching on a wrist. “Or are you here to spy on me for your own reasons?”
“Do you take me for a guard dog?” Ifrit drawls, sounding unperturbed.
“No,” says Aventurine as a wry smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Errand boy would be worse, arguably. Attack dog? Definitely the worst.”
Ifrit does not frown. Very little shows on his face: a canvas lacking emotion, littered in faint white scars that disappear into thick black hair that’s been greased down to the top of his head. Not a single hair lays out of place. It doesn’t surprise Aventurine one bit.
“To answer your question,” Ifrit begins again, unrelenting, “the King did not send me here.”
“Did you ever leave, then?”
It has been two days since the kingdom has learned of Ratio’s disappearance. Three days since he last saw his husband. And the last twenty-four hours? They have been filled with gruelingly long inquiries from the council regarding Aventurine’s whereabouts and his potential involvement in such disappearance.
Really, for once, Aventurine is thankful that for the benefit of the doubt his designation as an Omega gives him. The council quickly discredit Aventurine from being a prime suspect given the fact they assume he has bonded with Ratio and is therefore incapable of disobeying an Alpha’s command. Couple that with the fact they believe him to be uneducated and incapable of any sort of independent thought and it’s a decent defense to such a grand crime.
(He still feels their eyes on him, though. He doesn’t miss the way they refuse to acknowledge him with any royal title or politeness.)
“No,” says Ifrit, grounding Aventurine back in the present. “There is an Inn at the outskirts of the City I have been staying at.”
“I know the one,” says Aventurine with a small nod. “Charming, isn’t it? I believe it’s owned by a young couple. I’ll have to give them an extra large tip for hosting you.”
“Your sarcasm is not missed,” says Ifrit, “but ignored.”
Aventurine snorts a soundless laugh. Sounds about right. Even so, he cocks his head to the side and watches with undeniable fascination as one of the most powerful beings in their universe stands stoically in front of him as if he has all the time in the world. Maybe he does. Aventurine wouldn’t know that, either.
“So tell me, friend. What are you still hanging around here for? Certainly you’ve handed off to King Sunday what you came here for?”
His time is dwindling, Aventurine knows. Soon, the King will realize that the necklace Ifrit’s men had hand-delivered to him in Penacony is a dupe. That the real necklace still resides around Aventurine’s neck, pulsating warmly with a protective power Aventurine takes a strange amount of comfort in. It’s almost like Ratio is still here.
“Are you a fool, Kakavasha?” asks Ifrit. It doesn’t quite sound like a question. “Staying here is a death wish. If you truly crave the freedom you have bet your life on, leaving now would be wise.”
“I’m touched,” says Aventurine, smiling emptily as he waves a hand about the stiff air. “I didn’t know you cared about me that much. Are you trying to court me?”
Just for show, he batts his lashes.
“Do not play me a fool. You know exactly what I mean by what I said.”
“I do.” Aventurine can’t lie. Not about that. “So, tell me. You really think I don’t know that King Sunday is planning to claim this kingdom as his? To expand his rule?”
“I would not have expected a Stoneheart to have missed that obvious play,” says Ifrit, deadpan.
Aventurine’s laugh is a little more genuine, this time. “Fair enough.” He shakes his head again and turns to the sprawling windows off to the side, where the lush rolling fields and hills beckon him far, far away from the darkness that lurks inside the palace. “Well, if you aren’t here to warn me about Sunday’s master plan, then what are you still here for?”
“Your debt.”
Aventurine’s smile fades. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Kakavasha, Aventurine of the Stonehearts. It is about time that you pay for your crimes.”
Aventurine’s jaw tenses. “Again, I think you have me mistaken for someone else. I—”
“Your hands are forever stained in the blood of the lives you have stolen. One day, you will pay for that with your own.”
With that, Ifrit turns away. The click and clack of his boots grows further in the distance. Aventurine nearly lets him leave—lets him walk out of the throne room and back to his Inn and off to wherever it is he is after spouting such foreboding nonsense—but at the last second, he reaches a hand out into the putrid air.
“You were hired by him, weren’t you? You don’t work for the Stonehearts or for Sunday. You’re playing both of them. Is that your angle?”
“Is it more foolish for you to guess my hand, or for me to show it?”
And then Ifrit leaves for good, his words echoing off the marble walls.
“…I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see,” Aventurine whispers, fingertips drifting up to ghost over the necklace hidden behind the layers of fabric. He closes his eyes and counts to twenty, this time.
Ratio, you fool. You better keep up your end of the bargain, and quickly.
★★★★★
Clifford pokes at Aventurine’s cheek five times before Aventurine finally stirs.
The dagger under his pillow is the sharpest object in this room, second only to the little claws of the cat cake repeatedly jabbing at his face.
“Hey,” yawns Aventurine, eyes heavy but chest heavier. “It’s not meal time yet, my friend. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait.”
The doleful eyes of the cat cake nearly break Aventurine’s heart. It’s a good reminder that he still has one, after the last several years.
(He thinks of Ratio’s smile, the warmth of his hands, the soft press of his lips in a kiss that was cut too short by Aventurine’s own guilt and trepidation. A guiding light. A beacon in the darkness that keeps threatening to shackle Aventurine once more and imprison him in his own mind.)
“I know,” he whispers, voice softer now as he reaches out to brush his fingertips over the pastry-like tuft of the creature. “I suppose I miss him, too.”
Growing attached to Ratio had never been part of the plan. A quick tryst and a mutual understanding of each other’s objectives had been the best possible outcome Aventurine had dared to hope for when he was gifted to Prince Ratio. Now, laying in the bed that still faintly smells of the Alpha—his Alpha—Aventurine thinks there’s a certain charm to heartbreak. It’s a different type of pain.
He falls back asleep with the creature buried in the crook of his elbow.
He dreams of fields of lavender and Ratio’s warm chuckle at his nape. “Do stay alive, Kakavasha.”
He thinks he may just have to.
★★★★★
Here’s what Aventurine knows:
Sunday wants possession of the legendary gem affixed to Ratio’s necklace so that he can control Ratio’s kingdom. The exact power behind the gem Aventurine is fuzzy on—whether it’s simply a magical boost or something else, he can’t be certain. All he knows is that it is priceless to Sunday. So much so that he had requested Aventurine steal it for him in exchange for assisting in the disposal of Prince Ratio. That’s where Ifrit had come into play—some man likely hired by Sunday to assassinate the Prince and then keep tabs on Aventurine until Sunday could execute on his plans behind the scenes. Whether Sunday knows that Ifrit knows of his ultimate goal to expand his rule, that’s hard to tell.
As for the Stonehearts? Well… it’s certainly been years since Aventurine last bartered using their name. That had been a sticky affair that had left blood on his hands and lead him to stowing away on a vessel, far from the cruelty of a future chained to a careless man.
Sometimes, Aventurine thinks of them. Of Topaz, of Jade. He thinks of those that lurk in the shadows to dispose of the misfortunes of the Omega. After all, they all had been born as such.
(Well, with the exception of their darling ruler, Diamond. But that’s entirely another story Aventurine has no interest in getting into at the moment.)
Needless to say, the number of chess pieces on the board is still far too many to have any certainty as to who will emerge victor. So long as Ratio is safe, and so long as the necklace pressed warmly over Aventurine’s heart is safe, he thinks he can survive another day to see how this all plays out.
(After all, he still needs to deal with the mess he left behind with the IPC.
Ugh.)
★★★★★
It takes five days for King Sunday to arrive at Aventurine’s doorstep.
He does not bring his sister but instead a throng of armored men with bows, arrows and spears. Their golden weapons glisten beautifully in the sunlight and Aventurine thinks if Sunday has anything going for him, it’s his sense of aesthetic.
Aventurine greets him in the throne room. Ratio’s guards stand at the ready, a mesh of men who either begrudgingly protect Prince Aventurine or earnestly wish for his safety during these trying times, having seen Aventurine’s sharp wit and kindness where it was never expected. What can he say? He’s a charmer.
“Couldn’t stay away from me for long?” laughs Aventurine, playfully shuffling his hands into the warm pockets of his cloak. His hands shake in its secrecy.
You’re late, is what Aventurine wants to say.
“There is a matter I would like to discuss with you privately,” Sunday says, tone neutral and words flowing like the lies he had been spilling since Aventurine met him. “If you’d be so kind.”
“I’m always kind,” says Aventurine, teasingly.
He glances to his men and nods. Hesitantly, the guards march through the throne room to join the ranks of Sunday’s. Together, the armies disperse in ripples of gold and silver armor. It’s as beautiful as it is poetic.
“You deceived me,” says Sunday, tone souring once the door closes.
The scent in the air worsens. Aventurine flicks his gaze away, his heart beginning to claw its way up his throat. Even he is not immune to the strength of an Alpha’s enraged pheromones. His hands tremble in his pockets and he grits his teeth together.
“How do you mean?” asks Aventurine, sounding breathless. “I did what you asked, didn’t I?”
“It is a fake,” says Sunday.
Obviously, thinks Aventurine. That’s kind of the point..
“Oh?” Aventurine swallows down the years of nerves festering in his mouth. “How can you tell? Actually, better question. How did you expect me to tell?”
“Fix this,” says Sunday, tone teetering on the edge of a command. Its heaviness fills the room and Aventurine feels invisible wires binding his wrists and feet, locking him in place. His eyes widen and he fights the urge to run. As if he could in the first place. “Prince Veritas Ratio is dead, and you have inherited not only his rule but his personal affects. Show them to me so I may find the real stone.”
“Inviting yourself into my late husband’s bedroom so soon, King?” Aventurine scoffs despite the icy chill flooding his veins. He feels the binds tightening, electrical energy zipping up his body and coiling at his throat, ready to suffocate him. It’s an undeniable power that Aventurine had underestimated. “At least treat me to a nice wine, first.”
“We do not have time for your meddlesome games, Omega,” interrupts Sunday as he raises a hand. A swirl of golden energy begins to grow at the center of his palm. “Show me,” he repeats.
Aventurine swears under his breath but nods. Unable to refuse, his legs begin to guide them on auto-pilot out of the throne room and down the halls of the palace. His men stand warily at the edges of the hall, but Aventurine’s sweet smile eases any possible concerns. No, involving spears and swords would be far too messy. Too many lives would be lost.
It takes five minutes to arrive at the royal chambers.
As Aventurine opens the door, he spots Clifford bolting into the main part of the bedroom. Aventurine can’t blame him—Sunday smells disgusting. Mothballs and overripe citrus.
“He never did bond you, did he?” asks Sunday once they’re alone.
Aventurine is getting awfully tired of that being the subject of conversation. “Is that relevant?” sighs Aventurine.
“To some degree,” murmurs Sunday, stepping away from Aventurine to begin inspecting the seating area of the royal chambers. “It would explain why you are not bedridden.”
Mercifully, it does. An unmated Omega can not mourn properly for an Alpha it has not shared a true bond with. It’s a great cover for the glaring fact that Ratio is indeed still very much alive and, if all is going to plan, on his way back from Penacony right this second.
“Hah. Clever as always, King,” says Aventurine through gritted teeth as he leans back against the door. It shuts and the sound echoes over and over in his head.
(He does not fear Sunday, not really. The man is twisted and merciless in his rule, that Aventurine is certain of, but he can not exactly predict where his penchant for control begins and ends. He doubts it involves making an Omega submit to him that way.
Small miracles.)
“I’ve arranged for a ship that will take you off this planet,” Sunday says from across the room, fussing with a wardrobe, looking for any secret compartments in the bottom and its sides. “Once, of course, the gem is safely in my possession.”
What a practiced liar, Aventurine thinks. In no universe would Sunday simply let Aventurine go. It’d be too messy, too ripe for conflict and deception. No, once Sunday gets what he wants from Aventurine, he’ll have him slaughtered, too.
(How predictable.)
“What exactly does this gem of yours do?” Aventurine asks, fingers massaging at his temple to ward off his impending headache. Sunday’s scent is starting to get to him.
Sunday’s laugh sends a lance of cold terror through Aventurine. “Aventurine of the Stonehearts. Do you really not know what power it possesses?”
For the first time in five days, Aventurine fears for his life. His ears begin to ring and he watches as Sunday turns around, elegantly waving a hand in his general direction. The darkness in his eyes is all-consuming, framed with golden specks. Aventurine feels sick to his stomach.
“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aventurine manages to murmur through gritted teeth, lungs filling with what feels like gallons of water.
Panic. Anxiety. He can’t breathe. He needs to get out of here. He needs to be somewhere else. He needs—
“Ten Stonehearts,” says Sunday, a placid smile on his face. “Is that what they taught you when they indoctrinated you all those years ago? I suppose it makes sense. Keeping the sheep in check is a good strategy.”
Aventurine wants to narrow his eyes, wants to bark a laugh. Anything to show that he isn’t afraid of the man in front of him. Sunday may be a King, may possess power beyond Aventurine’s understanding, but he isn’t immortal. He isn’t a God. Aventurine’s faced worse—and he’ll face even worse to come, that he is certain.
“Amethyst was lost long ago,” Sunday lectures, a gloved fingertips pressing to his lips. “The very stones your alliance is named after have been the source of great power in this galaxy. Where the aventurine stone has gone is still a mystery, but it seems that the eleventh gem has been closer all along.”
An eleventh Stoneheart. Another legendary stone that had created this galaxy, had lended its power to its creation—
“And?” Aventurine bites out, shaking. “What makes you think Ratio had it?”
Sunday does not answer. He turns to the window, looking outside to the sun setting on the world around them. It’s unnerving. As he turns back to Aventurine, his hand extends into the wide distance between them. Tendrils of gold and purple reappear, this time physically wrapping themselves around Aventurine’s wrists and ankles. They bind him tightly, pulsating with a deep energy that makes his head spin. Every single cell of his body feels paralyzed.
This isn’t good.
“If you will not cooperate, then I have no need for you, Prince Aventurine. Consider this the end of our negotiations.”
“I did what you asked!” Aventurine gasps. Sunday begins to step closer. “The whole thing! I tricked him, watched him hand over that damned jewel seconds before he was beheaded. What else could you possibly want?”
Sunday smiles. It does not reach his eyes. His fingertips press to Aventurine’s lips. He whispers, “You have outlived your usefulness. Your time is up,” as the dusk looms just outside the window.
Aventurine’s vision grows dark, black splotches blocking his view of searing gold eyes.
“Did you love him?” he hears Sunday ask, in front of him, to his left, to his right, in his head.
“I see,” says Sunday.
A bolt of dark energy spears Aventurine through his chest, right where his heart is, as blood begins to pool at his feet, staining his clothes and the floor of the one place he had ever called home — “Consider this dying of a broken heart, then.”
And then the world slips into darkness, the deafening sound of a heartbeat not his own all Aventurine can hear.