Virolan Deaurata closely observed his reflection in the golden hand mirror. Still no visible signs of aging or decay, not yet. He had at least another three good years left.

He lay in his morning bath of fresh milk infused with lavender, attended as always by his three handmaidens. Two scrubbed gently at his skin while the third massaged fragrant oil into his freshly-washed hair, all to maintain a flawless presentation on the chance that Queen Rhea would request his presence today.

Graela, the dimmest and most homely of his attendants, was being rougher than he liked. Virolan set the mirror down on the marble windowsill beside him and gently kicked the foot she was mangling. Graela flinched as milk splashed into her eyes.

"How often must I repeat myself?" he said in his favorite commanding tone. "Gently."

Graela complied as best as she was able. He supposed he could hardly expect more from her; she was Fourth Caste through and through.

But not only was Virolan of the Deauratas, one of the most esteemed bloodlines of the First Caste, he enjoyed the privilege that so few of even his standing could claim: providing carnal companionship to a Divine Heir.

He'd been cultivated for this role since childhood, had stood amongst dozens of equally-trained candidates from other First Caste families, and Queen Rhea had chosen him. He'd known upon first sight of her grace and beauty that no other would entrance him again, even after he aged past her tastes into obsolescence.

He'd also been taught to gladly accept however he was used. All actions and desires of a Divine Heir were extensions of the Goddess' will--as Eris' earthly manifestations, their every choice was an expression of divine, righteous providence. If they deigned to hurt him, humiliate him, strike him down where he stood, their reasoning would be incontrovertibly just, if beyond mortal comprehension.

But Queen Rhea was gentle. Their times together were tender and passionate. Virolan dreaded the day that she would inevitably discard him for a fresher, more beautiful replacement, but he cherished the gift of his remaining time with her. His mistress' divinity was his privilege to serve, if but for a moment.

Virolan stood from the tub. His servants poured a basin of warm rosewater to rinse off the milk.

Yes, this is quite the life.

*

As was custom for the Divine Heirs' favored courtesans, Virolan enjoyed a private bedroom, bathroom, and balcony within the Citadel. Clothed in a loose silk robe of vibrant azure, he sank into an armchair facing the open balcony, well within the shade of the threshold. He knew better than to expose his skin to the sun.

He waved a hand. "Graela and Sasha, you may go." They curtsied and backed out of the room. Beldre remained behind, hands clasped and eyes respectfully lowered.

"Shall I fetch your breakfast, milord?" she said. He nodded.

Beldre was his favorite. Though his station forbade him from dalliances with anyone but Queen Rhea, Virolan still enjoyed drinking in the sight of her rich golden hair, her plump lips, her fresh complexion. Despite her youth and social standing, she was the brightest of the lot. The two of them had taken to exchanging gossip almost every day over breakfast, of which Virolan always allowed her a bite or two.

Beldre soon emerged from the kitchens with a tray of porridge, honey, fresh fruit, rolls, butter, and soft-boiled eggs. She set it on the small table beside his armchair and waited.

"You may sit," Virolan said, popping a raspberry into his mouth. "Have some fruit, if you'd like. A roll as well."

She sank into the armchair across from him and eagerly pulled apart a roll and slathered it in butter. Her flawless servant's manner invariably receded whenever she was given permission to partake. It was quite endearing.

"How fares King Asha's newest companion? Any word from her attendants?"

Beldre swallowed and shook her head. "Poor thing's frightened half to death."

"She's not even much to look at, if you ask me," Virolan smirked. "I'd give her a week, at most, before she crumbles like wet sand."

"Indeed, my lord." Beldre finished her roll and glanced toward the balcony and the shimmering city below. "Though, if I may, the constitution required of King Asha's companions is rather… exceptional."

He nodded in wry agreement, and thanked Eris yet again for granting him Queen Rhea as his mistress. "How fares your father?" he asked. "You told me some time ago that he'd contracted something."

Beldre's chewing slowed. "No better, I'm afraid. The family physician is at a loss."

Blinding vision, as if his eyes were permanently adjusted to pitch darkness. Nothing beyond that initial bit of information had yet emerged. The Citadel was a self-contained sanctuary, a soaring tower of marble far removed from earthly concerns.

But Virolan, unlike his queen, wouldn't stir up a frenzy if he chose to descend for a bit, get a lay of the land below. In fact, the prospect of it rather thrilled him.

He finished his porridge and dabbed at his mouth with a silk napkin, then stood up and tightened the robe around his waist. Favored courtesans rarely wore anything more elaborate than a single long garment, and were free to roam the Citadel as such. "Help yourself to the rest," he said to Beldre. "I, on the other hand, must find my queen."

*

The Citadel's curved, cavernous halls were furnished with arched windows the height of ten men and the width of five. Sunlight streamed in with the full force of the late morning, and Virolan's bare feet moved quickly across the warm stone to minimize his exposure to it.

He passed a trio of Second Caste officials muttering amongst themselves, who respectfully inclined their heads at his approach. He ignored them, but that was customary too.

Virolan climbed the wide marble staircase that curved upwards in a graceful spiral along the outer wall. The officials below him shrank to the size of beetles as he reached the next level.

He usually waited in his room to be summoned, but to seek out his mistress himself was also acceptable, if a little unorthodox. His heart began to race, out of pure habit, at the prospect of seeing her.

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The double doors to Queen Rhea's chambers were as tall as the Citadel's windows, intricately embossed with silver and blue. Their designs depicted the Founding, when the first generation of Divine Heirs, guided by the Goddess, had united to build the Kingdom of Iridesca. From the barbarous, splintered, warring factions of primitive humanity a single sovereignty had risen, intended for the Heirs and their descendants to rule in prosperous perpetuity. Graceful lines and shapes wove the scene with simple elegance. Virolan had been utterly entranced the first time he'd encountered these doors, so absorbed in their artistry that he'd almost forgotten to knock.

He did not forget to do so this time, and he raised the heavy knocker twice. The austere clang of metal echoed out across the vast halls of marble, but there was no response from within.

After a few long minutes, Virolan turned to head back to his chambers, disappointed. Despite himself, he'd been anticipating a little variety in his daily ritual, as his restlessness and growing dissatisfaction were not unrelated to his request for permission to visit the city. His pampered existence was all perfumed softness and unrelenting beauty, but even the most luxuriant lifestyle lost its novelty over time, to be inevitably replaced by ambivalence and even boredom.

Perhaps such thoughts made him unworthy of his esteemed position. Ilya, the stern and unyielding aunt who'd trained him, would have certainly said so. A knot of shame in his belly twisted and hardened.

"Boy, what are you doing here?" came a cold, brittle voice from above. Virolan startled, and looked up to see two figures on the curved staircase leading to the Citadel's topmost floor, where none but the Heirs were permitted. One was his mistress, Queen Rhea. The other, more diminutive one was Queen Ayo, the Heir of Light.

Queen Ayo continued her descent in measured steps as Queen Rhea followed behind. The former's thin, willowy frame was accentuated by delicate white silks that trailed behind her like flowing water. Fine, waist-length dark hair framed an ageless face of otherworldly beauty. A flawless white diamond, the size of a robin's egg, glittered at her throat. She seemed to exude an ethereal light, and Virolan resisted the urge to shield his eyes at the sight of her.

"Your Graces," he stammered, just barely remembering to sink to his knees and bow. The hard marble cooled his forearms through the thin silk of his robe.

Queen Ayo's small, slippered feet stopped before his prostrate form. "Rise."

Virolan did so, though he kept his eyes lowered.

Delicate fingers reached to tilt his chin up so that his gaze met hers--light gray and continually shifting, like swirling mists trapped in bottomless twin wells. He resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder at Queen Rhea, who stood stiff and wordless behind her.

In all his time at the Citadel, Virolan had encountered the Heir of Light no more than a handful of times, and always in passing. She claimed no courtesans, spoke rarely to her siblings--let alone her advisors--and sequestered herself in the mysterious top floor from dawn to dusk. This behavior had begun in the days following the Madness, or so it was said. The servants had not yet tired of eager speculation concerning her life of absence. He himself had frequently indulged, especially with Beldre.

To Virolan, Queen Ayo seemed more phantom than corporeal, a specter haunting the Citadel's empty corners whose absence represented normality and whose presence suggested the opposite.

"Answer me," she said. "Are you a whore? Whose?"

Virolan flinched; he'd never heard that word in reference to himself. None would have dared. He risked a glance at Queen Rhea, whose expression was stony and distant and didn't appear to be listening to their exchange at all.

"I… I belong to Queen Rhea, Your Grace."

"New, are you?"

"I've served her for three years."

She tilted his face back and forth in detached appraisal. "You all look the same, flitting in and out, one after the other. Oversized eyes, coltish limbs, scrubbed and perfumed to excess. Ornamental playthings and nothing more."

The cold words pierced him like icy needles.

"Don't fret, boy," Queen Ayo said after a loaded pause. Her hand left his face. "On the coming Day, you'll be granted a more meaningful purpose."

She smiled a little and swept away to her chambers.

Virolan stared after her in dumb bemusement, then turned back to Queen Rhea, who hadn't moved. A numb, ashen look clouded her eyes, one he'd never seen before.

"Your Grace?" he said hesitantly. "Are you all right?"

Rhea blinked from her reverie and appeared to truly see him for the first time. Her mouth opened, then closed. She eventually stepped forward to take his arm. "Shall we proceed to my chambers, Virolan?"

As always, he could feel the vast well of strength simmering beneath her careful, deliberate gentleness. Inhuman, tantalizing. Even amidst her strange demeanor, he had to swallow back an instinctual flare of desire.

"As you wish, my queen."

*

Despite the early hour, Queen Rhea poured herself a generous crystal chalice of Gyrian wine. She poured another for Virolan, pushed it into his hand, and guided him to the bed. As familiar as he was with this space by now--the luxuriant silk sheets, the open balcony, the cavernous, yawning ceiling--the unusual circumstances rendered it rather disconcerting.

Queen Rhea sat beside him at the edge of the bed and gulped down her wine with the fervency of a woman parched. He sipped, his eyes still trained on her. The wine was dry and earthy, with an acrid tang in the aftertaste. Frankly, Virolan preferred the sweeter and lighter vintages, but he certainly wouldn't express this aloud.

Queen Rhea deliberated on her empty glass, head bowed and hidden by lustrous dark tresses. Virolan remained silent, though it was more a matter of bewilderment than tact.

He was suddenly pinned roughly to the bed, faster than he could comprehend. His breath left him in a whoosh as Rhea's mouth worked hungrily at his neck and her fingers dragged almost painfully through his hair.

"Essence of lavender today. My favorite," she murmured into his skin. Her other hand began to slide the robe from his shoulders.

"Your Grace, I--"

"Are you not here to please me? Why else would you have sought me out?"

She wore no perfume, and had never needed to; her scent was rich and intoxicating all on its own.

"I--I want--" Virolan was helpless beneath her. The wine buzzed comfortingly in his head, softening doubts and protests. It was much stronger than he was used to. "I want… you to trust me," he blurted out.

Rhea froze. She raised herself up to meet his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"I wish for you to confide in me, about whatever troubles you."

"Confide? In you?" Her incredulity stung, more than he would ever admit. Rhea rolled onto her side. "I appreciate the sentiment, Virolan, but…" She stroked his jaw. "Where did this little flight of fancy come from?"

Virolan flushed. "Then you and your sister are in agreement," he said bitterly.

Rhea's face fell back into stoniness.

"I--I'm sorry, Your Grace," he stammered. "I didn't mean--" She held up her hand, and he quieted at once.

His heart thundered in his chest. When did he grow the gall to--?

"Virolan, how did you survive the Madness?" she said. "You were a young child at the time. Survivors of your age are exceedingly rare."

Queen Rhea had never shown interest in his past, nor was she expected to. Even now, a part of her was distant, distracted.

"I was fortunate, Your Grace. I'd stolen an entire jar of candied fruits from the stores, and had been locked in the cellar without supper when the Madness struck."

He didn't tell her of the horrifying, inhuman sounds that had drifted down to him from above, nor of the entire day that had passed before his surviving family was able to retrieve him, starving and terrified, throat hoarse from screaming.

"That seems a harsh punishment for the crime," Rhea mused.

"I was taught to maintain my body, my most valuable asset. And I hesitate to disparage my teachings when they saved my life, even by chance."

Rhea smiled. "Did you ever consider that it was your gluttony that saved you?"

"If I had, I may have turned out quite differently, Your Grace."

"And you wouldn't be here now, with me."

Had Rhea not chosen him, he would have been sent to serve a First or Second Caste. Such was the path of most youths trained in the arts of seduction, once the Divine Heirs passed them by.

"Your Grace, if I may, what did Queen Ayo mean about granting me a 'meaningful purpose'? And was it Ascension Day she was referring to?"

Rhea finally met his eyes. "Don't burden your pretty head with affairs that don't concern you, Virolan." She cupped his face briefly, then inclined her head in a clear dismissal. "I'll call on you soon, perhaps tomorrow."

As Virolan sprawled across the sheets of his own, smaller bed, Graela entered with a light meal of bean and vegetable stew, a quarter loaf of round bread, and fruit with rose-petal cream. He did not move to receive it.

She set the tray on his table. "I'll leave this here for you, milord."

Virolan only continued to stare sightlessly at the arched ceiling of his room. A stubborn, miserable weight had settled on his chest.