Esra awoke confused into darkness, mind muddled, with no idea of where he was. He was surrounded by warmth, a feeling of strength. It took a moment to realise that he was being held, his back pressed against a muscled chest.

The memories resurfaced in a rush: his small village, dwarfed by the sea and trees, falling swiftly from view. The sky darkening, to catch them in a storm. The sensation of being lifted, swept somewhere secret, and taken by his knight in a bed that felt like clouds.

Esra had never woken with another person before. Even in his sleep-addled state, the sudden realisation that he was being cradled, so intimately, against another man’s body, set his heart pounding.

And it was Balor’s knight that held him, a creature unlike any mortal man. The knight in his slumber seemed to Esra like a dragon at rest, with an embrace that both protected him, and ensnared him.

Esra held himself very still in the darkness. He dared not make any movement, afraid of waking the knight again, and perhaps rousing his ire.

After some time, he could feel Umbra stirring into wakefulness. The knight carefully removed his arm, which had kept Esra trapped in place with its weight. His movements were slow as he shifted his weight upon the bed, cautious, Esra realised, so as to not disturb him from his sleep.

The bed dipped beside him. His knight rose, and swung his feet over the edge of the mattress with a groan so low it was almost a growl.

Esra looked up at the broad back, vision blurred at the edges, his eyes sore and fatigued. The Reaper’s Rest was so dark that he would have thought it was still night, if not for the morning light that slivered in from the gap around the door. It threw a highlight over Umbra’s body, the sculpted shape of his figure.

The knight ducked his head, rubbing his hands through his ash-blond hair, and sighed. When Esra moved beside him, he turned to look at him. Their eyes met, points of gleaming light in the dark room.

“Woke you, hm?” said Umbra, his voice rough. He put a hand on Esra’s hip over the blankets. “You can sleep if you like. Going to check on Vaughn.”

“It’s all right. I have trouble going back to sleep,” Esra said, voice small, exhausted. He’d spent a restless night, drifting between dreams and wakefulness. There had been a nightmare, he remembered, and then Umbra had held him, soothed him, while his chest had clenched tight. “Is Vaughn..?”

“He’ll be fine.” Umbra said, petting him for a moment, before turning away to get dressed. “There’s a horse stall out the back. Brushed him down last night, wrapped him up warm. He’ll be ansty from all the rain hammering over his head all night, but that’s it.”

All that muscle disappeared under his loose shirt, and Esra glanced away. He shifted a little under the sheets, to check for pain.

Unlike his first time, there were no sharp twinges, nothing that would make him flinch. He ached, in a used sort of way. He felt half-dead from exhaustion, but that was the previous day’s journey, followed by a lack of sleep.

His stomach panged. He was starving.

Umbra, dressed in his undershirt and breeches, padded over to the front door and swung it open. Clear morning light spilled into the room and set the knight aglow. His hair shone almost gold, Esra thought sleepily.

The air was fresh after last night’s rain. He heard the soft shush of trees swaying, the light chirping of birds. They had different songs to the birds that had lived near Esra’s village, sweeter than the caw of a seagull, more musical.

“Esra, here,” Umbra said, nodding his head out the front door.

He raised a brow when Esra gingerly rolled out of bed, a blanket wrapped around him to preserve any remnant of modesty.

“You are a funny creature, my boy,” he said, tugging gently at the fabric as Esra drew near, his smoky eyes narrowed in the morning light. “There is no-one here but you and I.”

Esra’s just clutched the blanket tighter, and Umbra laughed, ruffling the youth’s inky hair. It was unfair, Esra thought, for Umbra to be so pleasantly relaxed and refreshed after their night together, while Esra felt like a cloth wrung dry.

“There,” Umbra said, nodded his head out the open door. “See?”

Outside, under the porch of the Reaper’s Rest, lay a basket, just as promised. It was covered by a heavy blanket in case of further rain.

Esra gave the knight a questioning look, and after the answering nod of permission, he picked up the offering. Underneath the blanket, the basket was laden with various foodstuffs: different kinds of breads and cheeses, pies stuffed with meat, fruits both dried and ripe from the vine. He could smell the bread, freshly baked, and the sweetness of the fruit. It was enough to make his mouth water, and his stomach twinge with hunger.

He felt the warmth of Umbra’s hand on his back, and turned to look up at him.

The knight looked dashingly handsome in the morning light, ashen hair falling over sharp features. His deep eyes roved over Esra’s face. “How are you faring?” he asked, voice soft with what could be concern.

The hand lingered, steady on Esra’s back.

“I am well,” Esra replied.

It was not untrue. He was well, by any physical measure, if one did not examine the state of his heart.

“I’m sorry I disturbed your sleep,” Esra was quick to add, his gaze dropping to his feet. He felt the need, once again, to apologise for his weaknesses.

“Does it happen to you often?” Umbra asked. “You told me you could not determine the cause.”

Esra shook his head. “I’ve not had an attack so severe since childhood.”

His hand clutched tight around the handle of the basket, squeezing the wicker into his flesh. Though the knight said nothing in reply, Esra could feel the weight of attention on him, and suppressed a shiver.

“I… I should’ve given you warning,” the youth breathed, “but I’ll admit I didn’t think of it. I should’ve remembered, of course. It’s the reason why I never travelled far, and the one time I tried with my fath--“

Esra cut himself off abruptly, swallowing the rest of his words. Sucked in a quick, shaky breath as he trembled, willing the tears away.

He had never been so far from home in his entire life.

Umbra’s hand had not left his back. Rather, he stroked it up and down, a caress that was surely meant to be a comfort. His touch was so warm and strong, that Esra could not resist its soothing effect.

“The journey today will be easier,” said Umbra, after a moment, with such quiet calm that Esra felt safe to look up at him again. Umbra was studying the new morning. Under his lashes, the dawn light caught in his eyes, giving them the luster of pale silver. “And see the weather. It's a beautiful day.”

And so it was. When they had first arrived, all had been cloaked in storm and the dark of night.  Now Esra saw the land that surrounded the Rest for the first time; the rolling hills of high country, well wooded with beech, juniper and oak.

Esra was used to the wilds around his village, with its high cliffs, and prickled evergreens. The world here was gentler, and after its baptism of rain, the countryside seemed to have sprouted anew, fragrant with petrichor, each leaf fresh on the branch, each blade of grass formed from velvet.

The morning breeze was cool and crisp upon his face. It made Esra acutely aware of his own dirtiness. He could feel their night together, cloying upon his skin.

“Is there a river nearby? To bathe?” When Umbra peered at him in askance, the youth could not help but stammer: “I-I… do not feel clean.”

The knight scoffed; then, he looked at the youth more carefully. Esra’s face heated at the perusing gaze. He didn’t know it, but the knight found the blush on his cheeks quite becoming. “You think people will take a look at you, and know what we’ve done?”

Esra ducked his head, embarrassed. It was indeed his fear.

Umbra smiled. “Never seen your own face? Need to get you a mirror, boy. You look pure as a maid. You look incorruptible even when I’m in you, somehow.” He watched with great amusement as Esra stuttered and gasped, flush deepening in mortification, before saying: “I prefer hot baths myself.”

“I, I can heat you water,” Esra offered, feeling the need for a bath more than ever, his voice a small stammer.

Umbra’s hand at his back petted over the shape of his waist. “I wouldn’t ask you to, and besides, we’ve no tub. Was speaking of the grand bathhouse in the capital. Waters of all different temperatures, and soaps, and scents, and…” he shot Esra a half smile, “... by Balor, a man can miss civilisation.”

Esra rubbed his arm, and nodded hesitantly. He’d grown up with few creature comforts, and only knew of the luxury of the capital from stories of the runaways who had dwelt there.

“We’re not far away, if that’s what ails you,” said the knight. “Be at the capital after noon.”

Esra nearly dropped the breakfast hamper. “We are headed to the capital?” he asked, his heart hammering in his chest as Umbra nodded.

All that Esra knew of the outside world had been pieced together from the stories he’d been told.

As a child he’d listened in wonder to tales of the capital. A castle white and tall, built into a mountain range, with a river flowing beneath it that ran from the mountains, through the city, to the sea. A bustling, busy place filled with all sorts of people, terrifying and beautiful, where one could make their fortune, and adventure awaited anyone bold enough to answer its call.

Those who told such tales did not mention the horrors when they were speaking to a child, of course. It was only when he grew older that he came to see the capital for what it was: Balor’s Throne, the stronghold of the seabeast. When he was small, he wanted nothing more than to see it. Now the thought of it brought more dread than wonderment.

He knew not yet what was to happen to him, what his place would be when they ended their journey. All Esra had were Umbra’s intentions, that he would keep him, and protect him.

He turned his gaze to Umbra, then.

The knight had been watching each expression flicker over Esra’s face, and the close attention warmed Esra’s cheeks. He placed his hand over Esra’s, where his fingers clutched at the basket. How easily the knight’s hand swallowed up his own.

“You get started on this food, before I’m back.” A gentle order.

Esra nodded. The knight dropped a kiss on his forehead, as chaste as a hero from the fae tales, then brushed past him into the crisp morning air.

* * *

Esra unpacked the basket onto the wooden dining table, and set it back outside the front door. Alone at last, he got ready for the day. He dressed swiftly in his fire-dried clothing, combing his fingers through the tangles in his hair until it slipped over his palm like silk. Umbra liked to touch his hair.

Sunbeams spilled through the open door, bright enough to light the room, catching on the dust motes that spiralled up as he walked, like tiny fireflies. It was peaceful, he thought, in this private place, with birdsong in the air, his knight outside tending to the horse. The idyllic beauty was close to dreamlike. It was strange enough to have him, for a moment, question his reality.

Where was he, really? Was he still dreaming, yet to wake in another, crueller, existence?

Only two days ago he’d had to stumble through a field of bodies belonging to those he knew, the ground so covered with death that one could not avoid stepping in earth splattered with blood. He could still see the black smoke, the shadows of the shrivelling corpses pierced through on spikes.

It did not make sense, that only he could survive. He had done nothing to deserve this haven. Out of everyone he knew, he had always been the one who was the most lacking. The guilt panged him, even as he set the table, making it presentable for his knight.

The sight of the bounty laid out in front of him made his stomach rumble again, and Esra clutched it.

He hadn’t eaten since the previous morning, yet there were courtesies so common that even his small hidden village lived by them. Elders were to be respected, as was position and rank. The knights were the highest power in the land, next to their god. A peasant taking a meal before a knight of the Order? Such a breach was unforgivable.

No, Esra dared not touch a morsel, no matter how sharp his hunger.

Instead he distracted himself with tidying the room, making the bed, setting things in order. Umbra had been pleased with such things before, after all.

On the side table was laid out the blackened steel of the knight’s armor. Its sharp edges crisply caught the light from the morning sun through the open door, giving it the appearance of shifting scales.

Esra approached it, as if compelled. The mask sat neatly on the polished wood, harshly angular, strikingly elegant.  The geometric curve glinted at him, the light slithering over details that had Esra thinking of a living beast.

He reached out, with both hands trembling. The surface was smooth metal, alarmingly cold to the touch. It weighed heavily in his hands. Cautiously, he flipped it over. The inside was shaped like a man's face, but there was no way to see through it, and no way Esra could make out of even keeping it on. Above the brow was a whorl of metal, like an enormous thumbprint, slightly ridged, spiralling towards the center of the forehead. Something about the perfection of the shape put a terror in him, and he swiftly replaced the mask on the table.

What had he been thinking..?

Nervous, now, he adjusted the mask on the side table just so, making sure everything was just as he found it. He had to pace away before the strange tension could leave his body. Pausing before the fireplace, he thought, perhaps he should sweep up the ashes, before a shadow cut over the light, and stretched down the length of the room.

The knight paused on the doorstep before he entered, the sun casting his towering figure in silhouette. He was looking at Esra, his serene face unreadable, like a statue.

“You did not eat?” he asked.

Esra swallowed nervously. Had he done something wrong? “I was waiting for you.”

He looked down at his feet as the knight approached him. His eyes slid shut as an elegant hand tucked his hair behind his ear.

Umbra considered him. “Look at me.”

Esra inhaled shakily, and forced his eyes upwards.

He saw a blur of pale skin and ashen hair, and Umbra kissed him. His lashes were long against his cheek, and he moved his mouth so sweetly that Esra gasped into it, his eyes flickering shut. He yielded, his heart pounding, and returned the kiss. Instinctively, his hands went to Umbra’s chest, and he curled his fingers into the shirt fabric.

When Umbra had drunk his fill and pulled away, Esra’s eyes were blurred again. He didn’t loosen his grip on Umbra, and looked up at him, wordless.