Read Ashes & Bloom :: Chapter II: Velvet & Smoke

Cain fastened the buttons of his shirt one by one as the silk brushed against his skin. He left the top few undone, letting the candlelight catch on the pale sweep of his collarbones. With a final pass of his hand through his hair, he exhaled slowly as though the breath itself would steady him for whatever the night would demand.

Cain knew that tonight would likely be the same as all the others—the soft smile, the practised touch, and words shaped to fit the desires of men who wanted to believe affection could be bought.

Some came for comfort. Others came to break something beautiful, simply because they could.

He’d learned to tell the difference long before the bruises taught him.

The shy ones, with their gentle trembling hands, desperate for reassurance… those customers were easy. They left coins on the table and gratitude in their eyes. But the others, those with too much wine and too little conscience, came for other reasons. They usually came in two forms: merchants with ruined fortunes and husbands with ruined tempers, men searching for someone to bleed their failures into.

Cain remembered one night in particular.

A man. Tall and broad-shouldered, with eyes dark enough to swallow the light around him. He carried with him an air that made the girls still mid-laughter. Even before he spoke, they sensed what kind of man he was. They knew he was the type whose pleasure was indistinguishable from cruelty, and one by one, they turned to other patrons, feigning flirtation, hoping invisibility might save them.

In that moment, his gaze found Cain’s, and it didn’t waver. They hadn’t even exchanged a word before the man’s hand was at his wrist, dragging him up the stairs with a grip that promised no mercy.

The door slammed shut, the room shrank, and before he could take another breath, Cain was thrown face down onto the bed.

What he remembered most was the smell of spilled liquor soaking into the floorboards, the sharp tang of iron in the air, and the helplessness that clung to him long after. The man’s hands were heavy and unrelenting, forcing him into the mattress until the edges of the world bled white. When it was over, the silence was worse than anything. Only the rasp of his own breathing, the sting of sweat in torn skin and the faint echo of laughter drifting down the halls remained.

He hadn’t been able to move. So, he just lay there while blood soaked through the sheets, darkened in the candlelight.

Madam had found him hours later. Though, her face was unreadable, and her voice too calm. She’d called for the best physicians she could afford. They arrived with their silver instruments and clean hands, tending to his wounds with quiet care, reminding him that even in darkness, resilience persists. They stitched him closed and drugged him silent.

Cain slept for days afterwards, and when he woke, the pain arrived in waves, dull and deep like something was rotting inside of him. Eating was impossible; even water burned going down. Still, this was a small mercy. At least without food and water, he didn’t have to face the pain of using the bathroom.

Seven days later, the curtains reopened, and the perfume returned. The same men laughed downstairs, never noticing the faint scent of antiseptic that lingered on him.

༻𐫱༺

Cain drew in a slow breath, adjusting his cuffs. The candlelight trembled on the glass, reflecting in his eyes as if something were breaking, yet he remained composed. Elegant.

Life in the Praecia Veil moved on in rhythm: blood, perfume, laughter, gold. He’d learned to wear suffering like silk, to drape it so finely that no one could see the seams.

He hoped tonight wouldn’t be like that night. But if it were… well, he would make it look effortless.

༻𐫱༺

Cain’s boots echoed along the spiral staircase, the sound carrying through the Praecia Veil. The main hall shimmered below in a wash of candlelight, heavy with music and the scent of wine. Courtesans floated between patrons like wraiths, silk trailing over skin, their hushed laughter weaving into the murmurs spilling from private rooms.

He weaved gracefully through the crowd like a living brushstroke in the room’s painting, before locking eyes with an older man seated on a red velvet couch. He was probably a merchant, cloaked in fine fabrics that spoke of wealth.

Cain approached, lowering himself onto the seat beside the man. His hand brushed lightly against the merchant’s arm, the other settling just above his knee.

“Scotch, perhaps,” he murmured.

The merchant’s gaze lingered, drawn to the flutter of Cain’s lashes, the candlelight tracing the curve of his collarbones, the faint tremor in his lips as he spoke. Desire pooled openly in his eyes. Cain noticed, of course, but he let it pass, allowing the man to believe he held the control.

Cain poured the drink with a practised tilt, letting his fingers linger for just a moment on the glass rim. “I hope it’s to your liking,” he said, a gentle smile curving his lips.

The man chuckled softly. “Why don’t you get one for yourself, little one?”

Cain’s eyes flicked down, briefly betraying vulnerability. “I could, but I find it easier to keep my mind… clear,” he replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“How could I enjoy the company if I allowed my thoughts to wander?”

The merchant leaned closer. “And are your thoughts wandering now?”

༻𐫱༺

In the corner booth sat a man unlike the others who haunted the Praecia Veil. Tall, poised, every thread of his clothing chosen with meticulous precision. The faint gleam of candlelight caught his blond hair, painting it gold, though nothing in his expression was warm. His dark brown eyes seemed calm at first glance, yet the longer one looked, the more they shimmered with something perilous. In the glow, they resembled honey: sweet only to those who hadn’t yet tasted the sting.

He sat with one leg crossed neatly over the other, a cigarette poised between his fingers. Smoke curled upward, slow and delicate, as if it feared to touch him. Two courtesans leaned into him, their perfume heavy, their laughter soft and coaxing. They spoke against his skin, lips grazing the sharp line of his jaw, but his gaze was elsewhere.

And then Cain felt it.

The weight of that gaze.

Their eyes met across the haze of perfume and candlelight, and something inside him stilled. There was no lust in that look, no hunger, only the quiet patience of a man accustomed to waiting for things to come to him. It was a gaze that studied rather than desired, measured rather than took.

For a heartbeat, Cain forgot to breathe. Something was unsettling about that stillness. Something that made his pulse flutter against his throat.

The man looked away, exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke, as though nothing had happened at all.

༻𐫱༺

Cain returned to his performance, yet he found his movements slightly lighter, and his smile a fraction more cautious. The man in the corner didn’t shift, didn’t speak, but the weight of his gaze followed every subtle tilt and every soft flicker of an eyelash.

He took the merchant’s hand, his touch featherlight. He took his time tracing slow, idle patterns across his fingers before letting them rest on the heavy gold adorning them. The jewels glittered in the candlelight, emeralds and sapphires that caught the room’s glow and threw it back like tiny fragments of envy.

He smiled faintly. “Would it be too forward of me to ask,” he murmured in a voice just above a whisper, “how a man such as yourself can so carelessly wear such things in a city like this? Aren’t you afraid of what might happen?”

The merchant chuckled softly. “I bear no affection for these trinkets. They’re just objects. Easily replaced, if you know the right people.”

Cain tilted his head. “The right people?”

“Business is good,” he said with a hint of pride. “I have connections across Zidor, though Xaweth remains my heartland. If I want something, I get it. But…” he leaned back, swirling the scotch in his glass. “When things come too easily, they lose their taste.”

Cain’s lips curved. “And yet you still come here,” he said softly, “to buy the company of others.”

“Ah,” the merchant countered, smiling. “That’s different, little one. Objects and people are not the same.”

“No?” Cain asked. “Both can be bought, for the right price.”

The merchant’s eyes darkened, intrigued. He slipped one of his emerald rings free and caught Cain’s hand again, turning it palm-up. “This,” he said, setting the cool metal against the boy’s skin, “I could lose without care. Someone might steal it, and I wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep.”

He slid the ring slowly onto Cain’s slender finger. “But you…” His voice dipped lower. “From what I’ve heard about you, I think I’d be very sad to lose you from my grasp.”

Cain let his hand linger, the emerald glinting between them. Then, with a soft laugh, he drew his fingers back. “Careful, he said, eyes half-lidded. “You’ll make a man believe in sentiment.”

Their conversation lingered. Flirtation gave way to laughter, and soft touches grew bolder as the merchant emptied glass after glass of Scotch. The amber burn of liquor made his words looser and his smiles slower. At some point, Cain realised the man from the corner had vanished. In his place, the two courtesans who’d been draped over him were now laughing freely, wine glasses raised, their attention claimed by a pair of handsome new patrons. The air shimmered with perfume and candlelight, filled with easy laughter, as though nothing or no one had ever been missing at all.

Cain leaned in close, his breath ghosting against the merchant’s ear. Whatever words he whispered were too soft for anyone else to hear, but they made the merchant’s breath catch, his pulse visibly quickening beneath the thin fabric of his collar.

With practised grace, Cain rose and offered his hand. The merchant took it without hesitation, his fingers lightly brushing over Cain’s pale knuckles. The merchant stood, enchanted, letting Cain guide him through the haze of smoke and perfume before they disappeared up the candlelit staircase.

The door closed behind them with a quiet click, sealing away the muffled sounds of laughter and music below, and with them, the last trace of innocence the night still held.

This content is intended for mature audiences for the following reasons.