Seviel in the middle of winter was cold, dark, and honestly, pretty grim. If it wasn’t raining, it was snowing, and if it wasn’t snowing, fog smothered the streets so thick you could barely see a metre ahead. Most businesses suffered, more so than usual this time of year. People were reluctant to leave their homes even at the best of times, but now, there was little reason to step outside at all. In the narrow window of daylight the city allowed, citizens rushed through their errands, buying food, fetching water, and tending to what was necessary, before retreating indoors as the grey settled in. 

Even in the warmer months, Seviel was never blessed with the luxury of merchant convoys. Those belong to Xaweth, the capital city, where people had money to waste on jewels and silks. Here, the only goods worth trading were the simple kind: garments sewn by local seamstresses and pots and vases moulded by housewives desperate for distraction. Yet, even those humble crafts were forgotten once the frost set in. 

The city’s only saving grace and perhaps the only thing keeping its heart faintly beating was the stream of wealthy tourists who ventured through its mist toward the silken warmth of the Praecia Veil. 

Inside, life went on unchanged, each day blurring seamlessly into the next, with the same perfume, the same laughter and the same music looping endlessly. The only difference now was the cold. With temperatures plummeting outside, the patrons stayed longer, clinging to warmth that didn’t belong to them. The slightly wealthier would make themselves too comfortable. This usually consisted of merchants with nowhere to be, soldiers on detour, or men without wives waiting up for them. If they had coin, they’d rent a bed and a beauty for days on end, most not even realising that the bed they purchased was, in fact, the beauty’s own. 

The door opened. 

A man stepped inside. Tall with long black hair slicked into a ponytail. His build was unmistakable: broad shoulders, the weight of command in his stance, scars tracing stories across his skin—a soldier. Probably a General.

His eyes swept the room once before settling on Claudia. 

Claudia was seated at the bar, gossiping with Esther, when she felt a pair of eyes land on her. She was so caught up in the chatter that she’d almost forgotten she was on the clock. In an instant, she twirled around, her smile blooming like a reflex.

Claudia was dressed beautifully tonight, as always. She shimmered in pale blue, while her hair was loose for once, half pinned with golden curls tumbling over her shoulders and down her back in waves that begged to be touched. In the glow, she looked almost ethereal, like an angel carved from warmth and smoke.

“Good evening, sir,” she purred. “You look half-frozen. Please, let me take that coat of yours before you start melting snow all over the floor.” 

The man smiled, letting her slip the heavy coat from his shoulders. His voice was low and gravelly, the kind that carried command even in softness. 

“Ah, I didn’t think it’d be this cold. Almost feels like God forgot to bless this part of the world.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Claudia replied lightly, hanging up the coat. “I’ve always wondered if he’ll ever grow bored watching us suffer like this.”

That earned the faintest hint of a smile from him. She slid a glass toward him. 

“Whiskey,” she said. “On the house. You look like you’ve had a long road.”

“Long enough,” he answered, taking the glass. “Do you always treat newcomers this well?”

“You look like you could use it,” she said, leaning against the bar. “And I suppose you’re not just here to talk about the weather.”

He chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated through the air. “No, I suppose I’m not.” 

“Good,” Claudia murmured, her lips curving into a gentle smile. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”

She poured herself a drink, more for show than anything, and clinked her glass softly against his. 

“To warmth,” she toasted. 

Her met her gaze, his eyes sharp and amused. 

“To company,” he replied. 

Cain leaned against a marble pillar, half-watching the scene unfold before him. Personally, he couldn’t stand the thought of sharing his space with anyone longer than necessary, but a several-day rendezvous would no doubt make Madam beam with joy. He could almost picture her now, rolling in a pile of coin with a cigarette dangling from her lips. 

The image made him chuckle to himself. 

“Care to share what wicked thought earned that smile, Solaris?”

The voice came low, close to his ear. Cain startled, turning sharply, and found Gabriel behind him, amusement curling at the corner of his mouth. He looked at Cain the way one might look at something fragile and fascinating. He found the look in Cain’s eyes oddly endearing, like catching something wild and untamed, just for a breath. 

Cain straightened, slipping his mask back on with practised ease. 

“Nothing depraved, I promise. Just admiring Claudia’s luck. A general, no less. She’ll be living comfortably for a while after this.” 

Gabriel’s brow lifted. “Oh?”

“It’s that time of year,” Cain said lightly. 

Gabriel tilted his head. “While I’m pleased for Claudia’s lucky streak, you’ll have to enlighten me on what that time of year means.” 

Cain looked at him blankly for a moment.

“Little lamb,” Gabriel added smoothly, “I’m not from around here, and I’ve only recently made it a habit to visit establishments like this. You’ll have to humour me for a moment here.” 

Cain huffed a quiet laugh. “Have you looked outside? The weather’s too cruel for travel, so some men would rather bury themselves in silk and perfume until the snow passes. Fortunately for them, the beds they rent come with company.” 

Gabriel nodded. “So they find somewhere warm to wait out the storm.”

Cain inclined his head. “Exactly.” 

“And how much for your bed, then?”

Cain didn’t hesitate. “In your dreams.”

Gabriel smiled. “A shame.” 

A brief silence settled between them. 

“And this happens every year?” Gabriel asked. 

“Yes,” Cain replied. “It’s nothing new.” 

Gabriel’s expression shifted. “What I meant,” he asked quietly, “is do you do this every year?” 

“Me?” Cain scoffed. “No. Madam explained the logistics to me once, and I hated the idea. I never refused outright, I just made sure she was happy with my earnings, so that she never felt the need to push it again.” He shrugged. “It benefits the girls who struggle to earn their keep. They offer a few extended stays, and Madam stays off their backs for a while.” 

Gabriel studied him openly now. “You really do have it all figured out, don’t you?” 

Cain tilted his head, eyes glinting. “More than you know.”

Gabriel leaned a fraction closer, the scent of smoke and winter clinging to his coat. “Is that so?” he murmured. “You never cease to surprise me.”

Cain smiled. “Surprise you?” 

“You paint a picture of grace and obedience,” Gabriel said, “but I can see the fire and defiance in your eyes. I’ve seen it before, in people who spend their lives battling themselves, trying to keep something contained.” His gaze lingered. “But yours burns brightly.” 

Cain let out a soft breath. “Why do you speak in riddles most of the time?” 

Gabriel’s mouth curved. “Very well. Let me rephrase. I can see that you were taught how to behave, but you still insist on marching to the beat of your own drum.” A pause. “It’s honest. And I like that.” 

Cain held his gaze. “Honesty is just easier, don’t you think?” 

Silence again. 

Quieter now, heavier. 

Then, without breaking eye contact, Gabriel slipped a small velvet pouch into Cain’s hand. 

Cain stilled, the weight of it warm in his palm. He glanced down, then back up, a question flickering in his eyes that he didn’t voice. 

“I wish there were a more endearing way to ask for your time,” Gabriel said gently. “But this is the best I can do for now.” 

Cain’s lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, he nodded once, silent and deliberate, before slipping the pouch into his pocket. His eyes lingered on Gabriel’s for a moment too long before he took his hand, his fingers cool against Gabriel’s warmth, and turned toward the stairs. 

The room seemed to hush as they passed. The murmur of laughter, the clink of glasses, all of it softened into a kind of reverent quiet. The only sound that followed them was the whisper of Cain’s boots on the steps and the faint rustle of fabric as he moved. 

Gabriel followed close behind, watching the way the candlelight glowed over Cain’s shoulders, tracing the outline of his spine beneath his shirt. Every step upward seemed to pull them further from the noise of the world, and further into something neither could yet name. 

At the top of the staircase, Cain paused, one hand resting lightly on the banister. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then, without looking back, he said softly, “Come along then, before I change my mind.” 

Gabriel’s mouth curved, but he said nothing. His gaze lingered on Cain’s hands, on those long, slender fingers curled loosely around the railing as though they were made for finer things than survival. There was a grace to the way he held himself, a stillness that didn’t belong in a place like this. 

The firelight from the hall below brushed his skin in gold, tracing the tendons along his wrist and the faint pulse beneath it. Gabriel wondered, not for the first time, how something so soft could exist in a world built to bruise. 

He followed Cain down the hall until the door closed quietly behind them, sealing the world away.

༻𐫱༺

Orpheus’s Devotion: In Greek Mythology, when Eurydice dies on her wedding day, a grief-stricken Orpheus journeys to the Underworld to bring her back, charming its inhabitants with his lyre. Hades and Persephone are so moved by his song that they allow Eurydice to follow him back to the land of the living, provided he doesn’t look back at her until they’ve both left. In a moment of longing and doubt just before leaving, Orpheus turns around, and Eurydice is lost to him forever.