Sopor watched Basile with sleepy eyes. Was he the only one who found it odd?

The second youngest member of the Imperial Family, silky teal hair and impressive horns. He was handsome as always, tall and broad, and even though he loathed the Emperor he had somehow ended up the Emperors favorite.

And he had just expertly ascended the ranks with the new and seemingly out of the blue interest in the Crowned Empress of Wings. Imogen had been all but clinging to him since her rescue from frontiersmen on the outskirts of the galaxy. The Emperor was more than pleased by this development. One of his newer challenges was Arcadia’s demands for secession. Those demands have seemingly vanished with budding romance.

Sopor closed his heavy eyes, seeing squiggly yellow and red lines before being eclipsed by darkness. When he came to he had been moved to a table in one of the courts many glamorous lounges. And who else was there but Basile, no doubt having been enlisted to move him given his strength. Basile appeared to be waiting for someone, staring blankly towards the exit.

“So,” Sopor’s voice came out like a deep growl. A panther having been woken from a particularly good nap, “you and Lady Imogen.”

Basile’s eyes slid to Sopor, remaining without emotion.

Sopor wanted to raise his head but it was too heavy. He settled for bringing his arms around to rest his chin on, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Was it love at first sight?” He teased, “Unlikely. She’s totally not your type.”

For the first time all day Basile’s expression changed, dropping into a frown, “And what,” he said, his voice was low but it wasn’t nearly as deep as Sopor’s, “would you know about my type?”

Sopor smiled slyly, “you did not spend your entire youth idolizing Saros the Wretched to fall for a pretty bird.”

Basile probably shouldn’t have drawn his sword, but he did and now Sopor was smiling up the end of his rapier. Unperturbed in the most frustrating way.

“You keep his name,” Basile hissed, “out of your mouth.”

Sopor laughed. His head was so heavy. He would fall asleep again soon, but he needed Basile to know his place, so he put his hands down on the table he’d been sat at and pushed himself up. Basile stared at him, now that they were eye level he looked significantly less confident.

“I will say his name as I please,” Sopor purred, “you wear his skin pretty well, but you’ll never be him.”

Basile glared at him, “So what?”

Sopor grinned, “You won’t be better than him either.”

“You talk like he’s still around.”

Sleep. Darkness beckoned him. Sopor sunk back down and leaned back, eyes unfocused. Squiggly red and yellow lines filled his vision.

“He is.” Sopor said dreamily, “He’s watching us right now.”