Page 75 of Burning Ice
“This is my booth,” Kylix said, nodding toward the window that curved across the front wall. A narrow bench ran beneath it, polished and cold.
“D-do you always have company?”
“What, jealous?”
Mirel looked away. “N-no.”
“You don’t look like it.”
Kylix poured him a drink, the motion smooth, almost lazy. The amber liquid caught the light as he turned, stepping in close enough for Mirel to feel the heat off his body. He planted his hands against the window and looked outside. The arena spread beneath them, filled with faces. He watched a mother stroll by, two children laughing, unaware.
“From down there, behind those bleachers, it’s difficult to tell how many people there are,” Mirel murmured. “But from up here…”
“Impressive, right? All these people who’ve come to see their heroes and the cruelty they’re capable of. Show me where you used to hide, little darae.”
Mirel searched until he found the narrow trench of broken seats. They were the only ones empty. “T-there.”
“So my little ghost used to hide there, watching the show? Did you enjoy the violence already back then?”
“No. I came here to escape the graveyard. Be less l-lonely.”
The drink burned. Kylix was right, he had enjoyed the cruelty back then. He’d just never given it thought.
A soft click came from the wall vent, filling the space with opium-laced vapour. The haze coiled low, sweet and metallic, thickening until the booth breathed with it.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Kylix said. “Outside, the show begins. Inside, you and I will start our own. Start by getting undressed.”
Mirel swallowed. His cock, that had never truly deflated, stirred with interest.
Kylix pressed his chest against Mirel’s back and let his mouth dip against his ear. “Stay there and look outside. Keep your hands on the glass, just like that.”
Clasps clicked free under patient fingers. Fabric slid down his arms and pooled at his feet. Only his underwear clung, thin and pale against his skin. Kylix’s knuckles traced the new line of exposed flesh, pausing at the small of his back. “Better,” he murmured.
“You know they can’t see us,” he said softly, “but I want you to feel like they can.”
Outside, soldiers entered the field, dragging a struggling prisoner between them.
“Tonight’s prey,” Kylix hummed. “His mother knows him well. She got him a pretty one. That means Daven will be out there soon.”
The arena hushed. Flags fell still, as if the air itself held. For a breath the city leaned in, waiting to be told what it was.
A band followed the soldiers onto the field and started the national hymn. The crowd sang along in vivid devotion.
“The Helion national hymn,” Kylix mused, purring the words in Mirel’s ear.
When the song finished, the crowd gave a thundering ovation. The guards bowed in unison, then marched away, leaving the prisoner alone, like a chained, terrified heap. Dressed in a purple jumpsuit, his gaze fixed in pleading, as if he truly expected mercy.
“See that first row?” Kylix murmured. “That’s where his family sits. They get the best seats to watch him die.”
“That’s so cruel,” Mirel whispered.
His knees felt weak, incisors itching. The haze deepened, his skin turned electric.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps not.” Kylix blew warm breath on Mirel’s skin, making it tingle.
From the rim gantries, aluminium casings unrolled, showing holo-screens that projected the Imperial’s image. Milanov Zephyranth smiled down.
“Dear fellow Helions.”
