Page 88 of Burning Ice
He leaned down, brushing his mouth near Mirel’s ear. “Dream of me, if you can.”
He stood, adjusted the room’s temperature until the air warmed around the bed, then turned off the last light.
The frost on the glass faded as he left, the Waltr remembering his heat.
Kylix unfastened his own clasps and slid his clothes aside, careful with each piece. He pressed his mouth once to the skin he uncovered at Mirel’s shoulder, then pulled the sheet up to his chest.
He lit a cigarette and crossed to the wall screen. The city stretched beneath them, a map of slow lights and distant movement. Smoke curled over the glass. Music played low from the console, a steady beat, no words.
Mirel slept without moving. One hand curled near the mark. The pulse there matched Kylix’s wrist, slow and sure. He touched it with two fingers and felt the answer, warm and constant. He let his hand rest there a moment, then stepped back.
He took a drink from the bottle on the shelf. The room stayed warm. The bond held.
He picked up the slate from the table. The surface woke under his hand, pale gold waiting for command. He typed the letters one by one, steady, deliberate. The font built itself in neat lines, each character burning into light before softening again. He read it back, then adjusted the wording until it sounded right.
Good morning, little darae.
I’m already at the office.
Guards are posted downstairs to take you to college.
I’ll see you tomorrow.
– K
He watched the letters settle, then tapped to fix the delay, active at first light and dissolve on read. The text glowed once before dimming, ready.
He placed the slate on the glass table beside the bed. The reflection caught it for a moment, his own name flickering in the curved wall before fading.
Kylix turned the music down and checked the lock. One more look at the city. One more look at the bed.
He sat on the edge for a breath and brushed a thumb over Mirel’s temple. “Sleep,” he said, quiet. He stood, put out the cigarette, and left the light low.
The frost at his wrist cooled as the room held its warmth.
23
Mirel woke alone. The sheets still held Kylix’s warmth, faint and electric. His hand found the hollow still warm from him. The bond stirred, quiet and insistent, climbing from palm to chest until breath came short. Need curled low – heat without touch, hunger without command. He pressed his palm to his heart, trying to calm the pulse that refused to slow.
He sat for a moment, staring at the faint gold text still hovering above the nightstand. Kylix’s message from before dawn shimmered once before fading:
Work early. Might be with Moargan later. Don’t wait up.
The letters dissolved into light. Mirel read them twice anyway. A small ache followed their disappearance.
He showered and dressed, then sat by the open window for a while, the city heat pressing faintly against the glass. A soft track played through the wall speakers, slow and instrumental – something Kylix once left in the queue. It filled the quiet without demanding anything from him.
A knock came. One of the guards stood in the doorway, carrying a tray. “Breakfast, sir. Imperial Kylix requested that you eat.”
Mirel blinked. “He did, did he?”
“Yes, sir. He said, properly.”
Mirel sighed, a small smile tugging his mouth. “Tell him I’m obeying under protest.”
“Yes, sir.” The guard withdrew.
He ate slowly, half out of obedience, half out of habit. Between bites, the bond flared now and then, a pulse under the skin like shared breath. He reached for his multi-slate and typed:
