Heir to the throne: Broken Blood

TWIN FLAMES.

The shadows stretched long across the entertainment hall as Plato and Ryain continued drinking deep into the night. Plato nursed the fresh bottle of rich burgundy, the potent vintage only slightly dulling his gnawing sense of shame and remorse.

"Go on then, indulge me with every sordid detail," Ryain prodded, a wolfish grin playing across his lips. "I want to hear at least one story of  the mighty King Plato, the good boy who doesn't mess up , was utterly undone by this temptress Heven."

Plato's jaw tensed, but he could not deny the tantalizing memories that surfaced. "Well its unfair cause she a angel their alluring," he admitted lowly. "Her eyes... like endless pools of desire beckoning me to plunge into sweet oblivion."

He took another greedy pull of wine, images of a fateful night of him beginning to look a heven differently flooding back in lurid detail. "We were celebrating mother birthday The feasting, the music, the revelry - it all intoxicated the senses. And then Heven began her dance..."

Plato closed his eyes, recounting how the creed angel's gossamer robes trailed like silken water cascading from her undulating body. How her petite form seemed to bend and contort in impossible ways, yet with such effortless sensuality. Torchlight had flickered across the beads of sweat peppering her bronzed skin as she moved with the sinuous grace of a serpent capturing its prey.

"Before that night's revels were over, I had taken her in one of the empty antechambers," Plato rasped, desire and self-loathing warring within him. "Pinned her against the wall as our bodies became as one as we kissed For those fleeting, delirious moments."

Ryain grinned lasciviously as he kicked back, sloshing more wine into his cup. "Yes, yes, I can certainly see the appeal. That lithe little minx could tempt even the most devoted of men into unchaste acts, I'd wager." He waggled his eyebrows salaciously. "So tell me, brother - did her skills live up to the lofty reputation creed angels carry into the bedchamber?"

Plato's grip tightened around the bottle's neck until his knuckles shone bone-white. "Heven was...experienced in ways ," he admitted stiffly. "Her form was flawless, her stamina unnaturally resplendent. No position, no depraved act seemed beyond her abilities to master."

He took a steadying breath, chasing the memory away with another Few swallows.

Ryain scoffed into his goblet. "Ah, so even the mighty Plato succumbs to the weakness of mortality - pining like a callow youth for his heart's unfulfilled desires."

The king's eyes flashed dangerously. "Do not speak in such reductive terms of what I share with Senna. My wife is more than just some mere lust to be sated, some pursuit of fleeting pleasure until the next dalliance presents itself."

He rose, crossing to gaze pensively out the window towards where the royal bedchambers lay. "What we have transcends the physical, the corporeal. She is my partner, my co-ruler, my radiant mirror who understands me in ways no other can. To lose her eternal trust and companionship would cleave my very spirit asunder."

A heavy silence stretched between the two men. Finally, Ryain spoke in uncharacteristically earnest tones.

"Then make amendsfor your transgressions, Brother. Allow Heven and her thrall over you to become naught but the faintest of distant memories." He clinked their bottles together with a rueful grin. "For what is the point of the indulgences we men pursue, if not to discard them just as swiftly in favor of returning to the embrace of the ones who truly matter most?"

For once, Plato was grateful for his sibling's sanguine wisdom amidst the crass vulgarity. He nodded slowly, draining the last drops of his vintage as the pale moon rose over the horizon outside.