Chapter Text
Five years.
It had taken five long, agonizing years, but at last Occtis was lying beside his sleeping knight, one hand buried in Julien’s hair, slowly combing through the dark strands with quiet, unspoken possession.
It had felt like an eternity.
His gaze lingered on the tear-streaks still visible on Julien’s cheeks, and something in him twisted. Maybe Occtis should not have manipulated him like that, but then again, Julien had given him permission. Find me. Save me. Whatever it takes. I love you, and I trust you. The memory of those words still had the power to make his chest ache.
Which was why securing Thjazi Fang's pardon had never been an innocent act, nor an entirely selfless one. Yes, Occtis was grateful for everything the orc had done for him, but he had also known exactly what Thjazi's return would do.
He had known it would drive a wedge deeper between Julien and his father. Had known it would strain what remained between him and Aranessa. Had known it would leave him feeling abandoned—unwanted—alone.
Which had made him easier to reach, and easier to claim. Occtis’s hand stilled briefly in Julien’s hair as guilt flickered through him—brief, unwelcome. Not for long though, because he also knew something else. He knew what awaited Julien if he did nothing. He knew the lonely, bitter man his knight would become, worn thin by years of quiet misery and endless regrets.
He knew because he had seen it, because he had loved him through all of it. So yes, perhaps Julien was a little broken by the time Occtis finally reached him. But that was all right, because Occtis knew how to put him back together. He knew how to heal him, how to make him laugh, and how to make him happy.
The undead had spent time learning every crack in Julien's soul, every scar, every hidden hurt, and if he had to be a monster to help him, then so be it. He bent slightly and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to Julien’s temple before resuming the gentle stroke of his hair. "You told me to do whatever it takes," he whispered into the darkness.
Julien slept on, warm and real beneath his hand, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Occtis allowed himself to believe it. He had his knight by his side again, and this time, he was never letting him go. The wizard had meant every word he had said to Julien; if Aranessa ever decided to take him back by force, he would destroy her.
Julien was his.
The thought should have frightened him, but instead, it filled him with a fierce, almost painful sense of relief. After all, he had already been possessive of the knight in his previous life. And really, who could blame him?
Julien was a perfect weapon, as deadly and finely crafted as the rapier he favored. A loyal guardian, willing to throw himself into danger for the people he loved. A snarky bastard capable of reducing both allies and enemies to silence with a few well-placed words. And he was a passionate lover, the man who had taught a walking corpse how to feel alive again.
So, how could Occtis not be possessive?
But now… Now it was worse. Or better, he had not yet decided. The vassal oath had tied Julien to him, and through that bond Occtis could feel him. The steady warmth of his presence beside him, the lingering traces of exhaustion and emotion from earlier, the quiet comfort of knowing exactly where he was.
He was here, safe, and more importantly with him.
Occtis's fingers tightened slightly in Julien's hair. Because the fact that Aranessa had not come storming through the doors the moment the oath had been sworn could only mean one thing. She had not felt her own bond to Julien break.
For a long moment, Occtis's face twisted with silent fury. Even now, even after everything, she still had not truly claimed him. She had taken his loyalty, his devotion, his love—and had given him so little in return that the bond itself had never fully taken root.
A bitter, possessive anger unfurled in his chest the more he thought about it. Because they had all taken from Julien. Either General Davinos, or Aranessa, and even Thjazi, in his own way. They had taken and taken and taken, until the knight had convinced himself that being needed was the same thing as being loved.
Occtis bent over him, brushing a strand of dark hair from his sleeping face. "No," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "Not anymore." From now on Julien would be cherished, he would be wanted, and if anyone tried to take him away… The necromancer's eyes flashed with something cold and ancient.
They would learn exactly how dangerous love could make a man.
And if he needed to tell a story about the Lady of House Royce—about a woman driven to madness by the loss of her most loyal knight, lashing out in grief and behaving irrationally—well, Hal would help him tell it. After all, spinning stories was what he did best. That was precisely why Halandil and Bolaire had been the first to learn the truth.
Bolaire had come first.
Occtis had known the Mask would believe him. Convincing him to accept the plan had proven more difficult, but the promise of freedom from Thjazi—and the chance to finally tell Hal the truth without losing his friendship—had ultimately swayed him.
And just as Occtis had hoped, having Bolaire reveal everything to Halandil of his own accord had made all the difference. There had been no grief to cloud the bard’s judgment, no dead brother to mourn, no avalanche of lies crashing down on him all at once. Only the truth.
And, to Occtis’s immense relief, it had been enough. Enough for Halandil to forgive—though that forgiveness, it turned out, did not extend to everyone. Oh no, Halandil's wrath had simply found a different target. His brother.
Poor Azune had been absolutely miserable at first, torn between two people he loved and idolized, two men who had each been a parental figure to him in their own way.
But once Hal had explained the reasons for his anger, the young man had chosen to stand with him and Bolaire. Not that Occtis could blame him. Loyalty had always come easily to Azune, but betrayal, however, did not. And if Occtis was not mistaken, there was also something developing between him and Shadia, Hal's eldest daughter.
The thought brought a faint smile to his lips.It was a small thing, perhaps, in the grand scheme of everything he had set in motion, but some people deserved happiness. Especially after everything they had endured.
He and Murray had been the next to be brought into the secret. Occtis had hesitated when it came to trusting the Arcane Marshal, but the others had vouched for him—and in the end, he had relented.
The five of them had then spent the following years working tirelessly: unraveling his family’s plans before they could come to fruition, exposing the truth behind House Halovar’s cult, and keeping Thjazi—as well as Mara and Thimble—from inadvertently undoing everything.
It had not been easy.
Especially because, in the beginning, Occtis had been fighting battles of his own. Having spent so much time as one of the dead, it had taken him time to grow accustomed to being alive again. Sleeping, breathing, blinking, eating, drinking… So many small, ordinary things he had forgotten while he had been nothing more than an animated corpse.
Some mornings, he would wake in a panic, convinced his heart had stopped—until he felt it again, steady and insistent in his chest. Other times, he would find himself holding his breath for minutes at a time, only to remember, with a jolt, that he needed air now.
The first time he had tasted wine again, he had cried, and the first time he had felt the warmth of sunlight on his skin, he had wept. Being alive had been wonderful, but it had also been terrifying. Because after so long without it, every heartbeat felt unbearably fragile.
Then it had simply been a matter of securing Thjazi's pardon and reopening the gates to the realm of the Faeries.
And now it was done. His family was dead, the plans they had woven with House Halovar had been reduced to dust, and Julien was his. Even if he had yet to claim him publicly. Once, the very thought would have terrified Occtis. He had never cared for attention, never sought the weight of eyes and expectation.
But now? Now, if he were honest, his patience was wearing thin. Because for five long years he had been forced to watch his knight slowly destroy himself.
The drinking, the drugs, and the string of meaningless encounters that left him looking emptier every time... His only comfort had been that Bolaire’s vigilance—keeping a careful eye on both the substances Julien took and the company he kept. At least Occtis had known he was safe. Safe, but not happy, never happy. A soft sigh escaped him as his fingers continued to comb through Julien's hair.
Earlier that evening, he had come dangerously close to breaking character, to casting caution aside and taking what he wanted without pretense. Then again, Julien had always been unfairly beautiful on his knees, looking up at him like that. Even now, asleep and thoroughly exhausted, he looked younger somehow, the bitterness and loneliness of the past few years softened by slumber.
Carefully, so as not to wake him, he brushed a strand of dark hair from Julien's forehead. "Just a little longer," he murmured. Then he allowed himself one small, selfish smile. Soon, he would never have to let him go again.
"Yes… please." Julien swallowed painfully. "Make me yours."
"Of course, Julien," Occtis agreed immediately. The words had barely left the knight's lips before his answer came, because there had never truly been another outcome. "Do you want me to free you?" he asked gently, gesturing toward the skeletal hands still holding the other man down.
"...No." The admission was barely audible, and threaded with shame. That simply would not do.
"It’s all right," Occtis murmured. His hand lingered at Julien’s cheek, thumb brushing slow, reassuring strokes across warm skin. "Do you know what you want to swear?" he asked. "Or would you like me to guide you?"
“Tell me what to do… please?" the knight whispered, his voice breaking.
And that—more than anything—gave Occtis pause. Because the reasonable choice, the right choice, would have been to ask for a simple vassal oath. A promise of loyalty in exchange for the protection of his House. An oath that could always be shaped and deepened later. But Occtis was a Tachonis, and sanity had never been a virtue that ran particularly deep in his bloodline. So instead, he heard himself say, "I want you to give me everything."
The words came out softly, almost tenderly, and yet they carried a terrible weight. "Your body, your mind, and your soul." His hand slid from Julien’s cheek to rest over his heart, feeling the steady, living beat beneath his palm. "I want you to swear to stay at my side," he continued, quieter now, but no less certain. "To trust me."
He should have stopped there, but he didn’t. Yet the next words should never have left his mouth. "And to always obey me," he added, his voice dropping to something darker, "without hesitation."
The room fell silent, and only then did Occtis truly grasp the weight of what he had asked. This was not a simple oath of vassalage, nor even the promise of a knight pledging himself to a lord. This was everything. It was devotion, dependence, possession, and love all tangled together into something dangerously close to obsession.
And the worst part, the thing that made him feel as though there was something fundamentally wrong with him, was that a selfish, frightened part of him, of his heart, wanted exactly that. Because after losing Julien once, after watching him die and carrying the grief of it into another life, the thought of binding him so tightly that nothing—not Aranessa, not fate, not even death itself—could ever take him away again was intoxicating.
After all… the apple never fell far from the tree.
Julien was silent at first, no doubt trying to comprehend the enormity of what Occtis was asking of him. For one dreadful moment, the necromancer thought he might refuse—and he would have been right to. Then the knight lifted his head, and while there was still uncertainty in his eyes, and more than a little fear, beneath it all was also something else. Something like relief.
As though, after years of drifting without purpose, someone had finally handed him a place to belong.
Slowly, carefully, Julien drew in a shaky breath. "I, Julien Davinos…" He faltered, swallowed, and then pressed on, his voice growing steadier with every word. "I swear to give you my body, my mind, and my soul. I swear to remain by your side for as long as you shall have me, to trust you above all others, and to follow where you lead."
The skeletal hands around him loosened, not enough to release him, merely enough to let him move, but Julien did not. Instead, he held Occtis's gaze.
"I swear to you my loyalty, my service, and all that I am." His voice softened, becoming almost painfully sincere. "I place myself in your keeping freely, and of my own will… and I ask only that you do not cast me aside." The last words were scarcely more than a breath.
It was a simple plea, one that struck Occtis harder than any blade ever could. For a moment he could only stare, because that had not been part of the oath. Julien had added it himself, as though he truly believed it necessary. As though he expected it. As though experience had taught him that love was conditional and loyalty could be discarded the moment it became inconvenient.
Something inside Occtis broke. Very gently, he raised a hand and cupped Julien's cheek once more. "I accept your oath," he said, and to his horror his voice sounded unsteady. "I accept all that you are, and all that you offer me."
He paused, and then spoke again, each word deliberate, binding in its own right, "And I swear to you, Julien Davinos, that I will never cast you aside." The vow had barely left his lips before the bond settled between them. It felt like sunlight, like warmth flooding through every crack in his soul.
Julien shuddered where he knelt, and Occtis could feel the bond settling into him like a quiet, inescapable truth. The knight's eyes fluttered shut for a moment—only for a tear to slip free, carving a slow path down his cheek.
Occtis was no better. For so long, the wizard had feared this moment belonged only to dreams—to memory, to longing, to things forever out of reach. And yet here Julien was, kneeling before him, bound to him not by force, but by oath—by choice.
For the first time in five years, he allowed himself to believe that everything would be fine.
After that, his knight had simply been too exhausted and overwhelmed to think of anything except sleep.
The oath, the bond, the emotions of the evening, and perhaps the remnants of wine and adrenaline had finally caught up with him all at once. It had taken a surprising amount of ingenuity—and a little magic—to get him to his feet. The bond had left him shaky, and his legs seemed determined to forget their purpose entirely.
But eventually, however, they had managed to reach the bed. However getting Julien out of his clothes had proven to be another challenge altogether. By the time the last of the outer layers had been removed, leaving him in nothing but his underclothes, Julien looked as though he might fall asleep sitting upright. The sight had made something warm and unbearably fond unfurl inside Occtis's chest.
So he had guided him beneath the blankets, tucked them carefully around him, and watched as the knight immediately curled onto his side with a soft, contented sigh. A few moments later, he was asleep.
Now it was early morning, and Julien was beginning to stir. Occtis waited for a few moments, content simply to watch him wake, before asking softly, "Are you awake?"
"Hmmmmm." Julien stretched languidly beneath the blankets, all long limbs and graceful movements, with the lazy satisfaction of a cat finding a patch of sunlight. Despite himself, Occtis could not help but admire him.
The knight blinked sleepily and turned his head toward the sound of his voice. For a few seconds, confusion clouded his expression, his gaze roaming over the familiar room but unfamiliar sight of Occtis sitting beside him in his bed. Then his memory seemed to return. "So…" he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "It wasn't a dream?"
"No," Occtis confirmed softly. "It wasn't."
Then, all at once, fear seized him. It came suddenly and without warning, cold and sharp, slipping between his ribs before he could stop it. What if the night had changed everything? What if, in the clear light of morning, Julien realized what he had done and wanted to take it back? What if he looked at the oath, at the bond between them, and saw nothing but a terrible mistake?
For all his certainty, for all his planning, there remained one fear that five years had never managed to kill. The fear of losing him again. "Do you…" He swallowed. "Do you regret it?"
"Mmmm." Julien actually seemed to consider the question. "Well, regretting it now wouldn't do me much good, would it?"
And just like that, Occtis forgot how to breathe. Because for all his planning, for all the years he had spent preparing for this moment, he had never truly allowed himself to consider the possibility that Julien might genuinely regret binding himself to him. Had he pushed too hard? Had he manipulated him too much? Had Julien finally seen through him and realized what he had done?
His panic must have shown on his face, because the knight sighed and looked at him with something dangerously close to fondness. "Listen…" he began, only to trail off, looking unexpectedly embarrassed.
Of course. Occtis had never told him how he wished to be addressed. "Occtis," he said quickly. "You can call me Occtis."
"Right." Julien nodded once, as though committing it to memory. "Listen, Occtis… doing stupid things and regretting them afterward is kind of my specialty."
Despite himself, Occtis winced.
"But this"—the knight made a vague gesture between the two of them—"doesn’t feel like one of those."
"That's…" Occtis exhaled slowly. "That's good to know." The relief that flooded through him was so immense that he could not even find it in himself to be offended by the tasteless joke. Instead, he asked softly, "How do you feel?"
Julien didn’t answer immediately, as his brow furrowed in concentration. "Strange," he admitted at last, and Occtis went very still. Julien glanced at him, catching the shift, and amended with a faint huff, "Not bad strange. Just… unfamiliar."
The wizard forced himself to breathe. Julien was silent for another moment before speaking again, this time more quietly. "I didn't know it could feel like this."
Almost absently, his hand rose to his chest, fingers pressing lightly over the place where the bond sat. "I can feel you," he went on, sounding thoughtful. "Not your thoughts or anything like that, but…" He paused, searching for the right words. "I know you're there. It’s… steady."
Occtis’s expression softened, something quieter and more controlled. "That’s normal," he said. "For an oath like this."
Julien absorbed that, then gave another small nod, as though confirming a hypothesis. The last traces of uncertainty seemed to settle into something more grounded. "So," he said, voice steadier now, "what’s the rest of the plan?"
At the question, Occtis let out a mournful sigh. "As much as I would like nothing more than to whisk you away and take you home with me right now, I can't." The words felt bitter on his tongue.
"I was thinking of hosting a gala at Obrimus Manor in a week's time. That's when I want to make our arrangement official." He paused, suddenly uncertain. "I'm sorry. I know a week's notice is rather short. If you need more time, if you would prefer to wait—"
"No." The answer came so quickly that it caught him off guard. "A week is perfect."
Occtis blinked. "Perfect?"
A faint smile crossed Julien's face. "To be honest, if you had given me a month, I probably would have spent the whole time panicking and wondering if I'd made a mistake." The smile turned wry. "At least this way I won't have enough time to overthink it."
A startled laugh escaped Occtis before he could stop it, and Julien looked absurdly pleased with himself. Gods, he had missed this. This dry, self-deprecating humor that somehow managed to be both funny and deeply concerning at the same time."You really are a disaster," he said fondly.
"That," Julien replied gravely, "sounds very much like a you problem now."
This time Occtis laughed outright, the sound taking both of them by surprise. For a brief moment, neither of them said anything.
"That means you want to do this publicly?" Julien suddenly asked.
"Yes," Occtis replied without hesitation. "And on familiar ground. The more people who are present, the less likely Aranessa will be to make a scene." He paused, then allowed himself a small, unapologetic smile. "I also rather like the idea of everyone knowing that you are mine." Julien's ears turned a delightful shade of red, but unfortunately for him, that only encouraged Occtis.
"But there are practical considerations as well," he continued, his tone growing more serious. "If the situation does escalate, several members of the Arcane Marshals will be in attendance as security. I trust them to keep the peace should anyone decide to object too strongly."
His expression darkened slightly. "I would prefer to avoid a confrontation, but I have no intention of allowing anyone to intimidate you into changing your mind." Then, more softly, he added, "I don’t want to give them a chance to make you feel guilty about your choice.”
For a moment, Julien simply looked at him. Then he huffed out a quiet laugh. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?"
Occtis did not answer immediately. How could he explain that he had spent five years planning for this moment? How could he tell him that he had imagined this conversation hundreds of times, lying awake at night and wondering whether he would ever get the chance to have it? So he settled for a small smile. "I've had a little time to think about it."
The knight snorted. "A little?"
Occtis's smile widened. "A moderate amount."
"So, how am I supposed to address you in public?" Julien asked. "My lord? Lord Tachonis?"
"Occtis," he answered without a moment's hesitation. "It will always be just Occtis for you, no matter the time or place."
Julien looked at him for a long moment. Then, with the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes, he asked, "Are you sure? What about at night? In the bedroom?"
Occtis stared at him, at loss for word. He had lived two lives, admittedly, two rather short ones, but that was entirely beside the point. He had fought undead horrors, outwitted his murderous family, unraveled conspiracies, and sent his soul back through time itself. Julien Davinos should not still be capable of making him blush like an innocent maiden, and yet, he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks.
The worst part was that the knight noticed immediately, a slow, unmistakably pleased smile spreading across his face, sharp with amusement. "You are blushing."
"I am not," Occtis replied at once, too quickly to be believable.
Julien’s smile only deepened, eyes glinting with quiet triumph. "And here I thought I had sworn myself to a dark and mysterious lord."
"You are the worst," Occtis declared with all the dignity he could muster.
To his horror, the knight laughed. Actually laughed. A warm, unrestrained sound that filled the room and made something in Occtis's chest ache. Gods, how he had missed that laugh. Even when Julien finally managed to compose himself, there was still a smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. Eventually, however, reality caught up with them.
The sun had risen fully now, golden light spilling through the curtains and creeping across the bed, and with it came the unavoidable reminder that they could not remain hidden in this room forever. "I should go," Occtis said reluctantly.
Julien's smile faded a little at that. "Probably."
Yet for a while neither of them moved. Then, after a long moment, the knight sighed and pushed the blankets aside. "I know a way out," he said as he reached for his clothes. "The servants' corridors. No one will see you there."
Occtis followed his example, though with considerably less enthusiasm. A part of him—a very large and unreasonable part—wanted to stay exactly where he was and spend the entire day hidden away with Julien, letting the rest of the world sort itself out. But five years of planning had taught him patience. He could survive one more week.
A short while later, after soft goodbyes and the promise to see each other in a week, Occtis slipped into the quiet corridors beyond Julien's chambers, the Palazzo still mostly asleep around them. Yet, for the first time in five years, walking away from him did not feel like a loss.
Because this time, he knew exactly where to find him and this time, his knight was waiting for him too.