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The union between Azir and his new wife––setting aside the festival and parade spanning not only the Capital, but the entire empire––was a small affair in the golden halls of the palace, attended only by the couple's close friends, family, and Azir's advisors. Xerath watched the proceedings carefully, keeping an especially close eye on the new Empress-Consort, Trima. She had passed all of the advisors' tests, but Xerath was familiar with the art of subterfuge and the patience needed to reach such a powerful rank. He had poured too much of himself into his own ambitions, and he was not about to let this woman ruin that for him as well.
Azir was already hers.
The cold piercing pain of jealousy surprised him, and Xerath did his best to dismiss it. There were more important things to concern himself with, namely Azir's mounting tower of empty wine cups. The magus stared unwaveringly as the young emperor emptied his seventh goblet of wine. Azir was not one for drink, being too busy and too powerful for such a vice, as he would say. Thus, Xerath's concerns were twofold: not only was he unused to the imbibition of alcohol, but to so suddenly go back on his word was a surprise.
A slave went to pour another glass of wine for the Emperor, and Xerath thought, Enough. He was not going to get an answer from a passed out Emperor. Rising from his seat, he made his way to Azir's throne at the head of the table, and placed a hand over his bondsman's rested around the neck of his chalice. Xerath made eye contact with Azir and said, "Perhaps now is a suitable time to retire, my Lord." He ignored the condescending glares directed at him from several party occupants, as Azir did.
Azir laughed, glancing at the magus' gentle grasp on his hand, "Xerath, my friend, the night has barely begun!"
"And yet, as you speak, your eyes are falling closed." Azir's eyes jumped open, just to spite him.
"Now, now..."
"I'm afraid I must insist," a pause, then lowly, "Azir."
The Emperor looked shocked for a moment, but ducked his head. A sign of submission no other emperor would show a slave. Were it for anyone else, they would feel honored. Xerath felt only frustration. "As you wish," Azir conceded.
The festivities came to a quiet conclusion, reluctantly on the Emperor's part.
Azir put on a good show, walking out of the hall with confidence in his steps, but a few seconds after leaving the dining hall, he his legs gave way. It was only Xerath's quick reflexes that saved the Emperor from a nasty fall. Azir laughed as he stared into Xerath's eyes as he held him and pulled him back up to his feet.
"Oh, what would I do without you?"
Xerath was sure the question was rhetorical, but he humored him regardless, "You would go on as you always have. My position is easily filled." He pulled Azir's arm around his shoulders, and continued walking, supporting his Emperor as they made their way to his chambers.
"Xerath," Azir whispered. This close, Xerath could feel Azir's breath on his cheek. "You do not believe that, do you?" When Xerath didn't reply, Azir went on, "You saved my life, so long ago. You are more than a magus, Xerath, beyond my bondsman. You mean more than... You are truly...wonderful."
A memory flashed through Xerath's mind at those words. It made his heart pound heavier than a ralsiji's rapid hoofbeats. Xerath dared not think too hard on the matter, and carried on. "You have my thanks, my Lord."
"You called me by name back in the hall. Why not now?" Azir's words began to slur from fatigue.
"It was inappropriate of me. I apologize."
"I appreciated it. I'd like it if you would call me so more often."
Xerath replied with silence. Azir sighed, out of frustration or disappointment, the magus could not tell.
Upon reaching Azir's chambers––a beautiful room, decorated with sparkling artifacts and art featuring past emperors, the largest painting featuring Azir's father––Xerath waved away the slaves who moved to prepare their master for his sleep. "I will take over for tonight," he explained, "Do not concern yourselves." The slaves left then, and Xerath directed his attention to the task of divesting his friend of his finery. Xerath led Azir to his large, cushioned bed and began to undress him. The jewelry was removed first, set aside in a large case upon an armoire. Azir watched Xerath work, knelt before him, in silence. When Xerath went to push Azir's robes off of his shoulders, the Emperor gently clasped his hands around his wrists.
"My Lord?"
Azir stared at Xerath's face. His eyes held a quality Xerath was reluctant to analyze.
"Azir?"
"It is you. You are the one that I..." Azir trailed off, but it was clear to the both of them what he had meant. Xerath was beginning to suspect that allowing the Emperor so much wine was a mistake. He pulled his hands out of Azir's, and, eyes averted, continued the task of undressing him.
"I'm afraid I do not––"
"I love you."
Xerath, breathless in his surprise, stared wide-eyed, as he did not expect the Emperor to be so forward. It could not be. The new Empress-Consort was meant to be the threat to his grand plan, or Azir's advisors, perhaps. An overly observant slave, even. He had plans for them all. But Xerath should have known the truest danger was always going to be Azir and his boyish ignorance, along with his own feelings. No, it could not end like this. He had to stop this before it could begin.
Schooling his expression, and returning to his duty, he said, "You are not in your right mind, my Lord. I understand you may feel an anxiety over your unity with the Empress. However, it is unworthy of you to turn to this."
Azir, with loose-fitting trousers as his only decency, reached up to Xerath's neck and pulled him forward into a firm, but gentle kiss. Xerath didn't move, didn't dare to give in to his own desire. Frustrated, Azir pulled Xerath closer by his waist. Flush against his Emperor and between his legs, Xerath let out a soft moan, and Azir took his lower lip into his mouth and sucked.
It was temptation in the form of a challenge Xerath couldn't refuse. With a hint of defiance, Xerath kissed Azir back. He took initiative and slid his tongue between Azir's lips, and swallowed the Emperor's resulting whimper. They pushed and pulled at each other, pausing only a moment between kisses to catch a breath before plunging back in.
It was only when Azir breathed his name, tinged with a joy he recognized in himself, that Xerath came back to his senses. To turn himself over to Azir, he would give up everything he'd worked for. The past fifteen years: gone, worthless, meaningless. The suffering of his comrades, allowing this empire to thrive on the backs of slaves. Xerath would not give up this cause for his own selfish feelings. How dare he even consider willingly become a slave to this ignorant child of an emperor?
Xerath clamped his hands on Azir's shoulders and pushed him away. He ignored the confused look on the Emperor's face and said, "My Lord... You must understand that nothing can come from this. You are the Emperor. I am a magus, at best. A slave. It it only by an honor for saving your life that I am allowed what I am."
Hope lit itself in Azir's eyes, and Xerath's heart sunk. "Then it will be my insistence and birthright that you can be more," he argued.
"Even if that were true, and it is not enough, it is too late, friend. Do not waste time with me that could be spent with Empress Trima."
"She doesn't matter," Azir was beginning to sound desperate, "She doesn't mean anything to me, Xerath, I love you, we can still be together, all I need is you––"
"I do not feel the same."
The light in Azir's eyes darkened. Xerath's heart broke. Later, out of it would flow a rage he could not fathom. But now, all he could feel was the wretched despair that showed in Azir's face.
The Emperor's voice fractured as he stammered out, "I–...I apologize. I thought... I did not intend to..."
"There is nothing to apologize for." Xerath stood at last. "I wish you a good night's rest, my Lord."
It took a moment for Azir to reply. "To you, as well."
Xerath left.
Xerath was about to enter his own bedchamber when he heard a feminine voice call out to him, "Magus Xerath." He turned and smiled politely, for before him stood the Empress-Consort Trima. Trima was a beauty, with a round face framed by a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. She was still fully dressed with her celebration adornments, and looked almost ethereal in the torchlight.
"Empress Trima."
The Empress did not smile back.
"He cares for you." Straight to the point. A fine woman, indeed.
"The Emperor cares for all of his subjects."
"You are not a fool, and neither am I. I should let you know now that I will not tolerate such prevarication."
Trima was rather quick to adjust to her role. Xerath would have to pay close attention to her actions in the following months. (Years, if she proved to be a capable empress, which now seemed likely.) Xerath dropped his act, and looked away from the glittering Empress. Quietly, he answered, "I am aware of how the Emperor feels. It should not interfere with his job, however, so I cannot and shall not enable him." The Empress stared at him, as if evaluating him. After a moment, she nodded in what seemed like approval, and bade him a good night. Xerath returned the sentiment. Finally alone in his room, sparsely furnished compared to Azir's, he lied down without undressing himself, for it had been too much of an exhausting night.
With what had happened between them, he could only hope that Azir would not send him away come morning. Now was a critical time. With the new Empress to worry about, he could not afford to waste time and energy on placating both the Emperor and his advisors. Eyes were on him from all sides, and Azir was always the one to hide him from them, but now, Xerath wondered if he would still do so.
However...
Learning of the Emperor's feelings was not entirely detrimental to his grand design. Xerath fell asleep with sluggishly-made plans to include Azir as his willing puppet.