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Alberu Crossman isn't too unfamiliar with the instances of the unknown. After all, he is, in some sort of way, an instance of the unknown — his heritage, his true form that can never be graced by the warmth of the burning sun, despite seemingly having to have been blessed by the god owning it — yes, this is the unknown no one can ever hear. The unknown he is to bear and keep even from his future spouse.
He knows, and he'd like to think he understands well, that there would always be something, or someone, who's not included in the painstaking plan he crafted under the shadows of the night that will pop up. There would always be an unknown.
And Cale Henituse comes off like that. An unknown.
Well, Alberu isn't entirely too sure if Cale truly can be considered as an unknown — for he knows this noble's son. He heard he's described as free-spirited, the word used to name the deviants. A nicer version of the word trash.
He's heard rumours. After all, everything in the kingdom should be well under his thumb (and though it pains him to admit it, he often realizes that he doesn't entirely know Roan enough to be its leader—) and yet.
Hm. Ah, Alberu cannot put a label on Cale Henituse. That irks him to no end.
He's an unknown, and yet he isn't. He's trash, and yet — with the way he's composed and smiling so artificially, cunningly, Alberu cannot find it in himself to label him as trash.
He cannot be labeled. So he decides, let's just call him dangerous.
Cale Henituse, with the knowing glint in his eyes, a cunning smile that curls so sweetly that it's sickening, and an ancient power that managed to save the capital to boot. He's dangerous, although Alberu doesn't know yet if the dagger that is Cale will be pointed at him or his enemies.
"I'd like to expect my rewards, " The male tilts his head in a patronising manner, his hair coloured so bright it reminds Alberu of the setting sun he loved to gaze at from his office flutters to frame his face.
The crown prince's heart skips a beat. He decides there and then that it's because of Cale Henituse's sickly sweet words and not anything else.
Dangerous, dangerous indeed.
Alberu reports to his majesty, his father that neglected him and is now looking at him with an expression tinge with a smidge of fondness.
"And how is the noble faring, son?"
Alberu plasters a small smile on his face. He wonders if his father can see the coldness permeating his eyes. Probably not. "He's in one of our best rooms, as you've heard, your majesty, Cale Henituse threw up blood after using too much of his power to save the citizens and stop the explosion. He told me that he's frail-bodied. He cannot use his power too much."
There's a gasp from the queen, and a thoughtful hum from the king.
"Reward him medals in front of the people then."
Alberu shakes his head, "Cale Henituse already refused any medals. He said he only wanted the people to be safe."
The third prince's forehead creases in confusion. Alberu's smile turns into a real one at the sight and he suppresses his laugh. If only they knew the true nature of Cale Henituse (not like he knew himself, but he knows better.)
"What a true noble!" The queen gasps daintily into her palm, "Surely, we cannot let him go unrewarded, my love."
"Surely not, my queen." Alberu schools his expression to remain the same despite feeling disgust bubble up from the pit of his stomach, rising to his throat. "Give him anything, and I mean, anything. He'd like, if not, give one to his family."
A grin so bright it rivals the sunshine glow of the royal family's hair curls on Alberu's lips.
"Of course, your majesty."
Alberu steels himself. He doesn't know what Cale Henituse would ask for, doesn't know the extent of the rewards he's asking for. What he knows, though, is that Cale Henituse is crucial for him at this point in time.
His position is in a rocky state, the second prince's backing and the third's affection can very well easily overturn his seat next in line to the throne. Alberu's lips twist into a grimace-like smile, he cannot have that.
So it goes down to this — he has to, at least, subdue Cale Henituse before his influence grows enough to be a thorn to his side, he cannot have the count's son to go to either of the younger princes. If Alberu cannot have him, then he must make sure he won't go to anyone else—
That's why the reward is crucial.
He can feel the headache forming already.
Cale Henituse right now, reminds him so much of a thorny rose. Handle it perfectly and it'll bloom even more beautiful, enough to serve well for Alberu. Handle him wrong and you'd get pricked, and bleed. Alberu thinks he'd bled for far too long already.
With calm, even steps that betray his chaotic mental state, he makes his way to Cale Henituse's room. Never missing to greet any servants along the way. There aren't too many, since Cale personally requested to not be fussed about — said that it's too bothersome. Alberu agrees.
(Alberu agrees with Cale about a bit too many things, yet another thing that irks him.)
He sees a spot of orange-brown near Cale's door, the butler that the young master brought greets him with utter respect.
Alberu smiles, gentle yet regal. "Is young master Cale inside?"
The butler nods too enthusiastically. He seems to be the type to wear his heart vulnerable in his sleeves, "Yes, your highness. He's resting, but he's awake, waiting for you."
Of course he is. His lips almost twitch into a frown, "Thank you." The butler bows and opens the door for him.
Alberu takes a deep breath and peers into the room.
He wants to slam the door back shut.
"Your highness?" The butler calls, the sound is distant for the crown prince though, for his eyes are all wide — missing the cool composure he worked hard to school into his features as his mind helpfully, unfortunately, burns the image of Cale Henituse's back, smooth and unblemished and pale — clearly seen from the back-slit on the noble's loose top.
There are a couple of things that rush through his mind.
First off, of course, Cale Henituse would shed his attire from earlier. The man coughed up blood. He would've ruined his clothes.
Second, it's summer. It's hot — (Alberu, especially, feels hot and stuffy all of a sudden. He blames the sun, as always) — under that tight vest that Cale Henituse wore, of course he'd wear something looser, something refreshing.
Speaking of something refreshing, Alberu feels parched. Thirsty, right now. He needs water, lots. Cold water.
Third — he curses the sun even more — when Cale turns to him, he finds that the redhead also has his collars open and exposed. Of course! Because it's hot. It's hot. Damn it.
"Your highness," Cale's voice should've snapped him out of it really, but it had the opposite effect. It only entranced him further — deep breaths — the voice tinged with excitement from the rewards he's sure to get sounds smooth and alluring and — Alberu snap out of it!
"How are you..?" Alberu suppresses a wince at the slight crack that is heard in his voice, his knees tremble just a little as Cale tilts his head to the side, brows furrowing a little. Hm, his neck is as pale as his everything, prett—
"I'm fine, your highness." Cale blinks, Alberu laughs at himself for thinking that he saw wispy red eyelashes curled and fluttering against blemish-free cheeks, "Rather than that, how are you? You sound..quite stressed, our kingdom's brilliant and radiant sun."
And whose fault is that? He wants to say. Because it's Cale's fault, mostly. Some of it is the terrorist's fault.
His headache spikes, there's a growing feeling of something that makes Alberu all too stuffy.
"Stop." He sighs, all ragged. His energy is seeping away, but at the same time, it isn't. (Alberu realizes in horror, later on, when he's all alone at night, humid air clinging into his even hotter skin; his energy wasn't seeping away from him, but instead is being redirected, to a place of himself he cannot mention)
His headache of a guest gives him a slight shrug then, his face still cool and impassive that Alberu wonders if he really doesn't know the effect he's having, or if he does and he's just enjoying Alberu's suffering.
Cale shifts in his seat, looking back to his bed that — now that Alberu finally tore his eyes away from exposed collarbones and a very handsome face — is occupied by a pair of kittens.
"On, Hong. Leave for a bit." The cats perked up at Cale's words, since Alberu heard the pat pat pat of their paws, he also heard a cooing butler from outside, and the door opening and closing. He heard. He didn't see. All he could focus on is..
The shift of lean muscles as Cale twisted on his seat, and when the redhead kept on looking at the walking kittens and waved them off, the damn shirt showed him a peek of slim, definitely-too-thin-for-a-man's waist of the young master. Alberu doesn't even know how that happened and how shifting on his seat can show so much skin, but yes, Alberu is sure of one thing:
He's gonna go crazy. Really. He's going nuts!
A groan escapes him without him noticing, and he feels hot — fuck — even his ears feel hot.
Cale Henituse is the most dangerous person around. Not only does he have an ancient power, he also has wits to match Alberu's, and a back so— and skin so smooth that—
"Your highness? Did the attack hurt you after all?"
No. You're driving me nuts even more than the people threatening my own kingdom — you're a threat to my peace of mind.
"No." Alberu croaks. "Let's discuss the extent of your reward already." Or I'd really go crazy.
Cale's eyes brightened up at the mention of money, Alberu wants to hurry everything up because any more peek and glance at Cale Henituse will just shorten his lifespan.
A considerable time after that:
Alberu already has piles upon piles of work stacked on his desk, and more on the floor waiting, yet he takes the time to still call Cale Henituse who is no doubt working his bones off for the sake of the kingdom.
He half-expected blood (though he sure hoped not) , maybe even a brief rare picture of Cale Henituse having his well-deserved rest.
But…
What he sees.. Are books.
And a flushed Cale Henituse, his usually pale cheeks flamed with a hue of red almost akin to his sunset-red hair.
And—
Alberu chokes on his cookies—
"Why are you stripping — stop stripping! You're — you crazy bastard, you're driving me nuts!"
Yes. Cale Henituse is indeed more dangerous than anyone else out there.