He watched through slatted eyes, perched in the branches of the tree whose height had been lost in the darkness of night. The meeting had been unexpected and it bothered him that he had not seen it coming.
Unpredictability left him feeling uneasy.
The Prince had finally descended from upon high from where he had hidden himself away in his protected kingdom of Elysian where his remaining Shitennou flanked his side at nearly every moment. The prince had not fled to the moon, but the power of rumors was that much more powerful than that of the truth – and more often than not, much more compelling. But now here he was in the southern region, with his injured Shitennou, completely on his own as if he had nothing to fear.
Endymion walked a few scant feet behind Zoicite, watching the pained steps that the young blonde haired man took. They had said nothing in all this time, neither man willing to break the silence until they knew that there was no one to take in the sound.
Didn’t the little prince know that there is always someone to hear a tree when it falls in the woods?
Zoicite stumbled mid-step and leaned into the large oak tree that he passed by. His forehead pressed into the sharp edges of the course bark, but the look on his face seemed as if he were receiving pleasure from this pain. Perhaps it was because this new pain brought him relief from that which tormented him night and day. The man walked amongst the living but was one of the dead. He never laughed or spoke to anyone anymore; his sharp green eyes had dulled to a nearly lifeless gray, appearing sunken as they faded into pronounced cheekbones that had once made him look beautiful. Most noticeable was the way that his body had become painfully slim as he hardly ate. The only sound ever heard from him was that of his nightly howls of agony as he slept, the horrible sound waking everyone in its immediate vicinity with its sorrowful echoes resounding through empty hallways. Some whispered amongst themselves that he had nightmares from what he had witnessed. Others said that he had met death on the battlefield and cried out as the ice cold fingers of the soul-taker brushed his skin in his dreams.
No one dared to speak of Adonis.
No one questioned that his nearly fatal injuries were healed within days.
No one spoke of his ever lingering presence around the injured soldier that they held in highest regard.
No one dared to even whisper his name lest it get caught on a breeze and carried over to him.
Endymion reached out and placed his hand on Zoicite’s arm, turning him so that the two men stood face to face.
“You could have told me you weren’t dead,” Endymion said firmly.
“Then I would have been lying,” Zoicite spoke hoarsely, his voice faint from disuse.
“Was I wrong to allow you to ascend to your rank so quickly?” he heard Endymion ask. Patronizing, Adonis thought bitterly. But he expected nothing less from the man who couldn’t be bothered to come see his protector once over the past few weeks.
He did not hear Zoicite’s rebuttal to the harsh criticism, only catching the ending of the brief conversation. “You should not return here. Go back to Elysian and have the priest pray for us.”
It took all of Adonis’s effort to not snort at the forced sentimentality. Endymion’s priest was as much a figurehead as Endymion was himself. Both men locked themselves away in Elysian becoming nothing but fodder for rumor. No one had ever seen this priest – Helios was his name – the man may not even exist for all the population of Earth knew.
Adonis tensed as he watched Zoicite sharply move in Endymion’s direction. He did not want to have to intervene and reveal his presence, angering the earthen prince for eavesdropping, but then Zoicite stepped back carefully and calmly, and Endymion departed, disappearing back into shadows that he had emerged from. No one would know of his presence tonight. No one would know that he remained on Earth and that he had not escaped to the moon.
And even if they had, no one would care.
Adonis dropped soundlessly from the tree to land in a crouching position mere feet away from Zoicite, the red sash around his waist bright in their otherwise colorless surroundings. The two men made eye contact with each other for a sparse moment before Zoicite allowed his body to lean against the tree trunk. His eyes closed tightly as his body began to fall slack. A tearing noise was audible as the cape of his uniform snagged against a sharp corner of tree bark followed by the soft scratching of his leather boots against grainy dirt as his knees collided with the ground. A small trail of bright red blood formed between Zoicite’s otherwise white teeth as he bit down on his lip in an effort to suppress the howls of pain that pulled at him. It had nearly killed him to hold calm in the presence of his prince and all at once it suddenly showed.
“Do you really want it to stop?” Adonis asked those familiar words, his voice almost mocking if not outright cruel. Zoicite’s eyes remained closed against warm tears, his broken body shaking with intensity.
“Promise me,” Adonis said coolly.
