The Ritual of the Ascension of the Sun – Daybreak
It was finally the day of the Ritual of the Ascension of the Sun.
The first ray of daybreak streaked across the sky, painting it in molten ribbons of crimson and lavender. The colors bled together like the brushstrokes on a canvas, visible through the open ceiling of the inner sanctum, where the first step of the ritual was to be held.
The purification chamber inside the sanctum was a hidden paradise— an untouched jewel of the world, encased within the temple's walls. A natural alcove where emerald-green vines draped from high stone, trailing down into a crystalline pool fed by a steaming underground spring. The water floated in perpetual serenity, warm mist curling upward in soft veils. It had been here for centuries, older than the temple itself. Not a single modification had ever been needed. The city outside might have changed, grown, devoured its own old streets in the name of progress, but the sanctum was eternal—a fragment of untouched earth, a small patch of forest and water immune to the claws of time.
Lotus blossoms drifted on the pool's surface—some half-bloomed, others wide open—despite their usual preference for murky ponds. Water lilies, white and pale pink, bloomed alongside them. A faint golden sheen spread over the water's surface, flickering like scattered flecks of sunlight trapped in liquid form.
Elliott stood at the pool's edge, draped in a thin ceremonial robe that shifted slightly with the breeze. Only the high priest, a few other saints, and the royal family were present—though "royal family" here essentially meant Gabriella and Aiden. Sydney could have been present too, but Elliott hadn't bothered inviting her. He doubted she'd want to be in the public eye.
One of the priests held a sundial. The high priest glanced at it before raising his voice:
"The auspicious time has started. Let us begin the purification."
Two priests stepped forward, their hands deft and reverent as they slipped Elliott's outer robe from his shoulders. Now he stood bare but for a simple garment at his waist, the fabric clinging to his hips and ending mid-thigh.
The high priest began chanting—a slow, deliberate greeting to the gods, the words curling like incense smoke. When the blessing of the pool was complete, he turned to Elliott.
"You may step into the water, Your Majesty."
Elliott approached the edge. Stone steps led into the pool, the water shallow enough to pose no danger of drowning. He descended slowly, the warm water closing around his skin until it lapped just below his shoulders. He settled on the bottom step, his posture loose, his body visibly easing into the heat.
He was at peace. Everyone here was at peace.
Everyone except one person.
Aiden.
Aiden was not fine. Aiden was very much not fine.
The water was clear—dangerously clear—and Elliott's entire form was visible.
The ritual, in theory, was simple: the emperor disrobes, steps into the sacred pool, the priests chant the ancient invocations, and the emperor meditates for exactly twelve minutes—representing the twelve months and the twelve hours in half a day—opening his mind to divine blessing. When the time is complete, he emerges, purified, ready for the main ceremony.
Aiden had known all this beforehand. He'd been briefed. And it hadn't bothered him at the time. But knowing something in the abstract and witnessing the live destruction of your sanity were two entirely different things.
He made the mistake of letting his gaze wander back to Elliott.
His breath caught.
The morning light spilled through the open ceiling, landing on Elliott's honey-colored skin. Sunlight seemed to worship him, clinging to his body like liquid gold, turning his hair into threads of molten light that crowned his head like a halo. He didn't look human—not in this moment. He looked otherworldly. Like he had stepped out of the realm above, made of sunlight and warm breath, too radiant for the mortal world.
And then Elliott tilted his head back ever so slightly, stretching the pale column of his neck. A quiet sigh slipped past his lips—soft, but enough to be heard, even over the priests' chants. He always slept poorly outside his own bed—or Aiden's—and after a restless night in the temple, the warm water was easing all the knots in his muscles.
Aiden's heartbeat stuttered. The stretch drew out the graceful line of Elliott's throat, a faint hollow at the base revealing itself, the soft skin glistening faintly with moisture. That sigh—no, that sound—was far too close to a moan to be safe for Aiden's mental stability.
His mind—traitorous, unholy, shameless—flashed with thoughts that had no place here, no place in a temple, and absolutely no place during a once-in-two-decades divine ritual. He bit the inside of his cheek, but the thoughts stayed.
The chanting ended. Now came the twelve minutes of silent meditation.
For everyone else in the sanctum, those twelve minutes passed in a blink.
For Aiden, they were a lifetime.
He gripped his dagger hilt—yes, he still had a dagger on him, even in the temple where weapons were forbidden—if only to have something to keep his hands from doing something worse. He watched Elliott's lashes lower at the priests' instruction, the slow stilling of his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
This was unfair. This was cruel. Surely someone else here was suffering. Surely someone else noticed.
He glanced around.
Gabriella— unbothered, obviously. She was Elliott's mother; she didn't count.
The high priest— busy reciting under his breath. Ancient. Didn't count.
The other priests— eyes shut, hands pressed in prayer. Too busy to count.
Not one of them seemed affected.
Which meant...
Oh no.
Oh no.
The horrifying truth hit him: he was the only one in this state. The only one with his thoughts in the gutter. The only one staring like a fool at the way water beaded and rolled down Elliott's shoulder, the way his damp hair clung to his neck, the faint flutter of his lashes as he breathed.
No. He refused to accept that. He decided, then and there, that the only reason the priests weren't undone by this sight was because their eyes were closed. If they'd been open—oh, they would be suffering too. Absolutely. Definitely.
...Goddammit. Even he didn't believe himself anymore.
When the meditation ended, Elliott rose from the water. Droplets clung to him in glittering trails, sliding down the curve of his waist, the ridge of his hip. His soaked hair hung heavy, plastered against his neck and upper back. Priests stepped forward to towel him dry, then draped him in a gauzy white robe with gold trim.
It was translucent. Painfully translucent.
Aiden's eyes did not linger on the way Elliott's waist curved in, or the delicate shape of his hipbone just above the only opaque fabric on his body. They did not drink in the sight of his soft frame—slender but not bony, collarbones and shoulder blades visible in the thin light. No. Absolutely not.
...Except they did.
And then Elliott's gaze found his.
Aiden froze. The haze in his head scattered instantly. Elliott smiled—soft, easy, like this was the most natural thing in the world. And just like that, all thoughts of skin and curves dissolved.
Because yes— Elliott's body might be beautiful to Aiden, but it didn't hold a candle to his smile. Or the way his eyes lit up when they found him.
Aiden's heart stuttered hard enough to make him feel slightly sick. He tried to give back a calm, dignified smile—tried, and failed, but it was something. Elliott's dimples deepened, his eyes curving into bright crescents.
That smile.
That smile would be his undoing. And Aiden knew it.
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