After ending the call with Veronica, Mamtho remained in his office. Only the shimmer of magical wards and the soft glow of a gorgon-headed lamp lit the space. Its glowing eyes cast twisting shadows across velvet wallpaper, and the air carried the scent of burnt ozone, old paper, and lingering smoke.
Mamtho, Prince of Greed, leaned back in his high-backed chair while swirling a glass of lightning-brandy. The crackling liquid reflected off his patchwork robe, which hung off one shoulder with careless confidence. He looked like a wealthy mystic who had stopped explaining himself centuries ago: too powerful to question, too eccentric to imitate, and too layered in influence to catalog.
On the heavy oak desk, Carl's severed head blinked slowly. The enchanted nail pinning his detached hand to the wood kept his body anchored below, slumped on the floor in nothing but tattered underwear. His torso twitched with each attempt to breathe, the enchantment struggling to maintain the connection between head and body.
Mamtho sat directly on top of Carl's body, one leg lazily crossed while his weight rested across Carl's back and shoulders. He tapped a brass pointer against Carl's forehead in a steady rhythm, the sound crisp and deliberate.
"You're lucky, Carl," Mamtho said, voice low and even. "Some people lose their souls when they mishandle fairy dust. Others lose their standing. And you know how much I dislike waste."
Carl winced. He respected Mamtho deeply, feared disappointing him, and dreaded the consequences more than pain itself. "It wasn't my fault. The supplier guaranteed it was certified shimmer."
Mamtho set his glass down with a sharp click. "One of my clients hallucinated she was a tulip. She tried to root herself in a lava garden. Does that sound like certification to you?"
Carl swallowed. "I checked the glimmer threads. They looked real."
Mamtho's pointer snapped downward, striking the back of Carl's thigh. The hit was firm, stinging, and precise. Carl gasped, breath shuddering.
"You checked nothing," Mamtho replied. "You would not know authentic shimmer from unicorn dandruff shaking in a snow globe."
With a sigh of mixed irritation and weariness, Mamtho rose from Carl's back. Carl's slumped body nearly collapsed under the shift in weight, enchantments sparking along his sides as the destabilization worsened.
Mamtho clicked his tongue. "Hold still."
He knelt beside Carl's body and placed one hand beneath Carl's lower back and another under his butt, lifting and adjusting him with practiced familiarity. The movement had no gentleness, but it had precision. His palms pressed firmly into muscle, guiding Carl's hips back into alignment so the enchantment could stabilize. The contact sent a visible shiver through Carl, more from the tension between them than anything else.
"You Headless clans fall apart like poorly assembled furniture," Mamtho murmured. "If I don't realign you, your entire nervous system misfires."
Carl tried to control his breathing, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. "You… didn't have to do this yourself."
"You say that every time," Mamtho replied quietly.
His hands moved with slow pressure along Carl's sides, smoothing the twitch in Carl's flank, pushing his spine into place. When sparks of enchantment began to settle, Mamtho leaned in, close enough for Carl to feel the warmth of his breath on his shoulder.
Once Carl's body steadied, Mamtho reached for Carl's head. He lifted it by the hair and placed it on his lap with deliberate ease. The wards dimmed slightly, as though acknowledging the shift in intimacy. Carl's eyes widened at the closeness.
Mamtho's fingers brushed a smear of dust from Carl's cheek. The gesture lingered a moment too long. Nothing improper happened, yet the room felt charged, full of history neither of them spoke aloud.
"You used to terrify kingdoms," Mamtho said softly. His thumb continued its slow motion against Carl's temple. "Now you're falling apart in my office, again."
Carl's voice trembled with more than fear. "I will make this right. I promise."
Mamtho adjusted his robe, and the velvet brushed lightly against Carl's chin. "You always do," he murmured.
He lifted Carl's head from his lap and set it back onto the desk. The thud was solid, purposeful, and careful in its own way.
"You will replace the faulty dust before the gala," Mamtho said. "No shortcuts. No assumptions. Handle it properly."
Carl's body below steadied now that Mamtho had realigned him. "Yes, sir," he said, voice steadying despite everything.
Mamtho walked to the silver calling mirror. His figure glowed gold beneath the ward-light, a silhouette of effortless command and complicated restraint.
Behind him, Carl's breath shuddered. Not from pain. From everything that almost happened. And everything that used to.
Business resumed. The tension in the room remained.