The Royal Bathroom was a masterpiece of marble and steam. It was larger than Elian's old apartment on Earth. In the center sat a sunken tub big enough to fit a Toyota Camry, currently filled with steaming water that smelled of cedar and bergamot.
But Elian wasn't looking at the architecture. He was looking at the Prince.
Cassian stood by the edge of the tub, untying the sash of his silk robe. The fabric parted, sliding off his shoulders with a soft swish that sounded deafening in the quiet room.
Elian squeezed his eyes shut. 'Don't look. Be professional. You are a valet. You are a straight man. You are... oh, who am I kidding?'
He opened one eye. Just a peek. For safety reasons. To make sure the Prince didn't slip.
The robe hit the floor.
Elian's breath hitched.
If Cassian looked good in clothes, he looked devastating out of them. His back was a landscape of muscle, broad shoulders tapering down to a waist that begged to be held. There were scars—faint silver lines crossing his shoulder blades, evidence of the wars he'd fought in the backstory Elian hadn't read.
And then there was the ass.
'System,' Elian thought, feeling lightheaded. 'Can I buy a screenshot function? Because that is... that is Imperial Heritage right there.'
Cassian stepped into the water, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he descended. He sank down with a groan of relief, the water lapping at his chest.
Elian checked his vision.
[Status: Within Pheromone Range (5 Meters). Degradation Paused.][Time Until Death: 64 Hours, 32 Minutes.]
'Okay,' Elian thought, exhaling shakily. 'The bleeding has stopped. But I'm still down eight hours. I need to make a deposit.'
He approached the tub, grabbing a sponge and a bar of expensive-looking soap.
"Shall I assist you, Your Highness?" Elian asked, his voice echoing slightly off the tiles.
Cassian leaned his head back against the marble rim, closing his eyes. "No need. I prefer solitude in the bath."
'Solitude doesn't pay my rent, buddy,' Elian thought frantically.
"But Sire," Elian pressed, stepping closer until his shoes hit the edge of the tub. "The... uh... the royal back is difficult to reach. What if you miss a spot? A dirty Emperor is a scandal waiting to happen."
Cassian cracked one eye open. "I am not an invalid, Elian. I can wash my own back."
Elian gritted his teeth. He needed a reason to touch him. He needed an angle.
'Think, Elian. What does a stressed Alpha want? Not hygiene. Relaxation.'
"It's not about hygiene," Elian lowered his voice, dropping into his 'Seductive Valet' register. "It's about tension. You carried the weight of the Empire all yesterday. Your muscles are crying out for release."
He knelt by the tub, abandoning the sponge. He held up his empty hands.
"Let me wash away the politics, Your Highness."
Cassian stared at him. The steam curled around them, thick and heavy. The scent of wet Alpha—spice, rain, and heat—was overwhelming this close. It made Elian's Omega glands throb in a way that was becoming increasingly hard to ignore.
"You are persistent," Cassian muttered. But he didn't say no. He leaned forward slightly, exposing his back.
'Jackpot.'
Elian wasted no time. He lathered the soap between his hands, creating a rich foam, and reached out.
The moment his slippery, warm hands made contact with Cassian's wet skin, Elian's brain exploded.
[Contact: +1 Minute.]
It wasn't just the system notification. It was the texture. Cassian's skin was hot, slick, and firm. Elian slid his hands over the broad expanse of the Prince's shoulders, digging his thumbs into the trapezius muscles.
Cassian let out a low, rumbling sound. It wasn't quite a moan, but it was close enough to make Elian's knees hit the floor.
'Oh my god,' Elian panicked internally. 'Did he just purr? Do Alphas purr? If he purrs again, I might accidentally fall into the tub.'
"Lower," Cassian commanded, his voice rough.
"Your wish is my command," Elian whispered.
He moved his hands down the spine, tracing the dip of the majestic back muscles. He kneaded the tension away, circling his palms over the lats. He was technically washing him, but let's be real—he was groping the Heir Apparent under the guise of employment.
[Continuous Contact: +10 Minutes.]
Elian watched his timer tick up. 64:42... 64:43...
It was working. He was recharging. But the cost was his sanity.
The steam was getting to him. The smell was getting to him. Elian found himself leaning closer, his face inches from Cassian's wet hair. He wanted to bury his nose in the crook of Cassian's neck and just inhale.
'Bad Omega,' Elian scolded himself. 'Down boy. Think about spreadsheets. Think about Ambrose's stupid face.'
"You have... skilled hands," Cassian murmured, his eyes still closed. "Better than the previous valet. He used a brush. It scratched."
"I would never scratch you, Sire," Elian said, his voice trembling slightly. "I prefer... direct contact."
Cassian turned his head slightly, peering at Elian through the steam. His wet hair was plastered to his forehead, making him look unfairly good. "You are sweating, Elian."
"It's the steam," Elian lied. It was definitely the pheromones.
"Or perhaps," Cassian said, lifting a wet hand from the water, "you are overdressed."
Elian froze. Cassian's hand reached out and touched Elian's collar, tapping the top button.
[Contact: +2 Minutes.]
"Open it," Cassian ordered. "You look like you are suffocating."
'I am suffocating,' Elian thought. 'I am suffocating on your hotness.'
With shaking fingers, Elian undid the top button of his valet tunic. Then the second. He exposed his throat.
Cassian's eyes dropped to Elian's neck. His gaze lingered there, heavy and dark. For a split second, Elian felt like a prey animal being assessed by a predator.
'Is he looking at my scent gland?' Elian wondered. 'Can he smell my panic? Or does he smell... interest?'
"Better," Cassian said, dropping his hand back into the water. "Now, the hair."
Elian let out a breath he didn't know he held. "Yes. The hair."
He moved to the head of the tub. Cassian leaned back, resting his neck on the cool marble rim. Elian scooped up warm water, carefully pouring it over the Prince's dark locks.
He massaged the scalp. This was safer. Less muscle, more intimacy. He wove his fingers through the thick, wet strands, scratching lightly with his nails.
Cassian melted. The tension drained out of his face entirely. He looked younger, softer.
[System Notification: Target Stress Reduced. Elian +1 Heart.]
'Another heart,' Elian noted. 'Slow and steady. Just keep him happy.'
"Elian," Cassian said softly.
"Yes, Sire?"
"Why are you different?"
Elian's hands paused for a fraction of a second. "Different how?"
"You used to be..." Cassian gestured vaguely with a wet hand. "Invisible. Now, you take up space. You speak back. You touch me without permission."
He opened his eyes, looking up at Elian upside-down. "Why the change?"
Elian looked down at him. He could lie. He could say he had an epiphany. He could use a Shop item to distract him.
But Elian remembered the "Straight Bro" logic. 'Keep it simple. Keep it bold.'
"Maybe I got tired of being invisible," Elian said, continuing to massage the scalp. "Invisibility is safe, Your Highness. But it's lonely. And..."
He leaned down, whispering near Cassian's wet ear.
"It doesn't get you what you want."
Cassian's eyes darkened. "And what do you want, Valet?"
'To live past Tuesday,' Elian thought.
"To be useful," Elian said aloud. "And maybe a raise."
Cassian snorted. A genuine, short laugh. It splashed water onto the tiles.
"Greedy," Cassian muttered. But he closed his eyes again, leaning into Elian's touch. "Finish up. I have a council meeting in an hour."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Elian worked for another ten minutes, banking as much time as he could before the water grew tepid.
When Cassian finally stood up to dry off, Elian handed him the towel, careful to brush his fingers against Cassian's chest one last time.
[Total Recharge: +45 Minutes.][Current Time Until Death: 65 Hours, 17 Minutes.]
It wasn't a full recovery, but it was a start.
As Cassian walked out of the bathroom, Elian stayed behind to tidy up. He leaned against the sink, clutching his chest. His heart was hammering a mile a minute.
"Okay," Elian whispered to the steam. "I touched the Prince. I washed the Prince. I didn't die."
He looked in the mirror. His face was flushed, his hair damp from the humidity, and his pupils were blown wide. He looked thoroughly ravished.
"Get it together, man," Elian slapped his own cheeks. "You're not a concubine. You're a gamer. Focus on the stats."
He checked the leaderboard.
1. Ambrose: 322. Rowena: 263. Elian: 4.5
He straightened his tunic. The day was just beginning, and he had a lead on the hearts, even if Ambrose was miles ahead.
'Next stop: Breakfast,' Elian thought. 'And this time, I'm not letting Ambrose give him soup.'