Page 113 of Those That Defy the Realm

Henry shifts once more, tipping me into the middle of the bed, right between the pair of them. It tends to be how we sleep now. Since I was kidnapped, they’ve both only allowed sleep to take them if I’m nestled in between them. Honestly, I’m not complaining, but I had been happy to let them snuggle one another this morning when I’d slipped out the bed earlier.

Ash’s hand finds my belly and Henry’s arm lays across us both, his hand wrapping over Ash’s hip. All of our legs find space interlaced together before we come to stillness.

We don’t sleep though, instead Henry and I talk softly until Ash wakes up properly and joins in as well. We have nowhere to be today and no one else is demanding our attention. So we simply stay nestled away in the cabin. Together.

History in Society:

Is the fracturing of our continent a sign of progress

or regression? A look from a societal lens.

A discussion with Henry Knox

Froan has officially had some legal freedoms for a year now. It can govern its citizens in ways which no province has had the power to do since before the unification in the days of kings and queens. The move caused ripples across the continent, and the ramifications are such that I’m certain the average citizen hasn’t felt it yet, but I’m hopeful that in the long term the advantages will become far clearer.

It is no secret that I myself have recently taken up residence in Froan, a move I made for several reasons, above all being that I am now a mated male. It felt like the right time, however, to take a stand in what my life’s work has been pushing towards; justice for those we lost in the Cleansing Wars.

History to some is built on stories of the successful, tales of the winners and simply a way for us to recollect and mark our progress. To an extent, I agree. But history is the most powerful tool we have to learn from. It should be our warning to not repeat past mistakes, it should highlight the forgotten and allow us to uncover them, it should be utilised to ensure that we aren’t erasing those that were lost.

Froan’s provincial authorities, and from public surveying its population too, have been growing apart from the continent for some time. And since my move, I can see why. For a city, and an island, that was mainly colonised by the Fae when they broke through the wall a millennia ago, its mixed population now hold values of inclusivity and community that is being eaten away on the continent.

The society here has a pride in helping those less fortunate, and since the split that has been evident in the policies which have not only been introduced but have been welcomed: Education is cheaper, healthcare is now universal, and conviction rates have dropped.

Some would argue that the isolationism is regression, I’m sure certain individuals are waiting for Froan to run into trouble and end up begging to reverse its separation. But from where I’m standing, right amongst the changes, I can’t see a single regret amongst its officials or its citizens.

And on a personal note, I hope that this will be a catalyst for further change, that other provinces are sitting up and watching. Selfishly, I want a world where we embrace all members of our society and shine a light on the forgotten.

HENRY KNOX, PROFESSOR OF POLITICS, HISTORY AND SOCIOLOGY AT FROAN UNIVERSITY

EPILOGUE - ANTARES

TWO AND A HALF YEARS LATER

Flicking on the overhead lights at the club, I turn the dial so they turn to a cool blue hue. The empty space is quiet, which you’d probably think would be a little unnerving, but I was so used to being here before everyone else, I find the silence comforting, with a touch of eager anticipation of the night to come.

Stashing my keys beside one of the tills, I get to work organising the drinks I need. I’ve come in a few hours before the rest of the staff because I want to test a couple of new cocktail recipes I’ve been working on.

Considering they went down very well at Rory’s birthday party last week, I think they are very close to being perfect—and ready to add to our menu of rotating cocktail specials.

Grabbing the glasses and a mixer I set to work with flair. Spinning the bottles on my fingers and juggling a couple of them, because I swear it adds something to the flavour, I mix the first and add the extra lime I felt was missing.

Pouring the drink, I take a swig.

“Mmmmmm, damn that’s good,” I congratulate myself as the drink hits that perfect balance of sharpness from the alcohol, sweetness from the juice and a richness that I was aiming for.

“Always so humble,” my mate makes me jump as I look up and see him leaning against the open doorway to the staff only area. The yellow lights behind him illuminate him in gold. His hair is half up, half down—the top section in a knot on the top of his head and the longer strands of the bottom half hitting his shoulders. He’s wearing a tank top, showing his tattoo sleeves and muscles carved from the hours he puts into working out.

My mouth salivates at the sight of him. I can’t believe he’s mine. My dick also gives a valiant kick behind the zipper of my denim shorts.

He must know the effect he’s having on me because his lips pull into a one-sided grin and he flexes those damn biceps.

Gah.

“What’s this one called?” he asks as he saunters towards me.

“Gut Punch,” I reply, leaning forward across the marble bartop and holding out the glass.

My mate takes it, our fingers brushing, giving me a spark of electricity that I always feel when he’s near, and lifts the glass to his lips.