Death. Marcello could feel the inevitable like tar in his veins, corrupting parts of himself he held dearest.

Aven was the first to wake the next morning. Warm and comfortable, he could feel the heat of his lover as Lucian slept beside him, snores...

Ceril fit the Ambassador duty. Charming, well educated and versed. A cock sucker. Marcello couldn’t miss the shrewd glint behind his eyes.

"Oh?" The man said. "Am I to stay silent in my suspicion of foul play? Has that dark elf slave of yours been hissing in your ear?"

Marcello’s vision swam over dusky features before the weight of the words anchored him back. "You killed him.”