(•.•)
The recovery was not a quiet affair; it was a battleground of high octane fevers and vicious delirium. Kaelan was sprawled across his bed in apartment 304, his skin radiating a dry, localized heat that made the very air in the room shimmer. His black panther ears were twitching erratically, and every time he opened his emerald eyes, they were clouded with a furious, glassy haze.
"I can feel it," Kaelan rasped, his voice a jagged edge of indignant pain. He clutched his stomach, glaring at the ceiling. "It's... it's hatching. The scaly parasite is eating my insides. I hope it inherits your psycho fucking brain , so it chokes on its own first breath."
"Kaelan, for the tenth time, it is a fever," Ignis sighed.
Kaelan turned his head, ready to launch a deadly insult, and froze. Ignis was standing by the bed, holding a bowl of chilled water and a silk cloth. But the King was not in his royal robes or his celebrity suit. He was wearing a frilled, black and white maid outfit, complete with a lace headband nestled in his crimson hair. The fabric strained against his massive, muscular chest, looking utterly ridiculous.
"What... in the name of every rotten demon... is that?" Kaelan choked out, his short temper flaring despite his weakness. "Why are you wearing a maid outfit? Does my 'pregnancy' somehow require you to look like a fetishist's fever dream?"
Ignis tilted his head, his obedient side taking a turn into the bizarre. "You said I was a 'poor servant' to your needs. I thought a visual representation of my submission would soothe your livid temper. Does it not help with the headache?"
"It makes the headache want to commit suicide!" Kaelan shrieked, then immediately fainted from the exertion, his head flopping back onto the pillow.
Ignis's expression shifted to one of genuine concern. He realized the "Dragon Flu" was peaking. He shed the ridiculous outfit, changing back into his dark slacks and a simple shirt. He needed a specific Draconic suppressant from a specialized apothecary across town , something even his magic couldn't manifest out of thin air.
"Rest, little cat," Ignis whispered, kissing Kaelan's burning forehead. "I will be back before the hour turns."
The moment the door clicked shut, the shadows in the corner of the room began to liquefy.
The South Lord's magic, cold and smelling of ash, crept across the floorboards. In his weakened, semi-conscious state, Kaelan was a defenseless target. A rift opened beneath the bed,a silent, dark vacuum. With a shimmering pulse of blue light, the real Kaelan was magically transferred to a far off, sealed dungeon in the West Wing, a place where the sun never touched.
In his place, the shadows coalesced, weaving a masterpiece of illusion.
When Ignis returned thirty minutes later, medicine in hand, he found "Kaelan" sitting up in bed. The fever seemed to have broken miraculously. The boy's panther ears were perked up, and his emerald eyes were clear—but they were soft. Too soft.
"Ignis," the figure whispered, his voice like honey and silk. "You're back. I was so lonely without you."
Ignis stopped mid stride. His golden eyes narrowed. He felt a cold, sharp spike of suspicion. The dragon earring on the boy's ear was silent. Usually, it hummed with Kaelan's furious internal monologue, a constant stream of deadly vows and sarcastic curses. Now? Silence.
"Kaelan?" Ignis asked, walking slowly to the bed. "You're feeling better?"
"Much better, my King," the fake Kaelan said, reaching out to take Ignis's hand, rubbing his cheek against Ignis's palm. "I'm sorry I was so mean to you. I realized while you were gone... how much I truly need you."
Ignis's smirk didn't reach his eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed, playing along with a manic coldness. "Is that so? Tell me, Kaelan... do you love me?"
"Yes," the fake breathed, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to Ignis's jaw. "I love you more than anything. I want to be your Consort. I want to go back to the palace and never leave your side."
Ignis felt a wave of disgust wash over him. He leaned in closer, inhaling deeply.
The real Kaelan had a scent that was a mix of wild mint, rain, and a subtle, sweet musk that was uniquely his. This creature... smelled of nothing. Or rather, it smelled like a doll,wax, cold magic, and a faint, floral perfume that Ignis recognized with a jolt of livid clarity.
Zadkiel.
"You're very sweet today," Ignis murmured, his voice a low, predatory rumble. "Tell me one more thing. Do you still plan to kill me when you find my weakness?"
The fake Kaelan giggled,a sound the real Kaelan would rather swallow glass than make. "Of course not, darling. Why would I want to hurt my beautiful King?"
Ignis's hand suddenly shot out, gripping the fake Kaelan's throat. His golden eyes turned into slitting needles of feral rage.
"You've failed, Zadkiel," Ignis hissed, his voice vibrating with the power of a thousand suns. "My Kaelan would prefer to choke on his own blood than speak a single sweet word to me. Even if he were drugged into a coma, his soul would be cursing my lineage from the depths of his mind. You lack his fierce spirit, his sharp tongue, and most importantly..."
Ignis leaned in, his face inches from the trembling illusion. "...you lack his scent. He is a predator. You are just a doll full of cheap magic and the desperation of a discarded concubine."
The illusion flickered. The face of "Kaelan" distorted, melting away to reveal the Second Concubine, Zadkiel, her eyes wide with terror and furious jealousy. Behind her, the spectral shadow of the South Lord loomed, his "solution" having been exposed in a matter of minutes.
"Where is he?" Ignis roared, the apartment windows shattering from the sheer force of his aura. "Where have you taken my panther?"
Zadkiel let out a shrill, livid laugh, even as Ignis's grip tightened. "He is where you will never find him, Ignis! He is in the dark, where his pride will finally rot! You chose a cat over your own kind, and now you will have neither!"
Ignis didn't waste time with words. He threw her across the room like a piece of refuse. He didn't care about the politics or the Lords. His obsession had turned into a global scale threat.
Hold on, Kaelan, Ignis thought, his heart hammering with a terrifying, protective heat. Bite them. Curse them. Keep your sharp tongue ready, because I am coming to burn that dungeon to the ground.