Chapter 6
This chapter contains brief mentions of sexual incidences involving a minor.
Aloud clattering sound startled Rain, dragging him from a deep sleep.
He groaned as he disentangled himself from the bed sheets, yawning through a thick grogginess that protested the disruption.
His dreams had been a chaotic turmoil of war and Aetherchromes, making him feel as though he had barely slept at all.
“Sorry, Your Highness. I didn’t mean to wake you. I was only switching out your meals in case you decided to stir,” Neel said softly, concern threading through his voice.
Neel was the only person assigned to serve the prince.
He had been employed at the palace for eleven years, chosen specifically for this role.
During the years when Rain struggled to control his abilities, it had become nearly impossible to find anyone willing to tend to him.
Most of the palace staff avoided his entire wing, terrified of what they might be exposed to if they ventured too close.
It took a particular kind of person to accept such a position; someone patient, open-minded, and unafraid of the unpredictable.
Neel had been exactly that blessing.
A queer man in his fifties, always impeccably poised and professional, he had offered Rain something no one else in the palace had: steady companionship without fear or judgement.
He never flinched, never recoiled, never treated Rain like a burden.
Whatever Rain’s power dragged him into; the emotional storms, the psychic spillover, the accidental projections, Neel handled it with grace.
He loved his position on the royal staff.
It was the first role that had ever felt like a calling rather than a job.
Before serving the prince, he had drifted between healthcare and private service, tending to wealthy elders; both Aetherial and mortal, many of whom treated him like an inconvenience rather than a person.
Applying to work with the young prince had been a risk.
He had never worked with teenagers, let alone one with such volatile abilities.
But his life had grown stagnant, trapped in the routines of grumpy old men—including his partner, who was twenty years his senior.
When rumours spread about the prince’s uncontrolled emotional surges and the chaos they caused–including the orgies, Neel found himself intrigued rather than afraid.
He had lived a colourful, adventurous youth; he was no stranger to sexual exploration.
Rain, in all his unpredictability, felt less like a threat and more like a thrilling opportunity to do something meaningful—even extraordinary.
His commitment to the role was strengthened by the unwavering support of his husband.
Their relationship, built on understanding and openness, gave Neel the confidence to take on the position without fear of judgement.
Whatever challenges arose in the prince’s service, he knew he had someone at home who would encourage his loyalty rather than question it.
That stability allowed Neel to embrace his responsibilities fully, even amidst palace politics and the unpredictable demands of Rain’s abilities.
The hardest part of the job had never been Rain’s power, it was Rain’s age.
At thirteen, he had already endured experiences no child should ever have to face.
Neel had been dragged into taboo moments with the minor and witnessed the aftermath of the emotionally driven episodes that left the boy shaken, frightened, or ashamed.
He had been the one to pick up the pieces, to steady him, to remind him he wasn’t alone.
It was not a role for the faint-hearted.
Having seen the toll it took on Rain, Neel developed a deep, abiding compassion for him. Over the years, they built a bond defined by mutual respect and quiet trust. To Rain, Neel was more than a servant, he was family. And Neel felt honoured by that in a way he struggled to put into words.
“What time is it?” Rain grumbled from beneath the sheets.
“It is 4:57 PM, Velday, Sir” He responded dutifully, a bite of hope in his voice. “If you are feeling up to it, there is a Chicken Dratah here with your name on it. Or perhaps a drink of Oj, to get some Vitamin C into you.”
Rain’s body was wracked with exhaustion, he had just slept for thirty-eight hours straight, and it had to have been more than forty-five hours since he’d last eaten.
This cycle wasn’t out of the ordinary for him; after an episode, it was routine.
The first steps of his recovery always began with rest, but once he woke, it was vital to replenish his energy with a meal and his regular supplements.
Only after meeting these needs would he return to his exercise regimen, using physical activity to help rebuild his mental strength.
Over time, this recovery process had become an essential part of his life.
Maintaining a structured routine through these difficult periods was fundamental, not only for his health but also for his ability to maintain control over his powers.
It had taken years of trial and error to figure out what strategies worked best for him.
As Rain stirred from his long rest, Neel approached, gently encouraging him to begin the next stage of his recovery. “Please, your highness,” Neel urged with warmth, holding out a glass of orange juice in hope that Rain would accept and start to refuel.
"Ok, thank you Neel,” Rain conceded, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes to rid himself of the brain fog that lingered.
Neel waited patiently for him to sit upright, before handing over the drink.
Rain took a long swig and let Neel press a damp washcloth to his skin, the cooling sensation against his neck and forehead helped to sober him into the present.
“How bad is the situation?” Rain asked solemnly after chugging down the juice. Though he still felt uncomfortably vulnerable, he wanted to brace himself for the consequences of what he'd done.
“From what I can gather Sir, the Red Kingdom has declared war against us as of Cyrday morning, but they are yet to take action. Your Father on the other hand doesn’t appear to be angry with you, it seems he is rather fond of the idea of a conflict with the Red King and has been in good spirits.
He awaits your visit as soon as you are able. ”
Rain processed Neel’s words in silence, the news weighing heavily on his shoulders.
The thought of another war unsettled him, especially knowing that his father seemed to relish in the prospect of conflict.
He wished things could be different, that the cycle of violence could be broken, but this was not the time for wishful thinking.
He needed to gather his strength and prepare to face whatever came next, knowing that his actions—intended or not—had already set events into motion.
The realisation left him feeling both responsible and powerless, an uncomfortable blend that lingered as he forced himself to sit up straighter in bed.
What unsettled him most was the news that his father was in high spirits; Rain found that far more unnerving than anger.
He had grown accustomed to being a disappointment, and it always felt safer to irritate the King than to earn his approval.
They were salt and snow, sharing nothing but blood and duty.
Rain opposed his father’s politics with every fibre of his being.
The King ruled mortals and Blue aetherials alike as if they were disposable chess pieces, his reign defined by vindictive displays of dominance.
Rain believed the opposite: that mortals deserved a voice, and that aetherials should act as guardians rather than tyrants—partners to the people, building alliances through integrity, consistency, and collaboration.
A strong trade union mattered far more to him than petty demonstrations of power.
Power, however, was the only thing his father ever craved.
He possessed little natural ability; an unfortunate truth he concealed with manipulation and intimidation.
Many aetherials of his generation hid their gifts out of embarrassment, careful not to let the public see how the royal bloodline had thinned, leaving some of them scarcely more capable than humans.
The King’s true ability was Whispering: planting suggestions in a person’s mind to influence their actions.
It was a subtle power, and a fragile one.
It failed entirely on those with empathic abilities like Rain.
Not only was the King too weak to overpower an empath, but an empath could sense the intrusion instantly, shattering the spell before it took hold.
This meant the King could not control his only son and that was something he could never forgive.
As Rain contemplated, Neel set a tray across his lap, offering him both food and supplements.
Rain’s stomach tightened as the aroma of curry captivated his senses, drawing him away from his brooding thoughts.
Eagerly snatching up the cutlery he began to devour the dish, casting an appreciative glance at Neel between mouthfuls.
Neel chuckled to himself, as he continued to clear away the untouched dishes from lunch, delighted that the prince was finally eating.
He had laid out every meal since Rain had returned, ready for when he awoke; it was important Rain woke up to a meal, otherwise he tended to fall into patterns of avoidance, unwittingly starving himself as punishment.
“Thanks Neel, that was delicious.” Rain said appreciatively as he set the cutlery down on the plate, his mood felt lighter now that his tummy had its fill.
Light enough that he felt ready to clean up and jump back into recovery.
Placing the tray to the side, he climbed out of bed, nude as the day he was born and strode into the bathroom to freshen up.