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“I was born in orbit; that is why I’m Starborn. A traumatic birth, they said; I wasn’t breathing for the first few minutes, and my mum barely survived. As we descended, the pressure regulator malfunctioned. Decompression followed, and the fluctuation in the gravity field only made it worse. Inner ear barotrauma.” Cal nibbled on his lip, his eyes pinned on the horizon. “I must have been the loudest baby on Eiden until they gave me a cybernetic implant.”

“Is that why they gave you the first name, too?” Roy failed to suppress the lopsided smile spreading on his face. “The one who comes from the heavens.”

“You speak the common liturgical language?” Cal said with a spark of interest.

“Not much anymore.” The little hymnal his mother had pressed into his hands when he’d reached adulthood lay on his bookshelf, collecting layers of dust.

“I never liked it. The name,” Cal added, perhaps catching Roy’s confused expression. “It always seemed like an expectation I couldn’t possibly live up to. When Uros started talking, he called me Cally. That sounded a bit too childish, but I decided to keep Cal, to my parents’ dismay.”

Buttercup never liked visitors, perhaps because Roy didn’t have many—but she seemed drawn to the purple jumpsuit, leaving patches of undercoat as she rubbed herself against Cal with a loud purr. She gave his cheek a long lick, coaxing a chuckle from Cal.

“You’ve been up all night?” Roy asked, his gaze locked on the blue tint under Cal’s eyes.

“Yeah. Couldn’t really sleep.” Cal scratched Buttercup’s cheek, his long fingers disappearing into the dense fur. “Sent out messages to our family. I’m sure we’ll be out of your way soon.”

Roy forced a nod. Another reminder he shouldn’t get too attached—they were just star-crossed strangers; their paths would inevitably diverge.

The last sun had set behind the pyrite cliffs when Roy deemed his seaweed broth ready. He placed the steaming pot in the centre of his round dinner table and pulled off the mittens, reminding himself to buy a new pair, since he could see his fingers through the hole in the right one. He sat across from the siblings and nudged the ladle. “Please, go for it. There’s plenty.”

A crease formed between Cal’s arched brows. He squirmed, biting into his cracked lip. “I—yes, thank you.” With a trembling hand, he lifted his bowl and brought it to the pot. The broth splashed as he poured the liquid from the ladle.

Roy stifled a laugh. Who would have thought aristocrats would be confused by the simplest tasks? “You don’t do this often, huh? Let me.” He gently wrenched the ladle out of Cal’s clumsy fingers and filled all four bowls to the rim. “There. Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Uros said, his pointy elbow nudging the little sister. Adria kept her gaze pinned down. For the last few hours, she had only talked, or rather whispered, to Buttercup. Roy didn’t really blame her—he sometimes preferred feline company, too.

With his left wrist pressed to his lower back, Cal leaned over the bowl and ate in small sips, his elbow never touching the table. His face brightened, a shade of peonies in bloom returning to his cheeks. “This is delicious. Is it just seaweed?”

“Mhm. And noodles.” Roy nodded, slurping the remains at the bottom of his bowl. “Seaweed is surprisingly nutritious. People love it here.”

“You should start trading with Eiden. I’m sure my people would love it too,” Cal said, fighting with the slippery noodles.

“Maybe.” Roy jerked his shoulder. “Just slurp it. I swear I won’t tell a living soul.”

Cal looked at him with a shocked expression, as if he suggested committing a third-degree imperial offence. “I’ll manage.”

A shadow of mischief passed through Adria’s expression. She scooted closer to the table and brought the spoon to her mouth, slurping the noodle down before giggling.

Uros snorted and buried his face into his palms, his shoulders shuddering with what could have either been a laugh or a sob. “Imagine if the High Priestess saw us.”

“I’m sure she’d find slurping indecent.” Cal grinned. Redirecting his focus to Roy, he fired up one of his disarming smiles. “So, Roy, tell me—how does one end up with a sixty-pound kitty?”

“Long story.” Roy sighed, patting Buttercup’s flank. “She was actually the runt of the litter. Her siblings are twice the size. We wanted to get a puppy, but then I saw this little wobbly kitten and—” His voice broke into pieces, and he hardly managed to conceal the ache in his chest.

“You love her so much,” Cal said, his soft fingertips brushing on Roy’s wrist.

There was warmth—too much warmth, actually. Roy clasped Cal’s palm between his hands and lifted his gaze. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Does your head hurt? Are you feeling sick?”

“A bit,” Cal said, his forehead wrinkled.

“You should lie down.” Roy kept his voice level. “It’s the shot—the nanobot shields are dissolving, and your body’s fighting them. It might feel like the worst flu of your life, but it will pass.”

Beads of sweat rolled down Cal’s temples; a shiver rattled his body. It wouldn’t take long for the purple jumpsuit to be drenched in sweat.

“You should change into something more comfortable.” Roy stuck his head into the closet. He could hardly imagine Cal wearing any of his clothes—he was thin, his limbs long and slender, like a cellar spider. Roy’s trousers would probably flap around his frame like a seaweed sack, barely reaching his ankles.