The dampness of the dungeon had begun to seep into Kael's very soul. Alone in the dark, he spent his hours oscillating between a cold, calculating rage and a feverish delirium. He would pull at his chains until his shoulders felt as though they were being wrenched from their sockets, the metallic clink, clink, clink, is the only rhythm in his world. He hallucinated Theron's face in the shadows.. that smug, polished perfection and he would spit at the wall, his voice a gravelly ruin as he cursed the Prince's lineage.
Above him, Theron lived a double life that was fraying at the edges. He sat at the council table, his voice steady as he discussed grain taxes, but his fingers would ghost over the bruise on his jaw that Kael had left. He would look at the Princess across the dinner table, her face gaunt, her eyes searching for a ghost and feel a sickening mixture of triumph and jealousy. He hated that she still mourned the animal in the cellar, and he hated that he was the only one who knew the animal's true nature, it made his thoughts get all twisted, thinking on what to do next to break kael.. and he knew exactly how he'll do it.
That same night, Theron entered with a purpose that felt heavier than usual. He didn't bring the whip. He brought a silence that screamed.
Kael looked up, his eyes bloodshot and predatory. "Back for your nightly fix, Highness? Does the Princess's bed feel too cold without a real man in the castle?"
Theron didn't answer. He stepped close, the torchlight catching the gold thread of his tunic. He reached out, his hand trembling with a repressed, violent energy, and grabbed the front of Kael's trousers. With a sharp, disrespectful tug, he exposed the guard's cock.. angry, turgid, and pulsing with a life of its own despite the misery of the cell.
"Would you look at that," Theron hissed, his eyes locking onto Kael's with a gaze of pure vitriol. "All that muscle, all that warrior's pride and you're standing here hard as a rock for the man who keeps you in a cage?"
Theron's fingers closed around his length immediately. It wasn't a caress, it was a grip of iron. He began to work his hand in fast, brutal strokes, his knuckles raking against Kael's sensitive skin. There was no lubricant, no warmth, just the friction of skin on skin and the sound of Kael's jagged, unwilling gasps at the sudden action.
"You're a whore, Kael," Theron whispered, leaning in so their foreheads nearly touched, their eyes locking with clouded fury. "A common, low born whore. Do you like how my royal hand feels? Does it make you forget you're a prisoner?"
Kael's head thrashed against the stone. "I... hate you," he rasped, his teeth bared in a snarl that looked more like a grimace of pleasure he couldn't control. "I hate every... second of this."
"Lie to yourself if it helps you breathe," Theron countered, his own breathing coming in hot, shallow bursts. He watched Kael's eyes blow wide, watched the way the guard's thighs trekked and jumped.
Then, Theron did the unthinkable. He dropped to his knees in the filth of the floor.
Kael's breath hitched at the sight, a strangled sound of shock escaping his throat, his eyes wide and lips parted as he looked down at the prince on his knees before him. "Theron? Fuck. Don't—"
The Prince ignored him, his fingers squeezing his length roughly before parting his lips and taking him into his mouth with a sudden, aggressive hunger. It was a violation. He used his teeth just enough to sting, his tongue working with a clinical, hateful precision. He looked up the entire time, his honey eyes wide and filled with a terrifying, silent challenge. Daring kael to say anything about this. He was basically telling him with his eyes 'I am the Prince, and I am doing this to you. What does that make you?'
Kael's hands curled into white knuckled fists within his chains at that. The sensation was a tidal wave, drowning his reason. He looked down at Theron at the royal heir, the perfect man he's supposed to be, debasing himself in the dirt and the cognitive dissonance nearly broke him, nearly made him cum on the spot. He felt a surge of dominance even as he was being serviced, a dark pride that he had brought the King's son to his knees, a part of him felt some sense of victory even when the other side of him felt humiliated by the act of getting a blow job from the man he absolutely hate.
With that in mind, Kael reached his breaking point, his body rigid as a board, he let out a guttural, earth shaking groan with his head thrown back against the wall behind him, hips jerking forward into the prince's mouth as he cums. And Theron didn't pull away. He took every bit of the guard's release with a quite choke as the cum shoots down his throat, swallowing some of it by force as it drips down his throat, making his body fill with anger at how much he didn't hate it.
He slowly pulled Kael's cock out of his mouth with a pop and suddenly stood up, his face flushed, his eyes burning with a dark victory. He didn't swallow the rest. Instead, he stepped close to Kael's face, grabbed his jaw with a bruising force, and forced Kael's mouth open by squeezing it. He spat the warm, viscous fluid directly into Kael's mouth, then delivered a sharp, stinging slap across the guard's cheek.
"Swallow it," Theron commanded, his voice a lethal whisper. "Every drop of your own cum. Know your place, Kael."
Kael's face flew off to the side by the blow, cheek stinging as he pant heavily, when he finally turned his face to look down at Theron, his eyes turned a shade of red that looked like freshly spilled blood. He closed his mouth and swallowed, the humiliation burning hotter than the slap, his body trembling with a rage so profound he thought his heart might stop. "I will rip your heart out for that, you filthy pig." he promised, his voice a low, vibrating promise of death.
"I would love to see you try," Theron said, his lip curling in a wicked smile as he takes in the state Kael is in before he lets go of his face, dust his knees lightly before turning around and leaving without a word. Feeling quite pleased with the outcome of his performance but his mind also raced with thoughts, ideas on how to proceed with the guard in his grasp.
So he did leave for a while, but he returned an hour later. This time, he carried a wooden tray with a bowl of thick beef stew and a large glass of ice cold water.
Kael stared at him with slight confusion and wary in his eyes, this was the last thing he had expected after what had just happened. However he does not speak, he stays still against the wall, watching the prince, observing his next move. His stomach growling at the sight and smell of the food and he cussed under his breath at how obviously hungry he was.
Theron didn't speak this time. He sat on a low stool he'd brought in and began to feed Kael right away. It was a bizarre, jarring contrast to the violence of an hour before. Theron held the spoon to Kael's lips, his expression one of cold, detached duty.
"Eat," Theron muttered, his eyes locked down on the plate before he shifts them to look up at Kael's. "I won't have you wasting away. You're no fun to break if you can't stand."
Kael wanted to spit the food back at him, but his hunger was a screaming void. He ate, his eyes never leaving Theron's. They stared at each other in a silence that was louder than any argument, a look of mutual, sustained loathing. When Kael finished the water, Theron wiped the guard's mouth with a rough cloth, his touch lingering just long enough to be an insult.
And so, For the next week, the torture stopped for Kael. Theron came every night with freshly made food and cold water. He spoke to Kael in venomous barbs, mocking his fall from grace, while Kael tore into Theron's character, calling him a hollow crown and a cowardly thief. They yelled until their throats were raw, the walls of the cell vibrating with their shared hatred, yet still Kael would open his mouth everytime the food filled spoon was brought up to his lips and Theron hands never stopped feeding him.
On a random night, Theron arrived with a bucket of steaming water, a rough sponge, and a bundle of clean clothes.
"You smell like a fucking corpse," Theron said, his voice flat.
With that, He began to wash Kael after stripping him of his remaining torn up clothes. He scrubbed the guard's skin with a brutal efficiency, the soap stinging the half healed welts on Kael's body. He washed Kael's chest, his hands moving over the heavy muscles with a mocking familiarity all the while Kael is frozen in place at the sudden moment, he didn't speak for a while, didn't make a move to resist the process.
"You're staying here," Theron said as he worked. Once Kael was clean, Theron did something unexpected. He pulled a heavy key from his pocket and unlocked the chains. Kael's arms fell to his sides, heavy and leaden. He stumbled, his legs nearly giving out from how long he had been chained up, his legs shaking slightly.
"A bed will be brought in within the hour," Theron said, throwing the clean clothes at Kael's chest, he immediately grabbed them with a frown on his face as he looked down at the new set of clothes in his hand. "And the door will be locked from the outside. If you so much as touch the handle, I will have your fucking balls cut. Do you understand?"
Kael simply stood there listening, naked and shivering, his massive frame looming over Theron even in his weakened state. He looked at the open space of the dirty cell, then back at the Prince with gritted teeth.
"You're giving me a bed? You're turning my tomb into a room?" Kael stepped forward, just one step towards the prince, his eyes narrowed. "You're so afraid of losing me that you're making sure I'm comfortable enough to stay."
Theron's face flushed a deep, angry crimson. He shoved Kael back toward the stone wall roughly causing him to grunt as his exposed back slams against the cold wall, his hands flat against the guard's damp chest. "I am making sure you fucking last! I want you awake, healthy, and fully aware of every single second of your misery with me. You aren't going anywhere, Kael. Not until I say you're done."
"I'm already fucking done with you, Theron. We're done here." Kael hissed, his voice a low, lethal vibration.
"No! We're nowhere near done!" Theron shouts back, his gaze dropping to Kael's mouth for a split second, unaware before he tore himself away and stormed out, the heavy iron door slamming shut with a finality that echoed through the entire lower level.
Kael stood in the center of the cell, the silence ringing in his ears. He stood there frozen, trying to find himself still, his naked skin cooling in the damp air, his mind a storm of confusion and a hatred so deep it felt like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He looked at the clean clothes again as he pushed himself off the wall finally, then at his raw wrists. He was no longer in chains, but as he looked at the door, he realized he had never been more trapped in his entire life.
.
.
.
Kael felt the abrasive weight of the new linen against his skin, the fabric crisp and smelling faintly of lye a stark, clinical contrast to the stench of stagnant water and his own dried blood. He stood in the center of the cell, his legs trembling with a phantom heaviness, as if the chains were still there, invisible and twice as heavy. He dressed with slow, mechanical movements, his mind a jagged glass of memories, Theron's honey eyes filled with malice, the heat of the Prince's mouth around his length and the stinging humiliation of that final, degrading swallow.
Before he could even finish buttoning the tunic, the heavy iron bolts on the door shrieked.
Three guards entered, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords. They didn't look at Kael with the camaraderie of fellow soldiers, they looked at him as if he were a rabid animal that had been temporarily pacified.
"Don't move," the lead guard barked, his voice echoing. "The Prince gave us specific instructions. If you raise a hand to us, or if you even look like you're eyeing the door, the Princess pays for your arrogance. Her comfort in the West Tower is directly tied to your behavior here."
Kael's vision blurred with a flash of red. He stepped forward, a primal snarl ripping from his throat, but stopped when the guards drew their steel. The mention of her was a chokehold. "That golden haired coward," Kael hissed, his voice like grinding gravel. "He's too weak to face me without holding a woman hostage. Tell him he's a spineless pig."
"Tell him yourself," the guard countered. "Now move to the corner."
Kael retreated despite himself, leaning his broad shoulders against the damp stone, his knuckles white as he watched them work. They moved with a hurried, fearful efficiency. They scrubbed the filth from the floor with harsh vinegar, brought in a small wooden table, and finally, hauled in a heavy iron bedframe. They laid down a surprisingly thick mattress, a nice velvet blanket, and a single pillow.
When they finished, the cell no longer looked like a tomb, it looked like a cage. A clean, domestic cage. The lead guard paused at the door, glancing at Kael one last time. "You've got a strange luck, Kael. Most men in your position are swinging from the ramparts by now."
"Luck has nothing to do with it," Kael spat. "He just isn't finished playing with his food."
The door slammed with that, and the silence that followed was deafening. Kael looked at the bed. He hated it. He hated that it represented Theron's control over his sleep, his comfort, his very survival. He told himself he would stay awake, that he would plan his escape, that he would find a way to kill Theron the moment the door opened again. But as he sat on the edge of the mattress, the sheer exhaustion of weeks of standing in chains crashed over him like a physical blow. His body betrayed him again, his eyes slipping shut as he fell back onto the pillow. He was out before his head even fully settled, descending into a deep, dreamless void.
The next morning arrived not with the rising sun, which never reached these depths but with the rhythmic, arrogant tap of polished boots.
Theron entered at dawn, a time when the rest of the palace was still draped in sleep. He looked impeccable, dressed in a structured hunting doublet of deep charcoal wool with silver fastenings that caught the torchlight. His chestnut hair was swept back neatly, and his face was calm, though a sharp, observant light danced in his eyes. He carried nothing this time, no food, no water just his own presence.
He stopped at the foot of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest. He stood there for a long minute, simply watching the man he had spent weeks breaking.
Kael was sprawled across the small bed, his massive frame nearly too large for the frame. In sleep, the lethal edge of his personality was blunted, he actually looked younger, the harsh lines of his face softened by the deep pull of exhaustion. The clean clothes Theron had provided were already rumpled, the white linen straining against the heavy muscles of his chest.
Theron felt a surge of that same, confusing heat from the night before. He looked at Kael's mouth for some reason and scoffed, remembering the taste of him, the salt and the fire, and he felt a spike of pure, unadulterated hatred for how much he wanted to see those stormy eyes snap open.
He reached out, his boot connecting sharply with the iron leg of the bed. The metal rang out with a jarring clang.
"Wake up, animal," Theron said, his voice cold and clear. "The sun is up, even if you're too deep in the dirt to see it."
Kael bolted upright at the sound, his hand moving instinctively to a hip where a sword no longer hung. His eyes were wild, darting around the room before settling on Theron. The realization of where he was and who was standing over him hit him like a bucket of ice water. He sat up slowly, his hair messy, his jaw set in an immediate scrawl of loathing as he run his fingers through his hair.
"You look far too comfortable," Theron remarked, his lip curling into a mocking smile. "I see my mercy agreed with you. Did you sleep well, knowing I was the one who tucked you in?"
At that, Kael stood up slowly, his height dwarfing Theron's, even in his weakened state. He stepped into Theron's space, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I dreamed about snapping your delicate little neck, Highness. It was the best sleep I've had in years."
Theron didn't flinch. He leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "Dreaming is all you have left, Kael. You're awake now. And today, we're going to talk about exactly what you're going to do to earn that bed."
"I don't earn anything from you," Kael hissed, his breath hot against Theron's face. "You gave me this because you're obsessed. You can't stop coming down here. You're addicted to the hate, Theron. You're just as trapped as I am."
Theron's hand shot out, grabbing Kael's collar and bunching the new linen in his fist, yanking the taller man down to his level. "I am the one with the key, Kael! Never forget that. You are a pet to me. And if you ever forget who you are, I'll remind you exactly how much I enjoyed watching you swallow your pride last night."
Kael grabbed Theron's wrists roughly, his large hands easily encircling the Prince's slender bones. They stood there, locked in a tense, vibrating stalemate, their faces inches apart, breath mingled, eyes screaming the truths their mouths refused to admit.
"Then do it," Kael challenged, his voice a lethal whisper, eyes locked down onto Theron's like a death threat. "Show me how much more of a monster you can be."