Theron's weight was a dead, warm pressure against Kael's chest. The Prince's head had lulled back into the crook of Kael's shoulder, his breathing evening out into the heavy cadence of a man who had been physically extinguished.
Kael stayed frozen. His hand was still resting on Theron's damp, bruised hip, his fingers curled into the skin. At first, a surge of panic or perhaps a darker hope flickered through him that he had actually broken the man, but the steady rise and fall of Theron's ribcage told a different story. The Prince was asleep. Deeply, shamelessly asleep in the lap of his own enemy.
For an hour, Kael didn't move. The silence of the dungeon felt heavier than usual. He looked down at the upside down face of the royal heir.. the messy hair, the swollen lips, the dark purple shadow of the bite mark on his neck. His mind drifted back to the kiss. It wasn't something they would've done if they were in their senses, it had been a desperate, soul sucking fusion that had made Kael forget his own name for a moment. He realized with a jolt of self loathing that he had lost the lead. He hadn't just been a guard being punished or a prisoner, he had been a man obsessed.
Finally, the cold reality of the palace clock tower echoing in the distance forced his hand.
"Theron," Kael rasped, his voice sounding like iron on stone. He shook the Prince's shoulder roughly. "Wake up. Your guards will be doing the dawn rotation. Get up."
Theron groaned, his eyelids fluttering. As his consciousness returned, so did the memory of the night. He bolted upright or tried to, his muscles screaming in protest. He tumbled off Kael's lap and onto the mattress, his face a sudden, stark white as he looked at the guard.
"You..." Theron's voice was a jagged ruin. He looked at his own trembling hands, then at Kael's mouth and frowned. "That kiss. That was... disgusting. You're a bottom feeding animal. To put your mouth on mine... I should have your fucking tongue cut out."
"I didn't see you pulling away, Highness." Kael spat, though his own stomach was churning with the same conflicted bile. "You were moaning into it like a starved dog. It was a mistake. A foul, pathetic lapse. Don't think it'll happen again."
"It won't." Theron hissed, his eyes burning with a renewed, sharpened hate. "It was the heat of the moment, the overstimulation. It meant nothing. You mean nothing."
Theron struggled to his feet, but his legs betrayed him immediately. His knees buckled, and he had to catch himself on the iron bedframe, his body shaking from the four orgasms Kael had wrung out of him. He looked like a man who had been through a war. His hole felt ruined, a throbbing reminder of how deep Kael had gone, and his prostate felt bruised, still humming with a ghost of that terrifying pleasure.
He scrambled for his robe, wrapping the silk around his marked body with trembling fingers. "I hate you, Kael. I hate you more today than the day I locked you in here."
"The feeling is mutual, Prince." Kael growled, watching from the bed with a predatory, cold stare. "Go play your part. Try not to fall over in front of your wife."
Theron didn't reply. He stumbled toward the door, his gait uneven and pained, his hand clutching the wall for support. He bolted the door from the outside, the sound of the metal slamming home the only punctuation to their shared disaster.
The Morning After, the sun rose over the palace with a cruel brilliance. Theron spent two hours in his dressing room, his hands shaking so violently he dropped his silver comb twice. The mirror was his enemy.
The bruising on his throat was deep and vivid, thumb shaped marks that told a story of a man being pinned and taken. He had to wear a high collared velvet doublet, fastened so tight it made it hard to swallow, to hide the evidence of Kael's hands. But he couldn't hide the limp. Every time he stepped, a sharp, electric pain shot up his spine from his over used core.
At breakfast, the Queen mother eyed him with a sharp, narrowing gaze. "You look unwell, Theron. And you're walking as if you've taken a fall from a horse."
"A minor training injury, your highness." Theron lied, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears. "I pushed myself too hard in the yard yesterday."
He looked down at his plate, his mind spiraling. He had felt things last night he had never felt with the Princess, pleasure so deep it felt like it had rewired his brain. He felt ruined. He felt like Kael had reached inside him and taken something that could never be returned. His body was no longer his own… it was a map of Kael's dominance, and that made his thoughts spiral.
Below at the cell, Kael spent his day in a state of restless, dark satisfaction. He laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the scent of Theron still clinging to the sheets and his body. He felt the weight of the possession he had established. He had seen the Prince break, finally.. he had heard the royal heir beg and sob aloud.
But as he looked at the raw scratches on his own arms, he realized the trap worked both ways. He was the one in the cell, but he was also the one who couldn't stop thinking about the next time the door would open. He had ruined the Prince, yes.. but in doing so, he had ruined himself for anyone else.
The hate was the only thing that made the addiction bearable. He sat up with a groan and began his push ups again, his muscles screaming for him to stop, his mind already counting the hours until midnight. He wasn't just waiting for a prisoner's release, he was waiting for his fix.. for the prince to come back into this room.
.
.
.
The following thirty six hours were a test of endurance for both men. Theron remained above, a ghost haunted by his own skin. He played the part of the dutiful Prince with a frantic, obsessive precision, attending council meetings and dining with the Princess, his high collar a suffocating reminder of Kael's teeth still. Every time he sat down, the ache in his core made his vision swim. He hated that he was counting the minutes until he could go back down, he for some dumb reason hated that he felt empty without the weight of Kael's dominance crushing the breath from his lungs.
While In the cell, Kael was… rotting. The scratches on his arms, deep and untreated, had begun to throb with a dull, intense heat. A fever was brewing in his blood, making his thoughts jagged and hallucinatory. He ignored it and paced the small room, his muscles trembling from the relentless workouts he used to stave off the madness. He was waiting for Theron and the delay was making him feral.
At midnight on the second day, Theron appeared. He didn't come in a robe this time. He was dressed in his full royal hunting leathers, looking sharp and lethal. In his arms, he carried a heavy bundle of Kael's old guard gear, the steel plated spaulders, the leather gambeson, and the dark blue surcoat of the Royal Guard.
"Put it on," Theron commanded, his voice cold, his eyes locked onto Kael's as he continues, unaware of his state. "We're going for a walk."
Kael's eyes narrowed, his brow slick with a thin film of fever sweat. "A walk? You're letting me out?"
"I'm letting you remind yourself of what you lost." Theron hissed. "And if you try to run, my archers in the towers have orders to pin you to the grass before you reach the gate. You're my shadow tonight, Kael. Nothing more."
Kael stayed still for a minute, eyeing his gear in the prince hand before approaching to take it, he dressed with shaking hands, the familiar weight of the armor grounding him even as the fever made his head light. Seeing Kael in his gear, the broad shoulders emphasized by the steel, the lethal silhouette of the man who used to stand at his door sent a jolt of pure thrill through Theron's spine. He looked like a guard again, but they both knew he was a slave now.
With them both silent through it all, Theron finally turned around and signaled for Kael to follow him out, he led him through the servant tunnels to the Moon Garden, a secluded, high walled sanctuary filled with pale lilies and the scent of jasmine. The air was cool, but Kael felt like he was walking through fire with his body aching and his arm stinging.
Theron hummed as he sat on a stone bench, pouring a cup of wine from a carafe he'd brought. "Stand there." he ordered, gesturing to the spot in front of him. "Look at the stars, Kael. Look at the world you'll never live in again."
Theron intended to humiliate him after what Kael had done to him, to sit there and drink while Kael stood as a silent, weaponless sentinel. But they both couldn't mask the tension in the air between them.. it was too thick to ignore. Kael turned to him, his eyes glowing with a delirious, hungry light. The fever was making him reckless.
"You think this gives you power?" Kael rasped, stepping into Theron's space, his armor clinking softly. "Bringing me out here where anyone could see us? You're not reclaiming your power, Theron. You're just looking for a bigger stage for your depravity."
"Silence!" Theron stood up immediately, trying to push Kael back, but the guard caught his wrists.
Kael smirked slightly and let go of the prince wrists, guiding them down to his trousers instead. The proximity, the moonlight, and the sight of Kael in his gear snapped Theron's resolve. He didn't stop Kael from guiding his hands, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings of Kael's trousers, his eyes wide and desperate but no words escaped his lips.
Kael didn't wait for him to finish unbuckling his pants. He shoved Theron back against the stone bench, pulling the Prince's silk trousers down, making them falling to his ankles. He unzipped himself, his cock springing free angry, turgid, and pulsing with a life of its own. It was thick and dark in the pale light, the head weeping with a bead of pre cum that glistened like a jewel.
Theron's breath hitched at the sight of it. He reached out without thinking, his hand wrapping around the hot, heavy length while his eyes locking onto Kael's under the moonlight. "You're disgusting." Theron whispered, even as he pulled Kael toward him by moving his other hand to the back of his head.
The sex was a frantic, terrifying gamble. They were outside, shielded only by stone walls and shadows. Kael didn't bother with positions this time, he simply lifted Theron's legs up over his own shoulders and drove into him with fast and rough slams.
Theron let out a high, choked cry that Kael smothered with his hand roughly. "Quiet, Highness." Kael hissed, his teeth grazing Theron's ear. "Unless you want the night watch to see the Prince getting hammered by the 'missing' guard."
The sensation of Kael's armor, the cold steel and rough leather pressing against Theron's bare, sensitive skin was an intoxicating contrast. Kael hammered into him with a brutal pace, his cock reaching deep into Theron's guts once again, hitting that bruised spot until the Prince was whining into Kael's palm in pleasure and pain.
"F-fuck... Kael... mmmgh... right there." Theron gasped shamelessly, his hips bucking frantically against the stone bench.
Kael groaned and complied, he was focused, his movements fueled by the fever. He was sweating profusely now, his skin burning to the touch. He took Theron's cock in his free hand, stroking the Prince in time with his thrusts, watching Theron's face contort in a mask of agonized, high risk pleasure behind his hand that was still on his mouth.
They finished in a chaotic, muffled explosion of release. Theron's body went rigid, his cum splattering against Kael's leather gambeson, while Kael emptied himself deep inside the Prince with a guttural moan.
For a moment, they just stood there, the only sound the rustle of leaves and their frantic, shallow breathing. The risk had pushed them both to a new level of addiction they didn't want to admit.
"Get... get away." Theron whispered, his voice trembling as he tried to pull his trousers back up. "We have to go back. Now."
Kael tried to move, but his legs felt like lead. The adrenaline of the sex was fading, leaving only the hollow, burning ache of the infection. He stumbled, his shoulder hitting the stone wall with a heavy thud.
Theron noticed it then, the way Kael's eyes were glazed, the way he was swaying. He reached out, his hand touching Kael's forehead immediately to check. He recoiled instantly. "You're burning up.." Theron breathed, his eyes wide with a sudden, sharp panic of realization, Kael wasn't even responding to him or reacting to anything, making him panic even more.
He didn't brush it off this time. He grabbed Kael's arm, pulling the guard's weight onto his own shoulder. "We have to get you back to the cell. If a guard finds you like this..."
They moved through the tunnels in a desperate, slow crawl. By the time they reached the cell, Kael was barely conscious, his breathing a series of wet, labored rattles.
The iron door to the cell didn't slam this time as he returned back inside. Theron eased it shut, his breath coming in jagged, terrified hitches. The moonlight from the garden was gone now that they're back inside the room, replaced by the oppressive, flickering orange of a single torch. On the bed, Kael was a mountain of trembling muscle still. The tough guard he had been nothing but a beat now seemed to be crushing, wasting before him, Theron stood over him, paralyzed by a cold, sharp panic. If Kael died here, he wasn't just losing a prisoner, he was losing the mirror to his own soul. He felt a frantic, nauseating need to keep Kael alive, not out of mercy, but out of a desperate, selfish obsession.
"Kael? Kael, look at me.." Theron whispered, his voice cracking. He reached out, his royal hands that had never known labor, fumbling with the straps of Kael's armor. The leather was slick with sweat and the cum residue of their encounter in the garden. Theron worked with a feverish intensity, unbuckling the spaulders and tossing the steel onto the stone floor with a series of heavy clangs.
When he finally peeled the linen shirt back, he nearly gagged. The scratches on Kael's arm from three nights ago were now puffy, red and weeping some type of yellow fluid.
"You're a fool." Theron hissed, though his eyes were brimming with a terrifying moisture he fought to ignore. "You didn't say a word. You just let it rot while I..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He moved like a man possessed. He grabbed the bucket of water, which was half empty and lukewarm at the corner of the room, and the clean cloths he'd brought for the previous night's cleanup. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Kael's heavy, burning arm onto his lap to try and clean it.
The night became a blurred cycle of quiet, desperate labor. Theron cleaned the wounds, his teeth gritting as Kael let out low, unconscious whimpers that tore through the Prince's composure. He used a small dagger he had on him at all times to carefully lance the worst of the swelling, his stomach turning as the infection drained, but his hands remained steady. He washed Kael's forehead, his chest, and his neck, over and over, trying to draw the heat out of him.
For the first time, there was no hate in the room.. only a heavy, suffocating silence. Theron watched Kael's face, tracing the rugged lines of his jaw and the scars on his chest with a gaze that was no longer guarded. He looked at the man he had broken, and then at his own hands, which were covered in Kael's blood and sweat. The line between master and slave had completely dissolved in the dark.
Just as the first hint of gray light began to bleed under the door, Kael's tremors subsided. His breathing slowed, the ragged edge of the fever finally snapping. His eyes flickered, then opened, glazed and heavy.
He saw Theron first. The Prince was slumped on the stool next to his bed, his charcoal hunting leathers rumpled, his hair a mess of sweat and damp strands. Theron was currently wringing out a cloth, his movements slow and exhausted. He looked small. He looked human.
Kael tried to move his arm, and a sharp, white hot bolt of pain shot through his brain. He let out a dry, rattling groan and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.
Theron's head snapped up. The panic in his honey eyes was instantaneous and impossible to hide. "Don't move." Theron commanded, though his voice lacked its usual bite. "The infection... it was deep. I had to drain it."
Kael looked down at his arm, which was wrapped tightly in clean white linen strips torn from Theron's own silk undershirt. He looked back at Theron, his stormy eyes narrowing as he processed the scene. The basin of bloody water, the discarded armor, the Prince's haggard expression.
"You stayed.." Kael rasped, his throat feeling like he'd swallowed glass.
Theron's face immediately hardened, the royal mask slamming back into place, but it was too late. The cracks were everywhere. "Shut up. I couldn't have you dying and rotting in here. The smell would be unbearable." he spat, though his hand still hovered near Kael's brow.
Kael let out a weak, mocking huff of laughter that turned into a cough. "Liar. You were terrified, Theron. I can see it in your eyes. You were nursing me like a common maid."
"I was doing what was necessary to preserve my property!" Theron snapped, standing up so abruptly he knocked the stool over. He paced the small space, his hands shaking. "Do not mistake my pragmatism for... for kindness. You are a tool, Kael. A tool I haven't finished using."
Kael leaned back against the pillow, his face pale but his spirit returning with a vengeful, teasing edge as he watches the prince pace. "You used your own shirt to wrap my wounds, Highness. I can see the silk. It's expensive. Must be hard to explain that to the laundress."
"I'll tell them I tore it hunting," Theron hissed, glaring at him. "And if you ever mention this night, I'll finish what the infection started. I'll take that arm off myself."
"You're shaking, Prince." Kael noted, ignoring the threat, his voice dropping to that low, husk that always made Theron's pulse spike. "Is it because you're angry? Or because you realized that while I was out, you actually cared if I breathed?"
"I don't care about you!" Theron shouted, suddenly stepping toward the bed, and to the guard surprise Theron leaned down, his face inches from Kael's. The worry was still there, a bright, flickering flame behind his rage. "I hate you. I hate that I have to breathe the same air as you. I hate that you're the only person who knows what I really am."
Kael reached up with his good hand, his fingers surprisingly gentle as he brushed them against Theron's bruised throat. "And I hate that you're the one who saved me. It makes it much harder to kill you, doesn't it? When the monster turns out to have a heart."
Theron recoiled as if he'd been burned, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He looked at the door, then at Kael, the weight of their twisted, symbiotic addiction settling over them both.
"The arm will throb for a few days," Theron said after a moment of silence, his voice regaining its cold, clinical distance. "I'll bring more salve tonight. Until then, stay in your bed. If you move and pull those stitches, I'll leave you to bleed out."
"You won't." Kael whispered, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his lips despite the pain. "You can't."
Theron didn't answer. He gathered his things with a frantic, undignified haste and bolted the door, leaving Kael alone in the gray light. But as Kael looked down at the white silk wrapped around his arm, he knew the war between them had changed. Theron hadn't just saved his life, he had given Kael the ultimate weapon.