The autumn wind howled softly outside the grand stained-glass windows, but inside Prince Adrian's private bedchamber, the air was heavy, stifling, and thick with the sweet, lingering scent of spiced banquet wine.
Adrian leaned back against the high headboard of his vast bed, his blond hair tumbling messily over his shoulders. His cheeks were still flushed a deep, tempting rose from the heavy drinking, and his blue eyes carried a dark, hazy intensity that burned far brighter than any candle flame in the room.
Near the foot of the bed, Thoris knelt on the plush carpet.
His broad, muscular shoulders were tense under his rough linen tunic. He kept his head bowed low, his gaze fixed respectfully on the floor, though his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped beast.
He hated what Adrian was doing—drinking alcohol while pregnant and with his condition so delicate. But Thoris knew more than anyone that he could not reprimand him. He no longer had the right to speak up or give advice.
"Stop grunting like that,"
Adrian said, his words slurring slightly as he glared down from the pillows.
"I know my mistake. But I just couldn't help it. There is a lot going on in the palace that definitely needed me to feel a little hazy. It is not like I will ever drink again."
Adrian extended his hand, holding out the heavy glass container.
"Here, you can put it away, I am tipsy enough now."
Adrian added, his tone clipped as he shoved the decanter roughly against Thoris's chest. Thoris caught it carefully, setting the wine aside on a small side table. Once the bottle was put away, Adrian rested his back heavily against the headboard again and Thoris quickly moved to the foot of the bed, kneeling on the mattress to massage Adrian's tired feet.
"Cassian is pregnant,"
Adrian mused out loud, staring up at the grand ceiling.
Thoris kept his eyes lowered, focusing on his hands as he gently kneaded Adrian's feet.
"Thoris, how do you feel about that?"
Adrian asked, his voice suddenly sharp.
"How do you feel about Cassian being pregnant, after all you nearly killed me for him?"
"Your Highness—"
Thoris began softly.
"Shut up, Thoris!"
Adrian snapped, yanking his foot back in sudden anger.
"Whatever you say now will not undo the damage you have done!"
Adrian sat up, his eyes flashing with raw resentment as he looked down at the former warrior.
"If it were not for your foolishness, I would not have come back to Edrath!...Don't you know just how peaceful and relaxed I was in the Steppes? Even you were in a happy union with Elyria and me! And not to mention that I was starting to open up my heart to you as my husband and the father of my child... but you threw all of that away! Exactly for what, Thoris? Why did you do that to me?!"
Adrian said, his voice trembling with anger.
Suddenly–
*SLAP!*
Adrian's palm struck hard across Thoris's cheek, the loud crack echoing off the stone walls.
"WHY THE HELL DID YOU BREAK MY HEART AND SOUL APART?!"
Adrian screamed, tears of rage welling in his blue eyes. But Thoris remained completely quiet, taking the blow without shifting his weight. He kept his face turned to the side, his jaw clenched tight.
Adrian reached out toward the bedside table, grabbing his custom whip—a thin, black leather strap carefully crafted for him to punish his personal slave.
"Take off your shirt,"
Adrian ordered, his voice dark and breathless.
"Kneel before me and take off your damn shirt."
Thoris did not hesitate. He unbuttoned his linen tunic, letting the rough fabric slide off his broad shoulders, exposing his scarred chest and back. He dropped to his knees on the plush carpet beside the bed, bowing his head.
Adrian raised the leather strap and brought it down hard.
*WHACK!*
The sharp crack of leather against skin tore through the quiet room. Thoris's back surged with red welts, but he did not dare make a sound.
*WHACK! WHACK!*
Adrian whipped him repeatedly, his breathing coming in ragged, angry gasps. He struck him until his arms grew tired, until thin lines of blood welled across Thoris's tanned back. Finally, Adrian tossed the whip onto the floor, catching his breath as he glared down at the unflinching rock kneeling before him.
Even whipping him until he bled did not feel like enough to ease the sharp, lingering ache in his chest.
'What do I need to do to stop feeling this way'
Adrian thought bitterly, his chest heaving.
Thoris held back his squirm, biting down on the burning pain across his skin. He avoided looking up, though he could still feel the lingering heat of Adrian's gaze—a gaze that felt as though it wanted to tear him to shreds.
"Raise your head, slave,"
Adrian commanded quietly.
His voice was not cold or distant like usual. It was thick and slurred from the wine, making Thoris's breath hitch in his throat.
Thoris slowly lifted his head. The moment his golden eyes met Adrian's hazy, unblinking gaze, the air in the room seemed to vanish completely.
Adrian swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting right in front of him. Slowly and deliberately, he unstrapped the golden silk belt of his robes. He leaned forward, the silk parting slightly over his pale chest, bringing his flushed face just inches from Thoris's.
The delicate scent of sweet wine and warm skin washed over the former warrior, making Thoris's large hands clench into tight fists against his thighs to keep from trembling.
"Since whipping you is not much help,"
Adrian murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerous, intoxicating whisper,
"I will use you another way to console myself."
Thoris rasped out, his throat burning dry.
"My life is yours to use. Do as you see fit, my lord."
A small, breathless chuckle escaped Adrian's lips as he reached out, his cool, slender fingers gently brushing against the heavy iron collar around Thoris's neck, before sliding slowly up to cup Thoris's solid, warm jawline.
Thoris flinched slightly at the touch, a sharp shiver shooting straight down his spine, but he did not pull away. He couldn't.
"Your life is mine..."
Adrian repeated softly, his thumb tracing the sharp, broad line of Thoris's cheekbone—the very spot where Thoris had once struck him months ago.
Adrian's eyes narrowed into dark, burning slits as his thumb moved down to brush against Thoris's parted, warm lips.
"Then tell me, slave..."
Adrian whispered, leaning in until his breath fanned directly over Thoris's mouth,
"...how do you intend to pay back what you stole from me?"
Thoris's breath caught in his chest.
"My Lord...?"
Adrian's hand slid down from Thoris's jaw, pressing firmly against the center of Thoris's broad, bare chest, feeling the wild, rapid pounding of the warrior's heart beneath his palm. The gentle, fragile prince Thoris had once broken was gone; in his place sat a royal man who knew the full, absolute power he held over the brute kneeling before him.
"You destroyed my body,"
Adrian said, his voice laced with a raw, dizzying blend of lingering ache and terrifying authority.
"You ripped away my legacy. You took my happiness, and you nearly bled my child to death."
Adrian leaned down further, his flushed cheek almost touching Thoris's temple, his lips hovering right near the shell of Thoris's ear.
"You owe me, Thoris,"
Adrian whispered huskily, his breath hot and heavy against Thoris's skin.
"A life for a life. And you are going to make up for it."
Thoris froze, his entire body locking up as if struck by lightning. His eyes blew wide open, staring blankly into the dark shadows of the room as those words reverberated through every fiber of his being.
The sheer, crushing weight of his past sins collided instantly with the dark, overwhelming heat blooming between them. He looked up into Adrian's hazy, demanding gaze—seeing no fear, no hesitation, only an absolute, possessive demand for payment.
"Adrian..."
Thoris choked out, his raspy voice breaking with a turbulent surge of guilt, reverence, and sudden, fierce desire.
"I... I am a disgraced slave... I am not worthy to—"
"I didn't ask if you were worthy,"
Adrian cut him off sharply, his fingers curling tightly into the rough fabric over Thoris's chest, pulling the heavy warrior an inch closer.
Adrian's eyes flickered with a quiet, dangerous fire as he stared down into Thoris's stunned face.
"I am commanding you. So do as you are told."
Thoris's breath hitched, the sharp sound echoing in the heavy silence of the room.
The command hung in the air, thick and inescapable. For days, Thoris had trained himself to submit, to suppress every instinct of the warrior he once was. But sitting this close, with Adrian's cool fingers gripping his clothes and those hazy eyes holding him captive, his quiet submission shattered into raw, overwhelming intensity.
"As you command... My Lord,"
Thoris rasped, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly tremble.
Without breaking eye contact, Thoris reached up. His broad, calloused hands—once capable of crushing iron—moved with a tentative, almost reverent gentleness. He placed his large palms against Adrian's waist, feeling the faint, rapid pulse of the prince's body through the fine silk of his robes.
Adrian let out a soft, shuddering breath at the touch. The heat radiating off Thoris's body was suffocating, washing over him in waves and burning away the last remnants of his sharp, guarded edges.
Slowly, deliberately, Thoris shifted from his knees onto the bed, towering over Adrian as he pressed him back against the plush velvet pillows. The contrast was stark—Adrian pale, delicate, and draped in gold-embroidered silk; Thoris broad, rugged, scarred, and bound by the dark iron collar of a servant.
"Tell me to stop,"
Thoris whispered huskily, his face hovering barely an inch above Adrian's. His eyes searched the prince's flushed face, a lingering flicker of fear present—not for himself, but of breaking the fragile man beneath him again.
"If this is only the wine... if you will regret this tomorrow... tell me to stop now."
Adrian's gaze darkened, his fingers tightening in Thoris's thick, dark hair. He pulled Thoris down until their lips almost brushed.
"Don't you dare stop,"
Adrian breathed out, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
"You belong to me, Slave. Every piece of you."
The last wall of restraint snapped.
Thoris captured Adrian's lips in a heavy, possessive kiss that tasted of sweet spiced wine and days of unspoken anguish. It was not gentle, nor was it distant—it was a fierce, desperate collision of guilt and desire. Adrian gasped into the mouth of his former husband, his arms wrapping tightly around Thoris's broad neck, arching his back into the solid, fiery heat of the warrior's chest.
Thoris's large hands slid beneath the fine silk of Adrian's robes, trailing up his ribcage with a steady, firm pressure that grounded them both in the reality of the moment. Every touch was a silent vow, a desperate attempt to erase the cold memories of stone floors and dark cells, replacing them with the searing heat of the present.
The heavy velvet curtains kept the intense, stifling heat trapped within the grand bedchamber. What began as a sharp, demanding claim for debt quickly dissolved into a long, feverish night where the boundaries between master and slave, vengeance and surrender, blurred completely into the dark.
Thoris moved with a slow, deliberate intensity, his every touch heavy with a dangerous mix of reverence and desperate need. Gone was the brutal force of his past; in its place was a fierce, focused strength that held Adrian pinned against the plush mattress, anchoring him to the present moment.
Every time Thoris's calloused hands slid along Adrian's pale skin, tracing the curves of his waist and the slope of his spine, a shuddering breath tore from the prince's throat.
"Thoris..."
Adrian gasped out, his fingers digging desperately into the broad, scarred muscle of Thoris's back.
The spiced wine had long since ceased to be the driving force—what filled Adrian's chest now was a dizzying, suffocating heat that made his heart hammer against his ribs. Looking up through a blur of dark lashes, he watched the golden glow of Thoris's eyes in the dim candlelight, tracking the sweat glistening on the warrior's chest and the rhythmic clink of the iron collar around his neck with every heavy movement.
Thoris leaned down, burying his face into the warm crook of Adrian's neck, his heavy chest heaving against Adrian's.
"I am here..."
Thoris rasped out, his rough, deep voice trembling against Adrian's feverish skin.
"I am not going anywhere..."
He kissed the delicate skin above Adrian's collarbone—right over the phantom scars of the past—pressing deep, lingering marks into his flesh. Every touch was an unspoken confession, a relentless attempt to pour out his guilt, his submission, and his fierce, dangerous devotion into the man beneath him.
As the hours stretched on toward the dawn, the quiet chamber echoed with shallow breaths, rustling silk furs, and the quiet, rhythmic clatter of heavy chains against the edge of the bed. They did not rest. Thoris fulfilled his lord's command without a single moment of hesitation, taking Adrian again and again until both of them were utterly spent, drowned in the sheer, overwhelming exhaustion of their shared fire.
When the first faint threads of morning light finally began to leak past the edges of the heavy velvet curtains, a deep, silent quiet fell over the room.
The vast bed was a chaotic mess of tangled silk sheets and heavy furs.
Adrian lay curled on his side, his hair spread wildly across the dark pillows. His skin was warm, flushed, and marked with faint, rosy bruises from head to toe, his body completely exhausted from the long night. Yet, the tight, suffocating tension that had gripped his heart for weeks was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, heavy state of rest.
Beside him, Thoris remained awake.
He stayed on his knees atop the mattress, leaning over Adrian to shield him from the stray beams of morning light. His broad chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, his eyes softened as he watched the peaceful rise and fall of Adrian's chest.
Slowly, carefully, Thoris reached out with a large, calloused hand, gently tucking a thick fur blanket over Adrian's bare shoulders.
Adrian stirred faintly at the movement. Without opening his eyes, he let out a small, contented sigh, shifting closer to Thoris's body and resting his forehead against the warrior's warm, solid knee.
Thoris froze for a second, a sharp ache expanding in his chest. He lowered his hand, his long, heavy fingers carefully tangling into Adrian's golden hair, resting his palm lightly against the prince's head—a silent guardian standing watch in the light of a new day.
*****