Chapter 7
Time blurred. Day and night folded into one another until Mirel lost count.
It could have been days. It could have been weeks.
He had not been this warm in years. The air stayed heavy, the bed soft. Even the chain, around his wrists, sometimes his throat, wherever Kylix decided, felt more like claim than threat.
He knew it was wrong. Still, his body obeyed the wrongness. It wanted the quiet, the warmth, the rhythm of command.
And it wanted Kylix.
The Imperial Prince moved through the room like heat in human form. Regal, hungry, patient in his cruelty.
He never truly hurt him. He hurt him just enough: a pull of chain, a bruise from pressure, pain smoothed away later by oil and breath.
A bite of fruit pressed to his lips, juice running down, Kylix’s mouth following the trail.
Each act built a hunger Mirel didn’t know how to name. It carried shame with it, sharp as pleasure.
The first time he grew hard under that gaze, Kylix only laughed. A finger traced the line of his erection through fabric.
Mirel wanted to scream. He wanted to beg.
Kylix did neither. He fed him another piece of fruit and watched him shake.
He knew exactly how to drive him mad. Never finish what he started. Each touch stopped just before it broke him, leaving hunger lodged under his skin. Mirel told himself he hated the restraint, but part of him dreaded the moment it might end.
So when he woke and found the Imperial Prince in the bed beside him, the breath left his chest in a rush. For a heartbeat he thought he was dead. Then warmth pressed against his shoulder, quiet and steady, one hand resting near the chain.
Mirel didn’t move. He lay still and watched the slow rise of his chest, the fall of his hair against the pillow, the faint trace of scent that lingered between them. No command, no threat. Only the danger of wanting that quiet to last.
Kylix had said nothing about his torn clothes. He replaced them with a plain linen jumpsuit. He never mocked the silence.
He never left.
Often he sat behind the glow of a multi-slate, voice low as he spoke to unseen men about safety, control, enforcement. Mirel understood none of it.
Kylix had stopped asking questions. After a while, he stopped trying to speak at all.
They simply existed. Same room. Same air. As if it was ordinary. As if Mirel belonged there.
He knew it wouldn’t last. Kylix would strike when he least expected it.
Maybe at night. Maybe when sleep made him slow.
Yet sleep came easily. The lights dimmed, and the sound of Kylix’s breathing steadied him.
He caught himself watching. The shape of his mouth. The fall of his hair against the pillow. Each stolen look left his chest tight.
“Mirel. Come here, little ghost.”
The voice broke the quiet. Afternoon light slanted through the glass, pale and gold.
Mirel flinched awake. His joints ached from where he’d been sitting.
Without thinking, he obeyed, dragging the chain as he moved toward the desk where Kylix waited.
Kylix’s lips curved when he saw Mirel approach, chain whispering against the floor.
“Go to the bathroom. Fill the tub.”
Mirel stopped. Turned his head toward the doorway. He had seen the elegant washroom before, its mirror walls, the white sink, but the tub had never been used.
“What…?” The word scraped out, rough from disuse.
“You need a wash, little ghost. We’re going out later.”
Out.
The word struck cold. The hair at the back of his neck lifted.
So this was it. The moment Kylix was done with him. He would be dragged into the arena, set loose for sport, his death another spectacle.
Wrong.
Always wrong.
A mistake that made frost instead of words.
“I—”
Kylix raised a hand. “Enough. We don’t have all night.”
Mirel turned toward the bathroom. The chain weighed heavy on his wrists. He reached for the tap, fingers stiff, and watched the steam rise as water began to fill the tub.
“Starlit resin or noir bloom?”
The voice came from behind him again. When he looked back, Kylix stood in the doorway, a bar of each soap in his hands, patient, waiting.
“Uhm.” Both bars looked strange. Each scent would be stranger. Dark soap, shot with gold.
“Sweet, or sweeter?” Kylix’s smile sharpened.
“S-sweet,” Mirel stammered.
“Excellent. Starlit resin it is.” He dropped the bar into the water. He unlatched the floor chain and fixed it to the ring beside the tub. Short range only. “Get undressed. I’ll look away.”
Mirel watched the soap dissolve, gold flecks swirling in slow circles. Bubbles rose, pale and sweet. They would hide him well enough.
He unbuttoned the jumpsuit, folded it once, and stepped into the heat.
Good Light.
The water closed around him, rich and soft. It seeped into bone, into breath. He inhaled the scent and felt tears burn at the edge of his eyes.
It had been years since he’d bathed like this. Back at his foster home there had been a single shower for eight. Quick, cold, shared.
Once, he must have been six or seven, his mother had taken him to a public pool. The water had been warm. He remembered floating, weightless.
This felt the same. A pool of light and quiet.
When he opened his eyes, Kylix was sitting beside the tub, watching.
“I still wonder why you’re so quiet,” Kylix said. “If it’s stubbornness, or fear. Or something else.”
He dipped the cloth, wrung it once, and pressed it to Mirel’s throat.
Goosebumps rose, even in the heat. Mirel swallowed. Kylix traced the motion with the damp cloth, slow, deliberate.
“I still don’t know who you are,” Kylix said. “I know what you are. Do you?”
Mirel looked up at him.
Kylix smiled. “I take that as a no.”
When he dipped the cloth, the surface of the water shivered. Steam curled upward, fogging the glass before vanishing, as if fire had reached into the Waltr itself.
“Silence won’t protect you,” he said. “It only makes me hungrier.”
He dragged the cloth lower, over collarbones jutting like a shipwreck, down to the thin line of ribs. Mirel hissed, breath ragged as Kylix worked it into every hollow, into the crook of elbows, down his flat stomach.
“N-no.” Shame flared when Kylix reached his cock. He had hardened in the bath, unable not to be affected by the proximity of the prince, by the weight of his presence. His hand flew down to cup his erection.
“No?” Kylix raised an eyebrow in amusement.
His clothed hand peeled Mirel’s fingers away until he was left exposed.
Heat crawled up his neck. “You lay here in my bath, sleep in my bed, eat my food. And still you don’t give me what I want.
Your words don’t come easy, but your body is an open book to me, little ghost. Let’s see if it’s also willing to tell a truth. ”
Soap and water spread across the sharp jut of hip when he dragged over the lean plane of Mirel’s thigh. “Aside from the quick wash you’ve taken at your arrival here, how long has it been since you had a proper shower?”
“T-ten years,” Mirel stammered. His breath caught when the cloth passed between his legs and over his dick. Kylix squeezed. Mirel hissed, jaw tight.
“That’s a long time, little ghost. From this day on, you will wear my scent. You will dress in my clothes. Do you understand me?”
Mirel’s insides tightened at the words. This feeling, still foreign though persistent, clenched his heart and made his fingers freeze.
He quickly put them under water, not wanting the ice to be unleashed.
He nodded, but didn’t understand what Kylix meant.
It was no secret that some of the Aureate victims were spared.
They were kept as slaves, or brought into the Luminary.
But he’d still have to be exposed in the arena.
“F-fight?” he managed. His throat felt dry.
“You want to fight me? Again?” Kylix smiled. Tossed the cloth aside and dropped his hand inside the water, then grabbed hold of Mirel’s cock.
Mirel’s lips parted, a ragged sound cracking free. “A-arena?”
“No, we’re not going to the arena. You won’t have to fight me again, unless you insist.” Kylix smirked. His incisors glinted when he leaned in. “Remove your hand. Let me have my way.”
Mirel removed his hand reluctantly, fisting it by his side, and panted when Kylix traced his ringed fingers over his shameless erection. He wanted to apologize, to tell him stop but no words came out.
Kylix’s fingers circled his slit, squeezing until Mirel panted. Then he started pumping him slowly.
“Good boy,” Kylix whispered against his ear, biting at the hinge of his jaw. “My little mystery. Even during my sleep you manage to sneak through my mind and nestle yourself in corners I never knew I had.”
Mirel shuddered. A moan broke, shame-rough, caught in his throat. Kylix bit him again, harder, jeweled incisor grazing skin until it stung. His hand kept working, steady, cruel. “That’s it. Don’t fight it. Your body tells me everything your silence won’t.”
Thrust after thrust, the sound of wet skin filled the Waltr, magnified obscene. Kylix’s hunger twisted sharp against Mirel’s throat, filthy pleasure in every tremor, every helpless buck of Mirel’s hips.
“I-I… L-Light…” Mirel mewled.
“That’s it. Feel my hand making you come. That’s control, little ghost. I own you. Every single part of you.”
Mirel’s toes curled. His eyes rolled in the back of his head as his hips rocked involuntarily. He was close, so close.
“Beg for me, Mirel. Use your words.”
Mirel shook his head, muttered something hoarse, but his cock throbbed harder in Kylix’s hand, pre-come spilling, proof against him.
He’d never be able to say what he felt. This unexplainable desire to be close, closer, entirely wrapped into Kylix’s embrace.
It was madness. They’d only just met, and during that entire period, Mirel had been his prisoner.
Looked after. Fed. Kept warm. But still kept against his will.
“P-please.” The word tore through his parted lips.
“That’s it, little ghost. That’s the truth.” Kylix’s hand tightened, dragging him mercilessly higher. Each stroke wrung a harsher sound from his throat, each pump slicker, faster.
“Uhg…” Mirel bucked, helpless, cock pulsing in his grip.
And then he came, spilling thick, hot cum on Kylix’s hand and inside the sweet water.
Kylix held him through it, stroking him slowly until every drop was forced from him.
Only then did he lift his hand, took in the remains of Mirel’s release and licked his palm clean, tongue curling slowly over the taste.
His jeweled incisors flashed wet when he smiled.
“Better,” he murmured. “Your body finally answered me. Remember how it feels when I let you. There’s a towel behind you and fresh clothes. You’ll eat before we leave.”
He turned without another word, but left the door open.
For a moment, Mirel just lay there. He stared through the glass ceiling at the darkening sky.
Stars and planets looked back at him. He wondered if he could see Varethis from here, the planet where he’d grown up.
It didn’t matter now. He’d been caught by Kylix Zephyranth and was alive at his mercy only.
Slowly, he dragged himself out of the tub. The orgasm had left him feeling more alive than he’d felt in a long time. No one had ever touched him like that. In a way that had been pleasant for Mirel too. Nothing like Kylix had touched him, had cherished his body, had given him pleasure.
Where was he going to take him?
He dressed in the black jumpsuit Kylix had left him.
It was black and close-cut, soft against the skin but heavy enough to remind him who it belonged to.
Buttons ran from throat to waist. They were small, dark-gold, as if meant to be undone one by one.
The collar framed his neck like a hand. When Mirel fastened it, he felt Kylix watching.
“Come, Mirel. Eat.”
A plate waited on the table with bread, fruit, and slices of roasted fig. Mirel hesitated. Hunger won. He sat and reached for the bread, only for Kylix to take it first, tear it in half, and offer him a piece by hand.
“Still hungry?”
Mirel bit down, throat working. Kylix watched the movement, thumb resting near his jaw to catch a stray crumb.
“Good,” he said softly. “You’ll need strength.”
Mirel chewed in silence. The act of eating under that gaze felt intimate, almost indecent.
Kindness, he thought, could be another form of cruelty. Yet he leaned toward it all the same.
“We’ll be going to the graveyard afterward. See if the old man can give me the answers you won’t.”
The holo screen flickered. A blur of motion cut through the glass walls. Kylix swore under his breath. “What now, Vandor?”
“I couldn’t stop him,” Vandor’s voice came through the feed.
“Who?”
A loud bang hit the door.
“Good Light.” Kylix’s jaw tightened. “What’s he doing here?”
The door slid open. Vandor stood there, shoulders squared, half blocking the way before he was pushed aside by someone Mirel already knew.
Tall. Blond. Eyes the color of amethyst. He stared up at the newcomer, a half-eaten piece of bread in hand. Then, before he could think the better of it, he shoved the plates on a side table as if hiding the evidence.
Helianth Zephyranth stepped into the Waltr, those sharp eyes locking on his cousin. “There’s been a prison break.”
Kylix’s stance changed, the calm stripped away. “You should be in bed, recovering. You’re in no state for field work.”
“You don’t get it.” Helianth’s gaze flicked to Mirel. His mouth opened, then closed again. “Who’s that?”
Kylix moved between them.
“Oh,” Helianth said lightly, grin tugging at his mouth. “I see. Sorry to interrupt your quiet evening, cousin, but Bekn’s among the ones who escaped.”
“What?”
The word cracked sharp. Mirel flinched at the sound. He knew that name. He was the man who’d once taken both Cyprian and Helianth hostage before Mirel had frozen the scene himself.
“It’s bad,” Helianth went on. “We don’t know how, but it happened an hour ago.”
“Why wasn’t I contacted?” Kylix checked the slate on his wrist.
“Maybe because your multi-slate was on mute?” Helianth’s amusement lingered, even here.
Kylix’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll head to the office.” He reached for his jacket.
“Moargan wants you at his place first,” Helianth said. “He’s with Yure and the tech team. Looks like a software breach.”
Kylix nodded once. “Fine. Let’s go.”
He turned to Mirel. “Our trip will have to wait.”
A pause. Thought flickered behind his eyes before he spoke again. “Vandor, grab the pillows. He’s coming with us.”
Vandor hesitated, surprised. “Yes, sir.”
“Move.”