Chapter 10 Boy
ten
Boy
As the shadows tickled over Boy’s bare skin, weaving playfully between his fingers, the weight of his stress lightened.
Somewhere along the line, the reality of being a prisoner in the palace had shifted.
From the moment he stepped foot in the Royal District, Boy had felt constantly terrified.
Now, however, he felt more like one of those puppets he had played with as a child: as if his limbs were bound by invisible strings that the shadow geist pulled at on a whim, and the one attached to his head was manipulated by the Queen.
Boy wasn’t stupid. He was pretty sure he knew exactly when the turning point had been.
The shadows weren’t what he had expected from the folktales his brother had sung of around their campfire.
They had wrapped around him to block out the drafts, when legend told that they’d sooner drown him in an abyss of endless darkness.
They had caressed and seduced him with delicate and precise touches that brought Boy the most exquisite pleasure he had ever experienced.
They also didn’t look at him with an air of barely leashed menace the way the Queen’s Shadow did.
The Royal Shadow exuded an aura of such power that Boy wondered why he had become Queen Schon’s henchman in the first place.
Everything he could remember of the Schatten der Konigin came from his older siblings.
Meant as entertaining stories, Boy had often felt like there was more to this geist’s legend and wished now that he’d paid a little more attention.
He knew he was as old as time itself and therefore his macabre legacy was well established, and because of this, Boy struggled to work out what he gained from cleansing the kingdom in the name of the Queen. Surely he had his own name?
The geist dominated every space he entered, and Boy’s mind was no different.
He had fantasised about their brief time together, but he was definitely not going to admit to that out loud.
So he tried his best to ignore the lewd question the Queen’s Shadow had asked him—and the traitorous way his body had responded—in favour of exploring the shadows that now parted around the small window to allow in a sliver of light.
It had been a show of power, a reminder that Boy felt he hadn’t needed. He was well aware that pretty much everything within the outer boundary of the Royal District could kill him if it were of a mind to. By rights, he should already be dead.
But in trying to avoid those intense black eyes that swirled with desire, he caught the grim view from the window.
The gallows, lit by the midday sun, were such a sturdy yet simple construction that Boy reckoned they wouldn’t have taken more than a day to build.
He couldn’t help but wonder how many people had lost their lives to it.
Would he be one of them when the sun next rose?
Thoughts of the numerous dead were swiftly replaced by the potent scent of smoke and leather, and by the tight press of a muscular body against his back.
This whole situation was akin to playing with fire, and deep down Boy knew that whatever this was with the Queen’s Shadow wasn’t something he could ignore.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to deny the strange and dark attraction he felt, even as it threatened to consume him whole.
“Remove your clothes.” The stern command was spoken in a reverent whisper, and hot breath fanned over Boy’s bare skin.
The small recess beside the chamber bay used for bathing was filled with steam, and only now did Boy notice the large pewter jug and basin filled with fresh, hot water. He should have expected this instruction, given the insistent removal of his stained tunic, but it caught him off guard.
Boy tried to take a step away, to afford himself the space to unlace his boots, but gloved hands held him firmly by the hips.
Having been called out on his earlier denial of the truth, he knew that disobeying the geist for a second time wasn’t an option.
Neither was putting any distance between them to do as instructed, which left him with only one choice.
Slowly, he bent at the waist and hinged forward.
But the laces of his boots, having remained fastened since he’d left his family’s flour mill, were caked in dried dirt and were stiff.
He fought with the stubborn knots and tugged impatiently at the laces until they eventually gave way.
Flustered, he kicked the boots off his feet and stood upright, jamming his hands under his armpits as if it might offer him some protection from the demanding geist. It didn’t.
In fact, those leather-clad fingers took it as an invitation to untie the knot that held the waistband of his breeches up. The stained material dropped just a little, enough to expose the barest hint of his pubic hair, then hung perilously. Boy held his breath.
The Queen’s Shadow suddenly withdrew his presence altogether and circled him as if he were prey.
Those black eyes bored into his soul and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Boy was absolutely the object of his scrutiny, and he found the intense interest was not unwelcome.
Emboldened by this knowledge, Boy took the opportunity to do the same.
In this form, the man wasn’t much taller than he was, which surprised him given the demanding nature of his character—but then again, he wasn’t actually human and could choose his form.
For all Boy knew, he chose a different skin every time he materialised.
So what did it mean that not only had he returned to Boy, but that he had chosen the same form? Anything? Nothing?
Boy’s brain ached, so he ignored the thousand questions churning inside it and focused instead on how the geist’s cowl of shadows was absent today, leaving his inky black hair open to the pale light.
It was full and glossy, layered to a length that meant it skimmed his broad shoulders, and he had secured most of it back with a length of black ribbon.
He had on the same black coat as last night, though, and Boy’s gaze was once again drawn to the golden skulls and embroidered detail around the buttonholes.
With a minute tilt of his chin, the man indicated the basin. “You smell like the cells, of rank and death.”
Gloved fingers unfastened the surcoat that Boy had just been caught admiring, and he noticed the small golden buttons were engraved with runes from a bygone era.
He thought for a moment that he recognised one of them from spending so much time with his grandma.
But before he could recall what it meant, the Queen’s Shadow closed the distance between them, stealthy like a cat.
Methodically, he rolled his sleeves to just below his elbows but left the leather gloves in place, and made no further move to undress.
He stood before Boy—as close as he possibly could without touching him—and the heat in his gaze quickly became too much.
Boy looked down at his dirty toes while the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
There was a welcome draught on his overheated skin, coming from the wooden floorboards.
Still, it was still warmer than the wet stones of the prison cell.
“Will you take those off before I wash you? Or shall I do it?”
Boy’s heart beat rapidly in his chest. Exactly like the night before, the Queen’s Shadow was giving him a choice.
Not about whether his breeches would be coming off, but over who removed them.
Nor was there any hint at what would happen afterwards, and the endless possibilities provoked a visceral response.
He tried to swallow his apprehension. For whatever reason, Boy had caught the geist’s attention and there was no turning back now.
He met that intense gaze head on and managed a slight nod.
Despite the fear that gnawed at the edge of his mind, he couldn’t quell the spark of desire that pushed him further into the shadows.
He hooked his fingers inside his waistband and fully undressed as commanded.
His breeches crumpled in a heap around his feet.
The man held out his hand, leathered palm up, to help him step into the basin of warm water, which was deep enough to come halfway up his shins.
Boy moaned quietly at the glorious feeling, wiggling and flexing his toes, and the geist squeezed Boy’s fingers.
The swirling black of his eyes was downright lascivious.
Boy flushed and dropped his gaze, only to be reminded of the fact that he was as naked as the day he’d been born, whereas the Queen’s Shadow only had his forearms exposed.
It was unnerving, but nowhere near as much as when he released Boy’s hand.
Without that tether, even if it was onto the very being that had put him in this position, he felt thoroughly cast adrift.
Confused, aroused, and frightened all at the same time, Boy scrambled for any sensation to help ground him.
He took a shaky breath. Then another, more steadying one.
He could detect the now familiar scent of leather and smoke, but there was something else present too.
A sweet and floral fragrance that reminded him very much of home.
Calendula, maybe? The more time he spent with the mercurial spirit, the more a sense of deep sentimentality grew within Boy.
It was as if he knew this geist, and somehow that connection felt too important to ignore.
The quiet splashing sound of dripping water directed Boy’s attention to the washcloth that was being thoroughly wrung out. Memories of the way those same leather-clad fingers had squeezed the strawberry the night before invaded his mind. He swallowed… hard.