Chapter 12
It’s ironic
LORIEN
Jude paces, and it’s driving me insane.
His restless energy fills the room, a constant, nagging distraction as I sit at my desk, pretending to focus on the ledger in front of me.
The gilded parchment feels heavy in my hands, but my attention is entirely elsewhere, locked on the human who’s spent the morning walking in circles like a caged predator.
It’s ironic. He has all the freedom he needs here.
The bed, the couch, the bookshelves I had stocked with texts I had brought down from the surface just for him, the bath I had secured to make sure he was safe in it.
I’d expected him to adapt, to settle into the rhythm of life here.
Yet, I underestimated his human tendency to resist confinement, no matter how luxurious the prison.
My patience is thin as it is. His pacing isn’t helping.
I clear my throat, leaning back in my chair. “You’ve been restless all morning.”
Jude halts mid-step, glancing at me over his shoulder.
His dark hair is still damp from his bath, curling faintly at the ends, and his pale skin seems to glow in the cool light of the bioluminescent lamps that line the room.
His sharp blue eyes meet mine, challenging, and I wonder for the hundredth time how much fight this man has in him.
“I’m not allowed to move now?” he asks, his voice laced with defiance.
“Careful, Jude.” I set my ledger down, folding my hands in my lap. “I didn’t say that. But pacing tries my patience, as does your tone.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw tightening, and sinks on the sofa, resigned. The corner of my mouth twitches as I watch him, but I suppress the smile that threatens to break through. He’s so easy to provoke, so quick to dig his heels in, and it’s both maddening and fascinating.
“I would take you with me,” I mutter, almost to myself as I pretend to cast my eye down the ledger. “But you need to behave. I don’t know if you’re ready.”
He hesitates, clearly weighing his options.
But he’s tempted.
He wants out of this room, and I want to get him out, if only so there’s time to move the golden cage I had constructed for him moved in.
My craftsmen have been working on it for days, and I’m looking forward to using it.
Jude has been bold, but he’s forgotten that his actions have consequences, and his position and privileges depend on me, and the cage will be a potent reminder of what happens when he oversteps the mark.
Besides, he might enjoy it.
I certainly will.
And I’ve already given orders it’s being installed the moment that he leaves my chambers.
“What do you want?” he asks.
He’s pushing his luck, and we both know it. I put the ledger down again and meet his gaze, refusing to acknowledge the fire burning in his eyes.
“For you to follow the rules, Jude. You’re barely even trying and I can’t risk my court seeing you as disobedient. They’d expect me to punish you. Publicly. Severely. Immediately and without exception.”
He swallows, and my point finally hits home.
“I don’t act without reason,” I say, tilting my head. “I would take you with me to court and let you explore my world with me, but you will not do as I ask. Until you do, I am forced to endure your pacing, and it gives me no pleasure.”
He scoffs, and his insolence deserves punishment.
With any other, I would issue it. Immediately.
But something tells me that Jude’s about to break, and it’ll happen under the pressure of kindness, not the pressure of cruelty.
“All I ask for is obedience,” I say, trying to add a hint of pleading to my tone. “I don’t expect perfection, Jude. I can protect you if you’re trying. But you won’t even call me Master.”
He stares at the floor, fixating on one of the lines of gold that runs over the obsidian. Jude knows what I want. He knows the price I’m asking, and now all that remains is for him to decide if he’s willing to pay it.
“That’s it?” he asks, and I wonder if he’s asking himself. “That’s why…”
His eyes flick to mine, and he isn’t.
“That’s why, Jude,” I lean back, reeling him in. “I enjoy it too, and you will, once you accept it.”
Jude exhales and presses his eyes closed for a fraction longer than necessary.
And then he buries his head in his hands, and I realize how close he is to breaking in a way I don’t want.
He’s teetering on the edge of madness, and the confines of my chambers have been too much.
He’s been pushed too far, too hard, maybe even too fast.
I rise from my chair, the scrape of its legs against the floor sharp in the heavy silence. Jude doesn’t look up as I approach, his shoulders hunched, his head still buried in his hands.
I crouch in front of him, resting my forearms on my knees.
“Jude,” I say, my voice soft, almost coaxing.
He doesn’t respond. His breathing is shallow, controlled, like he’s holding himself together by the thinnest thread.
“You’re not broken,” I continue, my tone low. “And I’m not trying to break you. But you have to meet me halfway.”
“You don’t want halfway,” he says, his hands dropping slowly. His blue eyes meet mine, and they’re raw, searching for answers and desperate for reassurance.
“No, I don’t. I want everything. With you.”
His lips part, and for a moment, he’s silent, his breathing uneven.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
I brush a strand of hair from his face and he closes his eyes, his head tipping forward. I feel the faintest brush of his forehead against mine. It’s not submission, not entirely, but it’s a step toward it.
“Master,” he whispers, the word slipping out like it costs him everything.
I smile, my hand cupping his jaw. “Good boy.”
I pull him to his feet, and for a brief moment, we’re standing so close I feel the heat of his body against mine. I don’t move, letting the tension hang between us, letting him decide what comes next.
And then, unexpectedly, he leans forward, just slightly, just enough that his lips brush against my cheek. It’s hesitant, awkward, but it’s also willing.
“Just try,” I grin, my hand sliding to the back of his neck. “Let me show you what’s outside these walls. Remember the rules.”
I step back and he follows, letting me lead him out of my chambers and into the endless corridors of my palace.
They’re a labyrinth of dark marble, obsidian, and gleaming gold, lit by the faint flickering glow of torches and sea flora embedded into the walls.
It’s a castle built from the bones of ancient leviathans and the treasures of drowned empires, every inch of it a testament to the power I wield and the oceans I command.
As we walk, Jude’s eyes dart around, taking in every detail. The vaulted ceilings, carved with intricate depictions of sea creatures, both real and mythical. The statues that line the halls, each crafted from coral, pearl, and stone, depicting rulers and warriors who came before me.
“It’s…” Jude murmurs, his voice trailing off as he studies a mosaic of an enormous kraken battling a fleet of ships.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” I say, slowing my pace to match his.
He stops and I pause with him. His fingers brush against the edge of a carved column and his eyes widen as he stares upward.
“It’s dark,” he admits. “Beautiful. Suffocating. Powerful.” He sighs. “Master.”
“The ocean doesn’t tolerate weakness, Jude. Its beauty is as deadly as it is captivating. Just like this palace. Just like me.”
His eyes flick to mine, but he doesn’t reply.
We continue walking, and I find myself leading him toward the quieter corners of the palace.
The halls that are still, where the light is dimmer and the air heavier with the weight of the ocean pressing against the palace walls.
I’ll be glad to move away from the prying eyes of courtiers, who pause their conversations to stare at the human who’s caught my eye.
They scrutinize him and see him tensing, aware we’re being observed.
Jude knows he’s being judged, and I can feel the nervousness radiating off him.
“You’re doing fine,” I whisper.
He glances at me and I smile, trying to reassure him.
He’ll be fine, as long as he doesn’t make a major mistake.
As long as it can be put down to a misunderstanding or an error made in learning. He’ll be mocked and ridiculed for it, but at least I won’t have to beat him for it, and I can protect him from the more vicious urges of my court.
I’m beginning to think this was a mistake.
My court can be vicious. They loathe land-dwellers and have few reasons to indulge them or their ways. I’ve spent centuries sharpening their senses, harnessing their anger for my own gain, and they’re a problem I’ve created.
Jude stops before turning and walking to a large window.
He’s staring, and I think he’s bewildered.
He’s startled. He's never seen the ocean like this, not even from my chambers, and the vast expanse before him must be difficult for him to process. He’s staring at the buildings of my capital, his eyes flicking over the coral and the shoals of fish, watching the light as it filters down from the surface and catches the stone buildings.
His breathing quickens and he lifts his hand, almost reaching out for the world outside as he traces its lines with his fingers.
Jude’s seen the columns and the statues, and now he’s discovering the way our world—my world—blends with nature harmoniously.
We’re here and we’re part of the ocean, but we don’t impose ourselves on it, and his reaction is a rare and beautiful thing.
I’ve grown so used to the ocean that I’d started taking its beauty for granted.
“I can have the windows to my chambers opened, if you would prefer it?” I ask before I even know what I’m saying.
Jude whips his head around, and his expression is one of pure confusion.
“I’ve grown used to this. You stop wondering at its marvel after a few centuries.”
“How?” he mumbles.
Our eyebrows rise in unison, and the human who knows no better has, with one word, made me feel smaller than I have in centuries.
Jude shouldn’t be the one to see the ocean like this.
A human, fragile and temporary, should be overwhelmed by its scale, frightened of its darkness, and wary of its power.
Yet here he is, staring at it with wide eyes full of wonder.
He sees it for what it is, a living, breathing expanse, full of infinite beauty and possibility.
I, Lorien, King of the Oceans, have ruled these waters for so long that their splendor has become mundane. The shoals of fish, the coral towers, the refracted light are just a backdrop to me, a canvas I’ve stopped appreciating.
But Jude sees it as I once did.
He’s reminding me of its majesty with nothing more than his awestruck gaze.
How is it that he, the one who should feel insignificant in this world, makes me question my dominion over it? How is it that a human—a creature with such a fleeting existence—can look at my kingdom and make me feel as though I’ve been blind to its brilliance?
My chest tightens, a strange and unfamiliar sensation. Perhaps it’s guilt. Or envy. Or something else entirely, something I don’t yet have a name for.
“You’re taking it for granted,” Jude murmurs, as though reading my thoughts. “Master.”
And he’s right. Tides, he’s right, and that knowledge gnaws at me.
Before I can form a response, footsteps sound across the marble floor and Orlith steps forward with his usual air of calculated elegance.
His blue skin glows faintly under the light of the bioluminescent lamps, and his sharp eyes flick between Jude and me, taking in the tension between us with a raised brow.
“Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty,” Orlith says, his voice smooth but tinged with curiosity. “There’s a matter that requires your immediate attention.”
Jude tears his gaze from the window, his posture stiffening as Orlith steps closer. My steward bows low before straightening, his gaze shifting to Jude, and a faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“And this must be your new… companion.”
“Concubine,” I correct.
Jude bristles at the word, but I don’t miss the flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he studies Orlith.
My steward is tall and lean, his features sharp, and his eyes are the color of storm clouds.
There’s a predatory gaze to him, and it puts Jude on edge, more than the vicious sheen that threatens danger as it radiates from his silver hair.
“Jude is mine,” I say. “Under my protection.”
Orlith nods, his gaze lingering on Jude a moment too long. “Of course. The one bound with Helena’s magic.”
Jude stiffens at the mention of his aunt, and we’ll be working on how he responds to threats. His blue eyes narrow as he refuses to look away from Orlith, and, again, his defiance is a rare and spectacular thing.
“What do you know about that?”
Orlith’s smile deepens, but there’s nothing warm about it. Technically, Jude has committed an offense, daring to ask a question without being given leave to talk, and if we were tallying the score, Orlith would be winning.
“Your aunt was a problem. She concealed much and was selective with her secrets. With her magic too, and she only allowed us to know a little. But it appears her power runs through you now, whether you like it or not.”
“What does that mean?” Jude demands, his voice rising.
“It means you’re a problem,” Orlith says, stepping closer. “One we have to solve before you cause more problems. And preferably while you’re learning some manners.”
Jude glares at me, his hands curling into fists at his side.
“It means,” I interrupt, stepping between them, “that we need to unravel what Helena was up to before she died, and until then he’ll be learning under my tutelage.
He cannot be expected to absorb our culture and its rules in a matter of days, Orlith.
I think we can afford to show a little latitude when he shows such reverence for the ocean. ”
I shoot Orlith a warning look, and he bows his head in deference. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I overstepped.”
“See that it doesn’t happen again,” I say coldly.
I turn back to Jude, who’s still fuming, his chest rising and falling with the effort to contain his anger. His sharp blue eyes burn with unspoken fury, but beneath his rage, there’s hurt. He’s wounded, and the rawness of it twists something inside me, though I try to push the feeling aside.
“We’re leaving,” I say, grabbing his arm and steering him away from Orlith and any prying eyes.
Jude doesn’t resist, but the tension in his body is palpable as I drag him back through the corridors. The silence between us is thick, broken only by the sound of our footsteps echoing against the marble walls, and for now I let it linger.
I’m giving him space to cool down as I usher him back to the safety of my chambers, but as we approach them, I know this conversation isn’t over.
Not by a long shot.