Alexios

  The first thing I notice when I stop trancing is the absolute warmth enveloping me. It’s not from the fire and its glow that has faded to embers, but rather from the steady heat of the body next to me. Arun sleeps facing me, his breathing deep and even with the blanket drawn up to his shoulder.

  The morning light drips through the curtain, tracing the curve of his cheek and the soft fall of curly hair across the pillow. I can’t help but let my gaze linger.

  He looks so beautiful.

  I enjoyed watching him last night. He took you much better than I even expected.

  My eyes stay on him as the queen’s voice drifts into my thoughts.

  “You didn’t have to make me be as rough with him,” I whisper under my breath. My words are meant for her alone right now.

  Ugh... didn’t I? You both enjoyed it. You… with your hands in his hair. Him… on his knees obeying every word. The way he looked up at you the entire time? It was perfect.

  I don’t have an answer for her, but the images she paints in my mind are vivid enough anyway. My eyes drift to his plush lips before I shut my eyes briefly, desperate to trance again and push her presence out of my thoughts.

  --

  When I open my eyes again, he’s still there next to me.

  I ease the blankets back gently, careful not to shift the mattress too much. Thankfully, Arun doesn’t stir as I get up. He just exhales softly and curls more into the warmth I’ve left behind. I take one last glance at him before slipping from the room, shutting the door with a sound no louder than a breath.

  I miss being next to him already.

  As I make my way downstairs and into the main hall, the sudden sound of shattering glass cuts through the silence. It comes from somewhere toward the east wing. It’s a sharp crash followed by a muffled voice, low but quite agitated.

  The calm I left the bedroom with evaporates as my focus sharpens.

  I cross the hall in long strides, the echo of the shattering still sharp in my ears. The east wing corridor is dim, lit only by a few wall sconces, but I can see the glint of shards scattered across the polished floor ahead.

  One of the younger dwarven servants is crouched there, pale and tense, scrambling to gather the broken pieces of what had once been a crystal decanter.

  He freezes immediately when he sees me.

  “M-master…”

  The smell of sweet, spilled wine hangs in the air and my jaw tightens.

  “What happened here?”

  “I… I tripped. I didn’t mean…”

  “You didn’t mean to? You’re careless. If this had been anything more valuable...”

  The words come out sharper than I intend, but the waste of both crystal and wine grates at me. The sloppiness? Even more.

  I love it when you get angry, Alexios. Keep going. Break them down. The same way you make the pretty tiefling kneel. Fear and obedience? It’s all the same thing.

  I glance down at the servant again, his hands trembling as he reaches for another shard. I step closer and my shadow falls over him. The smell of spilled wine is thick now. My boot nudges one jagged piece toward me and I stoop to pick it up. The shard catches the low light, its edge sharp enough to split skin with the smallest pressure.

  “Do you know what crystal like this costs?” My voice is low, measured, but each word carries weight. “Do you know how much care it takes to make something worth having?”

  He shakes his head quickly and his breath grows even more uneven.

  “Then let me show you what carelessness feels like.”

  Before the servant can react, I take his wrist in a grip that allows no movement and press the shard into the soft center of his palm. It’s not deep enough to maim or anything like that, but it is enough for the glass to bite in and draw a bright bead of blood.

  He gasps, the sound coming out as short and panicked.

  I lean closer, my tone turning colder.

  “Every time you look at your hand, I want you to remember how it feels to break what belongs to me.”

  Make them understand.

  The servant’s breath comes in shaky bursts as their eyes stay fixed on the shard in my hand. I take their wrist before they can flinch away, my fingers tightening until their skin pales beneath them.

  “Look at me,” I say quietly.

  He does, ever so reluctantly, with eyes wide and wet.

  I set the shard against the center of their palm again. It’s slow enough for them to feel the cold edge before I press. This time… I push harder.

  I push past the shallow bite of the initial press into a sting that forces a sound out of him. It’s a soft gasp, followed by a choked cry.

  “Good,” I whisper, leaning in closer. “Now you understand what it means to be careless with what’s mine.”

  The glass slides a fraction deeper under the pressure of my hand. A tear spills down the servant’s cheek, his jaw trembling as he tries not to sob right then and there.

  I hold it there just long enough for the blood to run over the curve of his hand, bright against the pale skin, before I finally pull the shard away.

  “Clean this up,” I tell him, my voice low and sharp. “If you leave a single drop behind, I’ll find a sharper piece next time.”

  The servant nods frantically while tears still streak his cheeks, clutching his injured hand to his chest.

  A few moments later, I hear soft footsteps on the stairs and then Arun appears at the top of the hallway. His gaze bounces between me and the mess in the corner. His brow furrows slightly.

  “I heard something break,” he says, his voice soft but curious.

  I turn toward him, quickly wiping any trace of coldness from my face and replacing it with something warmer and much gentler. The anger I felt moments ago recedes like a distant storm and what’s left is the warmth of his presence.

  “A servant dropped something,” I say, my voice low and caring as though nothing happened here. “He hurt himself trying to clean it up. Nothing serious, but… a little blood.”

  Arun looks at me, still not fully convinced, but he doesn’t press further.

  “Are you alright?”

  I smile, brushing aside any remaining tension.

  “I’m fine. Just a little accident. You don’t need to worry.”

  He nods, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me he’s still not sure. I step toward him and gently take his hand.

  “Come, let me take you back upstairs. You deserve more rest.”

  I guide him back toward the main staircase with my hand warm around his. I keep my steps deliberately unhurried to wash away whatever edge might still linger in me.

  When we reach his door, I pause before opening it for him and my eyes settle on his face.

  “How did you sleep?” I ask. My voice is much softer now. It’s that same tone I use when I want him to feel like I’m listening only to him.

  He tilts his head slightly as he thinks.

  “Better than I thought I would,” he says. “It was… comfortable.”

  I allow myself to smile at his answer.

  “Good. That’s what I want for you.”

  I linger for a moment as one of my hands stays on his hip. I want to guide him further inside and tuck him in, but I hold back, choosing to just watch him instead. The calm in his eyes pushes down the memory of the roughness I’d left downstairs.

  “You can rest for as long as you’d like today,” I tell him, easing him toward the bed. “Do you want breakfast sent up?”

  He shakes his head slightly as a small smile tugs at his lips.

  “I’m not too hungry. I had the treats last night. But… I’ll have lunch with you later.”

  “Good.” My voice drops lower. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  I watch as he draws the blankets back before slipping underneath them. The lines of his body settle into the mattress and I want nothing more than to smooth the covers over his chest and let my hands linger just a moment too long.

  When his eyes meet mine, there’s a softness in them that pulls me closer. I lower myself to the edge of the bed and my hand slides to his jaw as I kiss him.

  He responds by parting his lips for me while his hand finds the back of my neck. The kiss deepens, but it keeps that sweet tenderness as the heat builds quietly between us.

  I shift closer, one knee pressing into the mattress as my body leans over his. My hips brush against his and the faint friction draws a gentle sound from him. I move again, a subtle grind that sends a quiet ache through me, but I’m careful to keep it slow.

  He lets out another soft sound and I swallow it into another kiss as my thumb strokes along his cheekbones. There’s no lust filling me right now. It’s just the comfort of his presence and knowing that I could stay like this for hours.

  I leave him warm beneath the blankets and step out into the hallway. The shift in me is immediate. My softness is left with him and replaced with the cool precision I expect of myself outside of his presence.

  By the time I reach the main floor again, the manor is stirring. Two servants are crossing the hall while a third is stacking silver trays in the kitchen, the metal clinking far too loudly for my liking.

  I stop in the center of the hall, letting my gaze sweep over them.

  They all freeze.

  “Arun is resting,” I say, keeping my tone as cold as the crack of frost. “If I hear so much as a dropped spoon or a careless whisper outside his door, I will make certain the rest of your day is far more unpleasant than it needs to be.”

  One of them swallows hard, nodding quickly.

  “I don’t repeat myself,” I add, stepping past them toward my study. The echo of my footsteps on the wooden floor is the only sound left in my wake.

  Better. They need to remember who commands this house.

  The morning passes in a slow rhythm of reviewing correspondence, signing off on shipment orders and sending a bit of a clipped reply to a merchant who thought to haggle after our terms were already set. My thoughts drift to Arun upstairs more than once and I can’t stop myself from thinking about how divine he looked half-asleep under the blankets when I left him.

  By the time the sun has reached its highest point, I set my quill down and close the ledger. The house has been silent since my warning earlier, thank the gods.

  As I leave my study, I catch a passing servant by her arm.

  “Have lunch set for two in the small dining room and see that Arun is told I’m ready when he is.”

  The servant nods quickly, hurrying off.

  The table in the small dining room is eventually set and I take my seat at the head of the table, leaning back slightly as a servant pours wine into my glass.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Leave us when he arrives,” I say without looking up.

  The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread drifts from the covered platters as I wait for Arun. I want to hear him before I see him. I want to hear the sound of his footsteps, the way the door opens and the pause when he spots me waiting. There’s something about that anticipation that settles into my chest.

  I sip the wine, eyes fixed on the door while I let the stillness stretch until the moment he appears.

  The door handle turns softly and then opens just enough for him to step through as the servant tending to me steps out.

  Arun has changed since this morning and I let my eyes admire the way the dark brown trousers sit on his hips, cream shirt open at the throat revealing some of his chest. His hair has been brushed back a bit and I can still see the faint sleepiness lingering his expression.

  For a moment, I simply watch him cross the room. The sight stirs something inside of me. It’s not the lusty hunger I had yesterday, but something… steadier. It’s hard for me to ignore.

  “Glad to see you’re awake,” I say.

  He offers a small smile as he takes the seat beside me instead of across.

  “You said we’d have lunch together.”

  I pour a second glass of wine and slide it toward him, my gaze lingering as his fingers brush the stem.

  “And so we will. Thank you, Arun.”

  The first few minutes of conversation are quite easy. We talk about the weather, the merchants I dealt with yesterday and his thoughts on the book he was reading last night. I listen to him speak while I cut up the roast and pass him a plate. The warmth of the small dining room and the soft light spilling through the tall window makes this feel… quite domesticated. I kind of like it.

  When his glass is half-empty and he’s beginning to relax into the rhythm of the meal, I lean back slightly in my chair with my wine cradled in my hand. I can’t help but want to know…

  “What do you like in bed?”

  It seems as if the question has landed like a rock dropped into water. His fork pauses halfway to his mouth as a flush creeps over his high cheekbones.

  My tone remains calm as I take a sip of wine and continue.

  “I mean with a partner. What makes you feel good, Arun?”

  He lowers his fork slowly, his eyes meeting mine with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. I hold his gaze, not pressing him to answer immediately but making it clear I do expect one.

  “Why?” he asks finally, his voice quiet.

  “Because I intend to give you exactly that,” I say, keeping my voice low. “And I prefer to know the details.”

  He shifts in his seat as his fingers tighten around the stem of his glass.

  “I… don’t know if I should say.”

  “You should,” I reply evenly, leaning forward just enough that my voice stays between us. “You’re not going to shock me, love. I don’t ask questions I don’t want answered.”

  His gaze flicks toward the table and I see the color in his cheeks deepening.

  “It’s… not something I’ve really talked about before.”

  “Then let this be the first time,” I murmur. “Tell me one thing you like. Just one.”

  He hesitates, but I don’t look away. I keep my eyes on him patiently, letting the quiet press around him until the weight of it tips him toward speaking.

  Finally, he swallows.

  “I… like when it’s slow. When it feels… purposeful.”

  A slow smile makes its way to my lips.

  “Good. That’s something I can work with.”

  I lift my glass, taking another sip, as if we’ve merely settled a matter of taste in something as simple as wine, but my mind is already turning over the possibilities.

  He glances down at his plate again, clearly relieved that I’m not pressing further for now.

  Oh, how sweet. He wants to be savored, Alexios. He wants to be unwrapped like a gift and taken apart one piece at a time carefully. You could indulge him and draw it out for hours. Make him forget what the world feels like outside of your hands.

  I glance back at Arun who’s cutting into his food again, unaware of the conversation playing out in my head. I keep my expression mild, but her words settle deep inside and I know they are taking root.

  He takes another bite of food before setting his fork down and I see him glance at me with a spark of curiosity.

  “Since you asked me something personal,” he says quietly. “Will you tell me one thing you like in return?”

  His voice is steady, but there’s still the faintest little pink color on his cheeks. I love it.

  I lean back in my chair, wondering if he thinks I’ll give him some predictable answer like me being in control or having him on his knees. I do love those things, but I like other flavors too.

  “I’ll tell you two things,” I say, letting a slow smile curl my lips. “I like when someone gently kisses my hands… but I also really like being bitten.”

  Careful, Alexios.

  The answer earns me a small pause from him.

  “You like being… bitten?”

  “Hard. There’s something so… intimate about it. Someone showing that they want to taste me, taking from me instead. I can’t get enough of it.”

  His cheeks deepen in color and I can see the thought forming in his mind before he looks down at his plate.

  “Not what you expected?” I ask, my voice soft but edged with amusement.

  He shakes his head faintly.

  “Not exactly.”

  I take another sip of wine.

  “Good. I like surprising you.”

  I let the air between us keep that faint hum of tension and return to my plate, cutting into the roast as if I’ve said nothing at all. He takes a moment longer before picking up his fork again, but when he does, he shyly glances at me from under his lashes. I catch it, smiling briefly before I look back at my meal.

  The rest of lunch passes in a quiet rhythm, but it’s punctuated by our occasional stolen looks. His eyes linger on me a second too long and I hold mine just enough heat to make him look away first. By the time the plates are cleared, there’s no need for more words. The tension sits between us like something we’ve both agreed not to touch… yet.

  Arun’s cheeks have picked up a faint flush from the drink, and the easy rhythm of conversation has taken root again. I’m halfway through pouring the last of the bottle when a scream cuts through the air. Arun freezes, his head turning toward the door. Before I can even say anything, he’s already on his feet.

  “I think that’s Coryn,” he says, his voice tight.

  “Who?” I ask. “Arun, stop. You don’t have t-”

  I try to get the rest of the words out, but he’s already moving quickly.

  I set the wine bottle down and follow, catching up as he darts through the hall and out across the yard. We follow the shouts to the far edge of the property where the neat grass gives way to the thick reeds and marsh of the bog.

  As I try to take in what’s going on, we both catch the tail end of a frantic exchange between two servants.

  “It was huge… saw it drag him down.”

  “An alligator,” the other says, voice shaking. “It… gods… look at him.”

  The bog air is thick and humid with the strong scent of blood. The injured servant lies sprawled in the mud, his trousers shredded from mid-thigh down.

  The wound is brutal.

  Deep lacerations have been torn through his flesh and muscle is exposed, slick with dark blood. It looks like his foot is barely still attached, hanging by an absolute thread. Every labored breath rattles his chest, each one weaker than the last. There’s no possible way this can be fixed fast enough before he bleeds out.

  “I can help,” Arun says, already moving toward him, his boots sinking slightly into the soft ground.

  One of the other servants shakes their head, voice high with panic.

  “It’s too late, he’s dying.”

  Arun doesn’t even glance up.

  “It’s not.”

  He drops to his knees in the mud beside the injured servant, the hem of his shirt soaking instantly. He presses his hands firmly over the wound, closing his eyes. I can see the furrow in his brow and the way his jaw tightens. I realize it’s not fear.

  It’s concentration.

  His lips move, whispering incantations in a language I don’t really understand.

  He’s praying.

  Then… the air changes.

  The warmth radiating from him is subtle at first until it begins spreading outward in ripples I can almost feel against my skin. A pale golden light begins to seep from his lands, spilling into the torn flesh. The glow intensifies as it wraps around his fingers and bathes the mangled leg in a strange but almost sacred aura.

  It feels like… sunlight. He feels like sunlight.

  The bleeding slows and the trembling in the servant’s body eases. I watch, transfixed, as the ragged muscle fibers begin to draw together under his light, knitting themselves into smooth, unbroken lines. The skin follows, pulling tight until nothing remains of where just moments ago there had been ruin.

  I expect to see silvery mark remaining, something like a scar, but there’s nothing.

  Like it didn’t even happen.

  The servant gasps sharply as his body accepts the magic, his chest rising in a steadier rhythm. His eyes flutter open, unfocused but alive.

  Arun exhales, the glow around his hands dimming before it vanishes entirely. He stays there a moment longer, one hand on the servant’s shin as if grounding him.

  The servants standing nearby are wide-eyed as their fear is replaced by stunned disbelief. One of them murmurs, “By the gods…”

  I’m left almost… speechless. Not because I don’t have anything to say. I do, but I’m too busy in awe of Arun’s skill. I’ve known a few skilled healers. Paid them handsomely even. None of them could likely do this at that speed and that completeness. It’s flawless and it doesn’t even look like it took much effort for him.

  When Arun finally stands, brushing mud from his trousers, I step forward, my eyes still on him.

  “Arun…”

  My voice is quieter than I intend, but it carries.

  He turns away from me and crouches beside the injured servant again, speaking to him in a low and steady voice. The servant nods weakly and with the help of two other servants, Arun gets him sitting upright. One servant ducks under his arm to support his weight, but it’s Arun who takes most of the burden, guiding him gently through the uneven ground.

  I follow at a slower pace, watching as they make their way toward the servants’ quarters. His hand stays firm on the servant’s back, steadying him when his steps falter. Every movement is careful as though he’s protecting something fragile.

  The other servants glance at me as I pass, uncertain whether they should say anything or just avoid my eyes entirely. I give them absolutely nothing. My attention stays fixed on Arun.

  When they finally reach the servants’ quarters, he eases the servant down onto a narrow bed, murmuring instructions for rest and water. The servant looks at him with a mixture of gratitude and awe like he’s been touched by something not entirely of this world.

  And maybe he has.

  I remain in the doorway, my hands clasped loosely behind my back, saying nothing.

  Your pretty pet is full of surprises, Alexios.

  I linger in the doorway until Arun finishes speaking to the servants, making sure the one who was brutally injured just moments ago is settled. Only when he straightens and steps out into the hallway of the quarters do I turn away, letting him follow me back toward the manor.

  Neither of us speak on the walk back, but I can feel him glancing at me now and then. I keep my eyes forward for now.

  Once inside, the quiet of the main hall swallows us whole. The servants here know better than to interrupt when my mood is unreadable and they quickly move out of sight.

  When the door to the dining room clicks shut behind us, I finally turn to face him.

  “You’ve been holding out on me,” I say calmly, but my gaze is sharp.

  His brows draw together.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen healers,” I say, stepping closer. “Skilled ones. Expensive ones. None of them could have done what you did that fast and that clean. So tell me, Arun… how long have you been hiding just how strong you are?”

  He shakes his head almost immediately.

  “I didn’t know I was that strong,” he says quietly. “I just… felt called to it. Like I had to do it.”

  I search his face for any sign of evasion, but all I see is honesty… and maybe a trace of uncertainty at his own words.

  “But you knew you were a good healer,” I press.

  His gaze flickers down for a moment before meeting mine again.

  “Yes. I’ve known that for a while. But… today was different. I didn’t even think. I just… acted.”

  He exhales, shaking his head slightly.

  I study him for a long beat and the image of that golden light spilling from his hands is still fresh in my mind. That servant’s flesh mended like it had been waiting for him to command it.

  You thought his beauty was his greatest gift.

  I take a slow step closer.

  “Then I suppose we’ll have to see just how far your strength goes.”

  --

  It’s late enough that most of the manor is quiet and the lamps have been dimmed to a warm gold glow. I’m leaning against the doorframe of one of the unused rooms on the main floor watching two servants carry in the last of the heavy shelving. The air smells faintly of polished wood and clean linen.

  The space is taking shape exactly as I’d envisioned.

  Soft footsteps sound on the stairs and when I glance over my shoulder, Arun is coming down, his hair a little mussed like he’s just left his room.

  “What’s going on?” he asks as his gaze drifting past me to the movement in the room.

  I straighten and nod for him to come closer.

  “I’m giving you a space of your own. A healing room.”

  His brows lift slightly, surprise softening his expression.

  “You impressed me today,” I continue, my voice steady but carrying the truth of it. “What you did out there… I’ve never seen anything like it. You looked like a god standing over that servant. You were mending him like you were remaking him from the inside out.”

  His lips part slightly, but I don’t give him the chance to interrupt.

  “If you’re going to work those kinds of miracles, I want you to have a proper place to do it. A space where you can excel in your craft… and where the servants know they can come to you without hesitation.”

  For a moment, he just stares at me, the faintest shimmer in his eyes. Then he says softly, “Alexios… thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” I say, tilting my head toward the room. “Go look. See if it’s to your liking.”

  He steps past me slowly, likely unsure whether this is truly for him. The fire in the hearth inside casts a soft glow across the fresh furnishings. The wide shelves have been stocked with neatly folded cloths, jars of salve and bottles of tinctures. A study oak table stands in the center with its surface covered in clean linen. A padded chair rests beside it for those who can’t stand.

  In the corner, a washbasin gleams in the firelight with pitchers of fresh water set beside it.

  Arun’s fingertips trail along the edge of the table as his eyes move over every detail. I watch him pause at the shelves, taking time to read the small labels on the jars and noting the arrangement of herbs from the fields and supplies I’d had brought in from local shops.

  “It’s perfect,” he says finally. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “You’ve already said it,” I reply from the doorway. “Your gratitude is clear enough.”

  He turns to face me and the warmth in his expression is doing something to me that I don’t let many people see.

  “I’ll take good care of it… and of them.”

  “I know you will,” I say, letting my eyes linger on him for a few more moments before I push off the doorframe. “Get some rest. You’ll need your strength if you’re going to start working in here tomorrow.”

  --

  The manor has settled into silence again and the only sounds now are the faint creaking of old wood and the occasional whisper of wind through the shutters. I pass the healing room on my may upstairs, expecting it to be dark and Arun to be asleep upstairs.

  As I pass, I see that the fire is burning low, a warm glow spilling across the floor. Arun is seated at the oak table with a book open beside a small stack of folded bandages. His curls fall loosely around his face as he runs a fingertip down a page. He’s studying something rather intently.

  He doesn’t hear me at first as I lean against the doorway so I can take in more of the scene here. I can’t help but admire that concentration in his expression and the steadiness of his posture. There’s a quiet purpose that seems to almost radiate from him even now.

  A thought slips into my mind, but I don’t bother to fight it.

  He is… holy.

  Absolutely divine.

  Not just for what he did today in the bog, but for the way he did it without hesitation and without thinking of himself as if answering some higher call.

  I step inside slowly enough that the sound of my feet on the wood finally draws his eyes up to mine.

  “You’re still awake,” I say quietly.

  He offers a faint smile.

  “I wanted to look over a few things before tomorrow.”

  I nod once, but my gaze lingers.

  “You know, Arun… I don’t think I say this often enough, but you are incredible.”

  His expression softens and he looks down as though unsure if he can even accept the compliment.

  I cross the room and rest a hand briefly on the table beside him. Something in the soft light and the way he looks up at me makes it impossible to turn away right now.

  “Arun,” I say, my voice quieter now, “May I kiss you?”

  His eyes widen a bit and for a heartbeat I think he might say no. To my gratefulness, he nods and I lean down, brushing my lips over his. There’s no heat or demand in the kiss. It’s just a press of warmth and the faintest shiver in the space between breaths.

  When I draw back, I don’t step away. I’m still looking at him and feeling the echo of that kiss in my chest.

  Something clicks into place.

  Something I’ve been keeping at arm’s length without admitting it. This isn’t just desire. I want him for more than the way he looks under my hands or the way he sounds when I touch him.

  I want… him.

  His kindness.

  His gentleness.

  The way he gives without counting the cost.

  The way he makes this manor feel alive again.

  It’s a dangerous realization and it leaves me silent for a moment too long.

  I straighten before he can read too much in my expression.

  “Get some rest,” I tell him before I turn and walk out, the low glow of the fire fading behind me as I close the door.

  My steps echo against the floorboards, steady but much slower than before.

  Why did you do that for him?

  Her voice threads through my mind like smoke. It’s curious but edged with something… sharper.

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” I murmur under my breath.

  The room. The supplies. The words you give him. The thoughts you had about him in there. You’ve given him a gift most men would have to bleed for.

  I keep walking, jaw tight.

  “Because he deserves it.”

  Since when do you trade in that currency, Alexios?

  I don’t answer, but her question follows me all the way back to my bedroom, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.