The door groaned shut behind him.
Gone were the glinting smiles of the nobles. Gone were the whispers, the praise, the subtle threats dressed in silk. Now, in the silence of his private chamber, King Nate stood before a full-length mirror, the weight of the crown still pressing down on his spine like a brand new set of shackles.
The heavy cloak slipped off his shoulders with a rustle, black velvet pooling like oil around his boots. He unfastened the collar of his tunic, loosening the ceremonial chains that strangled the warmth from his skin.
And then he looked up.
In the mirror, his eyes met his own—tired, sharp, shadowed by too many things for one night. He didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just stood there.
> "You should rest, Your Majesty."
The voice slid into his mind like silk through a blade—Jake.
Nate didn't startle. Of course he was there. Of course he was always there now. Pressed behind his ribs. Coiled in his pulse.
> "Or don't," Jake murmured, his voice curling with heat. "You seem like the type who needs a distraction… I can provide one."
In the mirror, Jake's reflection appeared—shirtless, effortless, his presence dark and smooth like freshly spilled ink. Tattoos flickered faintly down his arms, eyes glowing just enough to remind Nate what slept inside him now.
> "I could make you forget," Jake whispered, stepping closer in the reflection. "Just for a night. Just long enough."
Nate turned from the mirror, slowly. Controlled.
"No one owns me," he said. The words weren't shouted. They were calm, grounded, and true.
Jake's smirk twitched. "And I said I never claimed—"
"This is the last time tonight, Jake," Nate said, stepping closer, his gaze steely and unwavering. "Tonight, I need my thoughts to be my own."
Jake tilted his head, a touch amused. "Are you… dismissing me?"
"No." Nate's hand opened, and the binding mark on his palm flickered—subtle, not commanding. Just enough power to speak clearly, to define space. "I'm asking for silence. Nothing more."
The pause in Jake's expression was brief. But it was there. The flicker of something unreadable in those molten eyes. And then he stepped back—not in defeat, but in choice.
> "You're not like the others," he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. "Most kings scream my name into the void and beg me to stay. You're the first to ask me for space."
"I'm not asking," Nate said simply. "I'm choosing."
> "So am I," Jake replied.
And with that—he vanished. Not yanked back, not banished. He slipped out of the space with grace, smoke curling into silence.
---
The Cathedral of Chains greeted him like an old wound.
Cold. Vast. Echoing with faint screams of memory. Jake landed softly in the center of it, breath slow, gaze unreadable.
He didn't speak for a moment.
Didn't move.
He simply stood there, surrounded by the glow of the unlit runes, the silence of demons who no longer had voices.
> "He thinks he's being kind," he murmured to no one. "He thinks asking for silence is mercy."
He looked up at the jagged skylight where the moon dripped pale silver across the floor. And for the first time in centuries, Jake felt something clawing at his chest—not rage, not hunger.
Restlessness.
And beneath that, a growing, sickening ache he hated with all his being.
Longing.
It had been so long since someone had asked for space without punishment. Without malice. Nate hadn't rejected him.
He'd asked for peace.
> "He's dangerous," Jake muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Too dangerous."
And then his gaze dropped to the floor, where forgotten chains coiled like snakes waiting to bite.
> "I should burn it all," he whispered, voice low, simmering. "This world—this empire. The way they treat us like tools, beasts, curses. Like we don't bleed. Like we don't feel."
His fists clenched.
He remembered the demon pits. The brands. The cages. The monarchs who laughed while carving control into his flesh.
Nate hadn't done those things.
But the crown on his head carried the memory of every one who had.
> "He's no different," Jake growled. "Even if he pretends to be."
But his voice trembled on that last word. Pretends.
Because a part of him—the broken, buried part—wanted to believe Nate wasn't pretending.
That maybe… this prince, who asked for silence instead of power, who touched Jake with will instead of cruelty…
Maybe he was real.
Jake hated that part of himself more than anything.
> "I'll burn them all," he whispered again. "For every demon they've broken. For every chain they kissed while calling it mercy."
And yet…
When he closed his eyes, what lingered was not the rage.
It was the silence.
The silence Nate gave him.
And it hurt.
---
In the heart of the cathedral, Jake sat alone—wrapped in smoke, tangled in thoughts.
He was not dismissed.
Not forgotten.
But still—not enough.
And that, more than chains or centuries, was what truly scorched him.
---