> "If I kneel, it's not because I'm weak.
It's because I want the ground to remember who broke me."
---
The chamber was drenched in twilight. No torches. No windows. Just the faint blue glow pulsing from the walls—magic, alive and watching.
Dominic stood shirtless at the center, the collar around his neck now fused to his skin like a second heartbeat. Each time he inhaled, the band shimmered, tightening—not to choke, but to remind.
He belonged.
Lyra stood in front of him, barefoot, hair unbound, her lips smeared red like she'd kissed a storm and dared it to love her back. Her voice curled like smoke as she spoke.
> "You're not ready to command until you've been commanded."
Dominic's jaw clenched. "I don't kneel for anyone."
She didn't argue.
She simply raised her hand—and the collar burned.
He dropped to one knee instantly.
Not from pain.
But from need.
The collar pulsed again, this time slower, more sensual, like a breath against the inside of his thighs. Lyra walked in circles around him, her fingers grazing his shoulders, chest, neck. Her magic seeped into his skin, teasing pressure points of lust and loyalty.
> "Do you feel humiliated?"
"No," Dominic growled.
"Then I'm doing it wrong."
Her laugh was soft, wicked. She dragged her nails down his spine.
> "Let's begin the Obedience Ritual."
---
The ritual wasn't some ancient rite passed from witches to lovers.
It was hers.
And it changed every time.
Tonight, she conjured a floating ink of silver fire, writing runes into the air as Dominic stared, trembling—not in fear, but anticipation. The collar seemed to drink her magic, glowing brighter with each symbol cast.
> "You'll obey three commands," Lyra whispered, her voice like silk soaked in wine. "Not because you must—but because you want to."
> "I want nothing."
> "That's the lie you tell yourself," she purred, straddling his lap. "But your body? It's very honest."
She didn't undress him—she commanded his clothes off with a whisper. Magic unraveled every button, every belt, every layer—until he sat, bare and hard, breathing heavily under her gaze.
> "Command One: Say my name."
He hesitated.
The collar didn't.
A sharp pulse raced through his spine, and he moaned.
> "Lyra," he gasped.
> "Good boy."
blow. They shamed him. They freed him.
> "Command Two: Beg to be kissed."
He glared up at her. "I don't—"
The collar shimmered again, and Dominic's breath hitched. His body betrayed him—hips bucking upward, neck arching toward her mouth like a starving animal.
> "Please," he whispered. "Kiss me."
> "Not like that."
She leaned in, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
> "I said beg."
The fight in him cracked. He dropped his forehead to her chest, panting.
> "Please, Lyra. I need your kiss. I crave it. I burn without it. I'll kneel for a taste—just kiss me."
She obeyed.
But the kiss wasn't gentle.
It was consuming.
Her magic poured into him like molten fire—every nerve igniting, every fear torn open. He kissed her back like it would save him. Or kill him. Maybe both.
---
> "Final Command," she whispered against his lips. "Tell me you're mine."
He froze.
This wasn't lust.
This wasn't powerplay.
This was possession.
> "Say it," she said, licking his blood off her lips. "Mean it."
The collar grew hot—scalding.
His breath hitched. And finally, he broke.
> "I'm yours, Lyra. All of me."
And the room exploded.
Light erupted from the collar, white-hot and blinding, casting runes into the air that sang in languages neither of them had ever spoken. The ceiling cracked, the walls shook, and above them both—hovering like a crown—was a sigil.
Her mark.
Branded into his soul.
---
Later, he lay in the aftermath—sweaty, dazed, bruised from pleasure and submission. Lyra curled beside him, her hand resting on his chest where the symbol still glowed faintly.
> "You did well," she murmured. "Better than the last three kings I collared."
He smirked. "I thought I was special."
> "You are. They died. You get to live.
A beat.
> "For now."
He laughed, and for the first time, it wasn't cruel or hollow. It was real.
> "What now?" he asked.
Lyra looked toward the windowless ceiling, where the magic still danced above them.
> "Now," she said slowly, "the collar begins to want."
> "Want what?"
> "Everything."