CHAPTER 3: Part 02

I stayed kneeling beside Kael's throne, staring at the veins of the marble beneath me until they blurred into something meaningless. My knees had long since gone numb. My throat ached where the collar pressed against it, silver still pulsing with heat.

The great hall emptied.

Except for him.

And me.

Kael shifted at last, standing from his throne. The movement sent a low creak through the wood. I felt him turn toward me.

"Up," he said.

I moved slowly, carefully, as if my bones might betray me. The robe clung to my skin. My head swam.

I was halfway to standing when I felt his hand on my shoulder.

I flinched.

It was instinct—pure and small and immediate.

But it was enough.

Kael paused behind me, his fingers still resting lightly where I'd recoiled.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he moved in closer, chest brushing my back, mouth near my ear.

"Did you just flinch from me, little bride?"

I didn't answer.

He laughed softly, almost to himself.

"Good. That means you're not numb yet."

His voice slid under my skin like silk laced with knives.

The door behind us opened again. I turned slightly—just enough to see two guards waiting to escort us.

Kael didn't raise his voice.

"Leave us."

The doors shut again.

Then silence.

He walked around me, slow and fluid, until he stood between me and the exit. His eyes moved over me, lazy and dangerous.

"I haven't decided if I prefer you shaking," he said, stepping forward, "or silent."

I stood frozen, fists clenched at my sides.

"Say something."

I licked my lips. Swallowed.

"You told me not to speak unless ordered."

A pause.

Then a smile. Cold. Sharp.

"Ah. So you do listen."

He stepped close again, hand brushing the side of my throat—just enough for the silver collar to bite harder.

"You flinched because I touched you," he said softly. "You think that's allowed?"

I didn't answer.

"You think your body's yours to guard now?"

Still silent.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowed.

"You'll learn," he murmured. "Touch is mine. Reaction is mine. Everything you do, feel, flinch from—mine."

"You'll need another lesson."

Kael didn't drag me.

He didn't raise his voice.

He simply took my wrist, turned, and walked toward the throne again — slow, sure, pulling me behind him like he already knew I wouldn't resist.

Maybe I didn't.

Not out of trust.

But because I knew there was no escape.

Not here. Not in this place where every inch of air smelled like him. Not with his scent already soaked into my skin, his words still echoing in my throat.

He sat on the throne.

Then pulled me between his knees.

"On your knees," he said, gently this time.

Like it was a request.

I sank down.

The collar pulsed against my neck.

He leaned forward, eyes steady on mine, and slid his hand into my hair.

Not to yank.

Not to control.

Just… to touch.

Softly.

Like lovers might.

I hated how it made my breath catch.

He brushed a strand behind my ear, his thumb dragging across my cheekbone.

"You hate me," he murmured.

I nodded.

He smiled.

"But your body doesn't."

My lips parted—but no sound came.

Kael reached down, took the belt from his waist, and laid it across his lap. Not to strike.

To show me it was there.

Then his hands moved to the sash of my robe.

Slowly, deliberately, he undid the knot.

The fabric slid open.

My bare chest rose and fell with every breath. My nipples stiffened in the cool air—and his eyes went straight to them.

He touched one with the back of his knuckle.

I shivered.

"Sensitive," he whispered.

Then leaned in.

And kissed it.

Soft.

Gentle.

Lips barely brushing skin.

A flick of tongue.

A breath of heat.

My knees weakened. I hated it.

"You like that," he murmured.

"No—"

He pinched the other nipple lightly, watching me flinch.

"You're trembling."

He pushed the robe off my shoulders completely and let it fall to the floor. I was naked in front of him, on my knees, breath unsteady, shame creeping up my throat.

Kael unfastened his trousers. Freed himself.

Then guided my hands to his cock.

"Touch me," he said.

I shook my head.

He didn't raise his voice.

He simply pressed my palms against him.

I felt the heat. The pulse. The size.

He groaned softly, tilting his head back just enough to show pleasure.

And still—he never looked away from me.

"You feel how hard I am for you, little traitor?" he said, voice low. "This is what your body does to me. And this—" he reached down, fingers slipping between my thighs "—is what I do to you."

I gasped as his fingers found heat.

Wetness.

God.

His thumb circled, teasing, gentle.

"You should be ashamed," he whispered.

"I am," I breathed.

"Not enough."

He brought his fingers to my lips.

I opened without thinking.

He slid them in.

"Good slut," he said.

Not loud.

Not angry.

But soft.

Like a compliment.

And that broke something in me worse than shouting ever could.

He stood, pulled me up, turned me around.

Bent me forward over the throne arm.

And entered me slowly.

So slowly.

His hips rocked gently. His hand gripped the back of my neck, fingers wrapped around the collar, pressing the silver into my skin until it burned and tingled and—

I moaned.

He stilled.

Then leaned down over my back.

"You like this."

"I hate you."

"But your pussy doesn't."

He thrust deeper.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood.

He fucked me like I was fragile.

Like I mattered.

Like he cared.

And every soft thrust was a dagger, slicing me in half.

"Say it," he whispered against my ear.

"No—"

"Say what you are."

I stayed silent.

His hips moved again.

"Say it."

"I'm a…" I couldn't.

His fingers slid down, found my clit again, circled.

"Say it."

"I'm a… slut," I choked.

He smiled against my neck.

Then came inside me again, slow, deep, possessive.

And whispered, "Good girl."

I shattered.

Not in pleasure.

In shame.

And he knew it.

Because this is what he wanted from the start and this is what he meant by the punishment.