Marked by the Enemy King

The rain didn't just fall; it hammered against the vaulted glass ceilings of the Petros palace like a million tiny executioners drumming for a head. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ozone, expensive floor wax, and the metallic tang of blood that still clung to Nikos’s skin. He was forced down, the impact of his knees hitting the cold marble echoing through the cavernous throne room. The sound was a sharp, sickening crack that vibrated up his spine, a reminder that he was no longer the heir to a legacy, but a piece of wreckage washed up on a hostile shore. His wrists were raw where the zip-ties bit into the flesh, a modern cruelty that felt more insulting than iron shackles.Above him, the palace lights hummed with a sterile, white intensity, reflecting off the polished floor until the world looked like it was made of frozen light. Nikos kept his head down, watching a single droplet of rainwater fall from the tip of his nose to the marble. He was drenched, his designer shirt

Nikos froze, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The King’s breath was a warm, steady pressure against the sensitive skin of his throat, and the word 'fond' felt less like a compliment and more like a death sentence. For a heartbeat, the room was silent, the only sound the crackle of the hearth and the heavy, rhythmic thrum of Nikos’s own blood in his ears. Andreas let go of his wrist, the heat of the King’s palm lingering on his skin as if branded there."Finish," Andreas commanded, his voice returning to that low, tectonic rumble. "Then get some sleep. Tomorrow, the court celebrates the unification. You will be there to witness the new era you helped usher in with your family’s silence."The dismissal was abrupt, leaving Nikos to fumble with the remaining buttons with trembling fingers. He didn't look back as he retreated to the small, cold servant’s alcove he had been assigned. He spent the night staring at the stone ceiling, the King’s observation about his s

The heavy thud of the door’s bolt served as the final period to Nikos’s failed rebellion. He felt the bed shift under Andreas’s weight, the King’s knees pinning Nikos’s thighs into the plush mattress. The silk tie Andreas had grabbed wasn't just for show; he began to loop it around Nikos’s left wrist with a terrifying, practiced ease.Nikos bucked, his breath hitching as he tried to throw the King off. "Get the hell off me! You think this is some kind of game? Kill me and be done with it, Andreas. Don't do this weird power-trip stuff. It’s cringe."Andreas didn't even flinch at the insult. He simply tightened his grip on Nikos’s wrist, pulling it toward the ornate gold scrollwork of the headboard. "Cringe?" Andreas let out a low, humorless huff that vibrated against Nikos’s collarbone. "You’re out here catching feelings for a legacy that was already dead before I stepped foot in your father’s estate. You’re playing the part of the grieving son, but your performance is mid at best. No

The heavy glass doors hissed shut, the sound a sharp, mechanical finality that cut Nikos off from the garden’s false freedom. He stood in the transition hallway, his chest tight, feeling the weight of the King’s stare like a physical brand on the back of his neck. He didn't turn around. He couldn't. Looking back meant acknowledging the shadow on the balcony, and Nikos wasn't ready to see the satisfaction he knew would be etched into Andreas’s face.His legs felt like lead as he began the walk toward the inner sanctum. The palace guards didn't say a word, their armor gleaming under the recessed LED strips of the corridor, but their presence was loud. They moved like sharks in expensive suits, their eyes tracking his every micro-movement. Nikos kept his head down, his focus locked on the polished obsidian tiles beneath his feet. He felt like a glitch in the palace’s perfect matrix—a noble-born ghost haunting a house that had already been sold to the highest bidder.As he reached the dou

The heavy double doors of the bedchamber groaned as the guards began to undo the external bolts, the sound echoing like a gavel in the quiet room. Nikos scrambled, his instinctual reflex to get out of the bed—to put distance between his skin and the King’s—overriding the exhaustion that threatened to pull him under. He reached for his discarded, rough-spun servant’s tunic, his fingers fumbling with the fabric."Don’t," Andreas said, his voice a low, vibrating command that stopped Nikos in his tracks. "Stay where you are.""Andreas, they’re literally right outside," Nikos hissed, his pulse spiking. "If they catch me in your bed like this, I’m deadass finished. You think they’ll just look the other way? I’m a Stavros. They’ll think I’m hexing you or some crazy shit."The doors swung open with a synchronized thud against the stone walls. Captain Elara stepped in first, her hand resting habitually on the hilt of her sword, her eyes scanning for threats. She froze. Behind her, two guards s