Chapter 8

Jules  POV

The room stirred.

Gasps.

Laughter.

A few bets placed in whispers.

I wanted to vanish into the floor.

But king Lucian didn’t flinch. He leaned back, his goblet still in hand, and gave the smallest nod.

“Then let him choose.”

My blood froze.

The guard yanked me up by the chain and shoved me toward the platform. I stumbled, heart hammering.

I wasn’t trained in seduction.

I wasn’t even supposed to be here.

I was a girl pretending to be a boy. And now I was being thrown into the center of a game where bodies meant power, and desire was a weapon.

“Come on, slave,” the woman mocked. “Pick someone. Or do you want me to pick for you?”

Laughter echoed.

Eyes burned holes in me.

but none of them scorched like his.

Lucian’s stare was not amused like the others.

Not entertained.

It didn’t flinch or blink or drift lazily across the room like a king surveying his kingdom.

No.

His gaze locked on mine, pinning me where I stood like a dagger through the chest. I could feel it like heat pressing against my skin, searing me with invisible fire. It curled around my ribs, climbed my spine, gripped my lungs until I couldn’t breathe.

Something flickered in his eyes, dangerous, feral and it wasn’t the lust that painted the faces of the rest. No, this was something deeper. A command. A warning.

Don’t.

Don’t you dare.

But he said nothing.

He didn’t have to.

Because if he did, if he spoke even a word in my defense, in my favor, even in rage it would look wrong. Suspicious. He’d have to explain why a king was so violently possessive over a male slave.

So he just watched.

Silently.

Like a predator ready to shred anything that got too close.

I swallowed hard, my hand twitching as I scanned the sea of bodies trying to pick someone, anyone, just to get this over with. But I couldn’t move. Not under that gaze.

It was like he was holding me in place with nothing but his fury.

And worse… worse than all of it… was the way my body responded.

My heart slammed in my chest. My skin tingled under invisible fingers. And deep down, where the bond still throbbed faint and raw, something inside me twisted, pulled toward him like a tide.

I shouldn’t feel this.

I hated him.

He rejected me.

Humiliated me.

But I still felt him like a shadow curled against my skin. Even with chains on my wrists and shame bleeding down my throat, I was still tethered to him by something ancient. Something I couldn’t tear free from.

My chest heaved.

The woman on the platform tapped her foot. “Well? Is the boy mute and dumb?”

More laughter.

I raised my hand just to get it over with and pointed at someone, anyone, hoping to end this moment before I shattered.

But I didn’t even get the name out.

A goblet shattered behind me.

The sound echoed like a gunshot.

Every head turned toward the throne.

King Lucian sat with his fingers clenched around the broken stem of his cup, blood dripping from his palm. He hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t even looked at the wound.

He was still staring at me.

But now… there was murder in his eyes.

The woman on the platform tensed.

The guards tensed.

Even the music stumbled for a breath.

I stood frozen.

Every instinct in me screamed to bow, to hide, to run.

But I couldn’t.

Not while his fury gripped me by the throat and refused to let go.

Lucian finally leaned forward, voice too calm. “If he fails to perform,” he said coldly, “you can feed him to the hounds.”

My heart sank.

But that wasn’t a command for the woman.

It was a threat for me.

And beneath it… buried deep under ice and power… was a warning meant for someone else entirely.

Don’t touch what’s mine.

Even if he’d never say it.

Even if I was just a slave.

A boy.

To him… I was something.

I was upset—no, I was livid. The heat that curled in my chest wasn’t from shame anymore. It was fury. Fury at being paraded like a toy. Fury at being watched, scrutinized, as if I were a puppet made to dance.

What had I done, truly? I didn’t look like a threat. I barely even felt like one anymore. If I had been the assassin they feared, I wouldn’t hesitate. I would’ve killed Lucian the moment I was brought before him, blade to throat, blood on my hands, no remorse.

But I wasn’t that girl. Not then. Not yet.

So, if they wanted a show, fine. I’d give them one.

But not without covering my tracks.

I let my gaze drift over the room, past the giddy nobles with wine-stained mouths, past the women twirling on laps and the bare-chested men lounging like prizes. Then I saw him, a tall, lean male with golden skin and inked arms, muscles coiled under smooth flesh, smirking like the whole night was a joke only he understood.

Perfect. He was bold, shameless. And most importantly…distracting.

“I want him,” I said, pointing.

Gasps rippled through the chamber the moment I raised my chained hand and pointed.

“I want him.”

The room fell silent for a heartbeat—sharp, stunned, almost confused. Then the tension shattered into laughter, hoots, and excited whispers.

The man I’d chosen tilted his head, golden hair falling into his eyes, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. He rose slowly, deliberately, like a panther stalking prey, bare-chested, tattoos running over his ribs like a story written in ink and blood. He looked at me with something close to hunger... or curiosity.

The crowd erupted. Some clapped. Others hollered. There were whistles, stomping boots, and bets exchanged in the shadows.

“Two boys!” someone shouted gleefully.

“Ravenstone’s favorite kind of scandal,” someone else laughed.

Their hunger for chaos was palpable. This wasn’t just a game to them, it was sport. A public unraveling of shame and submission. They wanted a show, and they didn’t care what it cost.

The woman in charge of the game clapped once, loud and sharp, commanding attention.

“Well, well…” she said, a sly grin tugging her lips. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a brave one.” Her gaze slid toward the man I’d chosen, her voice laced with dark amusement. “Gale. You’ve been chosen.”

Laughter broke out again, louder this time.

“Gale’s a favorite,” someone called.

“He’s going to ruin that poor thing,” another said, almost gleeful.

The man I’d chosen tilted his head, intrigued, and pushed off the velvet chaise with the lazy grace of someone who knew he’d been chosen before. His eyes locked on mine, glinting with something wicked. He didn’t look surprised, only entertained.

I was shaking. Inside, screaming. The words feed him to the hounds pulsed in my skull. But I held my stance.

This was Ravenstone. Gender didn’t matter here. A slave was a slave. You were owned in body, stripped of name, and forced to perform no matter who you were or who you pretended to be.

The King of Ravenstone was infamous for his taste. Whispers slid like shadows through every corridor, of boys favored over women, of male slaves chosen not for their strength, but for their beauty. He was a man shrouded in steel and secrets, but this was no secret. The king liked men. Liked boys.

And I… I was a girl wearing a mask of masculinity.

Every step I took here was a dance on a blade’s edge. One wrong glance. One slip of the tongue. One exposed curve of skin and everything would collapse. My life, my freedom, my mission.

So when they demanded a show, when their cruel game turned toward me like wolves scenting weakness, I had a choice. If I refused, I’d be torn apart, maybe literally. If I chose a girl, I’d be cornered into something I didn’t understand, with a body too similar to my own, and too many chances to make a mistake that would expose me.

But a man…

A man I could navigate.

They wanted lust? I would give them the illusion. They wanted entertainment? I’d play their game. I just had to stay alive long enough to escape it.

That was why I pointed to him, Gale. Bare-chested, confident, amused. He was dangerous in a different way, but he was my best chance. My only chance.

Because in a kingdom where the king himself delighted in bending men into beautiful ruin, I had to play the role they expected. A boy pretending not to break. A slave dancing for survival.

And if I was convincing enough…

They wouldn’t see the girl hidden underneath.

Not yet.

Not tonight.

Lucian sat, unmoving. His expression is unreadable, cold and remote. But his gaze… it never left me.

He hadn’t flinched when others were mocked. He hadn’t spoken when others were stripped down and paraded. But now?

Now his fingers gripped the armrest of his chair so tight, the silver band on his hand groaned under the pressure.

He was angry.

Why?

Why did it feel like the heat in his stare was something more than rage? Something feral… territorial?

My heart beat faster, and not just from fear.

He couldn’t speak not without giving himself away. I was still just a boy, after all. A filthy, low-ranked slave. Why should the King care if his male slave was made to entertain another man?

And yet, I could feel it in the room, the air charged like a storm rolling in.

He saw me.

And I knew if I took this too far, I’d pay for it with more than chains.

The man I’d chosen stopped before me, flashing a crooked grin. “You’ve got guts,” he said under his breath, just low enough for me to hear. “Let’s see if you’ve got anything else.”