Page 10 of Golden Bond (Pleasure Palace #1)

He pivoted slowly, deliberately, the folds of his seret shifting like poured wine, and when his face came into view, I stopped breathing.

Silver hair, tousled now beneath the edge of his scarf.

Eyes like glacial water, too vivid, too knowing.

The mouth that had once curled in challenge beside a stream.

Auren.

The one I had insulted. The one who had watched me beneath citrus boughs. The one who had seen me naked and flushed, who had smirked at my every defensive word.

He was here.

He had chosen me.

I couldn’t move.

Not even when he looked at me—not coldly, not cruelly, but like someone who had already imagined the shape of me in his hands.

I felt heat rise beneath my skin. Shame. Panic. Something darker.

The altar was behind him.

Waiting.

And I—I was no longer sure I could walk.

Auren’s eyes didn’t leave mine. He took a step forward, then another, just enough to draw closer without closing the distance completely. His movements were measured and elegant. Confident without the need to prove it.

“I believe the state of my attire is acceptable, Callis,” he said, voice low and smooth, a flicker of mischief curling at the corner of his mouth. His eyes gleamed—was it amusement, or something darker? For a breath, it looked like cruelty.

I didn’t answer right away.

Instead, I glanced toward the priests gathered at the edge of the chamber. Their expressions were unchanged—serene, composed, as if they’d heard nothing, as if what passed between us now was of no concern to them.

“It is not my place to pass judgment on your attire, Auren,” I said evenly. My voice barely wavered .

Auren chuckled. It was quiet and feline, more purr than laugh, as if he delighted in some private joke I hadn’t been invited to share.

The lead priest stepped forward again, drawing our attention back to him with a subtle lift of his hand.

He extended his other arm outward, summoning the silent priests who had stood in the shadows of the chamber’s edge.

They moved with practiced grace, each bearing items of significance: a small basin filled with deep red wine, a brazier carved from obsidian, its coals glowing faintly within; a shallow golden dish scattered with pine needles and cones; and a pair of goblets rimmed with a fine thread of silver.

The scent of resin filled the space as one priest lit the offering fire. Smoke curled upward, sweet and sharp, as the brazier took its breath.

“These are the offerings,” the priest intoned. “Symbols of earth and flame, of root and wing, of the gods who bear witness tonight.”

He turned to Auren first, holding out a long, narrow object wrapped in linen—then unwrapped it carefully.

It was not a weapon, but it looked like one at first glance: a rod of pale ivory, etched in runes so fine they seemed to shift when the firelight touched them.

The haft was wrapped in silver wire, the tip flared like a budding branch.

I had seen its likeness only once in a painted scroll.

The Bondstaff.

“This,” the priest said, “is the instrument of invocation. It carries the will of the gods, and seals what is spoken in truth. Take it.”

Auren took it without hesitation. His fingers curled around the haft, reverent but sure.

“Speak your offering,” the priest instructed.

Auren turned his gaze toward me, and for the first time, the smirk faded from his features. What remained was steadier. Unreadable.

“I offer myself,” he said, voice resonant but calm. “In strength and in spirit. In touch and in word. I offer this bond to stand beside me in what is sacred. I ask no mask, and give none. Let the gods bear witness.”

The words settled in the air like a breath held.

The priest then turned to me. “Come hither, and place your hand upon the staff.”

I moved.

I didn’t trust my legs, but they carried me. I stopped in front of Auren, lifted one hand, and set it lightly over his where he gripped the staff.

It was warm. His skin. The staff. The silver. Everything felt charged.

“Speak,” the priest said, not unkindly.

I drew breath. The offering had made it seem like I had a choice.

“I accept,” I said. My voice was quiet, but it didn’t shake. “I accept this bond. I come in truth, though I do not know what waits. I offer what I am, and will not turn away.”

The priest stepped back.

He raised his arms—not dramatically, but with solemnity.

“Then the bond begins tonight. It will hold from sundown to sunrise, one full cycle of the moon. You will return here at its end, and together you shall face its conclusion—whether in parting or in passage.”

Smoke rose steadily from the brazier.

The pine needles caught. The wine was poured into twin goblets and set aside.

The room quieted again.

And across from me, Auren still hadn’t looked away.

He had chosen me. And now, I had accepted.

Even if my heart beat like a trapped bird, I could not escape the silence that followed.

The bond had begun. The priests had made their offerings. The next difficult step was on us.

The priest said no more. He stepped back, nodding once. And then, as if a current had shifted, the chamber began to change.

One by one, the young priests bowed their heads and withdrew.

Silent as smoke, they moved in slow procession toward the edge of the room and slipped through hidden doors behind the curtains.

The attendants followed, pale silks brushing the floor.

Not a word was spoken. No final prayer. No closing rite.

They simply left.

The last to remain was the high priest, his silver-edged robes trailing behind him. He looked once at Auren, then at me, and something passed between us—not approval, not pity, just a recognition. A knowing. Then he stepped through the great carved doors and closed them with deliberate care.

Auren and I were alone .

The chamber, which had seemed sacred and vast just moments ago, now felt intimate.

The walls curved inward. The lamplight softened.

I could hear every breath I took—every rustle of fabric, every slow beat of my heart.

I was aware of the silks against my skin, the oil still warm where it clung to my collarbones.

A droplet slid from my hair down the back of my neck.

I didn’t move.

Neither did Auren.

He stood across from me, one hand still resting lightly on the Bondstaff, his body half-shrouded in ritual. But something in his posture had changed. The stiffness was gone. The solemn weight had loosened.

He looked at me—and not the way he had in the stream, with challenge and mischief—but openly. Quietly.

Then, in a voice low and steady, he said, “We can go slowly. The gods aren’t the only ones who should witness you.”

My breath caught.

Something softened behind my ribs. It was not fear, not quite. But I felt like a thread had been pulled loose inside me.

Auren stepped forward, closing the distance by a single pace. The motion was simple, unadorned. It didn’t carry the flare of performance I had come to expect from him. There was no teasing. No power in the gesture, save the choice itself.

He was just a youth now.

A youth standing in a sacred room, offering not his strength, but his presence .

I reached out. Not because I knew what I was doing, but because I had to.

My hand moved before I could second-guess it, fingers brushing the edge of his seret where it folded across his chest. The fabric was heavier than I expected—woven thick with golden thread, warm from his skin. He didn’t stop me.

Auren’s hand rose in turn, catching the fine wrap at my shoulder. He moved with care, not haste. The silk slipped from my collarbone like a sigh. My skin rose where the air touched it.

We undressed each other slowly.

Not ceremonially, though it felt like a ritual. Not erotically, though there was no mistaking the heat under my skin.

It was like opening something fragile. Something wrapped for safekeeping.

The seret fell first, then the golden folds of my robe. His scarf came loose beneath my fingers, the knot tugging gently free before his hair spilled loose across his brow. I had seen his chest before, in sunlight, by the stream. But not like this. Not in the moonlight. Not with intention.

The glow lit him in bronze and shadow. The line of his shoulder, the curve of his ribs, the breath that stirred his chest—each became a detail I could not look away from.

My own skin felt too sensitive. Too new.

And still, we did not rush.

We stood bare, inches apart, the silk pooling at our feet. The altar waited behind him. I knew what it was meant for. But in this moment, there was no pressure .

Only him.

Only me.

And the space between us, narrowing, breath by breath.

Auren stepped toward me.

There was no hesitation in his stride. No teasing curve to his mouth, no flicker of that ceremonial poise he’d worn like armor. Just something solid and unmistakable—determination, barely restrained, wrapped tight around a thread of urgency I didn’t yet understand.

My breath caught.

He closed the space between us in a quiet step, and suddenly I could feel the warmth of him, closer than anyone had ever stood, close enough that our bodies brushed, whispering against each other in the stillness. I didn’t have time to speak. I didn’t have time to think.

He kissed me.

Not gently.

His mouth found mine like he’d done it a hundred times, firm and sure, his hands lifting with the same certainty to touch me. One framed the side of my jaw, his fingers a breath from trembling, the other settled low at my waist, grounding me, anchoring me to the moment.

Heat bloomed through my skin like lightning seeking purchase.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t exploratory. It was fiercely possessive in a way that set fire to something deep inside me, something I hadn’t even known was there. Auren kissed like someone who had no interest in surface things. He dove straight for the center.

And I?—

I didn’t know what to do with that.