Page 13 of Golden Bond (Pleasure Palace #1)

Chapter

Six

CALLIS

T he palace changed on the walk back.

It wasn’t the corridors themselves—they were still lined in cool marble, still bathed in the amber hush of lanternlight—but something in how they opened before us.

We didn’t pass through the servant halls or outer courts.

We turned inward. Up. Toward a wing that shimmered with old wealth and the hush of closed doors. I recognized none of it.

Auren walked beside me but didn’t speak much. His gait was smooth, measured. No longer the boy from the stream, no longer the lover from the altar. Just poised. Distant. As though every movement had been polished in advance.

He led me through an arched corridor of rose-tinted stone where the floor gleamed like honey.

The air smelled of jasmine and a finer kind of incense, more resinous, more rare.

A pair of robed attendants waited outside a carved wooden door with brass inlays, and when Auren nodded, they stepped forward to open it for us.

The moment we crossed the threshold, the hush deepened.

It was unlike any space I had ever seen.

Soft light poured from the moonstones. The chambers weren’t just rooms; they were arrangements.

A sunken lounge with velvet seats and brass-lipped tables.

A domed bathing alcove tiled in blues and golds.

A writing desk, curved and gleaming, tucked beneath a high window overlooking the southern cliffs.

And in the center of it all, a bed, low, broad, and crowned in silks so fine they looked like mist. Everything glowed.

My chest tightened.

“This is yours now,” Auren said, not looking at me. “Our rooms. Your chest is there.”

He gestured toward a lacquered trunk near the lounge.

I spotted my things stacked neatly inside: the tunic I’d arrived in, my half-finished copy of the poems of Virelan, a small bundle of notes, temple scrolls, and a clean change of robes.

Folded by unfamiliar hands. Touched by strangers. Still, it anchored me.

“I didn’t expect all of this,” I said quietly.

Auren gave a small shrug. “It’s common for those bonded beneath full rites.”

I stepped further into the room, letting my fingers graze a velvet armrest. It was impossibly soft, like touching the inside of a peach. The silk canopy above the bed caught a breeze from the open window and stirred like breath.

Auren walked ahead of me and poured water into a pair of glasses from a sculpted pitcher near the bed. He handed me one without meeting my gaze.

“Meals are held on the hour in the inner refectory. You can eat in the chambers if you prefer. The schedule will be brought tomorrow. Most days begin with the dawn bell, followed by morning devotion, then instruction or assigned duties. The bathhouse is yours to use at will. The western pool is quieter.”

I listened, but the words barely registered. My mind was caught on the way he stood, shoulders tense, neck stiff. His voice had no edge, no cruelty. But it was cool. Measured. As though the warmth of before had been part of the ritual and not the man.

I looked at him.

“You don’t have to explain everything tonight,” I said, trying to keep my voice level.

He hesitated. “No, but it’s better if you know.”

Auren drank from his glass and turned toward the window. His profile was silver-edged in the low light, the same moonlight that had touched his skin hours ago when we were wrapped together and trembling.

Now, he stood like someone who’d locked that version of himself away.

We drank the rest of the water in silence. Not tense, not cold—just quiet in the way of two people suddenly unsure what to do with shared space once the ceremonial veil had been lifted.

Auren lingered by the window, his gaze fixed outward toward something I couldn’t see. The sea, perhaps. Or the moon. Or nothing at all.

I watched him.

The memory of his hands on me was still fresh—so fresh it made my breath catch when I looked too long. The way he had moved. The way he had held me, not as a duty but as a choice. I hadn’t expected it to feel like that.

And yet here he was now, the same man, standing at a distance I didn’t know how to cross.

I turned away, set my cup down beside his, and wandered deeper into the room.

My fingers skimmed the silk draped at the edge of the bed.

Beneath it, a mattress so thick it looked like it might swallow me whole.

Beyond it, wide doors led to a bathing chamber, and beyond that, the dressing alcove—where my new garments had been folded and arranged, one beside the other in hues of deep ochre and pale bronze.

It was too much. Too sudden. All of it.

But more than that… I could feel it.

The bond.

It wasn’t a sound. Not a scent. Not even a pressure on the skin. But something was threading through me—subtle and persistent, like the low hum of a plucked string still vibrating. Like something alive that lived just beneath the ribs.

It was connection.

Tether.

Pull.

Caedin had said I would feel it. That it would be like a touch I couldn’t name. That it would confuse me. It did. It confused everything.

Because it was there—undeniable—and yet, Auren’s silence felt like a closed door.

I turned toward him again.

He was undressing.

Not deliberately. Not sensually. Just unfastening his seret at the shoulder, the motion clean and practiced, revealing the smooth slope of his collarbone and the long line of his chest as the garment slipped away.

The rest came next—his belt, the golden wrap around his hips, each layer peeled away until he stood in nothing but the soft fabric underlayer tied low at his waist.

He moved toward the bed, casual in his grace, but I felt it like a blow.

My mouth went dry.

I didn’t understand how want could feel like that—how it could strike all at once, fierce and dizzying, just from the sight of someone slipping free of silk. My skin felt hot. My breath shallow. I told myself it was the bond. The magic. A trick of the ritual still lingering in my blood.

But I didn’t believe it.

It wasn’t just the bond. It was him.

He sat on the edge of the bed, back straight, then leaned over slightly to unlace the guards at his ankles. His silver hair spilled forward, and I stared like a fool, every nerve in my body pulled taut.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t seem to notice the way my fingers curled against the velvet armrest.

And maybe that was what made it worse .

I wanted him to look.

I wanted him to say something. Anything. To explain what I had done wrong. Or right. Or what I was supposed to be now that I had been taken, touched, seen.

Instead, he pulled the bedding aside and slid beneath it without a word.

I stood there too long, unsure what to do with my hands. Or my thoughts.

The room was still warm from the day. My skin prickled faintly, like it remembered every place Auren had touched. The silk at my shoulder felt suddenly suffocating.

I reached up and unfastened the clasp.

The outer robe slipped away first, pooling soft around my ankles. I let it fall. The inner layers followed—slow, uncertain. I folded them, though my fingers trembled, and laid them gently over the low bench near the foot of the bed. The air kissed my bare skin and sent a ripple down my spine.

I hadn’t expected to feel this awake.

Not jittery, not frightened. Just… brimmed.

Like something had been poured into me and had nowhere to go.

My thoughts came sharp and fast, and every inch of my body felt tuned too high.

My fingertips tingled. My chest rose a little too quick.

I could hear myself, hear the warmth moving across my skin from the inside.

It wasn’t arousal—not exactly. Or maybe it was, in a way I didn’t have words for.

But it was more than that. A humming, golden restlessness.

A kind of need I hadn’t known how to imagine until tonight .

Auren lay still, his back toward me, the fine sheet draped low around his hips. The muscles of his back rose and fell with each slow breath. His silver hair caught the moonlight from the high window. He didn’t look asleep—but he didn’t speak, either. Didn’t move.

I stood there a moment longer, bare in the lamplight, watching him.

And I thought—If I touched him now… would he become that other Auren again? The one from the altar?

The one who trembled when our mouths broke apart, who held my hips as if his hands were praying.

I wanted that boy back.

Even if it was just a moment. Even if it was only physical. If that was the part he knew how to give, I would take it. Gladly. I didn’t need kindness. Not now. I just needed him to see me again.

I wanted to ask.

But the words clung to the back of my throat, wet and unwelcome.

I climbed into bed without them.

The sheets were cool. The mattress beneath me softer than anything I’d ever known.

I eased onto my side, careful not to brush against him.

The space between our bodies felt impossibly wide.

My skin ached in the silence, as if my whole body were listening—waiting for a sound, a breath, a turn of his shoulder. Anything.

But Auren didn’t move.

I closed my eyes, pretending I could fall asleep just like that. Pretending I wasn’t aching .

Pretending I didn’t want to be touched again.

Not taken.

Not used.

Just seen.

The bond curled faintly inside me, quiet now, but present.

I pulled the sheet over my hip and lay still, hoping he might turn to face me. Hoping I might find the boy from the altar again, just once more, before morning.

But the hush stayed unbroken.

And slowly, without meaning to, I drifted down into the dark.

The light came pale and early, filtering through the sheer canopy and the high windows beyond. A hush still clung to the rooms, broken only by the faint crackle of something warm being kept beneath a silver dome.

I stirred, disoriented for a breath—then remembered the softness beneath me. The room. The silk. Him.

Auren was already up.

He stood near the open window, fully dressed in a simple tunic of soft grey. The seret was folded neatly over one shoulder, secured with a gold clasp I hadn’t seen before. The morning light rimmed his form in silver.

He turned when he heard me shift.

For just a second, his shoulders tensed.

Then he gave a small nod. “Good morning.”

I sat up slowly, adjusting the sheet to cover myself. “Morning. ”

“There’s food,” he said, gesturing to a low carved table in the sitting area. “Bread, cheese, fruit. The kitchens send fresh trays at dawn.”

He didn’t say you should eat. He said there is food. Like a servant might mention towels or weather. But his voice was kind, if a little stiff.

I rose, wrapped myself in the soft robe folded at the foot of the bed, and splashed water from the basin near the bath alcove to wash my face. The cold woke me completely. By the time I joined him, Auren had already pulled out a second cushion for me to sit on.

We ate in quiet.

The bread was warm, dusted lightly with seed and salt. The fruit had been peeled and sliced—figs, persimmons, pieces of early plum so ripe they stained my fingertips. A small bowl of honey glistened beside them. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.

Auren took his time chewing. Watching, but not unkindly.

When I reached for another piece of bread, he finally spoke. “You’re free from formal duties today. The rite allows a period of rest and adjustment. But you’re encouraged to attend training sessions if you want. The morning group gathers in the northern colonnade.”

I swallowed and dabbed my fingers. “Thank you.”

A small pause.

Then, gently: “Would I be allowed to continue my temple work?”

His brows lifted slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I used to copy scrolls,” I said. “Mostly theology, sometimes historical record. I liked it. And I’d like to keep studying. I miss the rhythm of it. The clarity.”

He didn’t answer at once.

I saw it—a pause, subtle but visible. His gaze dropped faintly, the corner of his mouth tensed. Not displeasure. Not quite confusion either. Just… thought.

I wondered if I’d asked wrong.

But then he nodded. “Yes. If you want that, I’ll speak to the head archivist. The Scriptorium has openings, and your record will show the work you’ve done. They’ll accept you.”

I smiled before I could stop myself. “Thank you. I—I think it’ll help. I’ve always liked mythology. Especially the older cycles.”

Auren gave a soft sound—acknowledgment, maybe approval. But whatever else flickered in his eyes, he didn’t voice it.

We finished breakfast with only a few more words. Not cold. Not warm either. Like we were both still waiting to see what we were allowed to be now.

When he stood to dress for the day, I watched the fold of his tunic catch the breeze—and wondered, again, if I’d said something wrong. Or if, perhaps, I’d simply asked for something he hadn’t expected me to want.