Page 21 of Golden Bond (Pleasure Palace #1)

Chapter

Eleven

AUREN

T he scent of crushed resin lingered on my fingers as I pressed the incense into the brass bowl.

I struck the flame. A low curl of smoke lifted toward the skylight above, catching in the early rays that slipped down between the stone beams. It was still morning.

The sun had only just begun its climb, and the light in the temple was that pale, perfect gold that seemed to soften even the marble beneath our feet.

I moved slowly through my tasks, careful not to rush the rites. The prayers came easily—years of repetition had carved them into my tongue—but something about the cadence felt different now. Every syllable hummed deeper in my chest. Every step I took seemed bound to the earth.

It was the bond.

It had begun to swell inside me like warm water caught in a tide pool, rippling against the edges of my breath. Not painful. Not urgent. But present. Steady. Thick with meaning.

When I closed my eyes, I felt him. Callis.

He wasn’t here, not physically in this wing.

He’d gone early, as he often did, to scribe before the heat set in.

But I felt him nonetheless. The bond stirred beneath my sternum like a second heartbeat, a warmth that pulsed through me with no clear rhythm.

Sometimes it brushed the back of my throat when I spoke.

Sometimes it tightened gently around my ribs when I bent to light the tapers.

Sometimes it simply… waited. Holding me.

I paused at the altar, the offering bowl in hand, and let out a long breath I hadn’t meant to hold.

Callis.

Every time I thought of him now, I found myself lost in the quiet moments—the crease beside his mouth when he concentrated, the way his hair curled damply against his neck after the baths, the softness of his voice when he read aloud, halting only slightly when he came across an unfamiliar word.

He was learning so quickly. Growing into himself. Into me.

And I—I was becoming something I hadn’t known I could be.

Whole.

“Are you still among us, Thorn Auren?”

The teasing voice broke my reverie. I turned, unsurprised to find Corin leaning against the shadowed edge of the archway, arms folded across his chest. He wore his usual expression: one part affection, two parts exasperation .

I offered a mild smile. “Present and accounted for.”

Corin raised an eyebrow. “You say that, but you’re smiling at smoke.”

“Am I?” I looked back at the incense, now burning in soft, rhythmic threads. “It’s particularly fragrant this morning.”

“Mm.” He pushed off the wall and approached with a slow, knowing stride. “You’ve been drifting like this all week. Floating through your duties like you’re wrapped in clouds.”

“I’ve completed all my tasks.”

“Oh, you have.” He gave the offering bowl a glance and adjusted one of the ceremonial cloths on the altar. “Flawlessly. Efficiently. Radiantly.”

I glanced at him sidelong. “Radiantly?”

Corin’s mouth twitched. “I’m simply repeating what two acolytes said after morning chant yesterday. One of them nearly walked into a pillar watching you rearrange the scrolls.”

I laughed despite myself. “Then they’re either easily impressed or in need of stronger mentors.”

He looked at me for a moment, his expression shifting from play to something more contemplative. “You’ve always carried your bonds well, Auren. But this one… it shows.”

I didn’t answer right away. My fingers brushed the edge of the offering bowl again, grounding myself in the coolness of the metal. “It feels different,” I said at last.

Corin tilted his head. “Good different? ”

“I don’t know yet.” I turned to him fully, my voice lower.

“It’s as if the bond isn’t just settling—it’s expanding.

Filling everything. I feel him even when he isn’t near.

I feel him when I wake. When I chant. When I walk these halls.

” I paused, searching for the words. “It’s not a pull.

Not a need. It’s like the bond has taken root in me, and I’ve stopped wanting to resist it. ”

Corin’s eyes softened. “That sounds like peace.”

“It sounds like danger.”

He chuckled. “You always were dramatic.”

But I didn’t smile this time. “If I lose him—if the bond doesn’t hold, or if he leaves the island afterward—I don’t know what that will feel like. But I know what this feels like now. And I can’t lie to myself about it anymore.”

Corin placed a hand lightly on my shoulder. “Then stop lying. Just enjoy it, Auren. You have him. He’s here. Let that be enough for now.”

I nodded slowly, though the knot in my chest didn’t fully loosen.

He was right. Callis was here. Each night he came to me willingly. Each morning I woke to the weight of him beside me, his breath warm on my skin, the bond a glowing thread that wrapped around us like silk.

But there was a fragility to it, too.

Like morning dew on the petal of a flower—beautiful, perfect, and already on the verge of vanishing.

But time, as ever, was relentless.

It moved through the days like water through cupped hands—steady, unstoppable, impossible to hold.

I clung to every moment I had with him, trying to stretch the hours between rituals and meals, between moonrises and shared sleep.

But the bond swelled with each passing night, and the end of the cycle loomed just beyond the curve of the horizon.

There would come a day when Callis no longer walked beside me, no longer waited with a book in his lap and a shy smile in his eyes.

I felt it in the way the mornings grew quieter. In the way I counted them.

And I felt it here.

In the bathhouse.

Steam curled upward from the stone pools, filling the air with warmth and quiet. Lanterns flickered along the walls, casting dim halos through the mist. The day’s rites were behind us, and the world beyond the tiled archways had dissolved into stillness.

Callis sat beside me in the smaller pool, his knees drawn up slightly, arms resting along the edge. His hair was damp, curling at the ends, and his skin gleamed gold in the lamplight. Neither of us had spoken for a while. The water hummed around us with its own kind of serenity.

Then, softly, he said, “I used to sit like this back home. Just before evening rites.”

I turned to him, careful not to break the mood. “You had a bathhouse?”

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “No. A basin behind the old chapel. Rainwater collected there. We’d heat it in summer, but in winter it was freezing. Still, we used it. It was the only quiet place where no one expected you to speak. ”

There was a tenderness in his voice, like he was holding something precious in his memory. I leaned back, letting the warmth of the water soothe my limbs, and listened.

“I liked the routines,” Callis continued. “I woke at the same time every day. Copied texts by noon. Sang evening hymns. Swept the altar before the last bell. It made sense. Life was… measured.”

“You miss it.”

“I do.” He glanced at me, then looked away again. “Not because it was easy. Because I knew my place. Here…” His voice trailed off.

“Here, everything shifts,” I finished.

He nodded.

I didn’t answer at first. The bond was a steady heat between us, pulsing against my spine and pressing soft reminders into my throat. I could taste the unspoken words on his lips. I had known this about him. But hearing it aloud—this longing for the world before me—cut deeper than I expected.

I closed my eyes. “I won’t ask you to stay,” I said quietly.

Callis turned to me, brows faintly furrowed. “What?”

“I won’t bind you beyond the cycle. I know what this place is to you—a chapter. A duty fulfilled.” I looked at him now, careful to keep my voice even. “You’ve done more than was ever asked. If you choose to go, you go with my blessing.”

He stared at me, silent. Then, very softly: “But what about the bond? ”

“The bond will end with the rite. It was never a chain. Only a path.”

He sat with that. The silence stretched between us, long and strangely soft.

Then he said, “I thought… it would hold forever. That’s what it feels like.”

My throat caught. “It does.”

I wanted to tell him what it meant to me. I wanted to tell him everything. But I didn’t. Not yet.

I stood slowly, water cascading down my limbs, and reached for his hand.

“Come with me,” I said.

He blinked up at me. “Now?”

“Yes. There’s something I want to show you before the cycle ends.”

He took my hand without hesitation and followed me to dry and dress.

The stars hung low that night, close enough it felt they might catch on the rooftops as we walked.

I led him down the long southern stair, through the gate behind the eastern garden wall.

It opened onto the first curve of the city—the one few acolytes ever walked after dusk.

The path was cobbled and narrow, hemmed in by tall stone walls painted with flaking murals of the Old Cycle.

Light spilled from high, shuttered windows, casting gold onto the steps.

Callis kept pace beside me, his hand still in mine. I didn’t look at him yet.

“This is the Upper Quarter. Mostly scholars, retired priests, a few dignitaries. Their work continues even after they leave the temple. Some translate, some teach. Some spend their lives just meditating on a single phrase or prayer.”

He looked up at the buildings as we passed. Lanterns and moonstones flickered and glowed above doorways. We moved quietly between them, like threads in a broader tapestry.

“The Order believes that knowledge should be kept near the source,” I said. “So those who once served in the palace settle here, close enough to visit, far enough to rest.”

Callis smiled faintly. “They chose peace.”

“Yes. Or it chose them.”