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Chapter Four
Marek
The midday sun gleams off the rain-streaked cobblestones of the town’s bustling square, but its warmth does nothing to soften my mood. The chatter of merchants hawking their wares mingles with the sweet aroma of roasted nuts and spiced cider. It grates against my nerves. I am in no state to appreciate any of it.
It’s been two days since Stella reluctantly agreed to Valen’s plan—a decision that came only after hours of discussion, her frustration, and ultimately, her quiet resignation. Her friend’s life was too great a weight on the scales to allow for any other choice. And though she clearly didn’t trust us entirely, the desperation in her eyes told me she didn’t feel as if she had any better options.
Since then, Valen has worked tirelessly to prepare her for the role she’ll play. He briefed her on the intricacies of the Kingdom of Swords, its history, its customs, and the expectations that come with being betrothed to the crown prince. Valen has noted how attentive and sharp she is, and although I have witnessed a bit of that myself, I’ll never admit it to him…or her.
Still, none of it loosens the tight knot of unease in my chest as we navigate the square.
As is typical when the crown prince ventures outside the palace walls and into the heart of the kingdom, I have meticulously planned our route. Uniformed guards are stationed strategically along the path while others are disguised as townspeople, blending in and keeping pace with us. This allows my attention to remain where it’s needed most—on Valen. On ensuring nothing and no one makes it past the first two lines of defense.
But my eyes are drawn, reluctantly and infuriatingly, to Stella.
One of the silk dresses I personally rushed out to purchase for her as a favor to my prince twirls around her slender ankles as she walks beside Valen. Her dark, unruly curls catch the sunlight, the strands glowing a deep, rich mahogany that only highlights her warm, russet skin. They make a striking pair, and their chemistry, fake as it may be, is undeniable. It won’t be hard to sell the story of their immediate and mutual infatuation.
She tips her head back, laughing at something Valen says, relaxed and at ease as though she’s lived here her whole life. As though she’s known him as I do.
I grit my teeth and force my gaze to sweep the crowd. She’s beautiful. I can admit that much. But beauty is often the first weapon wielded by the cunning, and I’ll not let her distract me from the task at hand.
Valen and Stella pause at a market stall filled with sparkling wares. Stella picks up a set of delicate crystal goblets, her rich brown eyes lighting up with a feigned enthusiasm. “Perfect for a toast to eternal bliss, don’t you agree, my love?,” she says, holding one up to the light. “I think they’re exquisite.”
Valen smiles down at her, looking for all the world like the besotted prince he wants them to see. “Almost as much as you, darling.” He turns to me with an infuriating glint in his eyes. “Drayk,” he calls, the teasing note in his voice daring me to play along, “isn’t my bride-to-be exquisite?”
He’s having entirely too much fun with this.
If I trusted anyone else with his safety, I’d step aside to avoid this farce. But I don’t, and I can’t, so I square my shoulders and refuse to rise to the bait.
“It’s not my place to notice such things, Your Highness. My focus is solely on protecting you.” Even if it’s from yourself.
Valen looks perfectly at ease, but I don’t trust Stella or this reckless plan. Even if her story is true—if the tales of travel between realms hold any merit—truth doesn’t mean innocence. She’s clever, that much is clear, and that makes her dangerous. Besides, beautiful or not, Stella isn’t my concern. Valen’s safety is. And I’ll be damned if I let anything compromise it.
His laugh rings out, rich and warm, a sound that never fails to stir something deep within me, no matter how irritated I am with him. “That’s all right, Captain. I’m noticing enough for the both of us.” He winks at me before returning his attention to Stella. His lips curve into a smile that sends an unwelcome tightness through my chest. “And as for the goblets, I think they’re perfect for our celebration. We’ll take them.”
The merchant beams, practically falling over himself as Valen hands over a few silver coins. He’s playing his part well, ensuring every merchant within earshot hears the crown prince’s enthusiastic participation in wedding preparations. No doubt the whispers of this performance will reach the king and queen before the sun sets.
Trailing a few steps behind, I can’t decide which emotion is louder: the jealousy that twists in my gut, the love that makes my heart ache, or the overwhelming protectiveness that drives every step I take. Valen’s laughter mingles with Stella’s, and my jaw clenches hard enough to hurt. It’s not just that Valen is pretending to court her—it’s that he seems to be enjoying it.
“Captain,” Valen calls over his shoulder, his tone light but with that subtle edge I know all too well. “What do you think? Should we go with white roses or red for the banquet hall?”
I glare at him, my mood sour enough to curdle milk. “Whatever you prefer, Your Highness.”
He arches a brow, clearly entertained by my irritation. “Oh, come now, don’t be shy. Your opinion matters greatly to me.”
“Yes, Captain Drayk,” Stella adds, “please weigh in. Should we go with white roses for purity”—Stella turns to me, her eyes sparkling as she steps closer and lowers her voice for just the three of us—“or would red for passion be more to your tastes?”
The image her words conjure slams into me. White and red roses dissolve into flashes of her tangled in silk sheets, her curls spilling over Valen’s chest as my hands grip her hips. The heat of their bodies, the pull of her lips, the thought of all three of us—
Godsdamn it. I cut the thought off and lock it away before it can spiral any further. My fists tighten at my sides, the frustration at my own arousal burning hotter than anything else. She must indeed be a sorceress, for now she’s bewitching us both.
“Neither,” I grumble. Crossing my arms, I glare at them. “I think black suits the occasion best.”
Stella’s laughter is soft, teasing, and it does nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. Valen’s grin widens, his amusement clear as he exchanges a glance with her before turning his focus back on me. “Well, it’s good to know where you stand.”
We continue through the market, Valen and Stella falling easily back into their playful banter while I stew in silence. Every smile they share feels like a dagger, every laugh a twist of the blade. I keep my focus on the task—watching for threats, ensuring their safety—but no amount of vigilance can drown out the gnawing thoughts in my mind.
It’s been only a few days since we began this charade, and yet Valen is playing the part of a smitten prince far too convincingly. Too easily. I’ve seen him charm nobles and dignitaries and slip into roles as effortlessly as breathing, but this is different. The warmth in his eyes when he looks at her, the way he leans into her laughter—it doesn’t feel like acting.
He hasn’t responded to anyone like this in years. Not since us. I know Valen better than anyone, and even I can’t tell if it’s an elaborate performance or if Stella has truly bewitched him in a matter of days.
My mood darkens as we near my cottage. By the time the golden light of the setting sun filters through the trees, I can barely appreciate its beauty.
Valen leads Stella into the sitting room while I linger near the door. I cross my arms and watch him gesture for her to sit in my usual chair in front of the hearth. The sight only fuels my irritation. That chair is mine—my sanctuary after long days of ensuring his safety, of protecting the very kingdom he will one day rule. Now it’s just another part of this farce.
He crouches and starts a fire, the warmth of the flames chasing away the chill that comes with dusk. Straightening, he turns to me, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You’ve been pouting all day, Drayk. It’s unbecoming.”
“I’ve been doing my job,” I counter. “Not all of us have the luxury of gallivanting around town without a care in the world.”
“Gallivanting? Is that what you call it?” Valen’s smirk only fans the flames of my displeasure.
I open my mouth to retort, but before I can get a word out, he steps closer, the curve of his lips deepening. “I think it’s time we address your attitude, Captain.”
My spine stiffens, my arms tightening across my chest. “Address my—”
“Stella,” Valen interrupts, “would you care to see how I discipline the captain?”
Surprise brightens her features before it’s quickly replaced by a glint of mischief. “Oh, absolutely.”
“Excellent,” he says as he removes his shirt, the muscles of his chest and shoulders catching the firelight. He tosses it over the other wingback that we treat as a makeshift throne, if only because I love to kneel at his feet when he sits there. “Then make yourself comfortable, my lady, and enjoy the show.” Valen’s attention shifts back to me, his gaze sharpening, commanding. “Remove your clothes, please.”
“Valen—” I begin to protest.
He arches a thick brow, not in challenge but genuine curiosity. “Are you telling me no, Marek?”
Our relationship is far from conventional. It’s a dynamic forged in trust, devotion, and boundaries we respect implicitly. The depths of our desires—the way we explore power, submission, and love—might make many uncomfortable, but it’s ours. And one of the most sacred rules between us is that either of us can refuse, no questions asked. A simple “no” is all it takes to halt everything.
The tension in the room thickens as I hesitate. My pride wars with the deep, unshakable need to obey him. And there’s something else now. Something unexpected and new. A desire for Stella to bear witness to the love I have for this magnificent man, the lengths to which I will go to serve him, to worship him, to suffer for him.
At last, I swallow hard, the battle within me resolving. I lower my gaze for a moment, not in submission but to steady myself, then meet his eyes again. “No, my prince, I’m not.”
Valen studies me carefully, his instincts with me honed well enough to detect the faintest hint of dishonesty. I hold his gaze confidently, letting him see the truth in my eyes, the trust, the devotion.
Finally, he nods. “Then do as I commanded, and approach me.”
Stella stirs in her chair. Her curiosity is evident, and the heat of her attention swirls at the base of my spine.
I undress, quick and efficient as I’ve already pushed Valen’s patience enough for one day. As I strip off each piece of clothing, the warmth of the firelight brushes over my bare skin, licking at the most sensitive places. The heat within me intensifies with the prickling awareness of Stella’s gaze, the hiss of the flames, and, most of all, the magnetic pull of Valen. He’s devastating like this, his lean, muscular frame illuminated by the firelight. His golden skin seems to glow, every line of his body sculpted and precise.
I cross the room to stand between the chairs, facing the fireplace. My heart pounds, the rhythm echoing in my ears, vibrating beneath my skin.
“You know what to do,” Valen says casually.
Before I’ve fully processed the command, my knees hit the floor. It’s automatic, driven by years of trust and practice.
My hands clasp behind my back, and I lower my gaze, the familiar blend of humiliation and arousal burning through me. Every nerve is alive, every sensation heightened as Valen steps closer.
His hand grips my chin, and he forces my head up until my eyes meet his. His expression is unreadable at first, but then it softens just enough to send a shiver down my spine.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. The words alone make my pulse race, my body responding to the praise with a heat that burns low and deep. “Now, let’s show Stella one of my favorite forms of discipline, shall we?”
I don’t dare move when he walks away—not even my eyes stray from the empty space where he stood a moment ago—but I don’t need to see him to know what’s happening. The creak of the wooden toy chest’s lid fills the air, and I know exactly where he’s gone.
That chest holds a collection of implements—tools designed for both pleasure and pain, depending on Valen’s mood. The click of the lid latching and the thud of his boots on the floorboards as he returns send a ripple of anticipation through me. My breathing quickens, my body betraying me as I steel myself for whatever comes next.
“This,” Valen begins, still out of my line of sight, his voice laced with wicked satisfaction, “should help adjust his attitude rather nicely.”
Stella’s quiet gasp sends a fresh wave of heat through me, but I keep my gaze forward, my posture rigid. “What is that?”
Valen steps into view. There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes as he reveals the hollow metal implement no more than four inches in length. I suck in a breath and curse my growing cock, knowing it’s going to make this particular punishment even more intense.
Valen notices immediately, his grin widening into something devilish and victorious. “This, my dear Stella,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine, “is a chastity cage.”