Morning light shown on the castle, the west wing quiet. The walls there drank it in the stone damp and cold as if the castle itself feared what was done beneath it.
Amari followed Devon down the narrow passage without a word. His boots echoed in the dark, each step measuring the distance between obedience and defiance, his freedom and his cage. He still felt the hum under his skin from yesterday's battle the echo of the voice that had called him black blood but he tried to ignore it.
Devon stopped before an iron door. "Inside," he ordered .
Amari entered. The chamber beyond was wide and bare. Iron rings studded the walls. A single torch burned blue at the corners lighting the grounds, its smoke curling like a serpent.
"Remove your shirt."
Amari's hands hesitated, then obeyed. His skin caught the torchlight pale, smooth skin ripped with perfection,
Devon circled him with his scrutinizing gaze, like a scholar studying an ancient book. "Your kind were made to endure, be fast and powerful . Let's test the truth to that."
The king's blade slid free, whispering metal against leather.
The first strike was fast too fast for a mortal eye to follow. It cut a thin line across Amari's chest up to his forearm. The sting bit deep, and blood gushed out bright before it began to fade, sealing itself even as it fell.
Devon watched the healing with a small, fascinated smile. "Beautiful," he murmured. "You heal faster than any halfling I've seen,again."
He struck again. Shoulder. Arm. Side. Each wound closed before the last drop reached the floor.
Amari's breathing slowed instead of quickening, his screams echoed. The pain was sharp but distant, almost drowned out by the pulse of power within him.
Devon's eyes glinted red. "And strength?"
He moved suddenly, a blur of motion. Amari caught the next blow steel against palm — the sound ringing like thunder. Sparks flared between them. His eyes shone with a new resolve .
"Better," Devon said. He punched harder; Amari blocked back. For a heartbeat the air thickened with energy, the blue of Amari's eyes burning against the crimson in Devon's. Then Devon twisted, faster than thought, and slammed him to the ground.
The impact shook dust from the ceiling as the ground vibrated, echoing with the sound.
Pinned beneath the king's knee, Amari glared upward. The faint smell of dust filled the air; the torch sputtered.
"You're holding back," Devon said softly.
"I'm not," Amari replied, voice flat.
Devon leaned closer. "You mistake restraint for control."
His blade traced Amari's throat, the edge light but deliberate. As once again a thin line opened, and again the blood came black-red this time, shimmering like ink.
Devon watched it bead and fade, then pressed his thumb against the healing mark. "Even your blood defies nature," he said. "It refuses to obey."
He drew his thumb back and studied it the faint stain of dark crimson glistening against pale skin. Then he did something that made the air itself still he licked the blood with his tongue.
It wasn't lust it was curiosity But the act carried heat all the same that intimate violation of distance, the deliberate act crossing a line.
A shiver ran through Amari before he could stop it. Devon smiled faintly, catching it.
"Tastes like hmm an animal ," the king said. "Raw and untempered."
Amari's jaw tightened. "Are you finished experimenting?"
Devon leaned even closer, close enough that his breath brushed Amari's ear. "Not nearly dear."
For a moment neither moved. The silence between them was louder than any battle cry a silence full of threat, fascination, pain and something else neither dared name.
Then Devon rose, sheathing his sword in one fluid motion. "You heal, you endure, you resist. Excellent." He turned, cloak shifting like smoke. "Tomorrow we see what happens when you strike back."
Amari stayed on the floor until the sound of his footsteps faded. His chest still throbbed where the blade had cut, though no mark remained.
He stared at his own hands. They trembled, not from fear but from the echo of something electric that had passed between them the taste of power and danger, too close to tell apart. He almost lost control.
His experiment, he thought.
But deep inside, where the whisper once spoke, another voice stirred colder, older, and far less willing to be caged.