The King's Pet

Chapter 17

. ..𓂃 ྐ❤︎ 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 ´ཀ'

Bruce stood towering over Lucas, who knelt on the plush carpet, his figure draped in the finest silk garments he had provided. It was a sight that would have pleased any other man, but not Bruce, not now.

Lucas's head was bowed, his blonde hair falling like a curtain over his eyes, hiding the defiance Bruce knew simmered beneath. Lucas should have been in bed, resting in luxury befitting his royal blood, not here on his knees, caught in an attempt to flee from his grasp.

With a sigh, Bruce grabbed the pitcher and poured the cold water over Lucas, the water splashing over Lucas's bowed head. He didn't flinch, even as the icy streams trickled down his sculpted back.

"Please, Master Bruce," Lucas, whispered softly. "I didn't mean to-"

"Silence," He commanded, his voice as cold as the water drenching him. "Do not speak."

"Now, I want you to stand up".

Lucas rose slowly, the silk sticking to his body like a second skin, outlining every form and every muscle. As Bruce reached out, his fingers grazing his jawline, he felt Lucas's skin. It was like ice, and yet there was an electric charge between them. His pulse-faint but unmistakable-throbbed beneath his touch.

Bruce's touch, seemed to bring back the memories of last night which evoked fear and rage within Lucas which lead him to speak up.

"I will not be caged."

Bruce stepped closer, his shadow falling over him. "You think you can just escape, Lucas?" He asked, his tone harsh and dripping with mockery. "You, who have been given the very best of everything within these walls?"

His crimson eyes met his, and for a moment, Bruce hesitated. "I am not a bird to be kept in your gilded cage, Bruce," he retorted.

He could feel the anger boiling inside him, not just at his attempted escape, but at the fact that he dared to challenge him. "You are here because I allow it," Bruce said, his words sharp as the knives in his collection. "Do not mistake my generosity for weakness."

Lucas's jaw clenched, and he looked away, his gaze settling on the distant horizon visible through the window. "Your generosity?" he scoffed. "You call this generosity?"

Bruce moved to stand in front of the window, blocking his view of the freedom he so desired. "Yes," He said firmly. "You have a bed that kings would envy, clothes that would turn nobles green with jealousy, and yet you choose to spurn them."

Lucas was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, but no less determined. "I do not want your luxury, Bruce. I want my freedom."

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