Taste of ecstasy

Chapter 46

-:𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭...𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭...𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 𝘒𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯'𝘴. 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦. 𝘓𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘰𝘯. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵. 𝘒𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭.:-

The chill hit him first.

A breath too cold. The air was sharp, heavy with stone and ash. Magnus's eyes flew open as pain flared in his spine, wrists, and ankles raw and bound in thick, enchanted iron cuffs. He tried to move his limbs trembled, bones sore but the chains had little give. He lay splayed on dark marble, his bare skin kissed by a malevolent cold that reached deep into his gut, where a flickering warmth still pulsed his child. His hand twitched toward his belly instinctively, but the binds pulled taut. His heart stuttered when he looked down. His clothes gone. His skin was bare under the palace torchlight that guttered above, shadows crawling along the walls of some vast chamber carved from obsidian and ruin. Ancient columns stretched high, vines dead and dry around them, and somewhere faintly, water trickled a cruel mockery of peace.

And then... a door opened. The scent reached him first. Smoke and rot. Burned myrrh and bloodied steel.

Killian entered. Magnus's stomach lurched as he recognised the outline of the man bare, cloaked only in shadow. His feet were silent against the stone, and his eyes glowed with a fevered hunger and... frustration. Killian stopped several paces away, jaw clenched, eyes raking over Magnus's restrained body but something was wrong. His gaze wasn't triumphant. It was wild. Frustrated. Confused. "You are supposed to be mine," Killian rasped, voice low, almost broken with a twisted sort of longing. "You were made for me." He moved closer. Magnus pulled back despite the iron around his limbs. Killian dropped to his knees beside him. Magnus's pulse roared in his ears. Killian's fingers brushed his skin along the hip bone and recoiled, hissing.

"You are rejecting me," Killian snarled, his voice trembling with rage and disbelief. "Your little fairy body is rejecting my touch, darling. Why?" He leaned closer, his breath harsh against Magnus's cheek. "I fucking waited years to be inside this beautiful body... To take what was always mine." He gripped Magnus's jaw roughly, forcing his eyes up to meet his. "What have you done, Magnus? Huh?" Killian hissed. "What kind of witchery did they use on you?" Magnus's voice cracked from the dryness in his throat, but his words came out steady, defiant, "You will never touch me. You never truly did."

Killian laughed, but it was hollow.

"There is a bond on you. Old blood magic. Royal." He traced the invisible lines over Magnus's belly, hovering inches from skin, sneering as his hand twitched back again from the invisible force that burned him. "Who did this? Who claimed you? That uptight king of yours?" His voice broke into a growl. "I should have killed him when I had the chance." Magnus didn't answer, only stared, sweat forming at his temples, fear licking like ice down his spine. But he felt it even now his bond, still whole. His king. Somewhere far away but burning strong.

Killian stood, pacing, mind unraveling. "This doesn't change anything," he muttered. "You are here. I have time. I will find the Cup. I will undo this." He turned back, eyes gleaming with menace. "You and I, Magnus we are not finished. Not until I say so."

Magnus sat shivering, knees pulled as close to his chest as the chains would allow. The iron cuffs dug in raw against skin already marked by hours of restraint. But he had long since stopped feeling the pain in his limbs. His focus narrowed to one thing only endure. The stone walls whispered now. They remembered his screams. They remembered the way he willed his body not to break when Killian entered again. Every hour, Killian returned, circling like a vulture, growing more volatile by the day. His patience wore thinner. And Magnus? He endured. That evening, Killian emerged from the shadows once more. No guards. No ceremony. Just the suffocating presence of the man who believed he could still claim him.