Chapter 2: The Public Reveal
The coffee was rich and bitter on Will’s tongue, a grounding contrast to the sweet, floating sensation that had taken root in his chest. He finished the cup, his movements careful, hyper-aware of Luke’s gaze tracking every swallow. The prince leaned against the table, utterly at ease, finishing his own drink.
“Right,” Luke said, setting his cup down with a definitive click. “The gardens are perfect this morning. Go on. Get your shoes. The ones by the door.”
Will padded to the chamber door, finding his own simple, worn boots placed neatly beside Luke’s polished ones. He sat on a low bench to pull them on, the linen of the borrowed tunic riding up his thighs. He could feel Luke watching the length of his legs, the curve of his spine as he bent. The attention was a physical touch.
“You’ll need this, too.” Luke approached, holding out a light, grey summer cloak. It was fine wool, expensive but unadorned. Will stood and let Luke swing it around his shoulders. The prince’s fingers deftly fastened the clasp at his throat, right over the obsidian collar. The gesture was utilitarian, but his knuckles brushed Will’s skin, lingering for a heartbeat. “To keep off the breeze. You’re still new to the palace’s microclimates.”
They left the bedchamber, the heavy door sighing shut behind them. The corridor outside was a shock of sound and light after the muted sanctuary. Morning sun streamed through tall windows, illuminating floating motes of dust. Servants moved with efficient quiet, carrying linens or trays. Their eyes dipped in respect as Luke passed, but Will felt their fleeting, curious glances like pinpricks on his skin. The cloak’s high neck did little to hide the collar; the dark band and the sapphire’s glint were unmistakable against his throat.
Luke’s hand settled on the small of Will’s back, a warm, guiding pressure. It was proprietary, but also steadying. “Breathe,” he murmured, leaning close as they descended a grand staircase. “They’re looking because you’re with me. And because you’re beautiful. Not because of the collar.”
“They can see it,” Will whispered back, his shoulders tight.
“I want them to.” Luke’s tone was unshakable. “It’s part of you now.”
The palace gardens unfurled before them, a breathtaking tapestry of order and riotous color. The air here was different—damp, green, and perfumed with a thousand blossoms. Gravel paths crunched under their boots, leading between hedges sculpted into fantastical shapes. In the distance, a marble fountain sparkled, its central statue of some ancient god pouring an endless stream of water from an urn. The sound was a constant, gentle whisper beneath the chirp of birds.
Luke guided them off the main path, onto a narrower track bordered by explosions of lavender and rosemary. The scent was calming. Will felt some of the tension leak from his shoulders, replaced by simple wonder. He’d seen the gardens from afar, but walking through them, with Luke, was another world entirely.
“It’s incredible,” Will said, his voice hushed.
“It’s a living chessboard,” Luke replied, a hint of dry humor in his voice. “Every plant is a pawn, placed for maximum aesthetic effect. My great-grandmother’s doing. She had… opinions on geometry.”
He stopped by a bank of climbing roses, their petals a deep, velvety crimson. He plucked one, carefully avoiding the thorns, and turned to Will. With a deliberate slowness, he tucked the stem behind Will’s ear, his fingers brushing his temple. “There. Now you match.”
Will smiled, a genuine, soft thing. For a moment, it was just them. The prince and the commoner in a bubble of sun and scent.
The bubble popped with the sound of approaching voices—light, chattering, courtly laughter rounding a corner of tall yew hedge.
A group of three courtiers, two women and a man, all in the latest silks, came into view. They were deep in conversation but fell silent as they registered Luke. Their bows and curtsies were fluid, practiced.
“Your Highness,” the man, Lord something-or-other Will could never remember, said with a polished smile. His eyes flickered to Will, taking in the simple tunic, the cloak, the rose. They lingered on his throat. The man’s smile didn’t waver, but something in his eyes calcified. Judgment, neatly contained.
“Galen,” Luke nodded, his hand slipping from Will’s back to curl possessively around his waist. His thumb rubbed a small circle through the fabric of the tunic. “Ladies. Enjoying the air?”
“Attempting to, Your Highness,” one of the women said, her voice like chiming glass. “Though the sun is rather strong today.” Her gaze, bold and assessing, swept over Will as if he were a new piece of garden statuary. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced to your… companion.”
Luke’s grip tightened, just for a second. Not painful. Reassuring. “This is Will Tarnor.” No title. No explanation. Just a name, placed before them like a fact.
Will felt his face heat. He managed a small, stiff nod. “Hello.”
“The singer,” the other woman said, her tone suggesting she’d just recalled a mildly interesting piece of trivia. “From the lower city festivals. I heard you once. You have a certain… rustic charm.”
It was a masterfully backhanded compliment. Will’s throat closed. He felt about two inches tall, a dressed-up peasant with a borrowed rose and a stolen collar.
Then Luke laughed. It was a warm, easy sound that cut through the tension. “Rustic charm. I’ll have to remember that one.” He squeezed Will’s side. “Will’s voice doesn’t need gilded halls to be beautiful. It rather defies containment, don’t you think?” He said it to Will, not to them, his silver eyes soft with a private pride.
The courtiers murmured polite, empty agreement. The unspoken words hung in the fragrant air: But what is he, really, to you? And what is that around his neck?
Luke seemed utterly unconcerned with their unspoken questions. “If you’ll excuse us, the fountain calls. Good day.”
He guided Will past them, his pace unhurried. Will kept his eyes forward, feeling their stares drilling into his back long after the hedge obscured them. His heart was pounding again, a sickly, humiliated flutter.
“Breathe,” Luke commanded softly, once they were out of earshot. They reached the fountain. The sound of the water was louder here, a cool, masking rush. Luke led him to a stone bench partially hidden by a weeping willow, its trailing leaves creating a dappled green curtain. “Sit.”
Will sat. Luke remained standing before him, blocking the view from the path. He hooked a finger under Will’s chin. “Look at me.”
Will dragged his eyes up.
“What did you feel just then?”
“Small,” Will whispered. “Judged. Like I was… a curiosity. A pet on display.” He said the last word with a flinch, but it was the truth.
Luke nodded, as if this were a perfectly expected answer. “Good. You’re learning to name it. Now, listen to me. Their opinion is worth less than the gravel under your boot. They trade in whispers and status because they have nothing else. You have a gift that moves people. You have my devotion. You wear my mark.” He tapped the collar once, firmly. “You are not small. You are mine. And that makes you the most powerful person in any room they could ever hope to enter.”
The words were absolute. They didn’t erase the sting, but they layered something else over it—a fierce, defiant warmth. Will leaned into the touch on his chin.
“What if they talk?” Will asked.
“Let them.” Luke’s smile turned sharp, almost predatory. “Let every rumor, every whispered speculation, only confirm what they already suspect. That you are cherished. That you are kept. That you belong to the Crown Prince in every way he sees fit. It’s a shield, Will. Not a shackle.”
He lowered himself to one knee on the gravel, putting them at eye level. It was a shock, this prince kneeling before a commoner on a garden path. He took Will’s hands in his. “The test isn’t about ignoring their stares. It’s about feeling them, and choosing to hold my gaze instead. About knowing your worth is defined here,” he placed Will’s hand over the collar, “and here,” he placed Will’s other hand over his own heart. “Not in their empty eyes.”
Tears blurred Will’s vision. He blinked them back, a shaky breath leaving him. He tightened his fingers over the cool obsidian and the steady beat under Luke’s shirt. The humiliated flutter began to quiet, replaced by a slow, solid certainty.
Luke stood, brushing a bit of gravel from his knee. “Now. Are you ready to walk back? There’s a diplomat from the Southern Reach I have to intimidate before lunch, and I’d like you at my side while I do it. Let him see what true beauty looks like.”
Will took a deep, steadying breath of lavender-scented air. He stood, adjusting the rose behind his ear. He met Luke’s eyes and, for the first time since leaving the bedchamber, he smiled without a trace of fear. “Yes.”
As they walked back along the path, Luke’s hand once again a brand on his waist, Will held his head a little higher. The collar felt less like a target and more like a declaration. When they passed a pair of gardeners who stopped their work to bow, Will didn’t look away. He simply nodded, a prince’s companion acknowledging his due.
Back in the sun-drenched corridor leading to the council wing, the atmosphere shifted. The air was cooler, smelling of stone and old parchment. The servants here moved with a different urgency.
Luke slowed his pace, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper near Will’s ear. “The Southern Reach envoy is a stuffy old windbag who thinks music is for taverns. He’ll probably ignore you completely. Which will be his mistake.”
“What do you want me to do?” Will asked, the ‘you’ deliberate.
“Just stand there. Look devastating. Let the collar speak for me.” Luke’s eyes glinted. “And if he’s rude, I’ll have him dismissed, and you can sing for me instead in the bath. A private concert.”
The promise, casually tossed out, sent a thrill down Will’s spine. The public walk, the encounter with the courtiers, it had all been a prelude. A calibration. He was learning the steps to this new, intricate dance.
Luke paused outside a set of tall, carved oak doors. He turned Will to face him, his hands coming up to cradle his face. He kissed him, there in the semi-public corridor, a firm, claiming press of lips. “My beautiful pet,” he murmured against his mouth. “Ready?”
Will felt the eyes of the guards flanking the doors, the passing clerk who averted his gaze a second too late. He felt the weight of the world and the unbreakable hold of the man in front of him.
He was, he realized, exactly where he was meant to be.
“Ready,” Will said.
And as Luke pushed the doors open, Will followed, the rustle of his cloak and the quiet chime of the sapphire against the obsidian collar the only sounds marking his passage into the prince’s world, fully and finally.
And as Luke pushed the doors open, Will followed, the rustle of his cloak and the quiet chime of the sapphire against the obsidian collar the only sounds marking his passage into the prince’s world, fully and finally.
The meeting with the Southern Reach envoy was a dull blur of trade tariffs and posturing. Will stood slightly behind Luke’s chair, as instructed. He focused on the steady weight of the collar and the prince’s sharp profile. The envoy, a man with a beard like a thicket of grey wire, never once looked at him. Luke’s hand, resting on the arm of his chair, would occasionally tap a single, slow beat. A silent message only Will understood: I know you’re there.
Later, back in the labyrinthine hallways, Luke let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Gods, I need a drink that isn’t watered-down politeness.” He slung an arm around Will’s shoulders, pulling him close. “You were perfect. A serene, beautiful statue. Drove him mad, I could tell.”
“He never even glanced my way,” Will said, leaning into the embrace.
“Exactly. The effort it took him not to look was the whole point.” Luke chuckled, steering them toward their wing. “His loss. I get to look all I want.”
The royal bedchamber welcomed them back into its dim, sandalwood silence. Luke bolted the door, the heavy thunk a sound of profound relief. He shrugged off his own formal jacket, tossing it over a chair. “Cloak,” he said, his voice now softer, a private tone.
Will fumbled with the clasp, his fingers less adept than Luke’s had been. The prince watched, patient, until the grey wool pooled at Will’s feet. “Better,” Luke murmured. He stepped close, his fingers tracing the line of the collar, then slipping beneath it to feel Will’s pulse. “Your heart is finally slowing down.”
“It’s quieter here,” Will whispered.
“It’s ours here.” Luke kissed him, deep and unhurried, a reclaiming of the space and the air between them. When he pulled back, his silver eyes held a new, speculative light. “You did so well today. In the garden, with those vipers. In that stuffy room. You trusted me.”
“I do,” Will said, the truth of it simple and solid.
“Good.” Luke’s smile was a slow curve. “Then it’s time for a proper reward. And a proper lesson.” He took Will’s hand, leading him not toward the bed, but to a sleek, darkwood cabinet against the far wall. Will hadn’t paid it much mind before; it blended with the other opulent furniture.
Luke produced a small key from a chain around his own neck. He unlocked the cabinet door. It opened without a sound.
Inside, arranged on shelves of deep blue velvet, was a collection of objects. They were made of polished wood, brushed steel, and what looked like black silicone. Their shapes were clean, intentional, some baffling, others instinctively understood. The air from the cabinet smelled faintly of almond oil and something else, sterile and new.
Will’s breath caught. He knew what this was, conceptually, but the reality was a silent, physical presence.
“This isn’t a dungeon,” Luke said quietly, his gaze on Will’s face, reading every flicker of emotion. “It’s a toolbox. For us.” He reached in and lifted out a pair of cuffs. They were wide, lined with soft grey fleece, the buckles polished steel. “These are for your wrists. When I want you still. When I want you to feel the restraint as a comfort, not a punishment.”
He set them in Will’s hands. They were heavier than they looked. The fleece was incredibly soft.
“And this,” Luke said, selecting a long, tapered wand of dark wood, smooth as a river stone, “is for sensation. Just pressure, at first. To trace lines. To map your skin.” He guided the cool, rounded tip over the back of Will’s hand, up his forearm. A shiver followed in its wake.
Will’s heart was speeding up again, but the panic from the garden was absent. This was a different kind of nervousness, threaded with a sharp, undeniable curiosity.
Luke put the wand back and picked up a different item. It was a series of interconnected silicone rings, smooth and pliable. “This is for you,” he said, his voice dropping. “For when I want to see you, and feel you, and know that every shudder is because of my touch on your cock.” He let the meaning hang, watching Will’s hazel eyes widen.
The final item he removed was not intimidating at all. It was a simple, fat glass bottle with a porcelain pump. “Oil,” Luke explained, a lighter note returning to his voice. “Jojoba and lavender. Nothing clinical. It should smell like peace, and my hands on you.”
He placed the bottle on top of the cabinet, then took the cuffs from Will’s limp hands. He returned everything to its velvet nest, leaving the door open. The array sat there, neither threatening nor benign. Simply present.
“These are promises, Will,” Luke said, turning him gently to face the mirrored ceiling. He stood behind him, a solid wall of warmth, and met his gaze in the reflection. His hands settled on Will’s shoulders. “The cuff is a promise that I will keep you safe. The wand is a promise I will learn every part of you. The ring is a promise I will worship every pleasure you have. They are extensions of my will. And my will is to cherish you.”
Will stared at their reflection—the prince in his shirtsleeves, himself in the borrowed tunic, the dark band around his throat the anchor point. The toys in the open cabinet gleamed dully.
“You’re not afraid,” Luke observed, his thumbs rubbing circles on Will’s shoulders.
Will shook his head slowly. The initial shock had melted, replaced by a low, warm thrum of anticipation. “I’m… curious.”
Luke’s smile in the mirror was brilliant. He kissed the side of Will’s neck, just below the collar. “That’s the best answer.” He nudged the cabinet door shut with his hip, but didn’t lock it. “Enough for tonight. The introduction is the most important part.”
He led Will to the bed, pushing him down gently to sit on the edge. Luke knelt, removing Will’s boots, then his own. “The diplomat was wrong, you know,” he said, his tone conversational as he worked.
“About what?”
“Music isn’t for taverns.” Luke looked up, his face open and earnest. “It’s for moments like this. For the quiet after the world is shut out.” He stood, pulling Will up with him. “Sing for me. Just here. Just now.”
And Will, his throat unclenched by trust, his heart full of a strange new language of collars and velvet-lined cabinets, began to hum a soft, old melody. Luke listened, his forehead resting against Will’s, his eyes closed, as the last of the sunlight died behind the black silk curtains and the room held its breath.
Luke listened, his forehead resting against Will’s, his eyes closed, as the last of the sunlight died behind the black silk curtains and the room held its breath. The final note of Will’s hum faded into the stillness, absorbed by the velvet and the dark. For a long moment, there was only the shared air between them, the faint scent of the garden rose still clinging to Will’s hair.
Luke pulled back just enough to see his face. “That was the best part of my day,” he said, his voice rough. His thumb brushed Will’s lower lip. “You giving that to me.”
Will leaned into the touch, wordless. The cabinet sat in his peripheral vision, a silent shape against the wall. His gaze drifted toward it, then back to Luke’s knowing eyes.
“You’re thinking about it.” It wasn’t a question.
“A little,” Will admitted. The curiosity was a live wire now, buzzing under his skin. “It’s just… there.”
“Then let’s not ignore it.” Luke stood, offering his hand. “Come and look. No expectations tonight. Just look.”
Will let himself be pulled to his feet and led across the room. The plush carpet muffled their steps. Luke stopped him in front of the open cabinet, the interior a soft black void dotted with those precise, mysterious shapes. He didn’t push Will closer, just waited.
“Can I…” Will trailed off, unsure of the protocol.
“You can touch anything you want,” Luke said. “They’re for you. Ask what it’s for, if you like. Or don’t. Sometimes the not knowing is part of it.”
Will’s hand hovered. He bypassed the cuffs, the silicone rings. His fingers landed on the wand of dark wood. He lifted it out. It was cooler than he expected, perfectly smooth, with a slight, satisfying weight. He turned it over, running his own thumb along its seamless curve.
“What do you think it feels like?” Luke asked, leaning a shoulder against the cabinet frame.
“I don’t know.” Will’s voice was a whisper. He brought the rounded tip to the inside of his own wrist, pressing gently. A faint bloom of pressure. He dragged it slowly up his forearm, watching the path it left on his skin, a ghostly line of sensation. “It’s… calm.”
“It can be.” Luke watched the journey of the wood with focused intensity. “It can also be a line of fire, if I want it to be. Pressure and speed change everything. Context changes everything.” He reached out, stilling Will’s hand. “My turn.”
He took the wand, his grip sure. “Give me your arm.” Will extended it, palm up. Luke touched the tip just below his elbow. “Close your eyes. Just feel.”
Will obeyed. The darkness behind his lids was total. All that existed was the firm, unyielding point of wood, a stationary anchor. Then it began to move, tracing a ludicrously slow path down his forearm. It was not a tickle. It was a claim. Each millimeter of travel was documented by his nerves. He sucked in a breath.
“Good?” Luke’s question was close to his ear.
Will could only nod. The wand reached his wristbone, circled it once, a deliberate orbit. The sensation was concentrated, singular. It felt less like being touched and more like being studied, as if Luke were reading his anatomy through the grain of the wood.
It stopped. Will opened his eyes. Luke was watching him, a slight, captivated tilt to his head. “You like that.” Again, not a question.
“It’s… focused,” Will managed. His arm felt charged where the wood had been.
“Mm.” Luke returned the wand to its place. “Now the cuffs. Pick them up.”
Will did. The fleece lining was cloud-soft. He ran a finger over the wide steel buckle, cool and intricate.
“Think of them like the collar,” Luke said softly. “But for your hands. A boundary you can feel. Sometimes the world gets too big, Will. Too many choices. These make it small. Simple. Just you, and the feeling, and me.”
Will turned one over in his hands. The idea was strangely seductive. The humiliation of the garden path came back to him—the overwhelming flood of eyes and opinions. The cuffs promised a cessation of all that. A finite space.
“Could we… just try one?” The question left him in a rush.
Luke’s smile was instant, warm. “Yeah. Of course we can.” He took the cuff from Will. “Which wrist?”
Will held out his left. Luke’s movements were efficient, gentle. He wrapped the wide band around Will’s wrist, the fleece a whisper against his skin. The buckle clicked shut with a solid, final sound. Not loud, but profound. Will’s arm dropped slightly with the new weight.
He stared at it. The grey fleece looked stark against his skin. He flexed his hand, feeling the gentle, constant pressure. It wasn’t restrictive; it was present. A reminder that curled around his bones.
“How does it feel?” Luke’s voice was low.
“Real,” Will breathed. He lifted his arm, watching the cuff move with him. A part of him now. “Heavy. But in a good way. Like… I can’t forget where I am.”
“You’re here.” Luke caught the cuffed wrist, brought it to his lips, and kissed the inside where the buckle sat. “With me.” He held onto it, his thumb stroking the fleece. “That’s the only place you need to be.”
Will let himself be drawn in by that anchor line. Luke’s other hand came up to cradle his jaw, guiding him into a kiss that was deeper, hotter than before. The metal of the cuff pressed against Luke’s neck, a cool contrast to the heat of his skin. Will made a small, desperate sound into his mouth.
Luke broke the kiss, breathing uneven. His silver eyes were dark, the pupils swallowing the light. “Look at you,” he murmured, his gaze drinking in the sight of the single cuff on Will’s wrist, his kiss-swollen lips, the trust blazing in his hazel eyes. “One item from the box, and you’re already more beautiful than anything in any kingdom.”
He unfastened the buckle with a soft snick, slipping the cuff off. He rubbed the faint line it had left on Will’s skin. “Enough. That’s your first lesson. Curiosity rewarded.” He put the cuff away and closed the cabinet door, this time turning the key. The lock engaged with a soft, definitive thud.
The absence of the weight felt like a new kind of awareness. Will’s wrist felt oddly light, naked.
“Come to bed,” Luke said, his commanding tone softened at the edges. “Just sleep tonight. Though I’m keeping you in the collar. Always that.”
Will followed, the memory of the wand’s path and the cuff’s embrace singing in his blood. He slid under the cool sheets, the obsidian band a familiar comfort against his throat. Luke slid in beside him, pulling him close until Will’s back was flush against his chest, his arms a solid bar across his waist.
“The envoy tomorrow is from the Western Isles,” Luke mumbled into his hair, his voice already thick with impending sleep. “They respect artists there. He’ll probably try to commission you. I’ll let you decide.”
The offer, the agency, was a gift as palpable as the cuff had been. Will smiled in the dark. He laced his fingers through Luke’s where they rested over his stomach.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Luke’s breathing evened out into sleep. Will lay awake a little longer, listening to it, feeling the promise of the locked cabinet thrumming quietly in the room, a future he was no longer afraid to reach for. He pressed his cuffed wrist against the strong arm holding him, and finally let go.