Chapter 1: Introduction
The rain fell in sheets, turning the cobblestones of Ketterdam’s Black Market into a slick mirror of flickering lantern light. Mal crouched low behind a stack of crates, his breath shallow, his stomach twisting with hunger. Three days without food—three days without so much as a scrap of bread or a sip of water. The pain in his gut had dulled into a constant, gnawing ache, but his pride was still sharp, still refusing to bow to the kind of desperate craving that would drive a man to steal.
He had rules. He always had rules.
And one of them was never let them catch you.
That rule just died.
Hard.
Mal’s fingers curled around the edge of a crate, his pulse hammering in his throat as boots splashed through the ankle-deep muck of the alley. A merchant’s cart had just rolled by—loaded with stolen meat, cheese wrapped in oiled cloth, a loaf of bread still warm enough to steam in the damp air. He could smell it all through the gaps in the wood. Salt. Grease. The faint, acrid tang of fear sweat from the driver’s panicked hands.
And he was going to take it.
One deep breath. Two. Mal lunged.
His hand shot out, snagging the edge of the cart. He yanked it hard, sending it careening into the side of the alley. The driver cursed, but Mal was already there, his knife flashing as he sliced through the ropes holding the canvas cover in place. He grabbed a hunk of cheese, a chunk of bread, a handful of dried fruit. His mouth was already watering, his stomach clenching in anticipation.
But he wasn't fast enough.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around. Mal lashed out, his elbow connecting with something solid. A grunt of pain. A curse. Then a fist slammed into his jaw, snapping his head back.
Mal’s vision blurred as he staggered, the stolen food clattering to the ground. He spat blood, tasting copper, and turned—just in time to see a grinning face looming over him, sun-streaked brown hair damp with rain, sharp hazel eyes gleaming with amusement.
Nikolai Lantsov.
The prince’s fingers twitched at his side, still holding the knife Mal had tried to use on him. But instead of pressing the blade to Mal’s throat, he just laughed, low and rough, like gravel under a boot.
*"You’re a fast one, soldier. I like that."*
Mal’s chest heaved, his pulse roaring in his ears.
He glared up at Nikolai, his jaw throbbing, his pride stinging worse than the cut inside his cheek. "You're not going to kill me, then?"
Nikolai chuckled, wiping the rain from his face. "Kill you? Oh, no, Mal. I have much better plans for you." He sheathed his knife, then grabbed Mal by the front of his tunic, hauling him to his feet. "You're coming with me."
Mal stumbled, his boots slipping on the wet cobblestones. "Like hell I am." He tried to wrench free, but Nikolai's grip was like iron.
Nikolai just laughed, pulling Mal along behind him.
"You're in no position to argue, soldier. You're lucky I don't have you thrown in the stocks for thievery."
Mal scowled, his pride stinging. "I'm not a thief. I was hungry."
Nikolai glanced back at him, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "And now you're going to be my guest. Consider it an... opportunity for advancement."
Mal's brow furrowed, but he kept his mouth shut. He'd play along, for now. See where this led. But if Nikolai thought he was going to roll over and beg for scraps, he had another thing coming.
Mal’s fingers curled into fists, his knuckles white as they dug into the leather straps of the makeshift collar around his neck. The silk was soft against his skin, but the leather was rough, the bite of it a constant reminder that he wasn’t in charge anymore.
Nikolai leaned against the wall of the tavern, arms crossed, his hazel eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched Mal squirm. The prince’s smile was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the sight of Mal’s frustration.
"You’re going to be my guest for the night, soldier," Nikolai said, his voice low and smooth.
He pushed off from the wall, his eyes never leaving Mal's. "And you're going to be a good little pet, aren't you?"
Mal's jaw clenched, his pride warring with his hunger. He was tired of being hungry. Tired of being cold. Tired of being alone. And Nikolai... Nikolai was offering him a way out. A way in. To what, Mal didn't know. But he was smart enough to recognize an opportunity when he saw one.
"Fine," Mal growled, his voice barely audible over the rain. "But I'm not your pet."
Nikolai's grin widened, predatory.
"Good boy," he murmured, his voice a low purr that sent a shiver down Mal's spine. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of Mal's jaw, rough with stubble. "I have a room upstairs. Come with me, Mal."
Mal's breath hitched, but he followed, his boots echoing on the wooden floorboards as they climbed the narrow staircase. The room at the top was small, dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of beeswax candles and old wood. A bed dominated the space, the sheets rumpled, the blankets kicked to the floor.
Nikolai turned to face him, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight.
He pushed Mal against the wall, his body pressing close, the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of their clothes. Mal’s breath hitched, his pulse racing as Nikolai’s fingers tangled in his hair, tilting his head back.
*"You’re going to be my good little pet,"* Nikolai repeated, his voice a low growl. *"And you’re going to do exactly what I tell you."*
Mal’s body trembled, his cock already hardening against his will. He hated how much he wanted this. Hated how much he wanted *him*.
Nikolai’s lips brushed against Mal’s ear, his breath hot and heavy. *"You’re going to crawl for me, Mal.
On your knees. And you’re going to beg for it."*
Nikolai’s fingers tightened in Mal’s hair, yanking just enough to make him gasp. The prince’s voice was a dark, velvety threat, his breath hot against Mal’s neck. Mal’s cock throbbed painfully, his balls drawing up tight against his body. He wanted to resist—*had* to resist—but his body betrayed him, his hips twitching forward as if drawn by an invisible string.
*"Fuck,"* Mal breathed, his voice rough with need.
Nikolai’s lips curled into a smirk, his fingers sliding down Mal’s throat, pressing just hard enough to make him swallow.
*"You don’t have to like it, soldier. But you’ll do it anyway."*
Mal’s chest heaved, his breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. He knew better than to argue—Nikolai had that look in his eyes, the one that said he’d break him down until Mal didn’t even recognize himself anymore. And God help him, he *wanted* it.
*"Kneel,"* Nikolai ordered, his voice a low, commanding growl.
Mal’s knees hit the floor with a thud, his pride twisting in his gut. He hated this. Hated how much he hated it.
Hated how his cock throbbed painfully against the rough denim of his trousers, how his balls ached with the need to empty himself into the prince’s waiting hands. Hated how his fingers twitched at his sides, desperate to touch, to *take*, to finally have something—anything—after days of starvation.
Nikolai’s fingers curled into Mal’s hair, yanking just hard enough to make his scalp burn. *"Look at me,"* he ordered, his voice a low, rough rasp.
Mal’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze locked onto Nikolai’s hazel irises, dark with predatory amusement.
The prince’s fingers tightened in his hair, pulling just enough to make his scalp sting, but not enough to hurt—just enough to remind him who was in control. Mal’s breath hitched, his cock already leaking against the rough denim of his trousers, the wetness staining the fabric like a dark, shameful mark.
*"Good boy,"* Nikolai murmured, his voice a dark purr that sent a shiver down Mal’s spine. *"You’re going to be such a good little pet for me."*
Mal’s fingers curled into fists, his knuckles white as he fought the urge to reach for Nikolai’s cock, to stroke it, to *take* it into his mouth and make the prince beg for mercy.
But he knew better. He knew the game Nikolai was playing, and he refused to be the one to break first.
Nikolai’s smirk widened, as if he could read Mal’s thoughts. "You want it, don’t you, soldier?" he taunted, his voice a low, rough growl. "You want to taste my cock, to feel it slide down your throat until you’re choking on it?"
Mal’s breath hitched, his cock throbbing painfully at the crude words. He could feel the heat of his blush spreading across his cheeks, his pride warring with his desire.
His cock was already aching, the tight denim of his trousers doing nothing to hide its betrayal. He wanted to tell Nikolai to fuck off, to tell him to go to hell, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he let out a ragged breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
Nikolai’s fingers tightened in Mal’s hair, yanking his head back just enough to expose his throat. The prince’s voice was low and rough, a growl that sent a shiver down Mal’s spine. *"You’re going to suck my cock, soldier. And you’re going to love every second of it."*
Mal’s breath hitched, his pulse roaring in his ears.
His cock throbbed painfully against the rough denim of his trousers, the fabric doing nothing to hide the wetness seeping through. He wanted to deny it, to tell Nikolai to fuck off and leave him alone, but the words died on his tongue.
Instead, Mal found himself leaning into the prince's touch, his body betraying him as a low moan escaped his lips.
Nikolai's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "That's right, soldier. You're going to be my good little cocksucker." He released Mal's hair, his fingers trailing down to his chin, tilting it up. "Look at me while you do it. I want to see your face when you take my cock."
Mal's breath hitched, his pulse pounding in his ears.
His cock was throbbing painfully against the rough denim of his trousers, the wetness seeping through the fabric like a dark, shameful stain. He wanted to deny it, to tell Nikolai to fuck off and leave him alone, but the words wouldn't come. His body was betraying him, his cock aching with a need that was both humiliating and intoxicating.
Nikolai's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with a predatory amusement. He reached down, his fingers brushing against Mal's chest, tracing the outline of his hardened nipples through the fabric of his tunic. Mal's breath caught in his throat, his body tensing at the touch.