Chapter ~ Clean This

The night stretched long within the grand hall, the flickering torchlight painting the gilded walls in hues of bronze and blood. Azech-I had returned to his revelry, his expression unreadable as he listened to his generals speak of the war's final victories.

Nofri-it, caged like an exotic trophy, remained motionless, but his mind was a storm.

He could still feel the phantom press of Azech-I's fingers around his wrist, the way his pulse had betrayed him under that touch. No matter how much he willed himself to be numb, his body remembered. His body reacted.

A slow tug at the golden chain jolted him from his thoughts.

Nofri-it lifted his gaze to find Azech-I watching him again, a lazy smirk curving his lips. The court's attention had shifted elsewhere, to a group of dancers spinning in rhythmic unison, their bejeweled hips swaying to the deep thrum of drums.

The moment stretched between them, silent yet crackling with something unspoken.

Then, Azech-I did something unexpected.

He rose from his throne.

The murmurs in the hall hushed as the Pharaoh descended the dais, each step deliberate, exuding the effortless power that had made him a legend. His long robes of obsidian and crimson trailed behind him like shadows, gold cuffs glinting at his wrists.

And he was coming straight for Nofri-it.

A warning bell rang in Nofri-it's mind, but he did not move. Could not.

Azech-I stopped just outside the golden bars, looming over him like a god descending from his throne.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

Then Azech-I crouched down, one knee bent, leveling himself with his captive. The space between them was unbearably close, heat radiating from his body, carrying the scent of cedar and spice.

Nofri-it's breath caught.

Azech-I reached forward—slowly, deliberately—and with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before, he brushed a stray lock of hair from Nofri-it's face.

The touch was deceptively gentle, a mockery of the way he had once held Nofri-it in the quiet of their nights.

"You still burn when I touch you," Azech-I mused, voice low, meant for Nofri-it's ears alone. "No matter how much you pretend otherwise."

Nofri-it clenched his jaw.

Azech-I chuckled, dark amusement flickering in his golden eyes. He dragged his fingers downward, tracing the line of Nofri-it's cheek, his grip tightening just slightly as his thumb ghosted over his lips.

"You are still mine," Azech-I whispered. "Even now."

The words curled around Nofri-it's throat like a noose.

A flash of memory—his body pinned beneath Azech-I's, laughter spilling between fevered kisses, a promise whispered against his collarbone. Mine.

How easily love could be twisted into chains.

But he would not give Azech-I the satisfaction of a reaction.

With slow defiance, Nofri-it lifted his gaze and met the Pharaoh's eyes, his voice a whisper of steel.

"You own only a shell of me, Pharaoh."

Azech-I's smirk did not falter, but something in his gaze darkened—something deeper than mere cruelty, something raw, something dangerous.

Then, as swiftly as he had invaded Nofri-it's space, he withdrew, rising to his full height once more.

The golden chain between them gleamed under the firelight.

"Let's see how long you keep telling yourself that," Azech-I murmured, turning away, his robes sweeping behind him like the tide.

The court erupted into whispered speculation, the tension left behind crackling like embers.

And Nofri-it, still caged, let out a slow, steady breath.

The battle between them had only just begun.

The night did not end with Azech-I's departure.

Nofri-it remained in his gilded prison, unmoving, but his mind churned beneath the surface. The moment Azech-I had touched him still lingered, not in sensation but in its deeper meaning—this was not just punishment. This was a reminder. A reclamation.

Azech-I wanted him to break.

He wanted Nofri-it to crumble, to surrender, to beg.

But he would not.

A servant approached the cage, silent and hesitant, setting down a tray of food before quickly retreating into the shadows. The offerings were meant to mock him—succulent roasted lamb, sweet dates drizzled in honey, golden goblets filled with pomegranate wine.

The same luxuries once shared in whispered intimacy, now placed before him like a feast for a chained beast.

He did not touch it.

Across the hall, Azech-I lounged back on his throne, watching with unreadable eyes.

The court had settled back into their pleasures—wine flowing, laughter rising, the scent of incense curling through the air. But Nofri-it could feel it in the space between them. The silent battle.

Azech-I was waiting.

Waiting for him to yield.

Waiting for him to acknowledge his captivity, to take what was given, to accept his new place.

Instead, Nofri-it slowly lifted his hand—shackled though it was—and with deliberate precision, knocked the tray over.

The goblet crashed to the ground, red wine pooling like blood across the marble. The scent of spiced lamb filled the air as it tumbled into the mess, a defiant ruin of the feast meant for him.

The court fell silent.

Azech-I's fingers tapped against the arm of his throne, slow, methodical. His golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable, a flicker of danger beneath the surface.

Then—he smiled.

A slow, knowing curve of his lips.

Nofri-it braced himself.

Azech-I rose once more, his movements unhurried, predatory. His robes whispered against the floor as he descended the dais, closing the distance between them with the ease of a lion approaching its prey.

The silence in the hall thickened, anticipation crackling in the air like a brewing storm.

He stopped just outside the bars, peering down at the mess Nofri-it had made.

Then, with infuriating calm, Azech-I crouched once more, reaching between the bars to grasp Nofri-it's chin between his fingers.

The grip was not harsh. It did not need to be.

Nofri-it's breath remained steady, refusing to betray the pounding of his pulse.

Azech-I's thumb dragged across his lower lip, smearing a drop of pomegranate wine that had splattered onto his skin.

"You are testing me," Azech-I murmured, voice so soft it sent a chill down Nofri-it's spine.

Nofri-it did not respond.

Azech-I tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle he had yet to solve.

"You think defiance will give you power," he mused, tracing his fingers down the line of Nofri-it's jaw. "But it only makes me want to break you more."

A deep, slow breath.

"You will eat," Azech-I continued, his touch deceptively gentle. "Not because I command it. Not because you are hungry. But because I will feed you myself, if I must."

The threat was not spoken outright, but it curled between them, thick and inevitable.

Azech-I did not need to force him now.

Not yet.

He was patient. A predator playing with his prey.

With one final touch—a ghosting caress against Nofri-it's cheek—Azech-I withdrew, standing once more.

"Clean this," he ordered the servants, his voice sharp, final.

The tray was swept away, the wine wiped from the floor, and still, the court remained silent.

Azech-I did not look back as he returned to his throne, but Nofri-it felt the victory in his movements.

This was a game of endurance.

And Azech-I had all the time in the world to make him surrender.