Chapter ~ Bound In Gold

The procession from the Grand Court to the secluded wing of the palace was silent. The only sound was the measured click of Azech-I's sandals against the marble, each step exuding dominance, while the chains around Nofri-it's wrists clinked softly, an eerie melody of captivity.

The golden collar burned against his skin—not with heat, but with the weight of what it symbolized. He was no longer a prince. No longer an assassin. No longer a man with even the illusion of freedom.

He was Azech-I's property now.

The guards did not dare drag him through the halls. They knew better. No matter how much weaker Nofri-it had become, they still feared him—feared what he had once been, feared what he might still be beneath the layers of ruin.

The path twisted through towering stone pillars adorned with murals of Thebes' victories, victories written in blood. The glow of torches cast flickering shadows on the hieroglyphs, making them seem as though they were shifting, whispering secrets from the past.

Azech-I walked ahead, never once looking back.

But he did not need to.

Nofri-it could feel the weight of his presence, pressing down on him like the weight of the entire kingdom.

The moment they reached the chamber—his chamber—Azech-I gestured with a flick of his fingers, and the guards fell back, melting into the darkness. The massive stone doors groaned shut behind them, locking them in.

Silence.

Nofri-it did not speak.

Neither did Azech-I.

Not at first.

The room was lavish—too lavish. Gold-threaded linens adorned the enormous bed, and sheer drapes billowed from the ceiling, giving the illusion of a dream-like prison. A bath of polished obsidian stood in the corner, steam rising from its still surface, scented with the oils of black lotus.

Everything was designed for indulgence. For luxury. For a concubine.

Nofri-it's fingers curled into fists.

It was not a prison in the way Cairo's dungeons had been. No rusted chains. No cold stone floors slick with the filth of others who had wasted away.

But this was something worse.

This was his prison.

Azech-I's voice finally broke the silence.

"Do you know why I chose this chamber for you?"

Nofri-it turned his head slightly, just enough to meet Azech-I's gaze.

He had changed into a dark linen robe embroidered with golden serpents, the fabric loose against his frame, the muscles of his chest barely concealed beneath the thin material. His bracelets and rings caught the firelight, glinting with ominous beauty.

There was something unreadable in his eyes.

Something ancient.

Something waiting.

Nofri-it exhaled slowly. "Because you want to torment me."

Azech-I tilted his head, lips curling. "Oh, I do. But that is not the reason."

He took a slow step forward.

Nofri-it remained where he was, his body rigid, refusing to back away.

"You see, this chamber," Azech-I mused, trailing his fingers along the edge of the silk-draped bed, "is the very same one you slept in when you first arrived in Thebes all those years ago."

The breath in Nofri-it's chest stilled.

Azech-I's smirk deepened. "Ah, you remember now, don't you?"

Memories surged forward—unbidden, unwelcome.

The night he had first stepped foot in Thebes, under the guise of an envoy from Memphis. The way Azech-I had met him not as an emperor greeting an honored guest, but as a predator curious about a creature that had wandered into his domain.

The nights spent in this very room.

The way Azech-I's hands had traced the ridges of his spine, worshipping him like a god yet possessing him like a mortal man.

The whispered words between tangled sheets.

"You are mine, Nofri-it. No matter what game you think you're playing, the ending has already been written. And it ends with you in my hands."

The warmth of those nights had long since been extinguished.

But Azech-I was reigniting them, not with tenderness, but with something darker.

"Does it unnerve you?" Azech-I asked softly, stepping closer, his presence suffocating. "To stand here once again, knowing what you once had?"

Nofri-it swallowed. His throat ached from the unspoken words he refused to let slip.

Azech-I leaned in, close enough that Nofri-it could smell the faint trace of myrrh on his skin. "Does it hurt?"

Nofri-it forced his lips into a cold, humorless smirk. "You assume I ever cared for any of it."

Azech-I's eyes darkened.

And then, without warning, he grabbed Nofri-it by the collar, yanking him forward. The golden metal bit into his skin, the pressure enough to make breathing difficult.

"You dare lie to me?" Azech-I's voice was quiet, but laced with something lethal.

Nofri-it's nails bit into his own palms, refusing to yield, refusing to show weakness.

He met Azech-I's gaze, lips parting as if to deliver another sharp retort.

But before he could speak, Azech-I's fingers tightened—just enough to remind him who held the control now.

"Keep pretending if it amuses you," Azech-I murmured, his tone almost gentle. "But we both know the truth."

He released Nofri-it with a sudden shove, sending him stumbling back against the bedpost.

Nofri-it caught himself before he could fall, his breath ragged, his mind reeling.

Azech-I turned away, his expression unreadable once more.

"You will stay here," he said, voice void of emotion. "You will eat when I say. Sleep when I say. You exist at my mercy."

His gaze flickered toward Nofri-it one last time, as if daring him to object.

Nofri-it did not.

He merely straightened himself, rolling his shoulders, his exhaustion well-hidden beneath the quiet fire in his eyes.

Azech-I exhaled through his nose, a shadow of amusement flickering across his face.

And then, with a final glance, he strode toward the door.

The lock clicked into place behind him.

Leaving Nofri-it alone in the golden cage of his past.

A prison built not just from walls, but from memories.

From everything he had tried to forget.

But the past had found him once again.

And this time—there would be no escape.

The silence that followed Azech-I's departure was suffocating.

Nofri-it stood motionless, his fingers flexing at his sides. The weight of the golden collar pressed against his throat like a brand, his breath slow and steady despite the turmoil within him.

He would not allow himself to feel.

Not the phantom heat of Azech-I's touch. Not the echo of his voice reverberating through the chamber. Not the memories clawing at the edges of his mind, demanding to be acknowledged.

He closed his eyes.

But the past did not allow itself to be shut out.

Five years ago. Thebes.

A warm breeze drifted through the open balcony, carrying the scent of burning incense and distant jasmine. The sky, painted in hues of violet and gold, stretched endlessly above the kingdom of Thebes, where the Nile glistened like liquid fire under the setting sun.

Nofri-it stood at the threshold of the royal chamber, barefoot on cool alabaster. The silk robe draped over his shoulders did little to shield him from the heat of Azech-I's presence behind him.

"You are restless tonight."

Azech-I's voice was low, rich with amusement.

Nofri-it did not turn around. "Perhaps I am simply cautious."

A chuckle. "Cautious?"

The next moment, strong hands found his waist, pulling him back against a solid chest. The warmth of Azech-I's body seeped into his own, and the sensation of being wrapped in his arms was both intoxicating and dangerous.

"Tell me," Azech-I murmured against his temple, "what could possibly make my little serpent cautious?"

Nofri-it's lips curled, but he did not answer.

He could not.

Not when he was here to kill him.

Not when every night spent in these arms only made the inevitable harder to face.

Azech-I tilted his head, inhaling deeply as his grip tightened, as though he could feel the hesitation buried beneath the layers of deception.

"You are mine," he murmured. "Say it."

A test.

It was always a test with him.

And Nofri-it had long since mastered the art of playing along.

He turned in Azech-I's arms, meeting his gaze—golden, molten, unwavering. A king's gaze.

A man who did not need to demand devotion, because he took it as his right.

Nofri-it smirked. "I am yours."

A lie wrapped in honey.

Azech-I's lips curved, satisfied. He cupped Nofri-it's chin, thumb tracing his lower lip in slow, deliberate strokes.

"Then do not keep secrets from me, Nofri-it," he whispered.

Nofri-it's breath caught.

But before he could respond—

Present Day...

His eyes snapped open.

The scent of jasmine had long faded, replaced by the cool sterility of his gilded prison. The balcony was the same, but the air was heavier, suffocating.

Everything had changed.

And yet, nothing had.

He turned on his heel, forcing himself to move. The moment he allowed himself to dwell in memories, he would be consumed by them.

His fingers brushed over the silken sheets of the massive bed. The very same bed where…

No.

He clenched his jaw and strode toward the bath. The steam rising from the black stone pool carried the faintest traces of lotus and frankincense. A deliberate choice.

Azech-I had prepared this for him.

The thought made his stomach tighten.

He reached up, fingers brushing against the golden collar around his throat. It was crafted to fit him perfectly, unyielding, a mark of ownership in its most elegant form.

The fact that Azech-I had thought of every detail, every torment, down to the very oils used in his bath, made something dangerous stir within him.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Something colder.

Something he had long since buried.

With a slow, measured breath, Nofri-it stripped away the remnants of the tattered linen he had been forced to wear and stepped into the water.

The heat licked at his skin, soothing the aches and bruises, sinking into his bones.

He closed his eyes once more.

This time, the past did not wait.

It rushed forward, drowning him in its embrace.

The water lapped against Nofri-it's collarbones, its warmth sinking into his skin like a lover's touch—mocking, teasing, yet offering no real comfort.

His fingers curled over the edge of the black stone pool, tension coiling in his shoulders. He wanted to relax. He should relax. But how could he, when everything around him was crafted by the hands of the very man who had sworn to break him?

Azech-I.

Even the bath oils were carefully chosen to remind him of Thebes, of late nights spent tangled in silk sheets, of fingers tracing patterns over his bare back, of a voice murmuring against his temple—Mine. You are mine.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting shut.

Five years ago. Thebes....

The scent of crushed lotus petals lingered in the air, thick and intoxicating. The royal chamber was dimly lit, flickering torches casting shifting shadows along the intricately painted walls.

Nofri-it sat at the edge of a golden bath, a delicate goblet in his hand. The wine within was dark, rich, untouched.

"You are avoiding me tonight."

The deep timbre of Azech-I's voice sent a familiar shiver down his spine. He did not look up as the emperor approached, but he felt it—the slow, deliberate way the man moved, the confidence in every step.

Azech-I stopped behind him, and Nofri-it caught his reflection in the water. Strong. Powerful. Dangerous.

A man who had conquered entire kingdoms. A man whose heart, if he even had one, should not have been so easily swayed by a mere assassin.

Nofri-it lifted the goblet to his lips, but before he could drink, a warm hand curled over his wrist.

"Do not test me," Azech-I murmured.

His grip was firm, fingers pressing just hard enough to remind Nofri-it who held control between them.

A test, then. A challenge.

Nofri-it slowly turned his head, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Why, Great One, do you suspect me of treachery?"

The corner of Azech-I's mouth lifted, but there was no humor in his expression. Only sharp, burning intensity.

"Always."

The word was both an accusation and a promise.

Then, without warning, Azech-I took the goblet from his hand and drank.

Nofri-it stilled.

His heart, a traitorous thing, pounded violently against his ribs.

The poison—barely enough to kill, just enough to weaken. Just enough to make Azech-I vulnerable.

And he had just—

Azech-I exhaled, licking the last drop of wine from his lips, before setting the goblet aside. His golden gaze locked onto Nofri-it's, unreadable.

A pause. A heartbeat.

Then—

Fingers tangled in his hair, tilting his head back. A mouth claiming his, deep and demanding, tasting of wine and something darker—something inevitable.

The kiss was not gentle. It was not sweet.

It was ownership. It was ruin.

It was Nofri-it's downfall.

Present Day...

His eyes snapped open, breath unsteady.

The water had cooled.

He stared at his reflection, at the golden collar gleaming at his throat.

He should hate him.

He did hate him.

Didn't he?

The doors to the chamber creaked open, and his pulse stilled.

Soft footsteps against polished stone. The weight of a gaze burning into his skin.

He did not need to turn around to know who it was.

"A bath does not wash away betrayal, little serpent."

Azech-I's voice was deep, unhurried.

Nofri-it lifted his chin, his own voice calm, steady. "And a golden collar does not make me yours."

Silence stretched between them, thick with ghosts of the past.

Then—

A chuckle. Low. Dangerous.

"We shall see."

The doors shut.

And Nofri-it was left alone once more.