Your body is mind to keep in working order

Elias's entire body went rigid at those words.

Something in Cassius's tone—low, measured, and utterly unyielding—struck like a blade against his already fractured resolve.

He felt trapped not just by the physical chains on his wrists but by the suffocating weight of Cassius's claim.

A shudder ran through him, his breath coming in uneven, shallow draws. His throat ached, every swallow a cruel reminder of his failure.

Of his continued existence.

Of the fact that even in death, he had no say over his own fate.

Cassius had decided that for him.

And now, Cassius would decide everything else.

Elias clenched his fists, the cold metal biting into his skin. His voice, when he finally forced it out, was hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Why? Why would you care if a lowly servant like me lived or died?"

Cassius didn't answer immediately. He watched him instead, silent and unreadable, as though weighing the worth of his own response.

The candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows across his masked features.

Then, finally, he spoke up.

"Because you belong to me."

Elias's stomach turned. He wanted to deny it. Wanted to spit out words of defiance, to claw at the invisible chains just as much as the real ones binding him now.

But the truth had long since been carved into his skin, burned into his soul with every moment spent in this place.

He had never been free.

Not when he was sold at ten. Not when he had endured fifteen years of servitude. Not when he had tried to take back control with his own hands, only to be dragged back into the grasp of the very man he had feared most.

He could never be free. And Cassius knew it.

Elias turned his head away, staring at the ceiling. His throat burned. His chest ached. He wanted to laugh at the cruel irony of it all, but the sound would have been hollow, bitter, and utterly meaningless.

Cassius let the silence stretch before speaking again.

"Rest up. A pretty little thing like you those bruises don't look good on your fair skin" he ordered, his tone soft yet carrying no room for argument.

Elias said nothing. What could he say? His choice to live or die was no longer in his hands.

Elias kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge Cassius's presence any more than he had to. His body remained still, but his mind churned, a storm of tangled thoughts and raw emotion.

Rest?

How was he supposed to rest when he had just failed to escape this nightmare? When he was shackled like an animal, trapped in the bed of the man who had ensured his continued suffering?

Cassius had made his claim clear.

You belong to me…

Elias shut his eyes, swallowing against the burning lump in his throat.

He had no words. No strength left to argue.

Cassius, however, was in no hurry. The weight of his gaze lingered, unwavering. Even without seeing the man's full expression, Elias could feel the scrutiny behind that mask, like Cassius was peeling back layers he had no right to touch.

Then, without a word, Cassius moved, his massive build rising up.

The mattress dipped as he rose from the bed, his presence no longer looming so close. Elias could hear the quiet rustle of fabric, the click of booted steps against the polished floor.

He dared to crack his eyes open.

Cassius stood near the window now, his silhouette framed by the cold, dim light filtering through heavy curtains. Even at this distance, his presence filled the room, it was an inescapable force.

"Reginald will bring you something to eat," Cassius said, his voice smooth but distant. "You will eat it."

Elias didn't respond.

"You will drink the medicine as well," Cassius continued, as if Elias's silence was expected. "Your body is mine to keep in working order. Do not test me on this."

Elias flinched at the words, his fingers tightening around the chains.

Mine.

Always mine.

He wanted to scream.

Cassius turned slightly, head tilting as if considering something further. "Once you are strong enough to stand without collapsing, you will begin your duties as my valet."

Elias's breath caught in his throat.

He had known it was coming—he had known the moment those guards had sneered at him, whispering about how he had earned his new position.

But hearing it directly from Cassius's lips made it real.

A cold pit settled in his stomach.

The chains, the warm bed, the way Cassius had saved him—it all clicked into place.

Cassius had not rescued him out of kindness.

This was possession.

And Elias had never been meant to escape it and something inside him crumbled.

Cassius gave him one last unreadable glance before turning away. "Rest well" he repeated, and this time, it was not a suggestion.

Elias closed his eyes, pressing his wrists together until the metal bit deep into his skin.

He had never been free. He had never truly been free.

Elias didn't move, didn't acknowledge Cassius's departure, even as the heavy door clicked shut behind him. The moment he was alone, the tension in his body snapped like a frayed thread.

His throat ached. His wrists throbbed. His chest felt hollow, as if something vital had been ripped from him and replaced with nothing at all.

He had tried.

For the first time in fifteen years, he had truly tried to take something for himself—to make a choice, however grim.

And Cassius had stolen even that from him.

His fingers curled into the blanket beneath him, frustration boiling beneath the numbing weight of exhaustion.

Had he ever truly believed he had a say in his own fate?

The chains around his wrists made a quiet, mocking clink as he shifted.

Cassius had not saved him.

He had simply claimed him more thoroughly than before.

Elias sucked in a slow, trembling breath.

The soft comfort of the bed, the warmth of the blankets—it was all a cruel joke. A gilded cage designed to make him forget that he was still a prisoner.

He would not fall for it.

He could not.

A faint creak from outside the door pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. Footsteps approached, measured and unhurried.

Then, the door opened.

Reginald entered, a tray in his hands, his expression unreadable. He set it down on the nearby table, the soft clatter of porcelain breaking the silence.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Reginald's sharp eyes swept over him, taking in the bruises around his throat, the way Elias's fingers trembled slightly against the sheets.

"You are a fool," Reginald said finally, voice quiet but firm.

Elias didn't respond and kept quiet.

Reginald exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before reaching for the cup on the tray. He poured a measure of dark liquid from a small bottle into it and extended it toward Elias.

"Drink."

Elias stared at it.

His silence was met with an impatient sigh. "It will help your throat," Reginald added, voice edged with something that almost resembled exasperation.

Elias hesitated, then forced himself to sit up slightly, his wrists still bound. Reginald moved closer without a word, bringing the cup to his lips.

The bitter medicine burned going down, but compared to the raw ache of his throat, it was nothing.

Reginald set the cup aside and placed a bowl of plain broth in front of him next.

"Eat."

Elias wanted to refuse. His stomach twisted at the thought of food. But something in Reginald's gaze warned him against it.

So he opened up his mouth and ate.

Each bite tasted like nothing.

He barely felt it slide down his throat.

But he ate it anyway.

Because he already knew—Cassius would not allow him to do otherwise.