Chapter 5 – The First Night of Chains

📖 Chapter 5 – The First Night of Chains

The palace at night was vast and cold.

The halls echoed with whispers of power, but to Thomas Stanley, it felt like a tomb.

He had been led to a room draped in white silks, the bed enormous and alien. Ancient tapestries hung on the walls, depicting Kings and Queens long gone — rulers who had commanded life and death. Now their gaze seemed to judge him, a poor boy thrust into a world of gold and chains.

A soft rustle announced the King’s arrival.

Thomas turned slowly, heart pounding. The King stood at the door, a vision of stunning handsomeness and deadly charm, eyes glowing with a possessive hunger.

He was dressed not in armor, but in silk robes that clung to his perfect form, the crown on his head catching the moonlight like fire. He stepped closer.

Thomas froze. He knew what was coming. The rules of the contract — the words still burning in his mind — forbade him to speak, resist, or even show anger. No No No.

The King reached out, his fingers brushing Thomas’s shoulder. A shiver ran through the boy. Not just from touch, but from the weight of authority pressing down on him.

“You belong to me,” the King whispered, voice low, smooth, and terrifyingly intimate.

“You are mine. No one else can touch you. No one else can see you. Not your brothers. Not your friends. Not anyone.”

Thomas swallowed, trying to keep his breathing steady. His hands shook at his sides. He remembered the stall, the threat, the contract — every choice he had lost. Every word, every breath, now belonged to the King.

The King’s hand moved down gently to Thomas’s arm, then cupped his chin, lifting it.

“You cannot resist. You cannot say no. You cannot speak. You will obey.”

Thomas nodded slightly, his lips pressed together, tears welling up in his eyes. He wanted to scream, wanted to fight, wanted to run. But the rules were clear. One wrong move, one word, and his life — or the King’s promise — could end in disaster.

The King smiled faintly, satisfied with Thomas’s obedience.

“You look beautiful in white,” he murmured, tracing a finger along the edge of the ancient fabric that covered Thomas.

“You are mine. My precious. My jewel. My wife.”

The words sank into Thomas like stones in water, heavy, cold, and impossible to rise from.

He lay down on the massive bed, heart hammering, hands trembling, every nerve on fire. The white silks were soft, but they felt like chains wrapped around his soul. Every heartbeat reminded him: he was no longer free. He was bound, trapped, a slave in the palace of a man whose beauty and power made him terrifying.

Outside, the moon shone through the massive windows.

Inside, Thomas Stanley whispered a silent prayer:

> “Let me survive this. Let me live for Sam and Harry. Let me survive this night.”

The King leaned closer, letting his presence consume the room.

The first night had begun.

And Thomas Stanley had realized — this was only the beginning of the life he had lost, the chains he could never escape, and the man who would own every part of him.

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