Bian sat slumped against the broken wall, panting, his arms scraped and his knees bruised from where he’d collapsed. Dust and blood clung to his lashes. He dared not look up.
He was certain Dican would kill him.
How could he not?
He had betrayed a Farian prince, tried to enslave him with cursed Grayling magic—used a dark concoction meant to break even the strongest of minds. Dican should’ve sliced his throat open.
But then...
A hand touched his shoulder.
Warm.
Steady.
Gentle.
Bian flinched violently.
But the hand didn’t hurt him.
Instead, it curled beneath his elbow, lifting him slowly and carefully to his feet. Bian, stunned, blinked up into golden eyes no longer filled with rage, no longer glowing with cold fury or suspicion.
Instead... they were soft.
"Are you hurt?" Dican asked, voice low and steady.
Bian’s throat went dry.
His mouth parted, but no sound came out.
Was this a trick?
A trap?
But no—Dican didn’t glare, didn’t question. He steadied Bian on his feet, brushing the dirt off his shoulders with care that seemed... unnatural.
The prince who had moments ago slain three Graylings with a single swipe of his blade now stood like a calm, loyal shadow beside him.
"Wh-What...?" Bian’s voice cracked.
Dican tilted his head, expression tranquil. "You are the one I serve," he said simply. "You called me. I obey."
Bian’s heart dropped into his stomach.
"No way..." he whispered. "I didn’t think it would actually work..."
He stumbled back, but Dican followed, keeping precisely one step behind him like a soldier awaiting command.
"I’m not your enemy," Dican said, his tone gentle, almost kind. "Please don’t be afraid."
Bian stared, trembling. "You’re... bound to me? Like fully?"
"Yes."
"You’d do anything I say?"
"Yes."
The Grayling spell had worked.
The forbidden smear of blood and ash, pressed into the prince’s wound during the struggle—it had taken hold. The spell that was only whispered about in ruins and forbidden pages. The one meant to turn the proudest, wildest warriors into docile protectors. No one had ever used it on a Farian.
But Bian had.
And now... the strongest being he’d ever known stood quietly before him, head bowed ever so slightly in reverence.
"I will protect you," Dican said softly. "Even if the world turns against you."
A chill ran down Bian’s spine.
It wasn’t just magic. It was like a soul tether.
He looked up at Dican’s perfect, serene face.
This man who once glared at him with righteous fury now wore an expression of absolute calm, waiting only for Bian’s next command. His limbs no longer stiffened in anger. His muscles didn’t tense in preparation to strike.
He looked...
Tame.
It was everything Bian had planned. Everything he wanted. And yet—
His chest clenched.
A part of him felt hollow seeing the fire gone from Dican’s eyes.
"You... really won’t hurt me?" Bian asked again, almost hopeful, almost guilty.
Dican reached forward again, brushing a streak of ash from Bian’s cheek with his thumb.
"I exist to serve you."
Bian’s breath caught.
He had won.
He should be rejoicing. Laughing. He should mock the prince and gloat and command him to kneel.
Instead...
He swallowed hard, unable to look Dican in the eye.
He had dreamt of this. Of having someone that powerful under his control. Of never being pushed around again. Of never being called weak, or pathetic.
And now...
That dream stared at him with golden eyes, calm and waiting.
"Come," Dican said gently. "You’re tired. You should rest."
Bian watched him turn and begin clearing a patch of rubble—carefully, efficiently—so Bian could sit comfortably.
He quickly shook away that guilt. He had won. His plan had worked. Actually worked.
Dican had already cleared the path clean. "why are you on the ground. Please stand up."
Bian stared up at the prince as that strong hand lifted him gently to his feet.
Warm fingers curled around his elbow.
His lips parted in disbelief, and then—
Then he started to grin.
He bit his lower lip, but the smugness couldn’t be contained. His heart was thundering from pure exhilaration.
The spell actually worked!
Dican, the golden-haired Farian prince, the one with the strength to slice through Graylings like paper, now stood before him with a soft, attentive gaze.
He stood still like a guard dog awaiting orders.
Bian could barely breathe from the rush. It was too perfect.
"I... I can’t believe it..." he whispered, though the laugh that escaped him wasn’t surprised. It was triumphant. "Holy shit. You’re actually mine."
Dican blinked slowly. "I am yours," he confirmed.
Bian clutched his chest, feeling like he might explode. He turned away to hide the absolutely feral grin spreading across his face.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to dance. He wanted to throw back his head and howl in victory.
All that careful scheming. All that pretending. The fake tears, the pouty lips, the trembling voice—it all paid off.
And now?
Now the most powerful person he’d ever met was tied to him.
Not to Jian
But to Him.
Bian.
He strutted a slow circle around Dican, eyes hungry as he drank in every detail of the prince’s towering frame, the way his long blond hair fell like strands of sunlight, the way he stood still, calm, perfectly under control.
His control.
"You look so much better like this," Bian said with a little giggle, flicking a finger at a lock of golden hair. "All that scary ’I’ll-kill-you’ energy? Gone. Now you’re soft. Obedient. So sweet."
Dican didn’t flinch. He simply nodded. "If that is what pleases you."
Bian shivered.
Gods, it felt good.
So much better than he imagined.
He stepped close again, raising his hand to brush Dican’s cheek, watching how the man tilted his head slightly, silently allowing the touch.
"Say it again," Bian whispered, eyes sparkling.
"I am yours," Dican repeated without hesitation.
Bian giggled and spun in place, drunk on the moment.
He had power now.
Real power.
"Good boy," Bian murmured, tapping Dican’s nose with his finger.
The prince’s eyes fluttered shut at the praise like it soothed him.
Bian was practically vibrating with glee.
He could do anything now.
Anything.