Page 18 of Burning Ice
He bit into the apple. The sound was sharp, wet. Juice ran down his hand. The noise made Mirel stir. His eyes opened, gold dulled by exhaustion, brightening when they found Kylix waiting.
“Open, Mirel.”
Mirel’s jaw locked. He shook his head once.
Kylix pressed the apple to his mouth. Juice ran over his lips. He kept them shut, breath sharp through his nose.
He could have forced him. The thought came easy. Command lived in his bones. He waited instead. Power was quieter when it fed on patience. Watched the small tremor move through his little ghost’s shoulders and felt the echo answer in his own hands.
The want was not hunger. It was precision, the need to see how long stillness could last before it broke.
He almost laughed at himself. Almost.
The air stayed tight between them. He could hear the chain shift with every breath Mirel took. The small sound drew him closer than he meant to be. He let it hold him there, the distance narrow enough to taste the salt of exhaustion, to see how defiance lived even in sleep-creased skin.
Kylix smiled. He leaned in and caught the trail with his tongue. The jewel on his tooth caught light. He bit from the same fruit, lips brushing skin. The act was slow, obscene in its patience.
He chewed with purpose, the sound wet and close. “Sweet.” His voice stayed low. “You want some?”
Mirel shook his head.
“I saw Cyprian today. Do you know him?”
Another shake.
Kylix clicked his tongue. “One truth. Say it and you eat.”
Mirel turned his face away. His jaw stayed locked.
“Stubborn.” Kylix’s gaze held. “And afraid. But your body will speak first.”
Juice streaked his cheek. Kylix caught it with his thumb and pressed to his lips. He pushed until the slick passed into his mouth.
Mirel’s tongue met his fingers, soft and wet. His breath hitched.
Kylix’s voice dropped. “That’s it.”
Mirel tried to pull back, but the chain fixed him. The cuffs held. His pulse fluttered against Kylix’s hand.
Movement stirred beyond the glass. Vandor stood outside, posture exact, eyes lowered.
He had heard enough to understand and pretended not to.
Reflections cut him into pieces, one face turned toward them, one turned away.
Kylix let him stay. Punishment carried further when witnessed.
“You want more fruit?”
A shake of the head.
“How do you know Cyprian?” Kylix asked. “Or was it Moargan? Helianth?” He lifted another piece of fruit. “You saved the Prince. By chance?”
He pressed the prune to Mirel’s lips. “Or design?”
Juice slid down his chin. Kylix followed it with two fingers, slow. He pushed those fingers to his mouth.
“Lick,” he said. “Clean me.”
