Mirk had never had the luxury of bathing in a literal pool with almost hot water. Even the water smelled sweet! At first, Kian had insisted on staying to make sure Mirk wouldn't drown, but the smirk on his face indicated that he just wanted to annoy him.

Finally, after Kian left, Mirk climbed in. He'd never known bliss like that; the warmth gave his skin a pink hue as he hurriedly washed his body and hair with the soaps he had been given.

It wasn't like he would decline the offer.

Once he climbed out, he realized that his clothes weren't there; instead, new ones were in their place, neatly folded.

Some of the dread disappeared when he noticed his belt and shoes. He had a knife hidden in his boots and some coins.

The pants were made of black leather and sat snugly around his hips. The shirt was deep red with black embroidery on the collar and the hem. He tightened the ropes on the collar, amazed at the texture. It screamed wealth; he hadn't seen any nobleman or woman wearing a shirt made of this type of material. Sure, perhaps a scarf or two, but a shirt? Never.

He wondered how much it cost.

He pulled his boots on and tied a belt around his hips loosely, the knife and pouch still intact.

He tried to dry his hair to his best capacity, not sure how his curls reacted to hot water.

Frankly, he didn't care much.

Stepping out of the bathing chambers and into the hallway, he found Kian leaning against a windowsill, deep in thought.

He had changed, too.

The walk down to the dining room was thankfully short, and the meal was already on the table. The steaming stew wasn't his favorite, but the big chunks of meat in it made it bearable.

He had barely managed to sit down before pulling the bowl closer to himself, away from anyone else's reach.

"Heard you had a busy night," Kian drawled, leaning back in his chair as he sipped whatever drink was in his goblet.

Mirk grunted in confirmation, not bothering to lift his gaze from the warm food.

"Wanna tell me what it was all about?" It was obvious he was prying, and Mirk didn't feel like sharing his private life with the snobby rich pureblood.

"None of your business, Ginger-Snap," Mirk grumbled, taking another bite as he glared at the man.

Kian's nostrils flared; the obvious reeled-in anger pleased Mirk slightly.

"I would be really careful with your words here, boy." It nearly made him snort. Mirk took another bite, his eyes glimmering with mischief as he realized just how pissed the other male was.

"Was I lying?" he asked in a taunting manner, enjoying the flare of redness that covered Kian's cheeks in pure frustration.

"Stop it, both of you," Razaël cut in.

"He started it," Mirk mumbled, chasing a piece of meat around the bowl with his spoon.

"Sounds like you're asking to get spanked," Kian narrowed his eyes. To Mirk's utmost horror, he sounded serious.

"Ex-fucking-cuse me?" The surprise turned into horror. What did he think he was, 7?

"You're not excused."

"I'll be excused if I bloody wish to be excused, dumbass."

"Silence, Kian. If I hear another threat from you, you can consider your punishment doubled." There was a clear threat in Razaël's tone, daring either of them to try and cross him. He turned his unnerving gaze on Mirk, who lowered his eyes immediately, feeling tension creep up his shoulders.

"The same goes for you. I clearly stated my dislike of foul language, and you remain using it so blatantly. Since I suspect you need more time to adjust, I can look past it for now." He felt a but coming.

"But don't think you'll be off the hook for your disobedience. If I tell you to do something, I expect it to be done unless there's a good reason behind it. So eat your fill, and then we'll be spending some time in my office." The heated mood had changed instantly, Mirk felt his insides turn cold.

"Disobedience? Wh-what? What'd I do?!" He racked his brain for any wrongdoing but couldn't come up with anything. Heck, he hadn't even stolen anything significant from the Fae yet.

Razaël raised an eyebrow.

"Two days ago, I told you to come see me in my office after work. Did you come?"

Mirk felt his face heat up. Oh, that. He had completely forgotten about that. He didn't think it was that much of a big deal. It wasn't like he was running away, just going home.

"No." He replied after a moment, his voice slightly drained as if the words were stuck in his throat. He could see the pleased smirk on Kian's face, and it took all his willpower to ignore the male.

"And why didn't you come?" It felt like a trap, so Mirk just shrugged and refused to look at either of the men. Or males, since they weren't human.

"Words, we use words in this house." He felt his anger brimming beneath the surface. The food was long forgotten as he rested his hands in his lap, clenching and unclenching his fists. It was as if anger was trying to drown the shame.

"It was getting late," he gritted through clenched teeth, deciding not to mention the fact that he'd completely forgotten it the second they'd departed.

Razaël hummed and pushed his food away as if he'd lost his appetite.

"Since the two of you are adamant about talking behind the lunch table instead of eating, let's just get on with it, shall we?"

Even Kian had the audacity to look a little guilty now. "Would you kindly fill us in about your two-day shenanigans? And please, don't forget to mention how you got your injury."

Mirk wondered if he could somehow make it work for him, telling the Fae about his new hired spy so Razaël would forget all about punishing Mirk.

"I was walking home, got jumped. Yesterday, I got into contact with a friend. They're tracking the twins down as we speak."

He felt his anger dissipate slightly as he fidgeted with a white napkin.

"Where did you get jumped?" Mirk wasn't sure if that was what they were supposed to talk about, but feeling as though he had angered the Fae enough that day, he reluctantly answered.

"In front of a tavern. They were drunk, just wanted to have fun in a... twisted way, I guess." He wasn't even sure why he was trying to brush it off. It felt shameful to talk about it, as if he was asking them to pity him. He didn't like that kind of attention; it felt wrong, strange.

"Right, fun," Kian said drily, crossing his arms before continuing, "Would you recognize them if you saw them on the street?"

"No," an obvious lie, but he just wanted them to drop it.

"What was the name of the tavern?"

"What does it matter? Shouldn't we be more focused on the twins?" Mirk cut in, looking between the two.

"Of course, but your well-being is our priority." Razaël's face was completely blank, Mirk could not get a read on his emotions.

"But why?" He couldn't understand them. It didn't make sense. He was a street rat; no one cared about those. Sure, when he was 10, he had dreamed of someone showing compassion to his hardships, but this was before he realized that these kinds of people do not exist.

"Because you belong to me for a year, and as I've said before and will continue to say, the health of my employees is my priority. So, from now on, you will tell me when you get hurt or attacked."

His voice had taken a strong edge, his molten eyes glinted with gold as he said the words. A shudder ran through Mirk, as if the command washed over him and settled in his blood. A gentle buzz followed, making him nod in agreement as he tried to analyse the feeling that slowly died.

Kian remained silent, looking curiously between the two.

"Now, I expect you to tell me immediately if you get a word from your mysterious spy." Razaël stood, straightening his clothes.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Mirk answered, grabbing one of the small bread rolls that had melted cheese on top. He stuffed it into his mouth, trying to focus on the food and forget the odd out-of-body feeling he had gotten from the Fae's command.

"Max." It took a second for the name to sink in. He turned his focus back on Razaël.

"Come to my office immediately when you're finished with your food." With that, he left the dining hall, leaving Kian and Mirk alone.

"That's a test, isn't it," Mirk muttered into his goblet, washing down the bread roll with water.

"Would you look at that, there is some semblance of common sense in that adorable head of yours." Kian was smirking again. Mirk didn't bother to look over. He knew if he did, the over-confident smirk would make his blood boil. There was something about Kian that just annoyed the hell out of him.

The rest of the lunch went by in silence, and Mirk found himself stalling, feeling wary of going to the Fae's study. A sigh across the table caught his attention.

"You shouldn't be scared."

"I'm not scared," Mirk shot back, expecting Kian to be bothering him again. Instead, the male's expression was curious.

"You don't have to deny it, you know, it's okay. I would be hesitant too in your shoes, but one thing you have to get used to is that Raz would never do anything to hurt you." He was being unsarcastically serious.

"And for what it's worth, neither would I."

Mirk pushed the empty plates away from himself, feeling as if he was going to be sick. He wasn't sure if it was because of the food or Razaël.

"Wouldn't hurt me, even with the punishment?" A realization dawned on Kian's face. He seemed to try and hold back a smile. "No, you'll be alright."

"So... no lashing? No... I don't know, pulling teeth?" Horror seemed to wash over Kian, and then a hint of anger as he leaned closer.

"Look at me." Hesitantly, Mirk did. "I don't know how to convince you, I know words might not reason with you for a while now, but you will not be harmed by Raz, by me, or by anyone on the grounds here. In fact, this might be the safest place on the continent for you."

Mirk nodded and pushed away from the table. He didn't want to converse with Kian any longer. As he was headed towards the door, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist. He glanced down at Kian, whose eyes seemed to be searching his face. "Has... has it happened before?"

Mirk snorted, yanked his hand away, and walked off, ignoring Kian's calls. Was Kian really that ignorant?

His mood was dark as he nearly stomped up the stairs towards the study, but the hesitancy came back after he had knocked on the door and heard Razaël calling him to come in.

Like in the morning, the Fae was sitting behind the desk, not bothering to look up as he kept shuffling the papers on the desk. Mirk inched closer silently, eyes sweeping the perimeter. Despite Kian's words, he had learned his lesson a long time ago. All he wanted to do was bolt out of these doors.

"Come here." The words sent a chill down Mirk's spine. He made his way closer to the desk, looking for any kind of weapons. His old fears surfaced, and he felt his dragon blood shimmering underneath the surface, ready to shift should a glint of a knife or leather of a whip appear. He wouldn't sit around for that.

Suddenly, the books on the shelf shuffled, and half of them were tossed off. The sound of shuffling pages and thumping books caught both of their attention.

Mirk felt embarrassment color his cheeks as the gentle twinkling poison-green dots of magic disappeared from the mountain of books. Razaël's gaze slipped from the books, landing on Mirk. He raised an eyebrow, not commenting on the crazed burst of anxiety-ridden magic. He pushed the chair back slightly, leaning back as he placed the quill down.

"Come closer."

Razaël ignored the mess Mirk's magic had made as the former walked around the desk slowly, coming to a stop right next to Razaël. The Fae clasped his hands in front of himself, staring up at Mirk with those silver eyes of his.

"On your knees," he murmured quietly, as if trying to soothe the anxiety. Mirk snorted, not because he found the request funny, but rather because the remnants of fear forced him to try and keep up his walls.

After a moment, he noted the Fae's serious expression. "Oh, you are being serious. I'm- I'm not going to suck you off," he said, taking a step back. Razaël didn't move.

"That's not what I'm asking you to do. Now, come back here and get on your knees."

It took Mirk a moment to gather his courage. He had a whole year to spend with the male, and he would rather not piss him off so early. So, Mirk took a step closer and slowly got on his knees, all the while keeping eye contact, waiting for a switch to turn on, a muscle to tick, or a menacing smile to warn him of Razaël's ill intentions. However, the Fae just nodded, seeming pleased.

"Now, you're going to kneel here until I tell you it's been enough. And while you're at it, you're going to think deeply about why you felt that you had to leave here immediately without coming to me as I told you to do." His tone was still gentle. This wasn't too bad, Mirk thought.

"Yeah, okay."

Then Razaël slowly moved his hands on the armrests and pulled himself closer to the desk to go back to his work. "If your knees get tired or start hurting, you can lean on me, understood?" Mirk nodded. "Words, I need your words."

He wasn't sure if it was confusion or shame that he was feeling, or something completely different. He could understand—in a bit twisted way—how this could be a punishment. It was humiliating and forced him to think about it.

"Yes, I understand."

"Very good."

And then there was silence. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the steady breathing of Razaël, whose attention was once again on the papers. Come to think about it, the punishment wasn't too bad. But it took Mirk nearly three minutes to drown out the anxiety and let boredom in.

He didn't want to think about his actions. In his opinion, there wasn't anything to think about. It was in the past. And he wasn't a child. But if Razaël wanted to play this game, then Mirk would just play along. It was better to sit in silence than be tied down and lashed like a criminal whose next actions would take him to the noose.

He huffed and twisted his fingers on his lap, studying the unevenly clipped nails and tiny scars that scattered across his hands. Next were the floorboards; they were immaculately clean, he noted. He started tapping his fingers almost silently on the floor, trying to remember a fun song from his favorite tavern. It took him a few tries to get a hang of a nice rhythm.

He startled as a hand was suddenly placed on top of his head. His posture went rigid as he tilted his head up, wide eyes staring at the Fae, whose attention was still on the papers. A tense silence was in the air, both waiting with bated breath to see what the other would do.

Slowly, Mirk felt the fingers sink into his fluffy hair and massage his scalp gently. His shoulders relaxed, and despite trying to fight it, he found the notion... very relaxing, making him bite his lip to keep from purring.

No one had ever played with his hair before. It was so relaxing that Mirk couldn't help himself but push closer to the hand only slightly. His eyes were half-closed as he felt immense calm wash over him. The muscles in his shoulders and neck felt like jelly as Razaël's nimble fingers kept stroking his hair in a calming manner.

Mirk couldn't remember the last time he had felt this content around anyone.

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Shoutout to the people who commented on the last chapter: @Socksarenotrequired and @Confetti438 thank you guys 💚