Umbra. Just the sound of it put in mind some stalking shadow creature from myth. It was the name of something old and ancient, that had existed for centuries. But what appeared before him was a man of flesh and blood, with a man’s desires.

In all his summers, Esra had never learned desire. He’d experienced... certain pangs, more melancholy than anything else. The sensation of something missing, left determinedly unnamed. There had been times where he'd been struck with strange flickers of feeling that he instinctively smothered before they could fully form. In truth, he had not known what to think of any of it.

The heat blooming in his stomach now was entirely new.

Esra’s heart pounded with the thrill of his first kiss thrumming in his chest. The world was unsteady under his feet. Umbra seemed almost golden in the firelight, the black mirror-like shine of his armor reflecting the light from the hearth. And perhaps it was the wine, but Esra could not stop staring at the knight’s unnatural beauty, framed by the dancing flames.

His own breath quickened. His hands were shaking. He had no control over any of it.

The knight studied him, his smoke grey eyes piercing deep into Esra’s own, searching for something with keen intensity. Esra found it impossible to look away. He was captivated, too aware of his own racing heart, the fearful prickling of his skin, an overwhelming urge to run, or maybe to fling himself closer.

The taste of Umbra on his lips...

Then, he was grabbed - the room blurred, and a disorienting moment of weightlessness - he was pulled forward so easily, and guided to sit upon the knight’s lap.

The black armor was hard beneath him, but Umbra’s mouth was soft against his own.

A sigh, then he was being kissed again, gentle and coaxing, as strong hands traced down his waist and then gripped to hold him close. That great power of his, so tenderly wrapped around his own self… it was as warm and intoxicating as the wine. He could not help but respond to it.

Tentatively, the youth kissed back, he was still learning, with soft presses of his mouth that were small and shy.

But this small response ignited something fierce in the knight.

Umbra surged forward with forceful passion. The embrace tightened, gloved hands gripped at his body.  Esra felt dizzy as the kiss deepened to a terrifying intensity, and he pressed his hands to the knight's chest, panicked. It was too much; being trapped in the cage of his arms, another man’s tongue filling his mouth, the firm grip of warm leather on the nape of his neck, which kept him from pulling back for air.

When he was released, he was panting, trembling, and close to tears. His heart hammered in his chest with fear.

“Is there a bedroom in here?” the knight asked in his low voice, his gaze flicking between Esra’s eyes, his mouth.

“I-in the attic,” Esra replied, unable to control the quaver in his voice. “The... refugee quarters… ”

At this information, Umbra’s smoky eyes seemed to glow. “Wait for me there, and warm my bed.”

* * *

Esra stumbled upstairs with a candle, the golden flame casting shivering shadows up around him. He had to rest his hand on the wall to balance himself, and his vision swam with the heady wine.

The fireplace had warmed the building, heat rising through the walls. Esra rushed about the attic room, lighting a few candles to illuminate the corners. Then he went to blow out his own candle, but his fingers were numb, and he dropped it clumsily on the floor. The flame guttered out. Molten wax spilled across the dark surface, like a slash wound.

He looked at his hands, which were shaking. He wrung them together, squeezed and squeezed, until his fingers were white. All the while, he fought the urge to touch his bruised lips. It felt forbidden to recall the memory of that forceful mouth on his, but on his tongue, he could still taste the knight.

He had been up the creaking stairwell to this room many times before, bringing food to the refugees that would stay there in the more private space of their town hall attic instead of the communal sleeping huts. The gable roof was high and airy, and at the far end was a window that faced the sea. It was shuttered now. There were four beds, with the sheets hastily flung back.

The sight gave Esra pause. A wave of sorrow washed over him as he pictured it. Just this morning, there had been fae folk in these beds. They had been resting peacefully, until the warning cries of the villagers, the stampeding hooves, the clashing of steel...

Tears filled Esra’s eyes. The desire to mourn almost brought him to his knees, but he knew well by now the consequences of disobedience. There was no time to curl up and weep. Umbra had given him an order.

* * *

He chose the largest bed, by the shuttered window.

With shaking hands, Esra straightened the sheets with neat tugs, and added more pillows, using the small means he had available to make the bed as presentable as possible for Balor’s black knight. The youth stared at it when he was done, trying to comprehend that, later, in this bed...

A sob bubbled up in his throat, but he swallowed it down. He did not want the knight to hear him crying.

He was swaying where he stood. The room blurred about him, and Esra sat heavily on the edge of the bed. He could not trust his legs to hold him.

Numbly, as if following some usual nightly routine, he removed his shoes and his belt, neatly placing them by his bed. Then he slipped beneath the blankets, curling into himself. Outside, he could hear the crackle of the bonfires, a faint echo of boozy voices carousing.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

A nervous adrenaline rush had propelled him through today’s living nightmare, but exhaustion had finally caught up to him. Esra felt as boneless and faded as if he’d been leeched.

* * *

The wine made his head spin, even when he closed his eyes, pulling his prone body in spirals where he lay. He imagined he could hear the knight scratching out black letters, dutiful enough to finish his paperwork before allowing further indulgence.

Time passed, an eternity, or a few minutes. He couldn’t tell, as he drifted between dream and a wary wakefulness.

Occasionally he heard things through the floorboards, the metallic clink of the black knight’s armor as he moved, the thud as he threw more wood on the fire, before Esra sank back into shallow oblivion.

It was the creak of measured footsteps up the staircase that woke him fully, set his heart thudding. He thought of how many nightmares he’d had just like this, lying shaking in bed as some ominous thing stalked him, and squinted his sore eyes open.

The door swung open, and the knight swept in like a long black shadow.

In the dim light, Esra could see that he had his rolled up reports with him, his mask, and a bottle of what looked like perfume that he set by Esra’s head on the bedside table. His sharp profile was silhouetted by the candlelight, and Esra was struck again by how impossible he looked: his darkly radiant figure at odds with the meagre surroundings. A figment from a dream, in the moments just before waking.

The heavy cloak was removed in a black swirl over the knight’s broad shoulders that sent all the candle flames fluttering. Then his sharp gaze fell on Esra.

“Up,” he ordered Esra crisply, and Esra sprung to his feet like he’d been whipped. “Be my squire.”

Terrified, and more than a little in awe, Esra attended to the seabeast’s knight. The armor was cool to the touch, and heavy. He placed each piece carefully on the sideboard, like he was arranging rare relics. Umbra loomed over him, watching his every movement, something darkening in his eyes. The intensity of his presence left Esra a little breathless.

He was going to help unlace Umbra's arming doublet, but the knight nudged him away. Esra’s momentary sigh of relief was quashed when the knight’s attention remained fixed upon him. He gestured at Esra’s figure from head to toe.

“All of that, off.”

Esra swallowed thickly. “Please…” he beseeched the knight.

Umbra started working at the knots of his doublet with long elegant fingers. He shot Esra a dark look, confirming his fate.

Esra suppressed a sob and tried to strip himself quickly, his fingers stumbling over the fabric. Hot tears pricked at his eyes and he kept his gaze fixed at the floor, pretending like he couldn’t feel the weight of the knight’s attention heavy upon his skin.

Embarrassed and exposed in his nudity, Esra crawled back under the covers and twisted to face the wall. He thought, wildly, of a dark story he’d been told, a sacrifice binding his own body to the altar.

He heard the shift of fabric as the knight undressed and laid aside his clothing, and then, there was soft pad of footsteps drawing closer.

He wanted to beg the knight to spare him this, but knew him to be merciless. Even if he screamed and sobbed, the knight would take what he wanted from Esra anyway, and then throw him to the soldiers outside as punishment. Then Esra would end up on one of those spikes around the perimeter, like the others, and…

Esra bit his lip so hard he nearly split the flesh.

He had to be perfect, obedient. Too harmless to bother with. It had spared him the torture that awaited outside, at least.

The sheets were peeled back.

Cold air slid over Esra’s skin as his body was revealed. He curled into himself a little more, heart thudding in his chest, too afraid to do anything but perform this desperate version of playing dead, like if he lay unmoving long enough, his stillness would protect him from that… other hunger, that seemed to overtake all men eventually.

Was it his imagination, or could he hear Umbra’s breath quickening?

Shock split down his spine as the mattress sank, tilting him back a little. The knight lowered himself onto the bed behind him, and slid in close.