Umbra sighed, luxuriating in Esra’s touches as the youth attended to him, stilled, so that Esra could wash his hair. His head was tilted back, exposing the pallor of his throat, his eyes closed.

For that last mercy, Esra was immeasurably grateful. To have those sharp eyes on him while he served the knight so intimately, would have left him useless and trembling.

They sat close on the submerged stone bench that spanned the circumference of the pool, water lapping at their shoulders, Esra kneeling at the knight’s broad back. With careful hands, Esra massaged Umbra’s scalp, the silk of his ashen hair. There was comfort in being given a duty to fulfill, and the means to show his obedience.

At first, he averted his eyes from the knight’s perfect visage, trying to focus on his task.

But Umbra’s eyes remained closed. Indeed, his body only relaxed into Esra’s touches.

Esra swallowed, and with this freedom, allowed himself to gaze openly.

It was a marvel to look upon the knight, without the overwhelming experience of being observed by him. Esra felt greedy for looking. Umbra's skin was bone pale, a shade unseen among the villagers who’d worked their hardest in the sun. His lashes, darkened by the water, rested against cheeks flushed with heat. His hair was so soft in color, like bird feathers, the underside of a wing.

Umbra’s mouth had relaxed in bliss. He almost melted into Esra’s hands, his beast gone tame.

A warm pride glowed to life in Esra’s chest. He couldn’t help it. For the briefest moment, Esra felt the rush of a strange sensation; that he had control over a great power, a creature as fearsome as the black knight gentling under his touch.

He knew it to be untrue.

“How I’ve missed this,” Umbra murmured. “Much better than a river, isn’t it?”

The river. It had been Esra’s favorite place by the village. If he closed his eyes he could hear the whispering trees, the rushing water, see it sparkling in the sun. He had spent many a summer day there, splashing in its waters, playing with Kian on its banks as a child. On those same banks, he’d bade his childhood friend goodbye. In its cold and cleansing waters, he’d found sanctuary; it was the place where he’d allowed himself to mourn his father, at last.

Esra let out a soft breath. “I...could never have imagined a place like this,” came his careful reply. “I can see why you missed it.”

“And what do you think of the capital?”

Once again the bonelike whiteness of the castle appeared before him, the whirl of faces with their multitude of eyes. He suppressed a shiver. “It’s as beautiful as the tales told,” he said, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice, as he rubbed his thumbs in gentle circles over the knight’s temples.

Umbra’s eyes opened, blinked, and found Esra’s face. “Could feel you shaking, behind me,” he said. His voice had deepened, closer to silent.

Esra removed his hands and pulled back. He had to look away from those piercing grey eyes, feeling his mind sliced open. “I… there was such a crowd,” he said, wrapping an arm around himself. “I have never seen so many people in my life.”

They had all been looking at him, they’d known what he was…

“They were curious.”

Umbra turned to see Esra’s face. With one hand he reached out, touched his fingers to Esra’s cheek. Carefully, he smoothed back an errant strand of hair over the shell of his ear.

“They meant no harm by it," the knight assured him. "You’ll get used to it, people looking at you.”

Esra nodded, more out of a desire to be agreeable than anything. He could not imagine ever getting used to it.

Umbra said nothing for a moment. He only continued to stroke his hand over Esra’s hair, the even pressure of his fingers soothing.

“It was a shock for me too, at first,” he said, eventually.

Startled by the confession, Esra met his eyes.

The knight was so close to him that it nearly put a new fear in Esra, but Umbra only looked back at him, gaze steady. Golden shadow and pale light dappled over his features, a study in contrast. Esra saw him as he had been in the meeting hall, the first time he had removed his mask; the beauty of his features against the black steel of his armor.

He shivered underneath the cruel hand, as it soothed him with such gentle touch.

“You needn’t worry about what other people think of you, Esra.” The knight smiled, eyes darkening. “Only what I think.”

* * *

The youth bit his tender lip, heart thudding in trepidation. For the first time, he pressed his hands over the broad expanse of Umbra’s muscled back.

Before this moment, Esra had only touched Umbra like this when they lay in bed together, secluded under the sheets. Cocooned in darkness, the night allowed for such secret caresses: his fingers shyly exploring the sleek shapes of Umbra’s body, the luxury of his skin.

He’d been hidden away then, protected and unseen.

Now all was illuminated by the golden sun that dappled from the leaded skylight.

Umbra’s wet skin glistened under his hands. With every breath the knight took, Esra could feel the shift of strength under smooth skin, watched as the rivulets of water trickled down the definition of his muscles. His breath caught in his throat. He was mesmerised at the sight of his own narrow hands, so small upon Umbra’s back, running over his broadly muscled arms...

A trickle of heat curled in Esra’s stomach that had nothing to do with the warmth of the water.

The knight turned his head.

Esra pulled his hands back at once, as if he’d been caught doing something unlawful.

Water sluiced as the knight shifted to face Esra. Clear droplets ran down his slicked hair, curving around his neck, over his muscled chest. Esra quickly averted his eyes to safety, cheeks reddening with embarrassment. If he focused on his breathing, then the pounding of his heart would subside.

“Come now, Esra,” said Umbra, and took hold of his slender wrists, guided his hands to his chest.

Esra’s face flamed at the solid feel of him beneath his palms.

Wrongness pounded in his head, as his body heated. His entire young life he had always quashed such strange stirrings, not daring to give them any thought.

It took every ounce of strength to still his shaking hands. He could not allow himself to think about his own nudity, the slide of his soap-slick hands over the muscles of Umbra’s chest. His heart raced, his skin prickling. He was near in the knight’s lap as he brushed the buttery soap flakes over his sculpted torso, down the firm muscles of his waist...

Once again, he felt that pulsing pull in the pit of his own stomach. His insides were hot and liquid.

To his mortification, he realised that he was getting hard. Esra kept his hips canted away, squeezing his thighs together, and hoped that the knight would not notice his grave offence.

But Umbra, it seemed, wanted more.

Strong hands gripped Esra around the waist. The youth gasped as he was lifted and pulled close, made to straddle Umbra’s lap, the water sloshing about them. The inside of his thighs slid silken over Umbra’s skin, and Esra nearly pushed away in his panic, overcome with fear that Umbra would be able to feel it, the humiliating stiffness of his flesh.

Except Umbra only tightened his grip to hold him in place.

“Esra,” he murmured. It wasn’t a warning, but it could have been.

I’ve promised to be good, Esra reminded himself, and let himself be stilled even as shameful tears pricked his eyes. The knight’s strength was terrifying. So easily he restrained Esra, yet a strange guilty thrill fluttered through his chest at the feel of it. It had always thrilled him.

Umbra reached to the poolside and scooped up a handful of soap flakes from the carved bowl.

“Your turn, I think.”