The palace guards dragged the Guide through the iron gates like he was a feral animal. 

Chains rattled against the floor as they shoved him into the receiving hall. 
Servants kept their distance, eyes down, as though the mere sound of his boots scuffing the floor might infect them. 
Dain watched from the dais, one hand resting on the arm of his ornate throne dais. The guide lifted his head, and those brown eyes burned with challenge. 

Most Guides trembled when they stood in this hall. 
Kneeling in front of Crown Prince Dain de Celsestino. 

This one… sneered. 

"Collar him properly," Dain ordered, his voice smooth and arrogant. 
A knight clipped a silver circlet around the man's throat, etched with runes to suppress his resonance. The Guide hissed, twisting against the grip on his arms. 
"Doesn't suit me," he muttered, voice rough but steady. "Silver makes me look cheap." 
A sudden laugh stirred in Dain's chest. He smothered it beneath a curl of contempt. "You mistake yourself for something worth adorning." 

The Guide's lips twitched. "Fucking bastard! You're a dirty beast pretending to be so above me! Fuck you! Fucking trash!!" 
The knights froze, horrified. One moved to strike the Guide running his mouth, but Dain raised a gloved hand.

"Leave us." 

The room emptied immediately, guards dragging their boots nervously. Soon it was only Dain and the Guide, inside the vast chamber of stone and silver. 
Dain rose and walked down the steps. Elion didn't move, though his chains clinked as he shifted his weight. Defiance still burned in those eyes. 

"You don't believe in fairy tales now, do you?" Dain asked, circling him like a predator measuring it's prey. Intrigued by the lack of fear. 

"Only fools do," Elion spat. 

Dain's mouth curved. 
"Good. Then you understand I didn't buy you for the fantasy of some perfect bond. You are here because there's something about you I mean to destroy." 
He stopped in front of Elion, tilting his head. "That scowl. That stubbornness. I'll enjoy watching it crack." 

Elion bared his teeth in a smile as sharp as broken glass. "Try me." 

Dain reached out and touched the collar around the Guides neck. 
The runes glowed faintly as he pressed his palm against them. For a heartbeat, he allowed his storm to slip free, a whisper of telekinetic force, enough to rattle the chandeliers overhead. 
 
Elion gasped softly, not in fear but from the weight of power wearing down on him. Something inside Dain tightened in anger. It would be so easy to crush the Guide here and now, right where he stood. 

Instead, he ordered: "Resonate with me."
Elions's eyes shook with fury. "Go to hell."
Dain's fingers closed around his throat. "Do it." Not choking, not yet, but claiming, testing. "Fucking do it."

The air between them sparked, Dain's storm blasting inside the hall. He felt the faintest flicker of resonance, a thread brushing against him. 

Fragile but stubborn. Alive.
Still, it wasn't enough. 

Dain growled, frustration sparking into anger. He yanked Elion closer, so close their breaths mingled. "You will resonate. That's the only fucking purpose if your useless life." 

And then, on impulse, Dain pressed his mouth against Elion's.
The reaction was immediate. 

Energy ripped through him, like fire across his veins. His storm surged uncontrollably, smashing through the hall, the silver mirrors cracked, chandeliers swayed violently, air whirled into a cyclone. 

Elion convulsed against him, eyes wide with irritation and anger. His hands strained against the chains, trying to shove Dain away, but the resonance thread between them flared. 

Dain broke the kiss, shoving Elion against the pillar behind him, his own chest heaving. The room reeked of ozone, sparks still dancing along his fingertips. 

For a long, brutal moment, neither spoke. 

Then Elion coughed blood onto the floor, glaring up at him. "If that's your idea of bonding, Your Fucking Highness… you're going to be very lonely." 

Dain wiped blood from his own mouth, surprised to taste it there. His heart pounded with the echo of being on the verge of losing control. He never had. 
And he never would. 

He leaned in, voice low, venomous. "You're right. I don't want a bond."
He brushed his thumb across Elion's bruised jaw; more a threat than touch. 

"I want to break you." 

To be continued...