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There is no way onwards that does not involve passing in front of its open door.

Damon looks around. “There are too many. We’ll have to find another way in,” he says.

Opeth shakes her head. “No. There’s a faster way. Hit me,” she says pointing to her left cheek. “Hard. Make a mark.”

Damon shakes his head. “My Lady, I cannot.”

Opeth takes hold of the neckline of her chiton and pulls at it, ripping the fabric so her right breast is exposed.

Damon looks at her in shock. “My Lady?”

“Now, Damon,” she says, sharply. “There’s no time for nobility. Hit me.”

Damon, half-stunned by her behaviour, hits Opeth with enough force to mark her face savagely. She stumbles back, crying out, then turns and runs into the guards’ room, screaming, “Help me, help me. A savage has escaped. He tried to take me. Help.”

Damon presses himself into a dark corner of the small room. Heart pounding. A moment later the guards come racing out. Opeth behind them, pointing towards the passageway that she and Damon came through and wailing, “Oh. Zai. I think he means to get into the palace. I think he was a Mortingale Outlaw.”

She collapses, sobbing into the arms of one of the guards as another comforts her, leading her back into the now-empty guards’ room. As she feigns hysterics. Damon slips past them towards the cells.

When he finds himself, finally, in the dungeons and so close, he cannot control himself. He cannot even think about the stealth that would be wise here. He storms down a passageway lined with narrow doors, each with a small covered window, yelling out for Lyr. He should be careful. But he is not. Not quiet.

Behind the doors, prisoners yell back, “Help me,” “Please,” “Please, help.” He ignores them all until he hears the voice he is desperate for, calling back, sounding hopeless in the face of hope, unable to believe, “Damon?”

“Lyr!” He finds the door. He rips open the cover on the window. Through iron bars he sees him. Lyr, blinking in the dark.

He does not pause for a second. He cannot. He steps back and breaks the door open with a slam of his shoulder. The door shatters and something under Damon’s skin does too. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t feel anything but Lyr. Lyr’s body. Lyr in his arms.

Finally.

Lyr’s lips urgent on his. He presses Lyr up against the wall he is chained to and kisses him.

Chained.

The wall Lyr is chained to.

He is chained. Damon’s heart sinks. He didn’t expect this. Didn’t even think of it. Lyr wears manacles around his wrists and ankles, all attached to bolts in the cell wall.

“You came,” Lyr murmurs, kissing and kissing him. “You came back for me.”

Damon tugs at the chains. They are fixed securely. “I can’t free you. I…I’m sorry,” Damon is sobbing. “I’m sorry I let him take you.” He kisses Lyr’s face between words. “I’ll find the keys for these. I’ll go back.” He wants to cry. Another obstacle. Another problem.

“No,” Lyr whines. “Don’t go. Please, Damon, please, don’t leave me.”

Damon takes Lyr’s mouth in a long kiss, pressing him hard to the cell wall.

When Damon breaks the kiss, pulling back, Lyr breathes, “Master.”

“Slave,” Damon replies, feeling hot pleasure roll through him as Lyr shivers in his arms.

“Your slave,” Lyr breathes. “Always.”

“I want to fuck you right here,” Damon says, wild with it. He shouldn’t. He should go now. He needs the keys. He needs the keys to these chains.

“Command it, Master,” Lyr pants into his mouth. “Put me on my knees.”

He pulls back and looks at Lyr’s face. There’s a scar on it. A new mark on Lyr’s skin. Flesh split by a blow and poorly healed. “Who did this?” he snarls, trailing a finger over the mark. Hoping, somewhat foolishly, the answer will be someone he can kill right now.

Lyr says, “That was you. You hit me when Atticul took me.”