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Kastor, before, never spent time, trying to pinpoint what was the difference between his and the King's room. Seemingly, all bed chambers had the same architecture, Kastor's was smaller and only loosely decorated, of course, but it was not the only contrast.
Lying in the king's bed now - being the king now - he could see it. It was about the lights and the shining.
He didn't reject the idea that he drank more than he should've, but it all seemed to fit into his theory. It was a handful of hours after sunset, a clear night, the light of starts and candles glancing off of every surface they touched. The whole room was swimming in light. Not because of too much of a light source but because how everything seemed to be a mirror made of gold or marble reflecting the tiny dots of light. His original room, the bastard prince's room, never did that.
His smiled to himself. It mattered less and less as days went by. It was now his room, his court and his kingdom. He still felt the overwhelming need to prove it again and again, by violence and cruel power but he tried to ignore it. It was over. He won. No one was going to take that away from him now. No one could.
His chest must have been heaving as Lykaios made a soft noise, stirred from her sleep and her first instinct was to look at the king and make sure he was satisfied. Not that she ever served a king before, Kastor hoped dearly that his father never touched Lykaios.
"Are you well, Exalted?" she asked, voice smooth and bit uncollected from sleeping. He did, probably, exhaust her. Kastor looked at the young woman sprawled on him. His hand was steady, steadier than in years, as he caressed her naked, slender arm with his fingers.
"Do you love me?" It was a stupid and unnecessary question. Also, most likely pretentious to ask someone that now. He was king after all. Lykaios was a slave. She wound never even dare to say anything else than what she did say, what Kastor knew she was going to say.
"Of course, my king," she said softly, dark blue eyes glinting with sobriety and she sounded relieved this was the only thing asked of her. Lykaios wasn't trained from her childhood, it was apparent.
It must be because of her coloring. Damen favored it above training. He always flattered himself with being able to charm even the ones who were not trained for it. Like, he was so fucking powerful and above everything else. Kastor forced his untameable anger to only burn in him.
"But you miss my brother, right?" He didn't want to scare Lykaios. He hated how fucking falsely slaves acted sometimes. Scared of everything for the sake of someone else. Damen enjoyed it much more. He was going to get a great deal of his own medicine now, that's for sure.
"He was a great prince," she said quietly. Kastor smiled at her, at best as he could. His first love told him, he had an ugly smile. It was not his intention to scare the girl, to make her shiver with fear.
He didn't know why he wanted to have this conversation, why he forced it. But there was no one else and Lykaios was a slave, his slave. That's what masters did, didn't they? Used the full potential.
"Do you miss him?" he asked, hand idly roaming her unclothed back. Her skin was marble both color and touch, but for the warmth of it. He took pity in her flushed face. "I miss him greatly," he supplied, trying to ease the uneasiness around them. His eyes followed the pattern he drew with his finger on her arm. "I think I miss him more than father," his voice was dangerously quiet and vulnerable. It made him furious. "Do you think it's wrong?" He asked her because it seemed natural to ask. He was almost used to listening to people's opinion and advice when he was not interested.
"No, Exalted," she said with a smile, finger dancing on his chest. "Being king must be a lonely task to endure, but princes have time for each other."
"Do you think I will be lonely?" he asked out of reflex.
"I can't know that, Exalted," she huffed her warm breath on him. Kastor turned to the ceiling hugging the girl closer to himself.
"But you know more tales of kings than anyone I know of," he flattered her. It made her pale skin go rosy.
He could see the appeal of marble skin but was not his favorite. Jokaste was less blond and less beautiful but smarter. Kastor was not sure he liked that either. When they found themselves in bed it wasn't so much for undeniable attraction, just for fun. Kastor knew Jokaste wanted to secure something with him by that and he just wanted to prove something to himself by that.
They were one week in in his reign - in their reign, a small voice said in his head, which at first was supportive but now unnerving - and they already took after Theomedes, the man himself, by having the king's wife in a different chamber when the king was in a certain mood, except here, the queen didn't really mind it. In the future they would probably only share a bed to create new lives and nothing more. Jokaste was sweet and charming when they were alone, but was never offended when Kastor walked her to her room and left.
"Sometimes," he started, voice dangerous. He felt like he was shaking but it was only inside. He didn't even realize he cut himself off. Lykaios would never dare to talk back to him. She would never ask him directly. She was not trained from childhood. Trained slaves were better at guessing their masters mood and more confident in themselves. Lykaios was afraid all the time. Kastor sometimes wanted to vomit from the look the girl had on her. She would have crawled and begged until she was not hurt or cast out, if they asked that of her and she would've been grateful even.
She looked up and very artfully, voice almost breaking, tried it.
"What do you mean by sometimes, Exalted?" she asked. Kastor felt how her back muscles tensed, getting ready to be thrown out, hit or beat. Kastor took a second to caress her, hopefully soothing.
"Sometimes I wish I had the power of gods." He definitely could see the appeal. Lykaios had heart shaped face and it fit perfectly into a bigger hand caressing her cheek. Her eyes fluttered. "With that maybe I could undo all the wrongs that have happened to this family. To my family," he confessed voice steadier than he felt himself.
Lykaios looked up at him, her gaze open and sad. She always looked sad. Now she looked as she was sad for Kastor. Like she was pitying him for his naivety and childishness. Kastor forced himself not to lash out. If it was specifically not someone's fault, it was Lykaios'.
"Even Gods need special power to be able to raise the dead," she said raising her head, leaning on her arm, almost looming over Kastor. Maybe for the first time since they knew each other, she was speaking her mind. She looked like a human woman not just a pretty thing dressed up or undressed for someone's liking.
"The dead, yes," he repeated it without listening, hand caressing, nearly just rubbing her arm. Kastor was surprised, when she touched his face, carefully but determinedly.
"You'll be an excellent king, Exalted," she said, voice serious. Kastor's chest shrank by her tone. He felt like he never heard her voice before, it was always an act, until this moment. Her voice wasn't syrupy anymore, it was more like the small river near the place the royal family used to go to hunt. Low, tinkling and kind.
Kastor tried to smile sweetly. His hand threaded through the blondest locks in Akielos.
"Well, you, I must believe, love," he said and Lykaios blushed. Kastor could almost hear how her mind led her back to be a slave and the moment was broken, successfully.