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Cruel King is marked on his body, not gently, not accidentally, but deliberately, bite and claw pressed into him like a signature. Once love without mercy. But now it was proof.
The ancients took Trotter away from him the way tides take ships, without asking, without apology. They carved their ownership into his bones, into his name, into the very blood in his body. He is theirs now. Sealed, and sworn. But restricted, no more wandering mouths. No lingering affection. No teeth against the king’s skin ever again.
So what remains is pure absence.
The king holds the records instead.
Deep-marks across the ice like torn stitches. Deep gouges where claws once anchored, where something fought to stay.
Evidence that Cruel King was once chosen, even if only briefly.
Evidence that Trotter loved Cruel King. And wouldn’t have any other lover.
And when he casts a glance on the never melting ice on his body, lays the undeniable evidence of that.