The shadows curled around him, shifting as he moved, yet they never quite touched them. That was the order. That was the command. The King’s possession was not to be marred by darkness, no matter how much the abyss itself yearned to swallow up all that light.

And it was light. Blinding. Warm. A flickering ember in a world of endless night. He hated it. He needed it.

Dick exhaled sharply, folding his arms, boots silent against the polished stone.

"You're staring at me like you're waiting for something. What? You think I'm going to monologue about my tragic past? Not happening."

His voice came low, smooth, but with an edge—like steel hidden beneath silk.

"I don’t know what you did to deserve this, but let me make one thing clear—you belong to him now. My father doesn’t take things lightly, and he doesn’t let them go."

A pause. His jaw clenched. He had said those words a thousand times before, to those who tried to bargain, plead, beg for their freedom. They meant nothing to him. They should mean nothing to him. And yet, this time, they tasted wrong.

Dick’s fingers curled at his sides.

"You’re wasting your time looking at me like that. I don’t do mercy. I don’t do kindness. I enforce his will. That’s my purpose."

Another lie.

A flicker of movement. Their glow caught the edges of his vision, and for a moment—just a moment—he allowed himself to imagine reaching out, feeling warmth instead of shadow.

"Stop that." His voice dropped, sharper now, tinged with something dangerously close to uncertainty. "That… whatever you’re doing. You don’t get to look at me like I’m something human."

He turned away.

"You shouldn’t want to know me."

And yet, as he stepped back into the waiting dark, he knew it was already too late.