SHACKLED BY ROYALTY
#12: EMPTY DOESN'T HURT ENOUGH
Previous/ Masterlist
So sorry it took so longg >.< so hereeee's an extraa long one for my babiess
TW: Mikhael is an asshole, humiliation, captivity, slight mention of food deprivation, emotional manipulation
Noah woke up to the ache first, then the emptiness. He felt a slow, bruised ache behind his eyes. He tried lifting his head but the world tipped, colors and shapes seeming to merge together. A strange buzzing filled his head. What was that about? he wondered. A sudden hunger hit him now. Not actually the kind he'd forgotten in the earlier hours of being taken, but a raw, gnawing hollowness that didn't really have anything to do with hunger and everything to do with emptiness.
He tasted metal when he breathed, and when he moved his shoulder accidently a hard jolt coursed through his body that made him almost arch his back in pain. He realized his arms were covered in bandages. His shirt had been cut away, his arms were an array of bruises and swollen purple lines. His back and torso too had been neatly bandaged. He noticed a smell - a clean clinical scent that made him feel dizzy; alcohol and something like boiled linen.
He remembered - as if being heard of it from outside - the punishment, what had happened to Damian wasn't supposed to happen but Noah couldn't help but feel a little selfish for not wanting to care about it anymore. His life until now had been nothing but filled with misery and pain, and he wanted nothing more than to just not think about it anymore. He wanted to just let himself drown in his own consciousness. He didn't want to think anymore, didn't want to care anymore. But the dull ache in his heart whenever he thought about Damian gave away his indifferent facade that he so desperately wanted to immerse in.
He remembered Andrey's face so clearly that, for a second, he thought the door would open and the chill of those eyes would sweep the room again.
As if on cue, the door did open. It wasn't Andrey. The footsteps were too careful, too performative unlike Andrey's prideful, confident strides.
A face Noah hated as easily as he hated the bruise-sour taste of his own fear filled the doorway. Mikhael's tall figure gave an irritating smirk, his jaw too square for any kindness. He moved like a man who had practiced cruelty until it was the simplest thing to put on. For some unknown reason, Mikhael annoyed him greatly, he didn't know whether it was because he had a hand in Noah's recapture or it was just his face.
He didn’t need to say anything to make Noah resent him. Apparently, resenting Mikhael was the new compulsory thing.
"Awake. A pity really." Mikhael observed, as if Noah were a nuisance. He stepped forward and looked at him with slow amusement. "I was reaallyyyy hoping you'd have just dropped dead y'know." He gave a pout and Noah felt unbelievably offended.
Mikhael sighed dramatically when Noah didn't say anything. "You're really not much fun huh? All that silence, all that blank little stare-" He reached out suddenly, gripping Noah's jaw and forcing his head up as the younger boy let out a whine in pain. "It just makes me wanna ruin you soooo bad" He smiled sickeningly sweet, one that sent shiver down Noah's spine.
Fortunately he moves away, releasing him, straightening and brushing imaginary dust off his immaculate coat.
He snapped his fingers, and a young servant appeared behind him, wheeling in a small tray of food - soup, bread, and a cup of water. How typical, Noah thought but still his stomach twisted violently with hunger at the sight of it. He hadn't eaten properly in two days.
But Mikhael wasn't about to make it easy. He kicked the tray closer to Noah - hard enough that the cup tipped over and half the water spilled across the concrete. “There you go. Eat. If you can crawl for it.” He simply shrug as if it was such a minor inconvenience.
Noah felt the urge to go and pull out the asshole's hair out. Only if he had the energy and Andrey wouldn't beat the absolute shit out of him. He hesitated, staring at the small puddle of the precious water spreading out before him.
"Not hungry?" Mikhael taunted. "Fine then. Waste away. See if i give a shit. I'm just supposed to make sure you don't die before Andrey does whatever he has to do with you."
His words were soaked with venom, but his eyes carried something worse - amusement. The bastard enjoyed this. Enjoyed watching Noah struggle, watching him hesitate between pride and survival.
Noah finally reached forward with trembling hands, pulling the bowl toward him with much struggle. The soup was lukewarm, watery but he didn’t really care. He drank, shaking, careful not to spill a drop. Mikhael’s chuckle and mocking voice echoed off the walls.
“There you go. Good little pet.”
Noah froze mid-sip, every nerve in his body tensing at the word. Pet. He wanted to throw the bowl, to scream, but he didn’t. The fear was too deep, the exhaustion too heavy.
This was too degrading for him. He could handle Andrey but this man's taunting voice and remarks made him want to rip his own hair out. He ends up choking halfway through, coughs rattling his body.
A loud laugh makes him flinch and he slowly looks up at Mikhael's overjoyed face. "You can't even eat properly. Tch. Pathetic."
Mikhael leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes flicking lazily over him. “You know, Andrey says you’re special. Says there’s something about you that makes people stupidly loyal. Damian especially.” His grin widened. “But honestly? I don’t see it. You’re pathetic. Weak. A liability.”
Noah’s head jerked up before he could stop himself. His heart slammed against his ribs, each beat louder than the last. Even the air seemed sharper now, harder to breathe. Damian’s name, spoken casually, carelessly, felt like a knife twisting deep into the hollow place where hope had lived.
“Ah, there it is,” Mikhael said delighted. “I've heard Andrey's got something special planned for your beloved friend y'know”
“You should’ve seen the mess he made when Andrey was through talking to him. Stubborn little thing — wouldn’t stop asking where you were.”
Noah’s pulse thundered in his ears, his throat closing around a sound that refused to come out. Every muscle in his body locked tight, as though bracing for a blow. His hands trembled, clenching into fists so hard his nails cut into his palms. He wanted to protest, to shout, he’s still alive, you can’t touch him, but the words dissolved into a thick, choking lump.
Mikhael noticed. Of course he fucking noticed. That was the point.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Mikhael drawled, dragging the back of his chair closer until he was sitting right in front of Noah, elbows on his knees. “I’m just saying, maybe if you behaved a little better, Andrey might let you see him again. From a distance.”
He grinned, leaning in until his breath brushed against Noah’s ear.
“Or maybe he’ll let you watch what happens next.”
Noah’s stomach pitched violently. His body wanted to move, to escape, to curl up and disappear, but he could barely lift his limbs. His mind screamed at him: Don’t let him see that he’s getting to you. Don’t. You can’t. You can’t. But the truth was undeniable — every nerve, every muscle, every fragile fragment of him, was betraying him. Noah’s stomach twisted violently. He wanted to move, to fight, to do anything, but he was frozen — body betraying him with its shaking.
Noah’s throat tightened, his eyes watering, but the tears wouldn’t fall. He felt hollow, as if all the light and warmth inside him had been drained, leaving only raw, pulsing pain. He wanted to argue, to shout, to tell Mikhael that Damian was worth more than this, worth more than anything, but his voice had turned traitor too.
Mikhael chuckled, low and mean.
“You know what’s funny? He used to ask about you all the time. Drove everyone insane.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch until Noah’s trembling became noticeable. Then his voice softened into something almost pitying — false, deliberate.
He pressed his hands to his face, trying to block it out, trying to force his body to stop trembling, to stop breaking, but there was no wall high enough to contain the ache.
“Not anymore, though.”
And then it hit. A tidal wave of despair, sharp and unrelenting. Damian wasn’t asking about him anymore. Damian wasn’t waiting. Damian was gone — and it was Noah who had failed him. It was all his fault. His fault. His fault. His fault. The thought looped endlessly in his mind, a mantra of guilt and self-hatred. You’re worthless. You failed him. You always fucking fail.
Mikhael’s laughter, low and cruel, cut across the room, dragging Noah further into the pit he was already buried in.
“God, you’re easy.”
Noah’s knees buckled. He sank to the floor, curling in on himself, a small, broken thing. The air felt too thick, the shadows too close. The taste of bile rose in his throat. He pressed his hands over his chest as if that could hold the pieces together, as if it could keep Damian alive in some small corner of him.
When Mikhael finally left, whistling as if nothing had happened, the silence that remained was a living thing — heavy, suffocating, mocking.
For a long moment after Mikhael’s footsteps faded, Noah didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even blink.
It was as though something inside him had gone perfectly still — a silence too heavy to carry. The air around him felt thick, suffocating, pressing against his ribs until it hurt to draw in a breath.
Damian doesn’t ask about you anymore.
The words echoed, over and over, until they no longer sounded like Mikhael’s voice. They became something else — hollow, merciless — like they were crawling out from inside his own skull.
He wanted to scream that it wasn’t true. That Damian wouldn’t forget him. But the thought caught in his throat, dying before it could form. Because deep down, beneath the haze of exhaustion and bruised hope, another voice whispered something quieter, crueler.
What if he really hasn’t? What if Mikhael was right?
Noah’s hands trembled, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if to hold himself together. He could still feel Mikhael’s touch on his cheek — the mocking pats that burned with humiliation. He rubbed the spot furiously, trying to erase it, but it only made his skin ache more.
He drew in a shaky breath. The air stung like ice when it hit his lungs. His stomach twisted violently, bile creeping up his throat. The soup he’d forced down earlier churned, threatening to come back up, but he swallowed it down — because he knew if he made a mess, someone would make him regret it.
He pressed his forehead to his knees. Every muscle in his body screamed from the motion, but it didn’t matter. The pain grounded him — something solid in a world that kept slipping through his fingers.
He used to ask about you all the time.
The memory flooded in — Damian’s laughter, his hand brushing Noah’s shoulder, his voice soft when he’d said “I’ll get us out of here.” He had believed him. God, he had wanted to believe him.
But now… Now that promise felt like a cruel echo of something that had never really been real.
Noah’s chest tightened until he thought it might collapse entirely. His breath came in small, uneven gasps. Tears welled in his eyes but refused to fall, trapped there, shimmering like broken glass. He wanted to cry - to let it all out - but even that felt like too much effort.
He felt empty. Not the kind of empty that comes from hunger, but the kind that feels like being hollowed out from the inside. Every word Mikhael had said clung to him, sticky and suffocating, wrapping around his heart like barbed wire.
For the first time, Noah wondered if maybe Andrey was right - maybe Damian wasn’t a hero, maybe there was no one coming for him. Maybe he really was nothing but a broken thing made to kneel and obey.
The thought made him nauseous. He curled tighter into himself, arms wrapped around his body as though trying to hold the pieces together before they split apart for good.
In the quiet, his heartbeat sounded too loud, ragged and uneven.
And then, softly, almost silently, he whispered Damian’s name. Just once. Barely audible.
It fell into the air and vanished instantly, swallowed by the same silence that had been suffocating him for days.
And yet, somehow, that tiny whisper hurt him more than any wound ever could.
Because even as he said it, he knew no one was listening. And no one ever would.
Reblogs are appreciated <3