Episode 103: Mistress and Prince

The manor was quiet in a way that felt deliberate.

Not peaceful. Not idle.

Anticipatory.

I closed the door to our private study with a soft click, the sound echoing faintly against the dark wood walls. My heels pressed into the carpet as I stepped forward, adjusting the collar of my black dress shirt, the faint scent of lavender and nightshade clinging to me like a second skin.

Beckett was already there.

Of course he was.

Standing near the window, tall, still, draped in shadows—mask in place, gloves immaculate, scarf resting perfectly along his neck. The faint glow of the evening light traced his silhouette like something out of a gothic painting.

“…You called for me,” he said quietly.

Always so obedient.

I smiled. Slow. Deliberate.

“…I did.”

I approached him without hurry, each step measured, controlled. He didn’t move. He never did unless I wanted him to.

“…You’ve been working too hard again,” I murmured, stopping just inches away. “…Neglecting yourself.”

His gaze lowered slightly. “…I—”

I reached up, hooking a finger gently under the edge of his scarf, tugging him just a fraction closer. Not enough to startle. Just enough to remind.

“…No excuses,” I whispered.

He exhaled softly. “…Yes… Mistress.”

That word.

Even now, after all this time, it still sent a quiet thrill through me.

I tilted my head, studying him—the shy tension in his posture, the way he held himself so carefully, so restrained. Always so composed for the world.

But not for me.

Never for me.

“…My tall, dark, handsome prince,” I murmured, voice softer now, fingers brushing lightly along his collar. “…Always hiding behind layers.”

I nudged his mask slightly—just enough to shift it, not remove it. A tease. A reminder of control.

“…And yet,” I continued, “…you come undone so easily.”

He let out a quiet breath, shoulders relaxing just slightly under my touch.

“…Only for you,” he admitted.

Of course.

I smiled, satisfied.

My hand slid down to his wrist, gloved fingers meeting bare control, guiding him—not forcefully, never forcefully—just enough to direct him where I wanted him.

Which was closer.

Always closer.

“…You behave so well,” I whispered. “…Quiet. Observant. Devoted.”

I leaned in, voice brushing against him like silk.

“…Exactly my type.”

He swallowed faintly, hands still at his sides. Waiting. Always waiting.

“…Mistress…”

The way he said it—soft, reverent, steady despite the tension—it never failed to please me.

I let the silence stretch, just to feel it. Just to let him sit in it.

Then—finally—I reached up and smoothed his hair back slightly, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“…Relax,” I said, tone softening just a fraction. “…You’re home.”

That was the difference.

At work, I was cold. Sharp. Untouchable.

Here…

I was still in control.

But warmer.

For him.

He leaned into the touch—just barely, just enough that anyone else might miss it.

Not me.

Never me.

“…Thank you,” he murmured.

I hummed softly, pleased, letting my hand drift down to his shoulder.

“…You don’t need to thank me,” I replied. “…You’re mine.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“…And I’m yours.”

For a moment, neither of us moved.

The kind of stillness that wasn’t empty—but full.

Heavy with understanding. With familiarity. With something deeper than words.

Then, just as easily as it had built, I eased back slightly, adjusting his scarf again—this time properly. Composed. Controlled.

“…There,” I said lightly. “…Presentable again.”

He let out a small, almost shy breath. “…You always do that.”

“…Of course I do,” I replied with a faint smirk. “…It’s my role.”

From the hallway, faint footsteps.

The twins.

We both knew it.

And right on cue—

“…They’re being intense again,” Peresphone’s voice drifted in, flat and unimpressed.

“…As expected,” Hades added.

I rolled my eyes slightly, though a smile tugged at my lips.

“…We have an audience.”

Beckett adjusted his mask quickly, posture returning to its usual composed state. “…Of course we do.”

I leaned in one last time, voice low enough that only he could hear:

“…Later, my prince.”

He nodded faintly. “…Yes… Mistress.”

And just like that, the moment folded neatly back into our usual rhythm.

Controlled. Quiet. Perfect.

The door opened. The twins stepped in, stoic as ever, eyes scanning us both with far too much awareness for their age.

“…Are you done?” Peresphone asked.

“…For now,” I replied smoothly, already turning toward my desk.

Hades nodded. “…Good. Dinner soon.”

I glanced back at Beckett for just a moment.

He met my gaze.

And that was enough.

Because whether in silence, in shadow, or in the smallest gestures—

We were always exactly what we were meant to be.

Mistress and prince.

Control and trust.

First. Last. Always.