Page 37

Hadrian forced me on the back of his wyvern for the very first time today.

I get it now.

Tabitha Wysteria

Sleep was an impossibility.

Ash Acheron lay restless, staring at the canopy of his bed, but no amount of silence could erase the image burnt into his mind.

Mal Blackburn dancing.

She had moved long after most had left the banquet hall, swaying alone in the dying glow of the torches, her body a symphony of sinuous grace. The way her hips rolled should have been forbidden.

He had sat there, mesmerised. Hypnotised. Ruined.

Even as Hagan had sat beside him, trying to hold a conversation, Ash had barely been able to hear anything but the silent rhythm she swayed to. Her body spoke a language that required no words, only the spellbinding movement of her limbs .

And then—she had looked at him from across the room, alone because her brother had abandoned her for some drakonian servant.

Mal’s purple eyes had locked onto his and she had danced for him.

It had been slow at first, languid and teasing, but then her hands had begun to move, trailing down the curve of her thighs, sliding back up, lifting the whisper of a dress that was already too sheer, too dangerous.

Ash had forgotten to breathe.

She was taunting him. And he had let her.

Her fingers had skated over her bare stomach, rising higher, higher—

Ash pushed back the sheets and strode onto his balcony, barefoot and shirtless, the cold wind biting into his overheated skin.

There would be no sleep for him tonight.

His marriage was mere days away, and the thought of being bound to a foreign princess he barely knew churned something bitter inside him.

But after fighting her in the Champions’ Battle, after feeling her raw power, the exhilaration of facing someone so untamed…

And then tonight—watching Zahian Noor touch her hand.

The same hand she had later run along her body as she danced.

Ash gritted his teeth, unable to shake the unbearable, maddening urge to touch her himself. To sink his fingers into the wild tangle of her black hair, to pull her to him and taste her, explore her, consume her. What would she feel like beneath him? What would she taste like?

He closed his eyes, the image of her spread across his silk sheets—her dress ripped from her body, his lips trailing every inch of her skin—it was too much.

With a growl, Ash turned sharply and strode down the stone staircase that led from his balcony to the secluded beach below. He needed the water. Needed to drown the hunger clawing through him.

Stripping off his clothes, he waded into the inky black sea, the cold biting against his burning skin.

The water was still, the only light coming from the silvered glow of the moon as it shimmered across the gentle waves.

He swam farther out, turning back to look at the castle, its towering silhouette rising against the night sky.

This was his home.

It was all he had ever known, the only world he had ever belonged to.

And now—now it would become hers. Did she feel like a stranger here?

Did she long for home? He wanted to ask her, to hear her thoughts, to understand how it felt to have your entire world rewritten.

But the fear of stuttering, of failing to find the words, kept him away.

A sound cut through the stillness.

Ash turned sharply, scanning the dark water.

There—not far from him.

His breath caught.

Mal Blackburn floated on her back, arms stretched out, completely naked beneath the moonlight.

Ash nearly choked. He twisted around, clearing his throat to alert her. Her shriek confirmed she had heard him.

‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed.

He turned back, frowning.

‘Swimming.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Of all nights… Are you naked?’

‘You are too.’

Mal pulled a face. ‘And how would you know that?’

Then—that smile.

That wicked, knowing, sharp-as-a-knife smile that sent his pulse hammering. His body locked up at the sight of it, at the way she began swimming towards him, slow and purposeful. For a brief, torturous moment, all he could see was her dancing.

His control wavered.

His eyes dipped—just for a second.

She splashed him.

‘Get out then,’ she said.

‘Why me?’

‘I was here before you.’

‘My home.’

Mal cocked her head, raising an elegant brow. ‘Oh really? Must I remind you that in a matter of days we will be married, and this will officially be my home, too?’

Ash chuckled, deep and low, and she stilled.

‘Not yet,’ he whispered, teasing. Then he gestured to the shore.

She splashed him again.

He certainly deserved it. But god, it was worth it. Because he got to watch her swim away, the moonlight kissing her bare back, gliding off the water that clung to her skin. She glanced over her shoulder, and if looks could kill, Ash would have been dead.

Mal emerged from the sea so slowly, so deliberately, her body gleaming beneath the moonlight, droplets cascading from her skin like liquid silver.

Ash groaned. Audibly.

He hadn’t thought this through. He should not have let her get out first. Now—now she was bending down, reaching for that damn dress, that sheer, flimsy slip of fabric that barely covered anything.

Ash clenched his jaw and turned sharply, desperate for composure. But all he could think about was grabbing her. Keeping her right there on the sand, her body beneath him, his mouth exploring every inch of her, tasting, devouring, consuming.

His restraint snapped.

Without thinking, without hesitation, he turned back towards the shore. Ready to take her. But—

The beach was empty.

Mal Blackburn was nowhere in sight.

Ash exhaled harshly, running a hand over his face. He was not sleeping tonight. Not a single goddamn second.

…

Alina had slept far too long, and yet, it still wasn’t enough.

Her head throbbed, a dull, insistent ache from the copious amounts of wine she had consumed at the banquet.

Even now, as the morning sun spilt through the curtains, golden and unforgiving, the remnants of last night’s indulgence lingered behind her eyes.

She pressed her fingertips to her temples, rubbing slow, circular motions in a futile attempt to chase the pain away.

She had noticed Hagan's gaze throughout the evening, the way his eyes had narrowed in silent reprimand each time she had lifted her glass, each time the honeyed liquor had slipped down her throat.

She had half a mind to throw the damned drink in his face.

What did it matter to him how much she drank? Not all of them had the luxury of brooding in dark corners, clutching their duty to their chest like a sacred relic.

With a tired sigh, she pushed away from the bed, allowing the maids to dress her, their hands cool and efficient as they worked the laces of her gown. The scent of warm bread and fresh fruit filled the air, a reminder that breakfast had already been set.

She plucked a handful of grapes from the golden tray, their cool skin a welcome contrast to the heat of her lips, and padded barefoot towards the balcony.

Beyond the open doors, the morning air was crisp, a gentle breeze curling around her shoulders, lifting the stray golden strands from her face. She leaned against the stone railing, eyes drifting towards the horizon, the distant mountains rising like jagged teeth against the soft blue of the sea.

Last night Kai Blackburn had run off into the night, no doubt chasing after some poor, unsuspecting servant. Alina did not care. He was not her problem. If he wanted to bed a servant, let him. Why should it concern her what men did with their time? They did whatever they pleased. Always.

She popped another grape between her lips, savouring the burst of sweetness, letting it melt away on her tongue before swallowing.

The sound of doors swinging open pulled her from her thoughts.

She turned just as Ash stepped inside. The shadows beneath his eyes were deep, dark hollows that made his face look hardened, worn. He had not slept. Not even a little.

Alina’s brows lifted slightly as she studied him, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Had he run off with a servant, too?

No. Surely not.

Ash had better taste than that.

He sat down at the table and bit down on a grape.

‘Did you not sleep?’ Alina’s voice was light with curiosity as she crossed the lavish chamber, filling a crystal goblet with freshly squeezed juice.

The scent of ripe oranges lingered in the air.

She set it before her brother, watching as he took slow, measured sips, deliberately avoiding her gaze. ‘You look dreadful, brother.’

Ash did not respond, merely reached for a plate and began serving himself in silence.

Alina studied him for a moment, then shrugged, deciding not to pry. Instead, she busied herself with piling eggs, buttered toast, and delicate cakes onto her own plate. She no longer cared about her mother’s lectures on restraint; if the damned dress for the wedding was too tight, so be it.

‘I cannot believe we have only two days left until the wedding,’ she mused, slicing into her toast. ‘There is still so much to be done. Mother must be having a fit. I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t sent a maid to drag me from my chambers.’

Ash grunted something incoherent around a mouthful of food.

Alina grimaced. ‘Swallow first, Ash. You’re going to choke one of these days.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Why must all men eat like wild beasts? For gods’ sake, use a fork.’

A low chuckle escaped him as he grabbed a piece of bread and hurled it at her.

The slice hit her square in the face.

Alina gasped, scandalised. ‘Ash! You are to be a king one day! You cannot throw food!’

Her brother only laughed harder, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief. Not satisfied, he reached for a handful of grapes and a slice of pear, launching them in her direction.