The carriage had come to a halt, but even then, Aria didn’t move.
She sat frozen in place, her body stiff beneath her cloak, hands clenched tight in her lap. Her legs trembled—subtle but uncontrollable—and the burning heat in her lower belly throbbed with a maddening persistence.
It was worse now than it had ever been before, a suffocating wave of tension and need that made it difficult to even rise. Her breath hitched as she fixed her gaze on the floor, refusing to lift her eyes, silently willing him to go first.
But Zyren didn’t move.
He didn’t step out. He didn’t even glance at the door. Instead, he reclined against the velvet-lined seat, turning toward her with infuriating ease. His expression was unreadable, though a hint of amusement ghosted across his lips.
"After you..." he drawled, voice smooth as silk. Then, casually, "Or would you like me to carry you?"
The words came gently, but Aria flinched as if struck. There was no mockery in his tone, no overt menace—but it didn’t matter. Her heart thudded hard against her ribs, and the hairs along her arms prickled. To her, the offer felt like a veiled command, one she had no power to refuse.
She shook her head at once, eyes wide, voice caught in her throat. Her face drained of color as panic surged through her, and without another word, she forced herself to stand.
Her body resisted, knees wobbling as she reached for her cane with a death grip. The ache in her ankle as she put pressure on it was sharp and immediate, but she welcomed the pain.
It gave her something to focus on, something other than the oppressive heat pooling between her legs, slick and shameful. Something other than him.
Just walk, Aria. Get to your room. You can make it.
She straightened her coat with trembling fingers, pulling it tightly across her front in a feeble attempt to mask the tension burning through her. Every step felt like wading through fire, the friction unbearable. Her breath hitched, and a soft groan nearly escaped her throat, muffled only by sheer will. The desire that gripped her was unnatural, overwhelming, and the worst of it was the traitorous dampness that slipped down her inner thigh.
She moved to descend the steps of the carriage—
And her feet left the ground.
Her breath fled her lungs as she was lifted clean off the floor. Arms wrapped around her before she could react, and in the blink of an eye, Zyren was holding her. Her body balanced against his arm with casual, effortless strength.
Her lips parted in stunned silence. The world tilted as he stepped out of the carriage without missing a beat, boots striking the stone path with unnerving purpose. He didn’t look at her, didn’t say a word—just carried her as if the decision had always been his to make.
She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. The speed with which he moved, faster than his usual languid pace, left her breathless. Her heart raced as they passed under the towering archway, servants and guards bowing their heads in deference without daring to meet Zyren’s gaze.
But they had just gotten to her corridor when Aria could no longer remain quiet when i became clear that he was about to pass it and head to his wing.
"Wait—" she rasped, her voice hoarse with dread. "I—I’m not feeling well. I swear it. I’ll... I’ll please you, but—"
But he didn’t let her finish.
"You’re not well," he said, voice low and maddeningly calm. "I can make you better."
Her spine stiffened as a wave of cold swept through her. She couldn’t see his expression, but the danger in his voice was clear. He wasn’t taking her to her room. He was taking her to his.
Her panic spiked. "King Zyren!"
The name slipped out, sharp and pleading.
His jaw twitched, and his eyes flicked toward her—just for a second. It was enough.
"Master?..." she corrected quickly, her voice cracking. Her hands gripped the edge of his coat, knuckles white as she clung to him in desperation. "Please..."
Her voice broke on the word, trembling, breathless. The fear in her expression was raw, stark enough to make her look as though she might cry.
Zyren stopped in front of the heavy black doors of his private wing. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he looked down at her.
"Are you crying?" he asked, his tone more curious than cruel.
Aria shook her head, but tears were already welling in her eyes. The heat inside her pulsed stronger with every breath. Her limbs felt too heavy, her vision blurred with dizziness—and underneath it all, a darker instinct clawed at her. An ache that whispered for her to lean into him, to beg for relief.
He studied her for a long moment before speaking again.
"Do you think I’ll hurt you?"
His voice was quieter now. Not gentle, but subdued—as though the question wasn’t a question at all, but a test.
She opened her mouth but no sound came. Her lips quivered, breath catching in her throat. She was dazed, too light-headed to form words.
And then, somehow, from the fog in her mind, she found a response.
"I hate you," she whispered. "I don’t want you to touch me!" she said through gritted teeth damning the consequences
It was honest. And defiant.
But Zyren showed no anger. His face remained unreadable, his grip on her unchanged.
"I aware!" he said as he pushed open the door to his chambers and stepped inside. The guards behind him paused at the threshold, exchanging a glance, but none dared follow.
The door slammed shut.
And then the world tilted again.
Aria gasped as her back met soft, luxurious sheets, the scent of spice enveloping her before she could make sense of it. Then something warm pressed against her lips.
She gasped into the kiss—shocked, unwilling, but too slow to turn away. The heat of him overwhelmed her, his tongue sweeping in and claiming hers in a single, devastating stroke.
And worse—she slowly felt her body respond as the heat was subdued.
Her fingers curled against his chest, not to push him away but to hold on. Her lips parted further, her tongue meeting his in a desperate, hungry dance that made her want to cry out. She mirrored his movements, clung to the kiss as though it were the only tether she had to reality.
Zyren smirked against her lips, pulling back only when he chose to. His coat hit the floor with a dull thud. He kissed her again, slow and deep, before finally drawing back.
The sound escaped her before she could stop it.
She reached for him—and he pulled just out of reach.
Only then did the fog in her mind lift. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized what she had done. She scrambled back, dragging herself across the plush blankets to put distance between them, her back slamming into the carved headboard.
Instead, he unfastened his shirt with deliberate slowness, letting the fabric slip from his shoulders. His pale chest was lean and powerful, his arms muscles bulged, body carved like marble, and even if she’d been a vampire, Aria knew she wouldn’t stand a chance against him.
"The kiss helped, didn’t it?" he asked and although he was right Aira refused to admit it.
"I—I can use my mouth!" she blurted, eyes flicking to the bulge beneath his trousers. "I’ve done it once before. I—I can do better this time—"
"Later," he cut her off smoothly, climbing back onto the bed.
He moved with quiet purpose, crawling toward her like a beast stalking its prey.
She scrambled backward, retreating until she could go no farther, her back pressed flat against the headboard.
"I’ll say this again while you’re still conscious!" he said even as he continued to move closer while Aira looked everywhere but him ready to bolt.