Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
The warmth of the bathwater wrapped around me like a soothing embrace, easing the tension from my sore muscles. Bertha stood behind me, her hands working expertly on my shoulders, massaging the knots that had built up over days of relentless training. I had been pushing myself harder than ever, trying to master both my ice magic and the physical demands of combat. Every muscle in my body screamed, but I welcomed the pain—it meant I was getting stronger.
“Everyone in the castle’s talking about you, you know,” Bertha said with a chuckle, her fingers digging into a particularly stubborn knot. “Word is the king’s positively smitten. They say he watches you like a hawk during training. Like he can’t get enough.”
I scoffed, though I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. “He’s not smitten, Bertha. It’s all part of his plan to draw out the Dragon King. A trick. Nothing more.”
Bertha gave a dismissive snort, her hands pausing briefly on my shoulders before resuming their work. “Aye, maybe. But I’ve been around long enough to know when a man’s lookin’ at a woman like he wants to devour her.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “He’s playing a game. That’s all it is.”
Bertha leaned down, her breath warm against my ear as she whispered conspiratorially, “Well, game or not, half the staff’s placing bets on when you’ll take him to bed.”
I splashed water at her, laughing. “Bertha!”
She stepped back, grinning, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “What? I’m just sayin’ what everyone’s thinkin’. Though from the looks of it, I’d say you’ve got him twisted up good and proper.”
I shook my head, letting out a sigh. “I don’t want him twisted. I want the Dragon King destroyed. That’s all this is about. Nothing more.”
“Sure, sure,” she said, clearly not believing a word of it. “Ye keep tellin’ yourself that, love.”
Before I could respond, there was a knock on the door. Bertha paused, wiping her hands on a towel as she glanced at me. “Who could that be?”
The voice on the other side made my stomach flip. “The king requests your presence, Princess.”
I shot Bertha a wide-eyed look, and she smirked. “Speak of the devil.”
With a groan, I pushed myself up from the bath, the water sloshing around me as I reached for a robe. My muscles protested the movement, but I ignored them, tightening the fabric around myself as I stepped out of the bath.
Bertha winked at me, a knowing smile on her face. “Don’t keep him waitin’, now.”
The door opened, and Ciaran stepped inside. His gaze stayed, intense and heated, and for a moment, the air between us crackled with unspoken tension.
Bertha, ever the tactful one, cleared her throat loudly. “I’ll leave ye to it, then,” she said, slipping out of the room with a not-so-subtle grin. “Good luck, love.”
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with Ciaran. His eyes hadn’t left me since he’d walked in, and I could feel the weight of his gaze as if it were a physical touch.
He stepped closer. “Would you mind joining me on the balcony, Princess?”
I glanced down at myself, the robe suddenly feeling far too thin. “Like this?”
His lips twitched into a half-smile, his gaze softening just a fraction. “It’s fine.”
Reluctantly, I nodded, following him as he led the way to the balcony. The night air hit me as soon as we stepped outside. Ciaran moved to the edge of the railing, staring out at the vast expanse of the kingdom below. The moon cast a silver glow over everything, and the faint hum of the castle below was the only sound that broke the silence.
“We haven’t heard from the Dragon King since the note,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with purpose. “He attacked Icespire’s border again. But he’s been avoiding a full-scale assault. He knows we’re stronger. More defenses. More soldiers. Even his dragon can’t take us on head-to-head with our weapons.”
I studied him, my heart beating a little faster at the mention of Icespire. “So what do you want to do?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Ciaran turned toward me, the flickering firelight casting sharp shadows across his face. His gaze pinned me in place, sharp and calculating, and my stomach twisted under its weight. “I want to draw him out,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “Here. Where we can control the fight. See what he’s capable of.”
A knot formed deep in my stomach, tightening with every word. “What do you have in mind?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended, the unease creeping into every syllable.
Instead of answering, he moved closer, his steps deliberate, the space between us shrinking with every second. My breath caught as he reached out, his hand brushing a strand of wet hair away from my face, his touch oddly gentle despite the intensity in his eyes.
I opened my mouth to speak, to ask again what he meant, but before I could form the words, his lips crashed against mine.
It wasn’t a kiss—it was an invasion. Hard, urgent, and demanding, it consumed me instantly, stealing the air from my lungs and forcing my body into stillness. His hands tangled in my hair, the grip firm and unrelenting as he pulled me closer, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. I gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage of it, his tongue sweeping inside with a possessive hunger that made my chest tighten.
There was nothing tender about it—no hesitation, no care. His lips moved against mine with bruising force, his hands roaming as if I were something to be claimed, something to prove. The world around us blurred, and all I could feel was his heat, the demanding press of his body against mine.
I didn’t resist—not at first. For a heartbeat, I was too stunned, too swept up in the sheer force of it. But then the wrongness settled in, cold and sharp, cutting through the heat like a blade. His grip tightened, his kiss deepening, and I realized this wasn’t about me at all.
This wasn’t about desire. It was about power.
A tear slipped down my cheek, warm against the cold air, and I pulled away, breathless and shaking. My chest heaved as I stumbled back, my hand flying to my lips. They felt bruised, raw, and I hated the way they still tingled from his touch.
Ciaran stared at me, his brow furrowing as he caught the glimmer of the tear trailing down my face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone sharp with confusion and something almost like annoyance. “I thought you wanted revenge?”
I wiped the tear away quickly, my hand trembling as I avoided his gaze. “I did… I do,” I said, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I couldn’t put into words. “It’s just…”
“Just what?” he pressed, tilting his head as his piercing eyes bore into me. He didn’t step closer this time, but his presence still felt suffocating, like he could reach across the space between us with a thought.
“It’s not on my terms,” I whispered, the truth slipping out before I could stop it. My voice broke, and I hated myself for how small it sounded, for the crack that revealed how deeply this moment had shattered something inside me.
He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch, his expression calculating as he watched me. “Does it matter?” he asked, his voice cold now, laced with the faintest hint of irritation. “Does it really matter? If it works? If it gets us what we need?”
My throat tightened, and I forced myself to meet his gaze, my voice trembling with anger and pain. “Even this, Ciaran?” I said, my tone sharper now, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “Even a kiss can’t be mine? Can’t be about me?”
His lips pressed into a thin line, but there was no apology in his expression. No softness. “It’s not about the kiss,” he said flatly, stepping back as if my words had no weight at all. “It’s about the result.”
I felt the tear slip down my cheek again, hot and bitter, but this time I didn’t bother to wipe it away. “And what exactly is the result, Ciaran?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he tilted his head back, his eyes flicking to the darkened sky above us. His lips curved into a faint smirk, cold and satisfied, as if the kiss had been nothing more than a move in his endless game.
“That should draw him out,” he said simply, his voice low and assured. Then, without another glance in my direction, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, trembling and hollow, the taste of him still bitter on my lips.