Ethan's POV
The walk back to her chambers was a silent one. My father's voice still echoed like iron chains, my brother's laughter like poison in my ears. Their words had always branded me—cursed, broken, nothing.
But Soraya… when she looked at me, she didn't see that. She saw me.
At her door, I stopped. The soft glow from the sconces along the hallway brushed her cheek, casting her in warm gold, making her seem too pure for the filth in my veins.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice jagged. "For what they said. For what I am. You didn't deserve any of it."
"Then give me honesty, Mr. Vander..." she tried to say.
"Ethan!" I corrected. "Ethan is fine."
"I'm sorry sir... Sorry Ethan but please I really need some honesty, what's really happening? Why did you bring me here?"
Honesty meant bleeding everything—my secrets, my curse, the truth that would destroy her. My mouth opened, but nothing came. Nothing I could give.
So I kissed her instead.
It was brief, desperate, wrong. I pulled away as quickly as I leaned in, guilt clawing at me. "I'm sorry," I whispered, turning to leave.
But something in me snapped. The pull—violent, undeniable—dragged me back before I made it two steps. I caught her face in my hands and kissed her again, harder this time, like my life depended on it. She gasped, but she didn't push me away. Her hands clung to me as if she'd been waiting for this too.
The door slammed shut behind us. The world outside—throne, curse, burden—ceased to exist.
I pinned her to the door, devouring her mouth. She tasted nervous, sweet, raw. My hands slid down, gripping her waist, pulling her against the hardness straining inside me. She gasped again, her body jerking with inexperience, and it nearly undid me.
I lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around me. Her breath caught when I laid her down on the bed, her wide eyes watching me, lips swollen.
"Ethan…" she whispered, breathless, trembling.
The sound wasn't fear. It was innocence.
Gods. She was untouched.
It should have stopped me. I was supposed to kill her, not… this. Not take her virginity. But the thought of being the first—her first—made me savage with need and sick with guilt all at once.
"You've never…?" My thumb brushed her cheek.
She flushed, eyes flicking down before she gave the slightest nod.
A curse escaped my lips. I kissed her softer this time, though my body burned with hunger. "Tell me if I hurt you. Tell me to stop, Soraya, and I swear I will."
"I don't want you to stop," she breathed. "I want you."
Her words broke me.
I stripped her dress away, baring her under the soft golden lamp by the bedside. My breath caught. Her breasts—full, perfect—rose and fell as she shivered beneath me. I cupped one, my thumb teasing the peak until it hardened, then lowered my mouth. She gasped when my tongue circled her nipple, her back arching helplessly, a cry tearing from her throat as I sucked her, then grazed gently with my teeth.
Her hands clawed at me, nails scraping my back. She was trembling, but she wanted me closer, deeper. Every whimper, every moan from her lips made my cock throb painfully.
I kissed down her stomach, spreading her thighs. She jolted when my fingers touched the slick heat between them. She was wet already, soaking, her body preparing for me despite her inexperience.
Her gasp was sharp, almost panicked, when I slid a finger inside her. She was so tight—untested, unbroken—that it felt like her body would never take me. I kissed her mouth, muffling her cries as I worked her slowly, gently stretching her, coaxing her open.
Her hips twitched, then moved with me, small at first, then needier, until her voice broke on my name, her release shaking through her body.
Her eyes were hazy when she looked up at me, lips parted, and she whispered, "Please."
I pressed against her entrance. She was tense, nails digging into my arms, but she nodded.
I pushed slowly, inch by inch, until I met the barrier of her innocence. Her eyes widened, a whimper catching in her throat.
"I've got you," I whispered, kissing her temple. "Breathe, Soraya. Just breathe."
With one careful thrust, I broke through. Her cry tore at me, her nails digging deep, her body tightening painfully around me. I stilled, kissing away the tears that slipped down her cheek.
"It's alright," I whispered against her skin. "It's over. You're mine now."
Her body trembled, then slowly eased beneath me as I soothed her, stroked her hair, kissed her mouth until her gasps softened. She shifted, her hips lifting shyly, telling me she was ready.
I began to move. Slowly, at first, letting her body learn mine. Her cries turned to moans, broken and pleading, her hands clutching me closer. When she wrapped her legs tight around me, begging for more, all restraint shattered.
I thrust harder, deeper, filling her, claiming her, her breasts bouncing beneath me as her nails raked my back. Her moans grew desperate, until she screamed my name, her body convulsing around me, pulling me over the edge.
Release tore through me, savage and consuming, spilling into her as I buried myself deep.
We collapsed together, sweat-soaked and shaking. Her head rested on my chest, my arms still holding her tightly.
And in that moment, with her virgin body wrapped around me, her innocence given to me, I knew I was damned.
Because I was supposed to kill her.
But I wanted her more than I wanted my next breath.
Somewhere deep in me, a truth settled like iron—I would ask her to be my mate. For what it was worth, sacrifice or salvation, Soraya was the answer written into my bones. Yet the thought burned: should I tell her the truth, bare the darkness she didn't deserve, or let her keep believing in the man she thought I was? Maybe honesty would shatter everything . Maybe silence would bind her closer. Either way, she was mine now, and I wasn't ready to let her go.