Mia woke to a silence so profound it was oppressive. The opulent chamber felt like a gilded cage, the heavy curtains blocking out any hint of the outside world. The crimson mark on her wrist pulsed with an insistent thrum, a constant, intimate reminder of Asher's presence, even when he wasn't physically near. His emotions, though muted by distance, were a low hum beneath her own: a focused intent, a predatory anticipation. Training. The word echoed in her mind, a cold promise.
She swung her legs over the side of the silk-sheeted bed, her muscles aching from the previous night's ordeal. The memory of Asher's kiss, his bruising claim, still burned on her lips, a phantom heat that both repulsed and tantalized her. She hated the way her body had betrayed her, the traitorous response to his dominance.
A new set of simple, functional clothes—dark trousers and a soft, long-sleeved tunic—had been laid out on a velvet chaise. Beside them, a note in elegant, spidery script from Ela: The Prince expects you in the training room in one hour. Do not be late.
Mia scoffed. The Prince expects. It was always about what he expected, he commanded, he decided. Her life was no longer her own.
She decided to take a quick, defiant shower first. The ensuite bathroom was a lavish expanse of black marble and gold, a stark contrast to the small, cramped space she'd once called her own. The warm spray against her skin was a fleeting comfort, a moment of forgotten freedom. She scrubbed herself fiercely, as if she could wash away the lingering scent of him, the lingering taste of his kiss. It was futile. The bond thrummed, and in her mind, she felt a flicker of his distant amusement. He was aware of her every act, even in the privacy of the bathroom.
Stepping out, the cool air raised goosebumps on her skin. She grabbed a thick, plush towel, wrapping it snugly around her still-damp body, securing it just above her breasts. Her hair, still wet, clung to her neck and shoulders. She walked back into the main chamber, planning to quickly dress and face the inevitable.
She froze.
Asher stood by the immense windows, a dark silhouette against the heavy drapes. He hadn't entered the room; he had simply appeared. He wore a dark, form-fitting tunic and trousers, a stark contrast to his usual tailored suits, emphasizing the lean, powerful lines of his body. His arms were crossed over his chest, his dark eyes fixed on her, burning with an intensity that stole her breath.
The bond flared, violently, undeniably. Every inch of her skin felt his sudden, raw desire, an inferno that hit her through the bond like a physical blow. It was a hunger so profound, so primal, that it mirrored a terrifying answering heat in her own body. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the flimsy towel suddenly feeling utterly inadequate.
"You're late," he said, his voice a low, husky growl that vibrated through the bond, sending shivers down her spine. It wasn't a rebuke, but a statement charged with suppressed demand.
"I—I was in the shower," Mia stammered, clutching the towel tighter, acutely aware of the water droplets still clinging to her skin, the dampness of her hair. His gaze, hot and possessive, swept over her, lingering on the exposed curve of her shoulders, the glimpse of her cleavage above the towel.
Mine. Beautiful. Untouched. Yet. His thoughts, powerful and intrusive, flooded her mind, making her cheeks flush with heat and humiliation, yet also a forbidden, electric thrill.
He unfolded his arms, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her. "I know. I felt your reluctance. Your futile attempts to wash away my scent."
Mia stiffened. "You… you spy on me?"
He chuckled, a dark, low sound. "Mia, I feel your very heart. Your every thought. Your every tremor. There is no privacy between us. Not anymore."
He closed the distance between them, his presence overwhelming. He stopped barely a foot away, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. The heat radiating from his body was palpable, and through the bond, she felt the raw, powerful restraint he was exerting. It was a battle against his own ancient instincts, and she was the cause.
His eyes, dark and smoldering, dropped to her lips, then to the exposed skin of her collarbone. His hand, long-fingered and strong, rose slowly, deliberately, until it cupped her jaw. His thumb brushed over her cheek, a feather-light touch that still felt like a brand.
"Your defiance," he murmured, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper, "is a dangerous thing, kitten. It excites me. It makes me want to claim you, right here, right now, until you beg for surrender."
Her breath hitched. She could feel the rapid thump of her own heart, echoed by the controlled, powerful rhythm of his through the bond. The raw, sexual tension between them was so thick it was almost suffocating. Her body was screaming for him, a terrifying betrayal of her mind.
His thumb traced the line of her jaw, then moved lower, brushing the delicate skin of her throat, dangerously close to the pulse pounding there. She leaned into the touch, a soft, involuntary sound escaping her lips. The towel, precariously wrapped, shifted slightly.
Mine. So vulnerable. So ready. His thoughts were a flood, almost drowning her, mixed with the intense, possessive desire that now felt mutual, terrifyingly so.
"You belong to me," he reiterated, his voice a low, commanding growl. His gaze held hers, forcing her to acknowledge the truth of his words, the truth of the bond. "Every inch of you. Every heartbeat. Every defiant thought."
He leaned closer, his face inches from hers. His breath, cool and faintly metallic, brushed her lips. She could feel the subtle shift in his aura, the tightly reined power, the ancient hunger barely held in check.
"Your training," he continued, his voice now a silken thread, "will teach you control. It will teach you how to survive this world. But it will also teach you to survive me."
He lowered his head, pressing his lips to her forehead, a soft, possessive kiss. It was not a demand, but a mark. The bond pulsed, a rush of dark satisfaction from him, and a complex mixture of fear, longing, and resignation from her.
He straightened, taking a slow, deliberate step back. The sudden coolness of the air where his body had been was almost a physical ache. The fierce heat of his desire receded, replaced by the familiar, controlled focus.
"Dress, Mia," he commanded, his voice back to its usual authoritative tone, though still tinged with the residue of their raw exchange. "You have ten minutes. Then you will meet me in the training room. No further delays."
He turned and walked toward the door, leaving her breathless, trembling, and profoundly shaken. She clutched the towel, her mind a dizzying storm of contradictory emotions. The bond throbbed, and she felt his retreating thoughts: That was merely a taste, kitten. The training is for both of us.
Mia sank onto the bed, her legs weak, the clothes still laid out mocking her. She dressed in a haze, her fingers fumbling with the unfamiliar fabric. Her body still tingled, her mind still reeled from the invasive intensity of their interaction. The training had already begun, and it wasn't just about physical prowess or Court etiquette. It was about the surrender of her will, the acceptance of her bond, and the terrifying, intoxicating truth that Asher Lucien Valerius owned her, body and soul.