(Darian POV)
Silas had barely finished speaking when I turned away.
"She went out with Cassian."
Those five words echoed in my skull like a curse.
For a moment I simply stood there in the laboratory doorway, staring at nothing. The scent of crushed herbs and burning oils hung thick in the air, but I could not focus on it. I could not focus on anything except the sharp irritation spreading beneath my ribs.
Out.
With Cassian.
Again.
A low sound slipped from my throat before I could stop it.
Silas leaned against the table, arms crossed, watching me with the infuriating calm he always carried.
"You are grinding your teeth," he said mildly.
I ignored him.
"Where?" I asked.
Silas shrugged.
"I did not ask."
Of course he did not. He'd rather keep to himself than bother himself with information about his cousin's whereabouts.
I dragged a hand through my hair and turned away before my temper snapped completely. The last thing I needed was to throw my cousin across the room again.
But the thought burned in my mind.
She went out with Cassian.
For an entire week she had done nothing but avoid me.
Avoid my gaze.
Avoid my presence.
Avoid my very existence.
And yet she had time for Cassian.
Every day.
Something dark twisted in my chest.
Before I could think better of it, I was already moving.
I did not take a carriage.
I did not call for guards.
I did not even bother with a cloak.
The stable boy nearly dropped the brush he was holding when I stormed into the stables. His eyes widen in shock when he calls out to me
"Your—Your Majesty?"
I ignored him, the more time I waste here, the more time Cassian and Isolde will be together, happy. I am not against my cousin being happy at all, but
The feelings what ever it is, I don't want the person that makes him happy to be Isolde.
The nearest stallion lifted its head as I approached, snorting softly. Within seconds I had mounted the horse and pulled the reins tight.
"Open the gates."
The boy stared. Startled by the order, He's probably wondering if his king has gone mad.
"Now." I bark and he rushes to the gates.
The gates opened.
And I rode the stallion with fierceness I never thought I could muster in a situation there was no war or battle. The only battle is the one happening in my head and my heart.
Greyhaven had not seen their king like this before.
I realized it the moment I entered the town square.
People stopped.
Literally stopped.
Merchants froze mid-sentence. A woman dropped the basket she was carrying. Children stared with wide eyes.
Whispers rippled through the streets like wind through dry leaves.
"The king—"
"Is that—"
"He's riding—"
I paid them no attention.
The horse thundered across the cobblestone streets as I searched the town with a single thought burning in my mind.
Isolde.
If Cassian had taken her anywhere, it would be the same place they always went.
The doghouse.
My jaw tightened.
I heard the barking before I even reached the building.
Loud.
Furious.
Dozens of dogs howling as though something monstrous had approached.
The stallion slowed beneath me as we reached the wooden structure on the edge of town. The barking grew louder, more aggressive.
Interesting.
They had not even seen me yet.
And still they sensed something.
I dismounted slowly.
The moment my boots touched the ground, the barking intensified.
Low growls vibrated beneath the noise.
I pushed the door open.
And stepped inside.
The room fell silent.
Well.
Almost silent.
The dogs did not stop.
At the far end of the room, crouched beside a white hound, was Isolde.
Her fingers rested gently in the dog's fur, scratching behind its ears as she murmured something soft. The animal looked entirely content.
Until I entered.
Then its ears flattened.
A growl rumbled through its chest.
Isolde looked up.
Her eyes widened.
For a moment she simply stared at me, as though her mind could not quite process what she was seeing.
Which, I suppose, was understandable.
The king standing in a doghouse was not a common sight.
Slowly she rose to her feet.
"What… are you doing here?"
Her voice carried equal parts confusion and disbelief.
I folded my arms.
"Why do you keep leaving the castle?"
The question slipped from my mouth before I could soften it.
Her brows drew together.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Every day," I continued, my voice rougher than intended, "you leave the castle. Every day you disappear with Cassian. Every day you find a reason to be anywhere except where I am."
The white dog beside her growled again.
Interesting.
I glanced down at it.
Then back at her.
"You did not answer my question."
Isolde straightened, irritation flashing across her face.
"What are you doing here?" she asked again. "Can I not have a little peace for myself?"
The words struck harder than they should have.
"A little peace," she continued bitterly, "for once in my life?"
A low growl escaped me.
And to my surprise—
The dogs growled too.
The entire room vibrated with it.
For the first time since entering, I hesitated.
It was almost as though they were… protecting her.
Isolde looked between the dogs and me, confusion flickering in her eyes.
Behind her, Cassian finally moved.
My cousin leaned against one of the wooden posts, arms crossed, watching the scene with an expression I could not quite read.
He did not interfere.
Which was wise.
I turned back to Isolde.
"I do not understand why you are avoiding me."
Her lips parted slightly.
"You speak to Cassian every day," I continued. "You speak to Silas. You train with them even when they say they are done with you, but you have been avoiding me, why"
Silence stretched between us.
Then she tilted her head slightly.
"Is that surprising?"
I frowned.
"I thought you did not want to speak to me," she added coolly.
I ran a hand through my hair in frustration.
"That is not—"
"What exactly do you want from me, Your Majesty?"
The title sounded like an insult.
"I want," I began, then stopped.
Because the truth felt absurd even inside my own head.
What did I want?
Attention.
Her attention.
The realization irritated me even more.
"I want the attention you give everyone else," I muttered finally.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"I do not understand what I am feeling," I admitted, my voice lower now. "But I know it is not normal."
A small, disbelieving laugh escaped her.
"Of course it isn't."
My jaw tightened.
"You are either the solution," I continued slowly, "or the problem."
She laughed again.
But this time the sound held pain.
"Did you just call me a problem?"
"If you are such a problem," she shot back, "why would you come here?"
Her voice rose with each word.
"Why would the king of Greyhaven ride through the town and walk into a doghouse?"
Because I could not help myself.
The truth sat on my tongue before I could stop it.
"You have avoided me for a week, Isolde."
Her smile vanished.
"A week," I repeated quietly. "With no explanation."
She folded her arms.
"And every time I see you," I added, "you are with Cassian."
She gestured toward him.
"Cassian is my sire."
"He is my cousin."
"And you are my king," she said.
The words sounded hollow.
I straightened slightly.
"I am still your king."
She shook her head.
"No."
My brows drew together.
"No?"
"You are not my king," she said quietly.
The room went completely still.
Even the dogs stopped growling.
"You are simply someone I live under."
The words struck like a blade.
"I am still your king," I repeated, my voice colder now.
"Then stop reminding me."
Her eyes burned with something far more painful than anger.
"A king does not leave his castle just to chase after a servant."
I opened my mouth—
But she did not stop.
"A king helps his people," she continued. "A king knows what he wants. A king does not wander around confused about his feelings and drag others into it."
My chest tightened.
"So do not drag me into your perfect life," she finished sharply.
The room fell silent.
And for the first time in a very long time—
I had absolutely no idea what to say.
The room fell quiet after her words.
Not the comfortable kind of silence.
The suffocating kind.
The kind that presses against your ribs until breathing becomes difficult.
Isolde's accusation still hung in the air between us like smoke.
A king should know what he wants.
A king should not be confused.
Her voice had carried anger, yes — but beneath it there had been something else.
Pain.
Real pain.
And I had not expected that.
I stared at her, unable to form a single defense.
Because the worst part was this—
She was not entirely wrong.
For a long moment neither of us moved.
Cassian leaned against the stone pillar near the entrance, arms crossed, watching quietly. His expression had gone unreadable.
The dogs had gone still too, though several of them continued to watch me with wary eyes.
But my attention remained fixed on her.
Isolde.
She stood across from me, breathing slightly harder now, her shoulders tense as though she expected another argument to explode from my mouth.
But no words came.
Instead something far more unsettling crept through my thoughts.
Why her?
The question had plagued me all week.
Why did the sight of her speaking to Cassian irritate me so deeply?
Why did her laughter with Silas feel like a blade sliding between my ribs?
Why did it matter so much that she refused to look at me?
I had ruled this kingdom for decades without such distractions.
And yet this single girl—
This stubborn, infuriating, sharp-tongued girl—
Had managed to throw my entire composure into chaos.
My gaze dropped briefly before I realized what I was doing.
My head had lowered.
Almost like a bow.
The realization startled me enough that I lifted it again immediately.
Across the room Cassian noticed.
Of course he did.
His brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face.
But he said nothing.
Good.
Because I did not want to explain the storm currently raging inside my chest.
My attention returned to Isolde.
She had not moved.
But the anger in her expression had softened slightly, replaced now with something closer to uncertainty.
As though she did not know what to expect from me next.
Neither did I.
Until the answer appeared suddenly, with frightening clarity.
I wanted her.
The truth settled into my mind like a stone dropping into water.
Not as a servant.
Not as someone living under my protection.
I wanted her.
Her attention.
Her trust.
Her warmth.
The realization should have alarmed me.
Instead it brought a strange calm.
And with it—
Determination.
When my eyes met hers again, something must have changed in them.
Because she inhaled sharply.
I took a step toward her.
Immediately she stepped back.
Another step.
Another retreat.
The dogs began growling again, low and warning, their bodies stiff as though preparing to defend her.
Yet I continued forward.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Each step measured.
Each breath steady.
Until her back met the cold stone wall behind her.
She stopped.
There was nowhere else for her to go.
The dogs fell strangely quiet.
I stopped directly in front of her.
Close enough that I could see the faint rise and fall of her chest.
Close enough to smell the soft trace of lavender that clung to her skin.
For several seconds neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered carefully,
"Your Majesty…"
"Darian."
Her brows furrowed.
"What?"
"My name," I said quietly.
"You may use it."
Her throat moved as she swallowed.
"That would be improper."
"I do not care."
The words slipped out before I could soften them.
Her gaze searched mine, confusion flickering there.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked.
"Doing what?"
"Acting like this."
I did not answer.
Instead I stepped closer.
Close enough that our foreheads almost touched.
The moment stretched between us like a tightened thread.
Then slowly—
Carefully—
I closed the distance.
My forehead rested lightly against hers.
The contact sent an unexpected memory crashing into my mind.
The library.
That night.
Her standing just like this beneath the candlelight, looking at me with those same uncertain eyes.
Her breath trembling.
Her pulse racing beneath my fingertips.
And the moment I had taken the memory from her mind.
I had compelled her to forget.
Because I had not trusted myself then.
Even now the guilt lingered.
But she remembered none of it.
Which made the way she looked at me now even more confusing.
Her breathing had grown uneven.
"Why…" she murmured softly.
I felt her forehead press slightly closer to mine.
"Why does this feel strange?"
My chest tightened.
Because she could still feel it.
Even without the memory.
"This," she continued quietly, "feels like something that has happened before."
I watched her carefully.
She truly did not remember.
The compulsion had held.
Good.
And yet…
Something in her instincts still recognized the moment.
I forced my expression to remain calm.
"Because it has ."
Her brows knit together slightly.
"H-how?" Her voice trembled
"You don't have to know
Not yet" I wanted this illusion to not break, I wanted the moment to stay like this.
For a moment neither of us moved.
Her breath brushed softly against my lips.
Too close.
Far too close.
"Then why," she whispered slowly, "are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you have already made a decision."
Because I had.
My hand lifted before I could stop it.
My fingers hovered near her cheek.
She froze.
Every muscle in her body went still.
Waiting.
Watching.
Slowly I let my knuckles brush against her skin.
Soft.
Warm.
The moment our skin touched, a faint ripple stirred beneath my senses.
A subtle distortion in the air around us.
My ability reacting.
I immediately forced it back down before it could manifest.
No one here needed to see that.
Especially not her.
Across the room Cassian shifted slightly.
His sharp hearing must have caught the brief disturbance.
Of course it did.
But he remained silent.
Smart cousin.
Isolde continued watching me carefully.
"You still haven't answered my question."
"Which one?"
"Why you came here."
My thumb traced the edge of her jaw slowly.
"Because avoiding me is no longer an option."
Her breath caught.
"You do not get to disappear whenever you please," I continued quietly.
"And why not?"
"Because," I said softly,
"I have lived without you in my life long enough, and I am not ready to let you go or be apart from you"
As I say that, I give Cassian a look, and as though he understands my eye contact, he guides the doghouse owner outside. I couldn't think of any better place. My mind kept wandering back to the library, to the library, and as I looked deep into Isolde's eyes, I realized, what better place for us to share a moment, if not in the place where we first shared our first moments?
I give her a smile, a reassuring smile, and whisper, "Trust me."
I know that everything I've said so far, all the words, may seem a bit overwhelming to her, and it might be unfair to her. But just today, just today, I want to be selfish with her. I want her, and I know that she wants me too. If she doesn't, I will let her go this instant. I will not argue. I will not fight with her. I will not hold her against her will.
But her eyes are pleading. Her eyes are pleading for me to take her.
"Trust me," I say to her, and my hands caress her cheeks, my head on her forehead, and our breathing becomes one.
By the time she realizes what is happening around her, inside the space, the air shifts and squeezes and morphs into something else. And this time, you could see the flickering of torches and the little chatter from outside the castle.
Her gasps made me smile. Her shock and everything.
"How? How did you do that?" she stammers.
And I smile at her.
"My ability. You know, the way Cassian has this immersive hearing, where he could hear things that happen from a distance? I could shift time and space. More like I could think of a place and arrive there."
"We are really in the library? It's not hypnotics?"
"It is not hypnotics. Trust me. Do you trust me, Isolde?" I say.
And she smiles. "Of course, I do."
I take in a deep breath.
"From the moment I set my eyes on you in this castle, my first thought was this troublesome, stubborn girl that might likely jeopardize my cousin's future. I looked at you like a disturbance, a major stain on my cousin's reputation. I thought that maybe you just saw an opportunity and you took it, and my cousin was naive to fall for your tricks, and now you're one of us, and I'm forced to take care of you."
"It all felt like responsibility and duty.
Then I realized I did not have to have responsibility for you. You are not my duty, you are my cousin's. But even after that thought, I still kept thinking about you in every step of the way, and I was confused. I was looking, yearning in every direction. I looked forward to seeing your face, and it might seem like I was being curious, but I realized that it was not curiosity that drew me to you.
I don't even know what drew me to you, and I am yet to find out, but I know that I'd rather not be with anyone else. You are for me, and I don't know if you don't feel the same, and I'm sorry if I am… I am imposing my emotions on you."
"Wait," she says. "I am… I'm drawn to you too. Wait, I think we've established that part. Then why are you still telling me?"
I laugh.
"You know that with everything I have been through, it would be hard for me to open up to anyone. I know that you would never trust my kind. I understand that fact. Sadly, you are so part of my kind now."
"Not my choice," she says with a chuckle.
"Why did you come to the doghouse?"
I take a deep breath.
"I came for you."
"You… you can't start something you cannot finish. You… you cannot make me fall deep and leave me hanging."
I could sense a lot of things in those words. I could sense a lack of trust. She wants reassurance, and I know what I want.
"I will not start what I cannot finish," I tell her. "You are for me, and it's… this decision of what we could become is all in your hands, not in mine. I have said I am the king, I am your king, but you own me."
"I… I can't think straight when you're around. I feel frustrated when… when I see you with someone else. This one week has been torture for me. I haven't felt jealous. I haven't felt my heart. I didn't even know I had a heart. You have made me feel millions, thousands of emotions in just a week, in a month since you came here. I did not even understand why I was… I don't even give attention to new servants. I barely noticed them, but you, something about you, your uniqueness, your beauty, your everything, it is hard to explain."
"And I know that I might have sounded overconfident in that doghouse, telling you things to do, things not to do, wondering about… but I will not force you. Whatever decision you want to take, you're free to take it. I will respect that," I say.
No matter how much it's twisted in my heart, no matter how much it felt like I was being bitten in my stomach, I will respect her choice, and that was the truth.
I didn't realize while talking, I was moving about in the library. So when I finally could realize where I'm standing, I was close to one of the shelves, looking outside the library windows.
I have never felt this way before.
I'd rather look anywhere but her face, scared that when she rejects me, it's going to hurt more if I look her in the eye.
And I don't want to make her rush into rejecting me or accepting me or coerce her or compel her. It would be very simple to compel her, like I did with the library memories of the last time.
Would she ever forgive me if she realizes I compelled her to forget such a precious moment that we shared together? Would she ever forgive me if she realized that I caused her to forget something so precious?
I don't think she would ever forgive me at all… or am I wrong?
Still lost in thoughts, I feel her hand on me.
"Darian."
Oh, how nice… how intoxicating… hearing her call my name. Hearing my name from her lips.
"I don't want to leave you. I want you. And yes, I admit, I don't know what I want. I might be confused about the entire situation. I might not entirely trust you with my whole heart, but I know one thing—you will not hurt me."
"You protected me. You have made me stronger. You have made me who I am right now. And what I know right now is that I don't want to leave you. I want this. I want to feel more. I—"
I don't even let her complete whatever she says.
I have never kissed anyone all my life. I might take pleasures in the ladies that willingly come up to let us draw from them and also experience some intimate levels with them, but I never let it escalate to us kissing because I felt that that was childish and human. That was a sign of weakness. Like the mouth was the closest place to us vampires being betrayed.
But I know that from the beginning of this conversation, from the time when we were up close, the only thought I could think about was her lips on mine.
And I don't hesitate when I take her lips in mine.
The kiss is slow and sensual. She's still where she can't realize—she doesn't know what to do—while I just kiss her. It's as though we are accustomed to our lips' movement. It's as though we are familiar with one another's lips, because I have not done this before, but I feel like my lips know what they are supposed to do.
And it is kissing her with such gentleness as my hands find their way into her hair.
She's now trying to mimic the movement of my lips, and I just keep kissing her, using my tongue to lick the seam of her lips, urging her lips to open so I could taste her—not just her lips. I wanted to taste her, what her mouth tastes like. I want to feel her tongue on mine and mine on hers. I want our tongues to fight for dominance.
And I urge her, poking at her lips to open, thrusting my tongue to urge her to loosen her lips.
And when I succeed, I delve deeper into her mouth, and she gasps, my hands still in her hair, while her hands are clutching me—clutching my waist, holding on for dear life when I kiss her and devour her.
I could feel the heat erupting down from my stomach to a few inches below, and I don't want to stop. I feel like I could never stop. I feel like I could stay here forever, and I will not be content with it.
I want to kiss her like this all my life. I want to taste her lips every day, every second of the day. It is all-consuming, but I don't want to stop.
And when it feels like she's about to run out of breath, I disconnect our lips and give her just a second to breathe before I dive in for one more round—not as gentle as the first.
This one is ferocious. Deeper. Sensual. Filled with pleasure as I pull her close to me, hands still in her hair, the other on her waist, grabbing her, pulling her into me, trying to let her soothe that throbbing pain erupting from my member.
It feels like it's about to burst, and it's growing in size. And I know she feels it too because I could feel her squirming.
I should stop. Maybe I'm making her uncomfortable.
And I try to stop—
But she's kissing me.
And her hands are trailing from my chest to my stomach to—
I gasp.
Her hands feel me through the material of my pants.
Inexperienced, yes, but the effect it has on me makes me groan, and I stop kissing her and whisper, "More."
"What?"
"More. Keep touching it," I whisper in a raspy voice.
And she trails inexperienced fingers at the outline, and when I thought it couldn't get bigger, it increased.
I'm beginning to find it hard to understand my body's anatomy since she graced this castle with her presence. I might end up asking Silas if this is normal—if this pleasure I'm feeling just from her touching me through the material is normal.
We are not even bare yet, and I could feel all the emotions at once.
I release a breath and call out her name.
"Isolde…"
Her hands keep moving. This time, she doesn't know what she's doing. She's just exploring.
"If you continue this… you will have to handle it."
"It?"
"Yes… you will have to handle it," I gasp again.
Her hands are still moving. It's not that she's even doing it to bring me pleasure—she is just trying to feel and understand it—but she doesn't know how much pleasure it brings.
At the urge to rip off my clothes so that I could feel her bare hands on bare skin—it is all-consuming.
I try to get my head back from the clouds and grip her hands to stop her movement.
"If you do not want to go beyond this, I advise you stop feeling me," I say in a pained groan.
"Beyond this?" Her eyes look so innocent.
And here I was, wondering if she really did not know what she was doing.
"What? You mean…"
Her face flushes red.
She looks genuinely curious, but if she doesn't want to do anything, I will not make her.
So I rest my forehead on hers and whisper, "It's okay. I will not make you do what you don't want to do."
I place a soft kiss on her forehead.
"Just tell me what you want," I say.
And she looks at me.
"What I want?"
"Yes. What you want. I'll do whatever you want me to do. Just mention it."
She smiles.
"And if I say I want you?"
"Then you can have me. You already have me."
And her smile widens.
Her hands find their way to my face, and before I could register what she's doing, her lips crash into mine—this time with such vigor and experience that makes me shocked, and yet proud.
And I kiss her back with the same intensity.
My lips trail her cheek to her chin, to her neck—where I bit that night—and I inhale her, then lick her there.
And I could hear her moan in pleasure.
"Do you want me to kiss you here?"
"Yes," I hear her whisper, and I don't hold back.
I kiss her, bite and suck and nibble from her neck to her shoulders, shifting her corseted dress down from her shoulders to make them bare, and continue the nibbling and sucking on it.
Using my fingers, I trail across the corset, loosening the ropes, and raising the skirts higher and higher so I could feel her bare skin.
I could hear the sighs that she makes. She sounds out of breath, and that is what I intend to make her be.
I want her to long for me. I want her to feel every moment of yearning I felt within this week.
And I don't know the speed I used, but I realize that she is only in her undergarments.
My hands move from her back to her thighs, feeling the inside of her thighs.
She gives me a look.
"Do you want me to feel you?" I ask, as my hands continue moving forward.
She gasps.
"Do you want my hands to be in you?"
She makes a sound that is full of pleasure.
"I want to feel you."
And my hands get to her center, where I realize I could feel her dampness through the undergarments.
"You want me too?" I ask.
She gasps again, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
"Yes."
And I don't waste any time.
The sound of garments tearing fills the library as the air finally touches her skin.
She is completely bare, and I'm still clothed.
But I don't want her to feel alone.
My mind drifts for a second, but her hands remind me where I am.
My fingers trail her body, trying to master every curve of her flesh, every dent, every scar—memorizing it, engraving it in my memory.
"You're so beautiful," I whisper in her ear.
She takes in a sharp inhale.
"Have you been touched down there?" I ask.
I don't know how husky my voice sounds, but I know from the dazed look in her eyes that she has not been touched there, and I am the first to see her like this.
And something in me swells with pride.
"Let me ease the tension there. I will help you. You'll feel better again."
She moans softly, taking a shaky breath.
"Let me feel you."
My fingers move, and the moment I touch her there, she gasps.
Her warmth coats my fingers as I begin to move carefully, slowly.
She exhales sharply.
Once again, I try, my touch steady, controlled, learning her reactions, feeling every response she gives me.
"Darian…"
"You are soaking my fingers, Isolde," I murmur.
She gasps again, her breath airy, her body reacting to every movement.
"More," she whispers.
"You want more?"
"Yes… please."
Her voice is breathy, barely there.
I move again, carefully, watching her face, watching every reaction, making sure she is alright.
She cries out softly, her body tensing before slowly relaxing into it.
"I'm not even inside you yet, and you're already reacting like this," I murmur.
"What would you do when I am?"
She gasps, her body responding again as I continue.
When I move deeper, I feel the resistance, and I pause.
"It's tight," I say quietly. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Are you okay?"
She nods, though her face shows a mix of feeling—something between discomfort and something else.
I don't rush.
I won't rush her.
I lift my hand to her face, brushing her hair back gently until she looks at me again, and then I kiss her.
Against the library door, I kiss her, steadying her, grounding her, while my other hand continues slow, careful movements.
"Keep breathing," I murmur against her lips.
Her breathing grows louder, uneven.
"Darian… Darian…"
I adjust my movements, slower, more controlled, letting her body adjust, letting her follow the rhythm.
Her hands grip my hair tightly, holding on like she needs something to anchor her.
And then—
She gasps sharply, her body tightening before relaxing all at once.
"Darian—!"
Her voice breaks, and she clings to me as the feeling washes through her.
I hold her steady, letting her come down from it, not moving too quickly, not pushing her further.
When her breathing begins to calm, I slow down completely, stopping, giving her time.
I press a soft kiss to her forehead.
Then I step back slightly, reaching for her corset.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"To dress you," I reply.
"But what about you?" she asks, her eyes drifting downward.
I follow her gaze.
I know what she's looking at.
"Don't worry. It will go down," I say.
"No."
"What?"
"No."
She steps closer.
"I want to help."
I try to stop her, gently holding her wrist.
"It's fine."
But she doesn't listen.
She closes the distance again, her hands moving with determination, even if she doesn't fully understand what she's doing.
"I told you, it's fine," I say again, but my voice is weaker now.
Because I know if she continues…
I might not be able to stop.
And right now, my control is hanging by a thread.
But she's stubborn.
And
She doesn't stop.
Her hands move with that same curiosity, that same determination, even if she doesn't fully understand what she's doing.
"What should I do?" she asks, her voice softer now, but still firm.
"You don't have to do anything," I say, trying to steady myself. "I will handle it."
"What should I do?" she repeats, her eyes locking with mine.
There is something in that look—something that makes it hard to refuse her.
"Touch it," I say finally, my voice lower than before.
She bites her lip, then slowly reaches out.
Her fingers brush the tip, tentative, unsure.
And I gasp.
"Like that?" she asks.
"Firmer," I breathe.
"Firmer?"
"Yes… put your fingers around it."
She tries.
But her fingers don't quite close around it, and she pauses.
"I can't… my fingers… it's too big," she says quietly, almost shyly.
And for a moment—despite everything—I feel something dangerously close to pride.
"You'll be fine," I tell her. "We'll worry about that when the time comes."
She looks at me again, that same determined expression settling on her face.
"What should I do now?"
"Just keep your hand there," I say. "I'll guide you."
She nods.
And this time, when she touches me again, it's slower… more intentional.
Her hand moves, uncertain at first, then gradually finding a rhythm.
And every movement sends a sharp, overwhelming sensation through me.
I exhale slowly, trying to hold onto whatever control I have left.
But it's slipping.
Fast.
"Isolde…" I murmur, my voice strained.
She looks up at me, watching my reaction, learning from it.
Adjusting.
And that—somehow—makes it even worse.
My hand finds her wrist again, not to stop her this time, but to guide her.
"Like this," I say, my voice rough.
Her breathing changes, matching mine.
The space between us feels smaller somehow, tighter, heavier with everything building between us.
And for a moment, I forget everything else.
The castle.
The rules.
The consequences.
All of it fades.
There is only her.
Only this.
Only us.
I lean forward, pressing my forehead against hers again, my breath uneven.
"You don't have to keep going," I say, even though every part of me wants her to.
She shakes her head immediately.
"I want to," she says.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
And that is what breaks whatever control I had left.
I pull her closer again, my lips finding hers, kissing her deeply, desperately—like I need this to ground me, to keep me from completely losing myself.
Her hand doesn't stop.
If anything, it becomes more certain.
More confident.
And I feel it—every second of it.
The lewd sound fills the library and I feel tension in my stomach and my bad I let out a sharp exhale.
I let out a low breath against her lips, my grip tightening slightly on her as I release all the tension and coat her hands, my hips still thrusting from my high and I swallow closing my eyes.
"You're going to be the end of me," I murmur.
She lets out a soft laugh, breathless, and it only makes everything worse.
Because she has no idea.
No idea what she's doing to me.
Or maybe…
Maybe she's starting to.
She looks at me expectantly "you want more?" I ask her using my shirt to clean my essence on her hand, I was expecting her to say she was tired
How wrong I was
"I want to feel everything with you" "and if you regret it?" I ask her, unsure. I can't have her want me and regret her choices "I will not regret it, I want you to be my first.." she trails off suddenly looking shy, it will be the greatest honor "Isolde…" "it is fine if you don't want to…" "of course I want to!" I cut her words
Repeatedly kissing her forehead "it will be my honor" I tell her and the worry on her face dissipates, "but I will not take you here… your first will be special and it won't be in a library" I pause to make sure she understands me "let me take you to bed" I say and take us to my bedroom.