The door didn't just open; it detonated.
Wood splintered inward as Castel's telekinesis struck the frame before he even touched the handle. The hinges screamed in protest. He stepped into the room, the air around him charged and unstable, like a storm cloud looking for a place to strike.
The bridal suite was prepared like a fairy tale too perfect, too manufactured. Rose petals were shaped into a heart on the bed. Silk sheets glowed under the flickering warmth of a hundred candles. It was a room designed for romance, but the violence in Castel's eyes didn't match the scenery.
He turned toward her. For a heartbeat, the world went still. Then, his mouth was on hers.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't brutal. It was inevitable.
Arastella's hand rose to his jaw not to pull him closer, and not to push him away, but simply to steady herself against the sheer force of him. His breath tasted like heat and dark wine. His fingers tightened at her waist, and he carried her to the bed as if she weighed nothing at all. As if she were something precious and fragile.
The second he released her onto the silk, she scooted back, her spine straight and her chin lifted in a silent challenge.
"You look like you're about to kill me," he murmured, his voice a low vibration.
"Maybe I am."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Is this your first time?"
For a flicker of a second, there was something almost boyish in his tone a rare crack in the King's mask.
"My first time what?"
"Being intimate."
She arched a brow, her violet eyes steady. "I have never made love," she said coolly. "But do not mistake my lack of experience for ignorance."
That earned a genuine grin. "Good."
In one sharp motion, he tore open his shirt. Buttons scattered across the marble floor like hail. The tie was snapped loose and tossed aside. Arastella stared. She didn't try to be subtle, and she wasn't embarrassed. Her gaze traced the lines of him the raw strength in his shoulders, the spirit tattoos of flames licking up from his hips, the sheer, quiet power in his stance.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath.
He laughed, and the sound did something treacherous to her stomach. "Enjoying the view, my Queen?"
"Not bad at all."
He stepped closer, taking her hand and placing it flat against his bare chest. His skin was scorching. His heartbeat was steady and strong. She hadn't noticed before how controlled he was. Even with that hunger burning in his eyes, he wasn't shaking. He was choosing.
Without permission from her mind, her fingers drifted lower, tracing the edge of those flame tattoos. Castel inhaled sharply. That sound that ragged break in his breathing tightened something low in her stomach.
She tried to pull her hand back, but he caught her legs instead, dragging her toward him in one smooth motion. She gasped as she fell back against the mattress. His hands slid up her thighs, slow and deliberate, claiming territory she wasn't ready to give.
He leaned over her, bracing one arm beside her head. His mouth hovered just inches from her neck. "You're not afraid," he murmured.
"I should be."
"Yes." His lips brushed her skin, measured and light.
Her body reacted instantly pulse racing, breath thinning, a heat spreading through her that she hadn't invited. He kissed along her throat, down the curve where her collarbone met the beaded silk of her dress. Her hands curled into the sheets.
"Stop," she whispered.
He stilled immediately. Not because he was forced to, but because he was watching her every reaction. "You see," he said quietly, his eyes dark as the void, "that wasn't a command. That was a plea."
Her chest rose and fell too fast. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His fingers slid to the open neckline of her dress. With a sharp tug, the fabric parted. Beads scattered across the floor like falling stars. Her hair spilled free across the pillows as she was exposed to his gaze.
He didn't rush. He wasn't greedy. He looked at her with a raw appreciation that was far worse than lust. For the first time, Arastella wanted him to touch her again.
That thought terrified her more than any King ever could. She reached up, tracing his cheek. His eyes flared. He lowered himself onto her, one hand resting lightly at her throat not threatening, just a reminder of who held the power here.
She parted her lips, and his breath caught. A low, restrained sound left him. He lifted her slightly and kissed her hard.
This time, she kissed back.
The shift changed the very air in the room. The kiss deepened, slowing into something molten. Her nails dragged lightly down the expanse of his back, and he exhaled against her mouth.
"Arastella," he groaned. In his voice, her name wasn't a title. It was a prayer.
A sudden memory of her father's roar echoed in her mind a reminder of the Void, of her people, of the war they were supposed to be fighting. She shoved him.
Castel flew backward, his telekinesis catching him before he hit the wall. He landed on his feet and laughed. He wasn't angry; he was amused.
"You felt that," he said, his eyes glowing. "The bond. You felt it answer me."
She sat upright, breathing hard, trying to pull the remnants of her dress together. "I told you to stop."
"You didn't." He approached again, slower this time. "You want control. You want to choose."
"Yes."
"Then choose." He stopped just out of reach, giving her the space she hadn't expected. "You can leave. Right now. I won't stop you."
He didn't move. He just waited.
Her body was still humming, aching where he had touched her. She didn't move toward the door. A slow, dark smile returned to his lips. "That's what I thought."
He leaned in again not pinning her this time, but hovering. Letting the anticipation coil between them until it was a physical weight. "I won't take what you don't give," he whispered. "But if you stay... I won't pretend to be gentle."
Her fingers tightened in the silk. "Look at me," he said.
She did. The glow in his eyes was brighter now not from his magic, but from pure urge of wanting to fuck her until she called his name. He kissed her again, deeper and slower. When he pulled back, her lips were swollen and her breath was a wreck.
"You're thinking about stopping me again," he murmured.
"I am not sure what to think at this moment."
He chuckled, his hand sliding to her pulse. "So loud," he whispered. Her heart was a traitor, thundering under his touch. "Just say it, I can see it in your eyes."
Silence stretched between them. He gave her the choice, and in the silence, the challenge remained.
"You didn't give me enough time," she said, her voice regaining its edge. They stared at each other heat, danger, and a looming war.
"Aack esie, olos," she muttered with a defiant smile. (Go to hell, asshole.)
Castel blinked, then smiled back. That small, private smile was more intimate than the kiss. He liked the insult. He liked that she was still a dragon, even in his bed.
The air in the room shifted violently. Magic cracked like a whip.
The door burst open.
A girl staggered inside Astelion. Sher breath was ragged, and she dropped to one knee with a force that made the stone floor ring.
The future had just arrived, and the night was no longer theirs.