Chapter Fourteen – A Dangerous Hunger

Caelan stood in the center of his room, the door still swinging from Ilia’s quiet exit, as if the air she left behind refused to settle. The heat of Helena’s mouth was gone, but the damage remained, etched into his gut like acid.

His cock, still hard, still aching, was now a cruel reminder of his weakness. Of how close he’d come to breaking.

"Get out," he growled.

Helena, still kneeling, looked up at him with wide eyes. "But—"

"Now."

She scowled, rising to her feet and hastily grabbing the silk sheet. Her body was flushed, breasts rising with shallow breaths, and between her legs, she was still slick with need—but the glint of triumph in her eyes had dulled into something wounded.

"You’ll regret this," she hissed.

"Not as much as I’d regret finishing what you started."

He didn’t wait to watch her storm out. The moment the door slammed shut, Caelan ran a hand down his face, fury licking at the edges of his control.

Seconds later, a knock.

"What?!" he barked.

Derrin stepped in, the door barely ajar. He took one look at Caelan and the tension in his shoulders doubled.

"I take it that didn’t go as planned," Derrin said.

Caelan glared. "You sent her."

Derrin’s jaw ticked. "I sent Ilia with food because you hadn’t eaten all day and we had council at dawn."

Caelan’s fists clenched. "You know what she means to me."

"That’s exactly why I sent her."

Caelan’s nostrils flared.

Derrin held up a hand. "Listen to me. I thought—if you just took her, gave in—you’d get her out of your head. Maybe then you could think clearly."

"You thought I should fuck her like an animal and be done with it?"

"I thought it might help you remember who you are."

Caelan paced, every muscle thrumming with rage. "I am remembering. That’s the problem. I remember everything. Every dream. Every breath she’s ever taken near me. I remember the sound of her voice. The scent of her skin. I remember her walking away from me in the forest like she wasn’t already mine."

Derrin folded his arms, his face unreadable. "You’re getting reckless."

Caelan stopped. Turned.

"Then help me," he said. "Because I’m one more dream away from claiming her in truth. And we both know what happens if I mark a servant girl before the choosing ceremony."

Derrin’s expression darkened. "You’ll incite a war."

Caelan nodded once. "Then pray I don’t find her in my dreams again tonight."

But he already knew he would.

And this time, he didn’t know if he’d wake up before the damage was done.

---

Ilia ran through the corridor, the sting in her chest sharper than her breath. She didn’t know where she was going—only that she needed to get away. Away from the image burned into her mind, of him half-undressed with another woman at his feet.

She turned a corner too fast, the stone underfoot slick from the morning dew that clung even to the underground passages. Her shoulder clipped the wall hard, but she didn’t stop. Not until a hand shot out from the shadows and grabbed her wrist.

A warrior.

One of Caelan’s.

His grip was rough, and the look in his eyes wasn’t noble. “Pretty little thing,” he murmured, pushing her back into the stone. “Running around like that, someone might think you’re asking to be caught.”

Panic surged through her. She pushed, squirmed—but he was too strong. His hand went to her throat, squeezing just enough to warn, to threaten. With his other hand, he grabbed at her waist, yanking her flush against him. She could feel the weight of his intentions in the way his body pressed too close, the way his breath warmed the shell of her ear.

"Such soft skin," he whispered, dragging a finger along her collarbone before it slipped lower. She whimpered, twisting against him, but he caught her wrist and pinned it to the wall. His mouth brushed her cheek, his fingers grazing the hem of her bodice.

Terror lodged itself in her throat.

She tried again to shove him off, panic morphing into blind terror. Her knees buckled when his hand slipped beneath the fabric at her hip, the lewd groan he gave vibrating against her throat. "Don’t fight," he muttered, lips brushing her skin, "you’ll like it."

She twisted violently, but he only pinned her harder, his weight unyielding. One of his hands fisted in her hair, the other pawing greedily at her chest, tugging down the neckline of her worn dress. She cried out, but the tunnels swallowed the sound.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She needed to go somewhere else, anywhere but here. She needed the fear to vanish. She needed something to drown this out.

So she hummed.

The same lullaby. The same haunting tune she’d shared with Derrin.

His grip faltered.

His pupils dilated. His fingers slipped from her neck, his lips parting like he was seeing something ethereal. He swayed slightly, eyes glassy, as if she’d cast some kind of spell.

Ilia kept humming.

She wasn’t sure why. Her body trembled, her throat tightened—but the tune spilled out like a lifeline. A shield. A question.

The warrior swayed, his breath growing shallow. His eyes glazed over, unfocused, and for a moment, Ilia thought he might collapse.

Still, she kept humming. Drawn in by the sudden calm. Mesmerized by the shift in him. Confused by the way her fear tangled with something else—something she didn’t have a name for.

His hand dropped from her waist.

He blinked slowly, mouth parted like he wanted to speak but had forgotten how.

Only then did she take a step back. Then another.

Then she ran.

She shoved past him, bolting down the tunnel, her heart threatening to tear free from her chest.

She didn’t look back.

Didn’t see how long he stood there.

Didn’t know that the echo of her voice had left another man undone.