Chapter 15
Rhydian rarely drank, but tonight, Kael had insisted he indulge. After all, it was his wedding night—a rare and special occasion, or so they claimed. The wine burned in his throat, leaving a numbing warmth in its wake, but he had drunk more than he intended. His vision wavered slightly as he made his way to his chambers, the edges of the hallway blurring just enough to remind him that he was no longer fully in control of himself.
He needed a bath.
The moment he stepped into his chamber, the male servants were already waiting. They worked efficiently, washing and cleansing him, ensuring not a single flaw remained on his body. It was unnecessary. He had no intention of bedding his new bride tonight, but at the same time, he couldn't allow rumors to spread. The elders were watching—always watching. If they got even a whiff of hesitation on his part, they would spin their own tales. He had already endured their insufferable remarks about producing an heir as soon as possible.
When they finished, he was dressed in a loose night robe, his body freshly scented, his muscles relaxed yet his mind in turmoil.
With slow, measured steps, he made his way to the Queen's quarters.
She was his queen now.
A line of maids stood outside her door, their heads bowing in unison as he approached.
"Welcome, Your Majesty," they chorused.
He barely spared them a glance. "Leave. I want privacy," he ordered, knowing well that spies had likely been planted among them to listen for proof of consummation. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of eavesdropping.
The heavy door creaked as he pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit chamber. The air was thick with an intoxicating floral scent, but that wasn't what made his breath hitch.
It was her.
Seraphina sat on the bed, framed by the sheer drapes of the canopy. The delicate white nightdress they had forced upon her did little—no, it did nothing—to cover her. The fabric clung to her body like a second skin, the soft candlelight highlighting every curve. The slit in the dress exposed the smooth, pale length of her leg, and the faint swell of her chest rose and fell in steady breaths.
But it was the sheer transparency that nearly destroyed him.
He could see everything.
His entire body tensed. Blood rushed south, his muscles locking up as if to restrain him from lunging at her. His fangs ached, threatening to descend as an unfamiliar, maddening hunger clawed at his restraint.
This was bad.
He had sworn not to touch her.
His jaw clenched tightly as he forced himself to take slow, deliberate steps forward. He could hear her heartbeat hammering in her chest, but it wasn't from fear—it was something else.
Challenge.
Defiance.
Seraphina's violet eyes met his, steady and unyielding.
He leaned down, his hands bracing on either side of her as he loomed over her, caging her in. Their faces were inches apart, the warmth of her breath ghosting against his lips.
"Are you scared?" His voice was a husky whisper, meant to tease, meant to push her into retreating.
She didn't.
Instead, her hand came up, her soft palm pressing against his cheek.
Rhydian stiffened.
Her touch was warm, gentle—too gentle.
And then she smiled. A slow, delicate smile, one that sent his already unsteady composure into freefall.
"I'm more than happy to serve you, Your Majesty," she murmured, her voice smooth, dangerously soft.
He exhaled sharply, narrowing his eyes. She was acting.
Fine. Two could play that game.
Before she could react, he grabbed her waist and flipped her onto the bed, pinning her beneath him.
She sucked in a breath, her body going rigid beneath his. His own was anything but.
He was too close. Their bodies pressed together in a way that made his restraint feel like a breaking dam. His hardened length throbbed against her thigh, and gods, if she didn't stop looking at him like that—so damn fearless, so damn tempting—he might actually lose control.
"Do you know what you're asking for, purple?" His voice was low, a growl laced with something darker, something dangerous. His hand traced the curve of her waist, moving upward, his fingers grazing her bare skin. She was soft—too soft.
Seraphina's breath hitched, but her expression remained unreadable.
"You want my body, don't you?" she whispered, taunting him. "You can have it."
Rhydian stilled.
He stared down at her, his gaze burning into hers, searching—why?
She despised him. She should be pushing him away, resisting him, yet here she was, offering herself up like a lamb to the slaughter. Was she truly this determined to kill him? Was she willing to sacrifice her body just to get close enough to strike?
His fangs descended, frustration mingling with the intoxicating scent of her arousal.
"Do you hate me that much?" His grip on her waist tightened, his self-control slipping with every second he remained pressed against her.
Seraphina's lips curled slightly, her fingers sliding up his chest as if testing his patience. "Why would I hate you?" she murmured, feigning innocence. "You haven't harmed me in any way."
Liar.
Her eyes betrayed her, glinting with the truth she refused to voice.
Rhydian knew he had to stop. If he kissed her—if he so much as tasted her—he wouldn't be able to pull away.
With a sharp inhale, he forced himself off her.
She lay there, panting softly, her lips slightly parted, her body still warm where his had pressed against it.
"Change into something that actually covers you," he said, his voice hoarse with restraint. "And sleep." "I'll sleep on the floor so no need to worry."
Without waiting for her response, he turned on his heel and strode toward the bathroom, every step feeling like torture.
The moment the door shut behind him, he let out a shuddering breath, his back pressing against the cold, polished walls. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his body still painfully tense, still aching for relief.
Damn it.
He had almost lost himself.
He ran a hand through his hair, his mind replaying the way her body had fit against his, the scent of her skin, the heat in her gaze.
A cold bath. He needed a cold bath.
The bathing pool was already prepared—filled with water meant for the aftermath of their consummation.
He stripped off his robe, sinking into the frigid water, letting it lap over his burning skin. His fingers gripped the edges of the pool as he exhaled slowly, forcing his body to calm.
Who would have thought that the mighty Vampire King would find himself craving something so badly—something offered to him freely—but forbidden all the same?
And worse, who would have thought that denying himself would be even more excruciating?