WARNING: This chapter contains explicit sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.
Rin's Pov
The faint, nervous rustle of my own tunic was the only sound permitted in the suffocating stillness of the Prince's inner chamber. I knelt beside the ancient, heavy-set chest, my hand brushing against the worn leather pouch hidden beneath layers of stiff, meaningless parchment. Finally. The faint, cool herbal scent of mugwort and resin clung to it—my last remaining suppressant. I exhaled, a tremor of pure relief slipping past my lips. If I could just manage to slip away..
Just as I pushed myself to my feet, the very air in the chamber shifted. It became heavy, charged, like the moments before a summer storm breaks. The unmistakable metallic tang of a dominant alpha's essence rolled through the chamber, a powerful, invisible pressure that announced his presence before the door even swung on its hinges.
My breath hitched.
Aleric.
He stood there, framed in the doorway—shoulders tight, a barely-leashed tension pulling the lines of his jaw taut. His golden eyes, usually clear and sharp with calculating intelligence, gleamed now like molten metal under the amber candlelight. His breathing was uneven, shallow and ragged, and a tell-tale flush of crimson stained the high planes of his cheekbones. The faint, floral perfume of the court's Omegas still clung to him, diluted and fading, but enough to stir the space between us into utter chaos.
I clutched the suppressant pouch tighter, the hard leather digging into my palm, and took a measured step back. "Your Highness," I said, my voice deliberately steady, though the frantic, hammering pulse beneath my throat utterly betrayed me, "you should rest. The evening's activities have been taxing. I will mix your sleeping draught and—"
"Stay."
His tone was low, a thick, roughened sound pulled from the deepest hollows of his chest—more primal instinct than a conscious command. The heavy oak door thudded shut behind him, sealing us into a velvet-lined prison.
I watched him advance, slow and inexorable. Every single, measured step was a drumbeat of rising panic in my ears. I knew the signs: the chaos the combined court scents had wrought upon his powerful system. His rational mind was drowning; what stood before me was only seeking an anchor, a potent counter-scent to ground the wreckage.
My body betrayed me instantly. The shock of Aleric's sheer, unchecked Dominance—the full, unbridled force of his aura—was too much. It overrode the weak Calming Cordial in my veins as if it were mere water. My latent, forbidden nature exploded, a violent, desperate, and utterly defiant surge of my own true biology.
The resulting scent was ruinous: a great, intoxicating wave of ripe, sweet peach, thick and syrupy, suddenly warring with the sharp, earthy tang of damp moss and, most terrifyingly, a volatile, venomous edge of bitter almond.
The scent—that explosive mix of sweet fruit and bitter earth—seemed to slam into him. His dilated eyes, which had been fixed vaguely on the light, now simply drank in the air, the last vestige of rational thought drowning as his gaze fixed on my face.
He stopped directly in front of me, impossibly close. The warmth radiating from his body was dizzying, oppressive, and the air around us was thick with the newly brewed, intoxicating blend of his dominance and my catastrophic release.
I froze. Every single nerve ending screamed a terrified warning to step away, to run, but something deeper—something primal and dangerously traitorous—locked my feet to the floorboards. His hand rose, heavy and slow, threading through the fine hair at my temple. I could feel the powerful tremor in his touch, the fragile restraint there, barely held.
"Your Highness," I whispered, the plea useless, "please..."
Before I could finish, his restraint shattered. He brutally gripped my hips, hauling me flush against his rigid, feverish body. The force of the impact stole my breath. One hand, rough and possessive, began a slow, devastating exploration. His warm fingers travelled up my flank, beneath the ruined linen of my tunic, caressing the sensitive skin of my waist and ribs before settling with crushing finality on my hip.
The Prince paused.
His golden eyes, though dilated and utterly feral, held a strange, confusing flicker of recognition. His Alpha-rage seemed to momentarily soften, replaced by a devastating, unexpected tenderness as he found my lips with surprising gentleness, a kiss that tasted the absolute submission he commanded.
"That smell," Aleric rasped against my skin, his voice thick, unrecognizable, and desperate. "It's intoxicating... yet I'm addicted to it."
That brief, shocking moment of intimacy—the gentle recognition beneath the fevered madness—broke the last fragments of my carefully constructed resolve. I struggled—a pure, ingrained Dominant defiance—shoving fiercely against his powerful shoulders, but my body was simultaneously arching, a biological traitor responding to the deep, resonant, alluring Alpha hum of the Prince's power. A sharp, involuntary moan was ripped from my throat when Aleric's claiming touch found a sensitive spot, a sound that was instantly devoured by his second kiss, a fierce, hungry, and far less gentle conquest.
The world tilted—golden light, harsh breath, the swirling, desperate blend of peach and smoke and ozone.
And then the candle's flame flickered out.