Light pulsed beneath her pale skin, a sickening violet hum that defied the natural laws of Eldia.
Levi stared at her wrist, his chest rising and falling in shallow, jagged breaths. His hand, usually steady enough to cleave a falling leaf in two, trembled as he gripped her fingers. The raw power of his grip was enough to bruise, yet he held her as if she might shatter into a thousand pieces.
"What is this, Irene?" His voice dropped to a dangerous, gravelly register. "What have you done to yourself?"
Gently, she tried to pull away, her face remaining as smooth and unbothered as polished marble. Her eyes, those beautiful, freezing blue depths, harbored no fear. Only that agonizingly polite detachment that drove him to the brink of madness.
"It is nothing, Your Highness," she murmured. "A simple trick of the conservatory's glare. The glass here plays odd tricks on the eyes when the sun dips below the horizon."
Laughter, bitter and hollow, escaped his throat. "A trick? I am a master of the blade, not some back-alley fool. This is ancient magic. This is treason against the crown, and more importantly, it is a danger to you."
Shadows lengthened across the glass dome, casting long, dark fingers over the exotic ferns. Levi's thumb stroked the soft skin of her inner arm, desperately feeling for the pulse beneath. But the violet glow remained, stubborn and mocking, like an intruder occupying her very veins. It was a language he did not understand, a magic forbidden in the northern territories of Eldia since the great purge.
Why would she have this? Her father, the Duke of Lorraine, had always kept his daughter secluded in the country estate, claiming her health was too fragile for the court's brutal winters. Now, Levi realized with a sickening jolt, the Duke had been hiding something far more dangerous than a weak constitution.
"You think you can play games with me, Irene?" Levi whispered, his grip tightening. "I have spent years dismantling the plots of men twice your age. I know when I am being managed. I know when a smile is a mask."
Irene's expression did not waver. She stood perfectly still, her breath even, her gaze locked onto his furious eyes with a terrifying tranquility. "A mask implies deception, Your Highness. I have never been anything but completely honest with you. I am your betrothed, bound to you by law and duty. What more do you require?"
"Your heart!" he roared, the words tearing from his chest before he could stop them. "I want your heart, Irene. I want to feel it beat for me, not for this hollow theater you perform every single day."
Anger flared hot in his chest, warring with the cold terror that always gripped him when she withdrew. He couldn't lose her. The royal court of Eldia was a viper's nest, and his own family had abandoned him to the wolves of war when he was just a boy. He had survived by becoming a monster, a weapon of pure lethality. But she was his anchor, the only thing keeping him from slipping into absolute darkness.
"Guards!" Levi bellowed, his voice rattling the glass panels of the greenhouse. "Summon the Lorraine family physician to the east wing immediately. Tell him he answers to me with his head if he delays!"
Her silence was his answer. It was always her silence. She would let him scream, let him plead, let him burn himself alive with his own passion, and she would simply watch the ashes fall.
Then, the guards' heavy boots began to echo down the long marble corridor leading to the conservatory. The metallic clatter of their armor signaled their rapid approach.
She knew she was out of time.
With a swiftness that shocked him, her free hand reached for the brass tea candle. The wick burned with a small, intense yellow flame, melting the wax into a clear pool.
Before Levi could even register the movement, she pressed her sleeve directly onto the open fire.
Searing heat met delicate fabric. The scent of scorched silk and burning flesh filled the tight space instantly, thick and choking.
Hissing, the flame died under the weight of her sleeve, but she did not pull back. She held her wrist over the hot brass wick, pressing the molten wax and fire directly onto the pulsing rune.
Agony must have ripped through her, but she barely blinked. Only a tiny, sharp intake of breath betrayed the pain as her skin blistered and black soot covered the violet light.
"Stop!" Levi roared.
Desperation lent him a terrifying strength. He lunged across the table, knocking the brass candleholder to the stone floor with a deafening clang that echoed through the glass dome.
Roughly, he grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the rising tendrils of smoke. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped beast trying to break free.
Tears of pure fury and devastation welled in his dark eyes as he stared at the ruined skin of her wrist. Blackened fabric fused with raw, red flesh, completely obliterating any trace of the glowing rune. The sight of her blood made his stomach twist in a violent knot.
"Are you mad?" he choked out, his voice cracking with an emotion he rarely allowed the world to see. "You would mutilate yourself? To keep a secret from me? Am I so repulsive to you that you would rather burn your own flesh than trust me?"
She looked up, her blue eyes wide, glassy, and completely detached. "A clumsy accident, Your Highness. I reached for my tea and caught the flame. There is no magic here. Only my own carelessness."
Grief, heavy and suffocating, settled over him. She had chosen physical agony over letting him see her truth. She had scarred her own beautiful body just to keep him at arm's length. The realization was a blade straight to his chest, twisting with every breath he took.
---
Physical barriers had always been a polite distance between them, a chasm of royal protocol and her own quiet boundaries. But tonight, those boundaries were written in her own blood and ash. The sight of her charred wrist drove him to a point of no return.
He didn't care about the consequences. He didn't care about her father, the Duke, or the whispering court. If she would destroy her own body to keep him out, he would tear down every wall she had ever built to force his way in.
Grabbing her waist, he pulled her flush against his chest, ignoring the polite protest that died on her lips as their bodies collided.
"You are mine," he growled, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he trembled. "Every drop of your blood belongs to me. How dare you burn what is mine? How dare you hurt yourself to escape me?"
Her body remained stiff, but the heat radiating from her burned skin seemed to ignite something feral inside him. He couldn't stand the distance anymore. He needed to consume her, to lose himself in her until she had no choice but to feel him.
Desperately, his mouth found hers. He kissed her with a bruising, frantic intensity, a man dying of thirst trying to drink from a frozen spring.
His mouth crashed onto hers with a desperate, crushing hunger. It was not a gentle kiss; it was a reclamation. He needed to feel the heat of her mouth, to taste the raw, unpolished reality of her gasps.
For a second, she resisted, her hands pressing firmly against his chest, a solid barrier of resistance. But Levi was relentless. He pressed forward, his body pinning her against the edge of the heavy iron table, refusing to give her an inch of escape.
Then, a shift.
Whether out of resignation or some hidden, buried spark of desire, her lips parted. She let out a soft, ragged sigh into his mouth, her hands sliding up from his chest to grip the lapels of his dark military jacket.
Slowly, the stiffness in her shoulders began to melt under the sheer force of his heat. Her hands, though still hesitant, found purchase on the lapels of his dark military jacket, clutching the heavy fabric.
Pulled into his orbit, she let out a soft sigh into his mouth. The sound drove him over the edge, erasing every ounce of his royal decorum.
Lifting her effortlessly, he sat her upon the edge of the wrought-iron table, crowding his body between her thighs.
His hands tangled in her dark hair, pins clattering to the stone floor as he freed the heavy silk of her locks. He kissed her jaw, her throat, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone with desperate, burning lips.
"Say my name," he murmured against her skin, his voice a broken plea. "Just once, Irene. Say it like you mean it. Let me hear you."
Silence answered him, save for her ragged breathing. She tilted her head back, offering him her throat, but her eyes remained fixed on the glass ceiling above, watching the rain wash away the soot.
Determined to break her composure, his hands slid down to her hips, pulling her tighter against him. His kisses became more demanding, a chaotic storm of teeth and tongue that left them both breathless.
For a fleeting second, he felt her fingers tighten in his hair, a sudden spark of genuine friction that sent a jolt of pure electricity through his spine. He clung to that tiny movement like a lifeline.
He pressed deeper, tasting the faint hint of mint and copper on her lips, losing himself in the illusion of her surrender.
Every touch was a battle for her soul. He wanted to leave his mark on her, to replace the scar she had just given herself with the heat of his own brand.
She let out a soft, ragged moan, her grip on his shoulders tightening as he bit gently at her lower lip. For a single, glorious moment, the ice between them shattered.
---
Breaths came in ragged, synchronized gasps as he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers. His chest heaved, his heart racing at a dangerous speed.
Gently, he lifted her injured wrist, his touch now incredibly light, as if she were made of spun glass.
"I will heal this," he whispered, kissing the unblemished skin just above the burn. "I will find the best salves in the empire. You will not carry a scar from this day, I swear it on my life."
Irene offered him a polite, faint smile—the very smile that tore his heart to ribbons. "You are too kind, Prince Levi. It is a minor injury, nothing to concern yourself with."
Shuddering at the cold formality of her words, he stepped back, the reality of her emotional distance crashing over him once more. The warmth of their embrace vanished, replaced by the damp chill of the conservatory.
Bending down to retrieve his fallen gloves from the stone floor, his gaze caught on a small, folded piece of paper lying in the shadow of the table leg.
Soot from the overturned candle had partially blackened the edges, but the elegant script inside remained legible.
Picking it up, he smoothed the singed parchment, his eyes scanning the elegant, hurried ink.
As the smoke clears, Levi finds a charred fragment of parchment under her table reading: 'The Prince's heart beats only while yours remains frozen.'