Chapter 41: _ Don’t Make Out With The Mad Prince

Raice didn’t wait for another word. This time, his mouth descended upon mine with a hunger that felt like it could swallow me whole.

He shifted his weight, stepping deeper between my thighs as I sat on the stone ledge. The friction of his trousers against my sensitive core sent a jolt of electricity through my spine, making me let out a small, needy whimper.

"You have no idea what you’ve done to me," he groaned against my lips. "The silence you bring... it’s addictive. I can’t get enough of you."

His hand, which had been resting on my waist, slid downward daringly. When his hands slid beneath my dress, I gasped. His fingers then brushed against the heat of my thighs. I had never been touched like this—never known the specific, heavy ache that was currently pooling in my gut—and the novelty of it made my head spin.

When his fingers finally found the damp lace of my underwear, I let out a broken sob of surprise. I was wet. So incredibly wet for a man who had spent the last hour terrifying me.

Raice froze for a heartbeat, his eyes widening as he felt the slickness. I felt the triumphant smirk curl his lips. "So the ’cure’ works both ways," he whispered.

Slowly and agonizingly, he slid a single finger beneath the lace.

I arched my back, my fingers digging into his shoulders as the first touch of his skin against mine sent sparks flying behind my eyelids. It was an explosion of sensation. He didn’t push deep... instead, he began to tease me, circling the entrance of my heat, grazing the very edge of my clitoris with a precision that made my toes curl.

"Raice... please..." I breathed.

I didn’t know what I was asking for. I had no experience to draw from, but my body was screaming for more. I wanted him to fill the void, to push past the threshold and claim every inch of me.

He chuckled and dipped his finger in just a fraction. It was a teasing probe that barely breached the surface before withdrawing it again. He was playing with me, driving me to the brink of madness by denying me the very thing I craved.

"You’re so responsive," he murmured, his gaze fixed on my face, savoring the way my eyes fluttered and my lips parted in desperation. "I can feel you pulsing around me. Do you want me to go deeper, Elira?"

"Yes," I whimpered, my hips instinctively bucking against his hand. "Please, just... more."

The desire was a living thing, a fire that consumed everything in its path. Raice seemed to feed on my desperation. He leaned in, his mouth leaving mine to travel down my neck, his tongue tasting the salt of my skin.

His hand continued to tease me at the entrance, swirling and pressing just enough to keep me on the edge of a cliff.

I felt like I was floating, lost in a haze of scent and touch. I leaned my head back against the stone wall, my breath coming in ragged hitches. Just as he shifted his grip, his mouth opening to take the peak of my breast through my dress, a sudden, sharp sound echoed from the corridor behind us.

Clack came the sound of a boot hitting stone.

Raice froze. He didn’t pull away immediately; instead, his entire body went rigid, as if he had been turned to stone. The predatory hunger in his eyes vanished in an instant.

He snapped his head back toward the sound, his chest heaving, his hand still resting precariously between my thighs. The silence that followed was deafening.

I knew what it carried... the threat of whoever had just discovered the Mad Prince in a very compromising position with the Academy’s most mysterious student.

Raice looked at me, then back at the corridor, his face pale. For the first time, the man who terrified everyone in Last Bastion looked truly terrified himself.

His hand ripped out from beneath my dress so fast the silk nearly tore.

One second, I was floating on a cloud of liquid heat; the next, he had scrambled backward, his boots sliding against the slick floor like a cat falling into a bath.

The haze in his eyes evaporated, and now, he was shooting me a glare that looked entirely unhinged.

"What did you do?!" he yelled, pointing an accusatory finger directly at my face.

I gaped at him, my legs still hanging open over the stone ledge, my dress bunched up around my waist. "What did I do?! You pulled my skirt up!"

"You bewitched me, you little leech!" Raice snarled, backing away until his shoulder slammed into the stone wall.

His breathing was fast, his face pale as death. He slapped his hands over his ears, shaking his head furiously at voices only he could hear.

"Fucking venom..." he muttered under his breath. "Fuck that bloody venom!"

Without another word, without even looking at me again, the Mad Prince turned on his heel and sprinted down the corridor as if he’d just seen a ghost, his cape flapping behind him as he fled toward the Fae quadrant.

Silence returned to the hallway.

I sat alone on the cold stone ledge with a heaving chest and completely stunned.

Did he just blame ME?

I scrambled to pull my dress down, smooth my hair, and sit up straight, my cheeks burning hotter than the Heartstone. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely straighten my sleeves.

He had spiraled directly into a psychotic break, and I just happened to be the unfortunate soul standing in his radius. I was a victim. A terrified, cornered victim!

...So why in the nine hells had I enjoyed every single second of it?

Ugh, I hate you, Elira No-One, I groaned, facepalming.

I wasn’t a wayward girl who made out with terrifying royal lunatics in dark hallways. I wasn’t like my mother.

Growing up in Stonewick, the village women never let me forget who raised me.

"Daughter of a house-woman," they’d whisper behind their laundry lines.

"Lustful blood always breeds lustful trouble."

I had spent my entire life building walls around myself, swearing I’d never let a man manipulate me with soft touches or empty promises.

And yet, five minutes with Raice Ignis-Dominus, the exact man who had threatened to find me for the wrong purposes, and I was practically begging him to undo my corset.

What was wrong with me?!

Panic spiked in my blood. Did he say venom?

Was that why he did this? Trying to contaminate me with some toxin?

My fingers flew up to my lips. Had he poisoned me? Was that why my head was spinning? Was that why my heart was thrashing so hard, screaming at the empty air? Was I under some dark Fae compulsion spell?

I pressed my fingers against my swollen lips, tasting the lingering ash, wine, and ozone.

It didn’t feel like poison. It felt... addicting. And the worst, most pathetic part of all was that a tiny, treacherous part of my heart felt crushed that he had run away.

"Who gave you the permission to let other men touch you?" a voice drawled from the shadows.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, tumbling completely off the stone ledge and landing in a heap on the floor. I scrambled up, pressing my back against the wall as my eyes darted toward the end of the corridor.

Standing in the dim torchlight... was Tobin!