Chapter 4

The training yard leaves Alina’s muscles humming with residual tension, but her mind is far from still. As she walks through Castle Xalveria—castle by name, but on the inside, a marvel of modern architecture—her father’s voice lingers in her head like an unwanted echo. Every critique, every calculated barb cloaked in advice plays on repeat.

Strategy over arrogance, Alina. Control your power. Never let your guard down.

She exhales softly, trying to shake it off. She has heard it all before.

The sleek interior corridors of the castle gleam beneath ambient lights, a sharp contrast to the old stone façade that masks it from the outside world. Inside, it is all polished floors, reinforced glass, high ceilings and sweeping halls—a mansion more than a fortress. Still, it feels colder today.

By the time she reaches her room, the quiet is a welcome relief. She heads straight to the bathroom, peeling off her training clothes and stepping into a hot shower. Steam curls around her, washing away the tension in her limbs, but not quite the weight pressing down on her chest.

Thirty minutes later, she steps out, her skin warm and her hair damp. A towel wrapped around her body, she walks into her room—and stops.

Something’s wrong.

The shift in the air is subtle, but unmistakable. A new current, a presence that wasn’t there before. Her body tenses.

She catches it then—another heartbeat. Just a half-beat off from hers, steady, familiar.

Before she can react, an arm snakes around her waist and pulls her back into a hard chest. A gasp escapes her, but the scent that hits her a moment later is unmistakable.

Him.

“Careful… my love,” a deep voice murmurs against her ear, teasing, amused. His hands roam slowly across her waist and hips, possessive. “You wouldn’t want to hurt me, would you?”

The tension bleeds from her frame as his voice confirms what her senses already know. But she isn’t one to give in easily.

Alina reacts with speed, twisting in his grip, catching his hands—but he’s faster. In a blink, he spins her, pressing her back against the wall with a force that draws a soft gasp from her lips. Her eyes snap up.

Magnus.

He grins down at her, completely unapologetic.

Her voice is quiet, breathy. “Are you out of your mind?”

Magnus Vorathiel’s deep blue eyes gleam with mischief. A wayward lock of golden hair falls across his brow as he tilts his head. He brushes it aside with effortless grace, radiating the kind of charm that turns respect into indulgence.

Dressed in the signature deep blue and gold of House Vorathiel, he looks every bit the noble heir—regal, composed, maddeningly self-assured. And he knows exactly how to weaponise it.

“You’re lucky I didn’t run you through,” Alina mutters, though her lips twitch despite herself.

“And risk ruining your beautiful chambers?” he replies, feigning horror. “Never.”

She rolls her eyes, but her heart betrays her—fluttering in a way that infuriates her.

He leans in, his lips just barely brushing hers, teasing her with proximity. And then, finally, he kisses her—slow, passionate, as if tasting something rare. She melts into him for a moment, her hand reaching up, fingers curling behind his neck.

Magnus Vorathiel.

The heir to House Vorathiel. One of the six noble Houses of Lycania. As old and influential as House Xalveria. Their family’s power spans courts, councils, and battlefields alike. And Magnus—his reputation precedes him. A skilled warrior. A brilliant tactician. And a charmer whose smile disarms faster than any blade.

He’s always had that effect on her.

Their bond is undeniable. Yet… they are not mated.

In Lycanian society, a male can mark a female once in his lifetime—choosing her as his mate through an ancient bond, solidified through ceremony and consummation. It is not casual. It is absolute.

Magnus has not marked her.

Not yet.

The matebond is primal. Irrefutable. A connection so visceral, it defies logic. It is not merely affection—it is the tethering of souls. She wants that with him. She knows it should be him.

And yet, doubt flickers.

Magnus steps back slightly, still close enough that his breath brushes her cheek.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, arms crossing. Her voice is sharp, but her expression softens. “You weren’t supposed to arrive until later.”

His grin shifts into something warmer. “I wanted to see you first.”

The words sink into her like sunlight. He always knows how to unravel her—how to make the walls she’s spent years building seem like glass.

Even now, two years after meeting him, he still manages to unravel her with a glance. A word. A touch.

There’s no question in her heart—Magnus Vorathiel is her mate.

So why hasn’t he claimed her?

Her voice falters slightly as she asks, “Magnus… you weren’t supposed to arrive until later. I thought—”

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he cuts in, stepping even closer. His tone drops, softer now. “Besides, I wanted to spend the day with you before we’re paraded around like show horses at dinner.”

A short laugh escapes her, but it’s hollow. His nearness sends another thrill through her, but this time it isn’t enough to quiet the question that’s been gnawing at her.

Her eyes search his. “And… when will you mark me?”

The words fall into the space between them like stones.

Magnus’s smile flickers—just barely—but she sees it. That familiar shadow passes over his features, the one he always tries to mask with charm. For a brief moment, she thinks he’s going to dodge the question again.

But he doesn’t.

“I will,” he says. His voice is soft, careful. “Soon.”

He watches her reaction, eyes locked on hers.

“But Alina…” he continues, stepping forward and placing his hands on her waist. “This isn’t just about us. Marking you—claiming you—it’s not something I take lightly. You know what it means. What it will set into motion.”

Her jaw clenches. She knows. Of course, she knows. She’s thought about it every night since they first kissed.

“I know exactly what it means,” she says, her tone sharper now. “Do you think I haven’t thought about it? Dreamed about it? I’m ready.”

The words hang between them like a dare.

Magnus doesn’t respond immediately. His expression remains unreadable, his hands warm on her skin but his eyes too still.

And somewhere deep inside her, the cold returns.