Chapter 1
Niobe
Niobe discreetly adjusted the folds of her teal gown under the table. Her slender, nervous fingers dug into the silky fabric, the material slipping carelessly between her nails. Her heart raced, betraying the agitation she struggled to conceal. The pounding at her temples matched the rhythm of the intoxicating music filling the reception hall.
She could feel his gaze—dark as coal and burning like a blazing flame licking over her entire body. She refused to acknowledge him, focusing instead on the sound of the music. He was none other than Reken, the Butcher of Karnak, the cruel Enthrallian prince who had desired her for two years, a predator drawn irresistibly to his defiant prey. His gaze was sly, vicious, a blend of untamable cruelty and a perverse obsession. He reveled in her disheveled composure, in her resolve that had been steadily faltering over the months. His predatory jaw clenched rhythmically as he chewed, his crimson attire doing little to hide the marble-like stature of his body—a figure as fearsome to men as it was enthralling to women.
She absentmindedly tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, her cheeks flushed from the wine she had consumed. Superficial conversations buzzed around her. Niobe sipped delicately from her glass when a wave of heat engulfed her. Fixing her gaze resolutely on the empty crystal goblet before her, she refused to lift her eyes.
The heat seeped into the pores of her sensitive skin, causing her back to arch slightly as though gripped by a silent caress consuming her from within. She set the glass down, fury boiling within her as she sought him out with her gaze. The prince smiled at her—a smile laden with bestial confidence that unsettled her, a subtle game unnoticed by the crowd. Her composure cracked. Her betrothed provoked her, igniting a latent desire in an irresistible dance, fully aware of the effect stirring through her lower core. Yet she refused to surrender to this irrepressible lust.
Niobe squirmed in her seat, clearing her throat as her fingers gripped the carved wood of the armrest. The wave intensified, setting her nerves ablaze and forcing her to bite her lip to stifle the fiery moan threatening to escape her mouth. She glared at him, silently vowing to make him pay.
Reken seemed to savor her discomfort, embracing the invisible challenge Niobe threw at him through her icy blue gaze. His lips curled further into that arrogant smirk, sharpening his prominent cheekbones. A tingling heat flared deeper within Niobe, spreading through her thighs, a perverse pleasure echoing within her.
Bastard, Reken, she muttered inwardly.
The prince’s smirk widened, his square jaw radiating with a smug and indomitable attitude. His fingers nonchalantly brushed back the rebellious strands of jet-black hair falling over his piercing gaze. He took pleasure in eating the grapes he held, ignoring the conversations of the lords beside him. Reken reveled in his insolence, watching her, observing the turmoil erupting within her—hidden under the throbbing, searing heat coiling in her core.
Niobe abruptly rose to her feet. She excused herself to her father beside her, and kissed him on the cheek with a swift gentleness to wish him goodnight. Without granting Reken a single glance, she stood, her every movement imbued with the grace befitting the crown princess of Eden, and glided down the cold stone corridors of the castle, her gown trailing over the marble. Her throat tightened, and she quickened her pace, the jewelry adorning her wrists and ankles jingling softly in the castle’s silence.
The servants she passed bowed respectfully as she swept by, and she gave them brief nods in return. The echo of her footsteps filled the long hallway, disturbing the stillness of the galleries. She struggled to breathe normally, her parched throat refused her the luxury.
For two years, she had rejected his advances, even knowing they were promised to one another. Yet she had never imagined he might one day wield his enthrallian influence to manipulate her. She muttered curses under her breath, damning the northern people who mastered the art of manipulating somatic energies—from corrosive fear to insidious carnal desire.
She quickly locked herself in her dimly lit room, ensuring the door was bolted behind her. She swiftly drew the curtains to filter the pale moonlight and cracked open the windows to let a refreshing breeze sweep away the stagnant air.
Her breath was ragged and uneven. She pressed a trembling hand to her heaving chest, her corset squeezing her ribs and suffocating her. She needed to breathe. “Madeline!” she called for her maid. The older woman arrived, carrying a water carafe that she set on Niobe’s nightstand.
Niobe motioned frantically toward the ties of her corset, silently pleading to be freed from its grip. She swept her golden locks aside, exposing her damp neck. The pulsation between her legs was a relentless reminder of the enthrallian energy still thrumming within her.
The older woman worked quickly, and soon Niobe felt the cool air flood her lungs. She wiped a clammy hand across her forehead, her breathing slowly evening out. Madeline then attended to her teal gown, unlacing it methodically. Niobe was left in a light slip.
Her muscles tensed. The door to her room creaked slightly, as though impatient to continue a story just begun.
