© All rights reserved for The King's Bride. The plot and characters are ORIGINAL and all MY OWN WORK. These are the products of my imagination and countless hours spent writing. Please do not copy/ reproduce in any way.

***********************************************************************************************

CHAPTER 10 - THE FIRST EMBER

The Emperor did not sleep.

Above Vaelthryn, the moon hung heavy and pale, casting ghostlight over the obsidian towers. But within the Emperor's chambers, the shadows churned with something far more restless than night.

Soren stood by the tall windows, hands clasped tightly behind his back, golden eyes fixed on the distant rooftops. The room was still—but his thoughts were not. His mind, ever disciplined, was now a storm of questions with no answers.

Althea.

A mortal. No noble lineage. No magic in her blood. And yet... she haunted him more than any sorceress or specter ever had.

His jaw clenched.

A few nights ago, he had ridden out to verify troubling reports of unrest near the capital—bandits, they said, gathering in the mountain pass. At first, he found only starving refugees huddled around dying fires. But as he turned to leave, the ambush came.

Shadow assassins. Silent. Precise.

He fought them off, but one of their poisoned daggers found its mark. The blade grazed his arm—minor at first. He'd dismissed it. But the toxin was no ordinary venom. It clung to his veins like black fire.

By the time he reached the palace walls, his healing had stalled. His strength drained, vision blurred, he could barely scale the outer battlements. He didn't make it to the inner halls. His legs gave out at the farthest estate from the heart of the Imperial Palace– Aurelune Hall.

He collapsed near the courtyard. He remembered the sharp bite of stone beneath his palms... and her gentle, soothing voice.

She had touched him—freely, gently, thoroughly. She had run her hands over his bare skin, and he hadn't felt disgust. He hadn't felt the usual crawl of revulsion or the cold surge of memories that paralyzed him.

No, he had felt something far worse.

Desire.

Real desire. The kind that curled low in his gut and refused to be ignored. And it terrified and unsettled him.

"Elion," he called, voice low.

The older Fae emerged from the shadows, ever loyal. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Soren turned to him sharply. "The mortal girl. I want everything you know."

Elion tilted his head. "Your Majesty?"

"I want her bloodline. Her movements. Who she's spoken to. What her maid has said. And more importantly—what else is she hiding."

A pause. "You believe she's hiding something?"

Soren's jaw flexed. "First it was the dance. I thought nothing of it. But then, the other night when I was poisoned, I collapsed near Aurelune Hall and she treated me. She... touched me, Elion. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Elion's brows furrowed. "The poison... we were lucky she knew medicine and was able to slow the poison enough for our healers to completely detoxify it. But... touched?" he whispered. Then understanding dawned. "T-this is a miracle. That perhaps—"

"No." Soren cut him off. "Nothing is coincidence and I do not believe in miracles. Not in this court. Not after what happened with Master Lian. That mortal came from nowhere, and now she's the only one who can lay a hand on me without making me want to burn down the entire room."

Elion was silent. He knew better than to argue when the Emperor was in this state.

Soren turned to the window. "What if it's a spell? Some trick? A way to gain my favor? What if she's a tool sent by one of the courts? The Winter Court is already stirring. And Minister Tael's family..." He exhaled hard. "There are too many moving pieces."

Elion hesitated. "Your Majesty. Do you believe she knew who you were? I remember that dawn when I saw you, you still wore your mask."

Soren shook his head. "I don't think she knew who I was."

"And yet, she helped you, Your Majesty. And that day, she was injured too. I heard from the maids that she was punished with thirty lashes for striking Lady Sylphera."

"And?" Soren prodded.

"I don't believe the coincidences would line up that much. Would she purposefully strike Lady Sylphera to be injured so she could appear more pitiful when she saved you?" Elion answered.

If it was any other man, he would've been struck dead by now for his impudence. But Elion has been with him for a long time and was the only one he trusted. Elion was also very smart and knew him well. What he just said was exactly what he was thinking– that all of this was a ploy to get his attention and have him be indebted to her.

"Perhaps you're right. But again, why her? My harem is filled with beautiful women. She doesn't stand out and she is mortal." Soren snapped.

Elion's voice was quieter now. "This, I don't know, your majesty..." he began. "...But I think this is something worth exploring. What if aside from the poison, she can cure you from the past? Make you whole again?"

Soren didn't respond. Not immediately. Instead, his thoughts drifted back to the heat of her palm on his chest. The way her eyes had widened, not in fear, but in quiet focus. Her hands had lingered. Curious. Innocent.

He closed his eyes.

No one had touched him in years. Not without revulsion. Not without ghosts clawing through his memory. But she... she was different.

"I will go and see her," he muttered. "Tonight."

Elion looked up and only nodded.

"I want to know if she truly is different." A pause. "Or if my body is betraying me."

"And if it is?"

Soren's eyes darkened. He kept his lips shut but the answer rang loudly inside his head.

Then may the gods help her. Because I want more.

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

That night, Elion stood behind him as Soren slipped into a black tunic trimmed in gold.

"I've sent word to her maid that you will be dining with Lady Althea today," Elion said.

Soren nodded. His body was filled with restless energy. His thoughts were consumed by her and what she made him feel. It angered him but at the same time, he wanted more.

The moon hung low as Soren crossed the bridge to Aurelune Hall.

Althea was already waiting at the gate. She wore a soft blue robe tonight, her dark hair tumbling down her back in loose waves. No jewels. No paint. Just her.

She bowed. "Your Majesty."

He said nothing, only stared at her for a long, heavy moment.

What are you? he wanted to ask. What spell did you cast on me?

Instead, he brushed past her.

She followed him into the dining hall, quiet and composed. The tea set was already prepared.

"Would you like to begin with tea or wine, Your Majesty?"

"Tea," he said, watching her. Always watching.

She rose and reached for the teapot. Her hands were steady, but she looked uncomfortable. She filled the cup and offered it to him with both hands, bowing slightly. Briefly, he noticed that just like the dance, this Fae custom was executed perfectly.

He reached for the cup and deliberately let his fingers brush hers.

At once, a current shot through his hand and down his spine like lightning. She must have felt it too for she gasped softly and nearly dropped the cup.

Their eyes locked.

Soren waited for the revulsion. He waited for the memories to come clawing to the surface. But none of those happened. There was only the heat that pooled low in his belly.

"Why?" he found himself whispering.

She blinked. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that, Your Majesty."

Soren looked away. "I didn't say anything," he lied.

He wanted to ask her what it is about her that awakened this desire in him. And of all people, why her, a mere mortal whose existence was a fleeting thing?

Right now, he wanted to bridge the gap between them on the table. He wanted to pull her close and get more of that intoxicating scent that is uniquely her.

He stared into her face. Looking for signs of a lie, deception, anything.

There was none.

Desire coiled deeper inside him.

When she reached for the tea again, he caught her wrist. Her eyes widened—but she didn't pull away.

Tell me," he murmured, voice low and dangerously soft. "...how are your lessons?"

Althea's breath caught. Her face warmed instantly, and her lips parted in surprise. "L-lessons?" she repeated, barely above a whisper.

He stood abruptly, the motion smooth and commanding, still holding her wrist. With a slight tug, he pulled her forward.

She stumbled—startled—and the distance between them vanished. She collided with him, soft curves pressed flush against the hard planes of his body. Her breath hitched.

He didn't move. Couldn't.

Her body was soft against his, her breath shallow and uncertain. He could feel her heartbeat fluttering like a trapped bird between them—and his own answering beat, heavy, demanding.

She smelled of jasmine and something warmer—something softer, uniquely hers—that made his restraint snap taut like a drawn bowstring.

Heat pooled low in his abdomen.

Her scent wrapped around him like silk, intoxicating and inescapable. Her body, small and warm, molded against his with quiet precision—the rise and fall of her chest, the press of her hips, the brush of her thigh stirring something primal.

Something deep inside him growled in response.

His jaw clenched, golden eyes darkening as he fought the urge to grip her waist and pull her even closer. Heat rushed through him, curling low and sharp. It wasn't just desire—it was a mixture of everything.

Frustration. Suspicion. Obsession.

Why her?

Why did his body respond so violently to this girl, when the touch of others repulsed him?

Althea slowly looked up, wide eyes locking with his.

Her lips were slightly parted, her breath warm against his throat. And gods, she was blushing. The sight of it only made things worse. More maddening.

He had to let her go.

But he didn't.

Not yet.

He leaned down, his breath a whisper against her cheek.

"I should not want this," he said darkly. "You are mortal. Fragile."

Her lips parted in protest, but no words came.

His golden gaze dropped to her mouth.

She was certain—certain—he was about to kiss her.

Her heart pounded. Her hands curled into the fabric of her gown. Her pulse screamed for him to close the distance.

But he didn't.

Instead, his fingers dropped away from her skin as if she had burned him. He turned.

And without a word, he walked into the night, leaving behind silence, a tray of untouched food— and a woman who now burned for answers, and for more of the desire he ignited within her.

**********************************************************************************************

Please vote for the story if you liked it! Would also love to know your thoughts in the comments. (No rude / entitled comments please)

Notes:

More chapters available on Inkitt and Patreon! Chapter 27 - Preparations also posted today.

Please support my writing by subscribing to either Inkitt or Patreon! You can subscribe for a month for $2.99 and read all my completed works or $4.99 to read all my completed works + get early access to all ongoing stories (including The King's Bride).

Important Links:

Join my Facebook Group where people get early heads up, links, etc: https://www.facebook.com/groups/aerithsage

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/c/aerithsage

Instagram / Threads: @aerithsagestories

Twitter/X: @aerithsage