Chapter 103: _ The Wolf Prince and His Petal

Elira No-One

...

"You two go ahead to the arena," I said, holding Miriel’s clean blue tunic against my chest and gathering my bundle of dirty clothes under my arm. "I’ll drop these off at the lower laundry chutes and catch up with you at the stands."

Bren gave me a long look but she finally nodded. "Don’t wander off, glitch. If anything feels wrong, get to the crowd immediately."

"I will," I promised.

I parted ways with my roommates at the archway, turning down the quiet corridor that led toward the residential basement. The halls were eerie in their emptiness; the announcement had successfully cleared the lower levels, herding almost every initiate toward the central Quadrangle.

I took three steps past the covered archway of the lower cloister... and froze dead in my tracks.

Standing near the shadow of an ivy-draped pillar was Prince Ivar. The moment I set my eyes on him, my heart started beating so fast, I thought it might explode.

For a second, neither of us moved. We just stood there, locked in a silent standoff, staring straight into each other’s eyes as if the rest of the academy had simply ceased to exist.

The first thing that surged into my head was the memory of the Sunken Arch. I remembered the cool press of his lips against my forehead after he had saved me from Tobin. I remembered the sudden, staggering gentleness in his hands, and the way his voice had dropped into that purr when he called me a petal.

The mere recollection sent an intoxicating, betraying heat pooling at the base of my spine.

But right on the heels of that memory came the bitter sting of betrayal.

This was the same Wolf Prince who had stolen my autonomy. He was the one who had placed his hand over my face, invaded my mind, and compelled me to forget he had ever touched me.

This was the same arrogant royal who had caught me outside the ball with Raice, possessively snarling at me, demanding to know who gave me the right to touch other men. And this was the prince I had humiliated in front of the concourse when I mistook him for Tobin—a mistake that had ended in brutal self-embarrassment for me.

There was too much history between us. Too much twisted and unspoken tension for two people who hadn’t uttered a single word to each other since he wiped my mind.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know whether he was still furious at me for calling him out at the ball, or whether I was even allowed to be mad at a Prince for altering my memories.

But beneath the anger and the confusion, my body was vibrating with an irresistible ache. Every cell in my skin was screaming for him to close the distance between us, and I had no idea how to make it stop.

Two male initiates hurried past us down the hall, dropping into half bows. "Your Highness," they muttered deferentially.

Ivar barely acknowledged them with a tilt of his head. As the boys disappeared around the bend, I snapped out of my trance, lowering my gaze and dropping into a quick, clumsy bow. "Your Highness."

Ivar’s heterochromatic eyes swept down my body, landing on the bundle of dirty rags clutched under my arm.

"Where are you going with those rags, Petal?" he asked.

I stammered, my cheeks flaring hot. "I... I was just going to drop my dirty tunics off at the lower laundry chutes before heading to the arena."

Before I could take a step back, Ivar closed the distance between us and plucked the bundle of clothes from my arms.

"I’ll walk you there," he said simply.

My jaw practically hit the flagstones. "You... you don’t have to do that, Your Highness–"

"I didn’t ask for your permission," he murmured, turning on his heel and walking beside me down the quiet hallway.

I stood there for a split second, utterly baffled, before hurrying my steps to match his long stride.

Thankfully, the path to the lower laundry chutes was entirely abandoned. With the entire student body gathered at the Quadrangle for the exhibition sports, the narrow stone corridors were blissfully free of gossiping noble girls or sycophant scholars.

It was just the two of us, surrounded by the quiet hum of granite walls and the soft thud of our boots.

The silence between us stretched with unspoken words. I swallowed hard, deciding to break the tension before it choked me completely.

"I... I want to apologize," I said quietly, looking down at my boots as we walked. "For what happened at the ball. When I called you out in front of everyone and accused you of attacking me... I mistook you for my attacker. I shouldn’t have humiliated you like that esp... especially since it was you who saved us."

Ivar didn’t look at me, but a cynical tilt touched the corner of his lips. "It’s fine. I don’t blame you."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Of course you don’t. You’re the one who decided to wipe my memories in the first place."

Ivar stopped dead in his tracks.

His boots skidded against the stone, and he whirled around to face me. "You remember."

"Of course I remember!" I snapped, the built-up anger I was trying to curb under the show of respect finally bursting through.

I completely forgot for a second that I was speaking to a royal prince who could have me thrown in the dungeons.

"I remembered two days ago! You took away my mind! You forced me to forget what happened in the forest just because it was convenient for you!"

To my absolute shock, Ivar didn’t apologize. He didn’t even look guilty. Instead, he let out a disbelieving scoff and looked down at me like I was being entirely absurd.

"You are such a hypocrite, Elira," Ivar growled, stepping closer until his broad frame blocked out the wall torches.

"I am a what?!" I gasped, stunned by his audacity.