Chapter 105: _ What it Means to Mark No-One

The moment I pulled his mouth down to mine, every caution he was trying to take... went straight to hell. His lips welcomed mine in a bruising kiss that completely obliterated whatever remaining shreds of sanity I possessed.

Of all the wild scenarios I had spun in my head since discovering the multi-fated bonds, giving up my body to a royal prince—least of all this arrogant, overbearing wolf—was never part of the plan.

In my midnight spirals, I had imagined sitting them down, demanding answers about the wire in my ribs, arguing about boundaries and survival. I had never imagined trading logic for a passion so overwhelming; my body seemed like it could burst with heat. Not like this. At least... not yet.

And yet, as his hands gripped my waist, lifting me effortlessly so my legs wrapped around his hips, every single objection dissolved into smoke.

"Someone’s going to see us," I breathed as the sudden panic of our semi-public location fluttered in my chest while his mouth scorched a path down the column of my neck. "Ivar, stop... we’re right in the open cloister, anyone could—"

Ivar didn’t even pause. His lips grazed my skin and a sharp spasm of need vibrated through my core, tearing a needy moan from my lips.

"Ha..."

"Let them look. I don’t give a damn who sees. Let the whole damn realm watch," he growled. His hands shifted to grip the hem of Miriel’s blue tunic, bunching the fabric up my thighs.

Hearing him say it... knowing that right now, on the other side of these stone walls, the school was distracted by sports exhibitions and political trials, unlocked something reckless and dormant deep inside me.

For once in my entire life, I wasn’t the starving trench rat trying to keep her head down in the mud. I wasn’t the pawn being pushed around by Headmistress Maisie or extorted by Eldritch.

For once, I was being unapologetically selfish. If my soul was tangled up in this mad, beautiful disaster of a bond, then I was going to take what was right in front of me.

My fingers tightened in his red hair, tugging hard enough to drag a low groan from his chest.

"Look at you, Petal. All needy and fuckable," he chuckled.

Ignoring his amusement, "Prove it," I whispered.

The naughty edge of defiance surprised even my own ears as I pressed my hips against his arousal. "If you’re going to claim me, Ivar... make sure they all know whose mark is on my skin."

"As you wish, My Lord. I am but your humble pleasure-serving mate."

A wicked grin tugged at his lips before his face set into something more primal. He dragged his thumb over my bottom lip, his eyes burning like molten iron in the shadowed alcove.

"I’m going to mark you first, Elira. Before anything else. I need my blood on your skin." He leaned close to my ear, suckling on it as he whispered.

As much as my common sense seemed to deteriorate as fast as my desire climbed, those words of his grounded me just enough to blink up at him. "Is it... is it going to hurt?"

Ivar paused and pressed his lips together as his large hand cupped the side of my neck, his thumb tracing the delicate pulse hammering beneath my skin. "Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. But during mating lectures, the professor told us it’s the kind of hurt that feels good. Now, I hate not paying attention in class... I... I used to think the mating class was useless to me..."

He paused and I helped him finish. "You never thought you’d one day be fated, let alone to a markless girl."

For a brief second, the wild, reckless fog lifted, and I was back in my right senses.

"Do you even know what that means, Ivar?" My voice quivered slightly as I looked straight into his emerald eyes. "Marking a commoner... claiming a markless girl from the trenches? You’re a Prince. If you do this, there’s no pulling back. You’re tying your entire sovereign name to me."

For one suspended moment, I searched his face for hesitation.

Not the reckless hunger I’d seen in his eyes when I pulled him toward me or the possessiveness that made him want his mark on my skin.

I needed to know whether he understood what he was choosing.

Because I could want his kiss. I could want his hands on me, his name tied to mine, and his wolf answering something deep inside my soul.

But I wouldn’t let fate make this decision for me.

I’d spent my entire life having other people decide what I deserved, where I belonged, and how much of myself I was allowed to keep.

I wasn’t going to surrender that choice now. Not even to a prince I wanted far more than was sensible.

As if he could read my mind, he leaned in and pressed his forehead firmly against mine, hands tightening around my waist with a protective grip.

"I know what it means, Elira. I know what my father will say. I know what the court will demand of me. And I know exactly what they’ll call you once my mark is on your skin."

His jaw tightened.

"But I’m not choosing you because of what my wolf wants," he closed his eyes briefly.

His jaw tightened.

"But I’m not going to stand here and pretend I know what this means to me, Elira. I don’t."

The admission seemed to cost him something. His emerald eyes searched mine, stripped of their usual mischief.

"I’ve had women throwing themselves at me since I was old enough to understand what they wanted. Beautiful women. Noblewomen. Women who would’ve started a war for the privilege of warming my bed." A crooked, humorless smile tugged at his mouth. "And I’ve given them exactly what they came for. A night, a good time, something to brag about afterward. Hell, I’ve even stolen from them."

His thumb moved absently against my waist. "I’ve never needed more than that. Never wanted it, either."

He paused, looking almost irritated with himself. "Then I saw you and suddenly, I couldn’t get you out of my bloody head. I thought about you when I woke up. When I went to sleep. Even when I was in the middle of doing something that should’ve had my attention, there you were, irritating the hell out of me without even being present."

Despite myself, a small laugh escaped me.

His lips twitched. "Don’t look so pleased. It’s been a thoroughly miserable experience."

"Poor prince."

"Absolutely tragic."

For a heartbeat, the familiar teasing returned. Then his expression sobered.

"The worst part is that I don’t know what to call it. I don’t know if this is what love feels like. I’ve never had a reason to find out." His gaze dropped briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes. "But for the first time in my life, I’m wondering if there’s something more to me than the man who takes what he wants, gets bored, and moves on."

His voice grew quieter.

"And maybe I’m a bloody fool for considering it with a woman I’ve barely spoken to. Maybe I’ll make a mess of it. Maybe you’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble."

"You’re certainly making a compelling argument for yourself," I murmured.

He huffed a laugh. "See? This is what I mean. Most women would be trying to convince me they’re worth keeping. You’re standing here preparing to tell me why I shouldn’t keep you."

"Perhaps I’m doing you a favour."

"Perhaps." His hand settled more securely against my waist. "But I’d still like the chance to find out what happens if I try."

He held my gaze, and for once, there was no smirk to hide behind. "I can’t promise you love when I’m not even certain I know what it is. I won’t insult you by pretending otherwise. But I can promise that if I mark you, I won’t treat you like another woman who passes through my bed and disappears from my thoughts by morning."

His thumb brushed the side of my neck, just beneath my jaw. "I want to know you, Elira. Not just what you feel like beneath my hands. I want to know what makes you furious, what makes you laugh when you’re trying not to, and why you look at princes as though you’d rather set us all on fire."

"That last one should be fairly obvious."

"Probably." His mouth curved. "But I’d still like to hear you explain it."

Something shifted in my chest. He wasn’t promising me forever. He wasn’t swearing that he loved me when he had no way of knowing whether he did.

He was offering me something far more uncertain.

A beginning.

"And if this is only the bond?" I asked quietly. "If you wake up tomorrow and decide you were mistaken?"

His expression turned serious. "Then I’ll have to live with the fact that I made a choice without knowing how it would end." He paused. "But I won’t mark you and then pretend I never made it."

This was a man not asking me to believe in a love he hadn’t discovered yet. He was asking for the chance to discover whether he was capable of it at all.

And damn him, that was somehow more frightening than a thousand beautiful promises.