Chapter 9: Monster Prince, Ivar

Ivar Wulfram [Second Son of the Wolf King]

Extraction, if done correctly, requires absolute silence and a total absence of romance.

The girl beneath me was currently hyperventilating into my pillows. Her fingernails dug into the muscles of my forearms as the final wave of her magic pulsed through her veins, into mine, and found a home in my chest.

It felt like swallowing lightning except this was beautifully and deliciously stolen lightning.

I pulled back my length from her hole, unceremoniously stepping off the bed, and began fastening my trousers.

"Ivar...?" Her voice was a slurred whimper. She rolled onto her side, clutching the sheets to her bare chest. "My head... I feel... so lightheaded. What did you do to me?"

I didn’t even turn around. I pulled my shirt over my shoulders, smoothing down the cuffs. "You offered yourself to the Second Prince of the Wolf Realm. What did you think was going to happen? That I’d write you a poem?"

"I—I can’t feel my heat," she stammered, panic finally curling through her post-intercourse haze. She held up her right hand, trying to conjure an inflamed object.

A sputtering wisp of grey smoke pathetically rose from her nail, then promptly died. She gasped, recoiling back against the headboard in terror. "What did you do? My flame... it’s halved! My power!"

"I took what I was owed," I sighed, sitting on the edge of the armchair to lace up my boots.

I offered her a devastating smile that had brought far better women to their knees. "You’ve spent four weeks dropping your handkerchief in front of my training grounds, sweetheart. You wanted a prince. You wanted access to my bed, my reputation, and my name. I wanted a piece of your flame forging ability. We made a transaction."

"You stole it! You took my magic!" she shrieked, tears brimming in her eyes.

"I took a portion," I corrected gently, snapping my belt buckle into place. "Don’t be dramatic. You still have your ability. You can still conjure inflamed objects, you’ll just need to drag your lungs twice as hard to do it. You gave me twenty percent of your potential in exchange for forty minutes in my company. Frankly, I think you got the better end of the deal."

"You monster–"

The door to my private quarters slammed open with force enough to rattle the glass decanters on my sideboard.

"Ivar, if I have to step over one more discarded corset in your foyer, I’m going to set your entire floor on fire," a voice growled.

I didn’t even look up from my bootlaces. "Zevaranthius. As always, your sense of timing is positively tragic."

Prince Zevaranthius of the Tiger Realm; Zev, to anyone who didn’t actively enjoy having their throat ripped out, stood in the doorway. He was broad-shouldered, draped in black and silver, with amber eyes and a nasty little scowl.

His eyes swept over the room, taking in the disheveled bed, the terrified, half-naked dragon girl clutching the sheets, and me, calmly adjusting my collar in front of the mirror.

He groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Again? Really, Ivar? It’s eight in the morning."

"The early bird gets the worm, Zevaranthius," I grinned, winking at him in the mirror. "Or in this case, a twenty percent boost to my pyromancy reserves."

"Don’t call me Zevaranthius," Zev barked, his fangs lengthening in annoyance.

"I didn’t just call you Zevaranthius, I thought it," I chuckled. "And I say your full name strictly because I know it gives you a migraine."

The dragon girl scrambled toward her discarded dress on the floor, shivering violently as she tried to pull it over her head. "I’m telling the House Masters. I’m telling them what you do!"

I turned slowly, letting the polite charm drop from my face. Circling my index finger, her skin started to frost—a nightmare for a Dragon.

The girl gasped, frantically scratching her arms as every speck of hair began to freeze. "P-Please. Stop... stop."

"You can tell whomever you like, darling. But before you do, remember who I am. I am Prince Ivar Wulfram. If you lodge a complaint, I will simply claim you tried to poison my blood, and my father’s envoys will have your entire minor house stripped of their noble titles before nightfall. Now... dress yourself and get out before I decide forty percent sounds like a better bargain."

"I... all I wanted was to care for you!" she began.

"Oh, darling. I overheard your conversation with your bratty friends. What was it again?" I flicked my fingers in mock thought. "’I’ll have his cock in me by a fortnight and I won’t stop until I conceive his child. He’ll have no choice but to take me as a wife. I’ll become the Lutheria Luna!"

Despite the frost creeping under her skin, her face turned crimson. "But... How... I didn’t–"

"Get. Out," I snapped. "Or do you honestly believe a third-tier common noble is worthy of standing in the same room as two royal heirs?"

She didn’t need to be told a third time. She snatched her embroidered slippers, tripped over her own hem, and fled out the door, letting it slam shut behind her.

Zev watched her leave, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. "You’re a vile bastard, you know that?"

"I am a practical bastard," I countered, pouring myself two fingers of liquor from the decanter on my desk and tossing it back. "My power requires extraction through intimacy. It’s not my fault the divine creators made the mechanism so deliciously entertaining. Besides, she got what she wanted. She can now tell her little friends she slept with the Wolf Prince."

"And you stole a portion of her powers."

"An ability she barely knew how to use," I scoffed, tossing the crystal glass onto the table. "I, on the other hand, intend to use it to burn down our enemies. Speaking of which—what are you doing in the Wolf Academy? Crossing sovereign territories without an official pass is a breach of Academy law, your Highness. Are you trying to get us both expelled?"

Zev snorted, walking into the room and tossing himself onto my leather sofa. "As if any Warden on this floor has the courage to ask me for a hall pass. I do what I want."

"A true rebel," I mocked, taking the seat opposite him. "So, what brought the solemn Tiger Prince out of his cave? Did you come to lecture me on my morals again?"

"I don’t give a damn about your morals, Ivar. I give a damn about the crown. You’re spending half your time hunting desperate noble girls for spare magic while your older brother is out there eating your lunch."

My smile faded. "Leave my brother out of this."

"Why should I?" Zev pressed. "Prince Erik is currently touring the Northern Provinces. He’s courting the High Dukes, securing military alliances while you are locked inside this glorious prison of an Academy, Erik is laying the brickwork to steal the Wolf Throne right out from under you."

I clenched my jaw, my knuckles turning white against the leather armrests. "I didn’t choose to be sent here. My father insisted I stay until I ’master the ancient arts.’ He thinks he’s preparing me to fight some fictional Hell Lord from old legends. It’s madness. But I can’t leave until I prove I’m the strongest warrior the Wolf Realm has ever produced. I need this power, Zev. Every bit of magic I drain from these idiots brings me one step closer to taking what is mine."

"Then stop fighting like a rogue wolf and start playing the game," Zev threw his hands in the air. "You’re obsessed with your brother outside these walls, but you’re losing the war inside them. The Tournament of Academies is in four months."

I groaned, leaning my head back against the leather. "Don’t remind me."

"We’ve lost two years in a row. Two years, Ivar. Remus took first place for the Dragons, and Ajax took second for the Lions. You and I were dragged down to third and fourth like common foot soldiers."

"Because the scoring is rigged!" I growled, sitting up straight. "And because those arrogant bastards at the top spend all their time whispering that we only held third and fourth because Raice doesn’t enter the competitions!"

"Exactly. The entire Academy thinks Raice is an untouchable god, Remus is an unstoppable warlord, Ajax is some master genius, and we’re just violent shifters filling out the bracket. I intend to change that." Zev groaned, his forehead creasing.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You have a plan. Out with it, Zev. Stop speaking in parables, it doesn’t suit a cat."

Zev leaned back and a smirk spread across his face. "The first brick in their foundation just cracked. Raice Ignis-Dominus made a mistake today."

I scoffed. "Raice doesn’t make mistakes. He just breaks into vaults, punches Wardens, and acts like a lunatic because his mother controls the entire realm."

"Word reached me from the Concourse an hour ago," Zev informed. "During the opening assembly, while everyone was staring at the High Rector... Raice was standing in the back. And he spoke to someone..."

"So what? He probably told a Warden to go to hell."

"Not a Warden. A new initiate."

I sat completely still for two full seconds. "You’re lying."

"I am not."

"Raice doesn’t speak to students," I said flatly. "He doesn’t speak to nobles, he doesn’t speak to professors, and he certainly doesn’t speak to initiates. The man treats the rest of humanity like background noise. So what makes her different? Is she a fallen angel?"

"She’s a dragonless nobody from the trenches," Zev blurted.

"What?"