Caveen stormed out of Lysandra's chamber, the echo of her trembling voice haunting him with every step he took down the quiet halls of the Moonwell Estate.
The torches along the corridor flickered against the stone walls, casting shadows across his strained expression. His heart thundered like war drums in his chest—too fast, too loud. His fists clenched at his sides.
A spell. A damned love spell.not a Memory spell.
The night he had given himself to her—the night their child was conceived—was born not from true desire, but from magic. Or so he told himself.
He pushed open the door to his assigned chamber and slammed it shut behind him. The sound echoed like a shot.
His breath was ragged as he stalked toward the wine rack nestled near the hearth. Without a second thought, he grabbed the nearest bottle, ripped out the cork with his teeth, and poured the liquid into a goblet, gulping it down like water.
The burn in his throat wasn't enough. He poured another. And another.
The taste was bitter, but not as bitter as the betrayal twisting his chest.
"Damn her," he hissed, slamming the goblet on the table, red liquid splashing over the edge.
But the anger wasn't real. Not entirely.
What he truly felt was something more dangerous.
Confused longing. The ache of wanting her—still—even after everything.
His hand tightened around the glass until it cracked slightly under his grip. "Why do I still feel this way?" he muttered. "Why can't I forget the way she looked at me… like I was her whole world?"
---
Meanwhile…
Lysandra stood frozen in the center of her chamber, the silence louder than any scream.
The door had shut behind Caveen just moments ago, but the coldness of his absence was already seeping into her bones.
She pressed a hand over her lips, remembering the way he kissed her—violently, hungrily, desperately. Like he wanted to punish her. Like he wanted to forget.
She hadn't meant for this to happen.
She never wanted to manipulate his heart.
Her knees buckled, and she slowly slid down to the floor, her nightgown pooling around her.
And then—
The tears came.
Soft and slow at first.
Then all at once.
She wept not just for the spell.
Not just for the deception.
She wept because she had fallen for him—truly, deeply—the moment he touched her under that moonlight. The moment their souls collided in that hotel room, in the human realm, far from duty and bloodlines and councils.
"I love him," she whispered through trembling lips. "I loved him before the spell… before the child."
Her hands instinctively cradled her stomach. A soft pulse of warmth answered from within, as if the child could feel her sorrow.
But what had she done?
Would Caveen ever look at her again the same way?
Would he ever forgive her?
The shame cut deeper than any wound. Not because of what she had done—but because the one person she wanted to stay… might now walk away forever.
---
Back in Caveen's room…
He stared at the bottle now half-empty. His gaze was dark, unfocused.
The warmth of her skin… the sound of her voice… the image of her trembling under his touch…
It haunted him.
Spell or not…
He had wanted her that night.
And some buried, dangerous part of him still did.
But trust was a fragile thing.
And right now—it had shattered between them like glass.
The corridor was dim, but Caveen's steps were anything but hesitant.
Fueled by wine, torment, and the pull of something he no longer wanted to resist, he stopped in front of her chamber door—his breath ragged, his pulse wild.
He didn't knock.
He opened it.
And there she was—still in the same nightgown, her eyes swollen from crying, curled on the edge of her bed as if she'd been waiting for him all this time.
She looked up, startled—but she didn't move.
Neither of them spoke.
Caveen's eyes locked onto hers, burning with every emotion he had tried to drown.
Then—he crossed the room in three strides.
His hand grabbed her waist as he pulled her to her feet, and before she could utter a word, his mouth crashed onto hers in a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't tame.
It was desperate—hungry—a kiss that screamed of regret, longing, and the need to claim what had always been his.
Lysandra gasped softly, but her arms slid around his shoulders, her fingers tangling in his hair. She didn't resist.
She kissed him back—harder.
And when he pulled her closer, pressing her against his chest, she melted into him like she belonged there.
Their lips parted only when they were both out of breath. Caveen rested his forehead against hers, his voice hoarse as he whispered:
"This time… will be real."
Before she could answer, he kissed her again—slower this time, deeper.
His hands moved to her shoulders, sliding the thin fabric of her gown off her frame. She shivered under his touch, her breath catching when his fingers traced the length of her bare skin.
Lysandra reached for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling through her haze of emotion. She undid each one, slowly, trembling—until his chest was bare before her.
She pressed a hand against his heart. It was pounding just as wildly as hers.
"I want this," she whispered against his lips. "I want you."
Clothes fell to the floor in a trail of discarded restraint.
Their bodies met, skin to skin, need to need.
When Caveen lifted her into his arms and laid her on the bed, he looked into her eyes, his voice shaking—not from doubt, but from the overwhelming truth of what this night meant.
"No magic. No lies. Just you and me."
Then he kissed her again—and entered her slowly, gently, filling every space within her that ached for him.
Lysandra arched beneath him, moaning his name, her fingers digging into his back.
"Don't stop," she begged, her voice breathless. "Please, Caveen… not tonight."
He didn't.
Again and again, they moved as one—no longer prince and mage, but man and woman who burned for one another.
They whispered promises and gasped truths between kisses.
Tears mixed with sweat. Moans filled the room. Fire danced along their nerves until it exploded like lightning inside their veins.
It wasn't just lust.
It was release.
It was forgiveness.
It was love… unspoken, but undeniable.
When dawn spilled through the curtains, they lay tangled together in silence, hearts still racing.
Caveen brushed a strand of hair from her face and stared down at her—no longer fighting the truth.
He had fallen for her.
And somehow, despite everything…
He always had.