Chapter 18

The quietness of his wing did little to calm the storm inside Asher. He stepped through the doors, boots echoing sharply against the marble, mind already unraveling. Every shadow of the corridor seemed to whisper reminders of the day he had first seen her.

He went straight to the bathroom, letting the icy water of the shower shock his body, but even the cold could not touch the heat of his desire. His fists clenched under the spray as memories came unbidden—the first time he had seen Lilith, standing close to Alaric in the palace gardens.

She was only eleven. His brother was seventeen and he was fifteen. And yet, she had dared to laugh quietly with his brother, to lean into him in that soft, intimate way that enraged Asher.

How dare she? He is my brother.

From that day, she had been a threat in his eyes. Not because of anything she had done to him, but because she dared to draw Alaric’s attention. His brother—the one person in the world who mattered more than anyone else—looked at her with gentleness, with care. The same concern that was once showered on him. And Asher… Asher felt the raw, suffocating grip of jealousy tighten around his chest.

He hated her for it.

He hated her father more. Marquis Duskbane, with his arrogant demands and greedy ambitions, he had dared to put his daughter into their world, daring to claim a piece of Alaric’s attention, daring to intrude into the bond that Asher had always guarded with ferocity.

Every glance, every polite nod she gave Alaric, every timid smile—it felt like an invasion.

He had kept his distance from her as best as he could, observing silently from the shadows, tense and cold. But the knowledge that she could harm Alaric—or worse, that she might distract him—filled him with a possessive rage that refused to fade.

Even now, years later, the memory clung to him as tightly as the icy water sliding down his skin. He closed his eyes under the shower, letting it sting, letting the cold numb the edges of his emotions, though it could not erase them. He had hated her once. Not because of it was her, truly—but because of what she represented: a threat to the one person he could never share.

And deep down, he knew it had never truly been a simple hatred. He had feared her. Feared that she might somehow take Alaric away from him, or hurt him without meaning to. That fear had twisted into a dark, possessive anger—a need to control, to dominate, to keep her at bay, far from the brother he treasured above all else.

Asher turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, his body trembling not from cold, but from the fire that had burned inside him. He wrapped a towel around his waist, pacing the length of his wing. He didn’t want to admit it—he never would—but the seed of obsession, the need to guard Alaric against anyone, especially Lilith, had been planted that day in the gardens. And it had only grown stronger over time.

He is my brother.

That was his only thought. He didn’t yet know that one day, that hatred and fear would twist into something else—something he would never be able to control once it turned toward her.

⚜

The memory was sharp, jagged, and unwilling to fade. Asher closed his eyes, letting it pull him back to the day when his hatred for Lilith had been pure, untempered by anything but fear and possessiveness.

She had been only eleven, innocent in appearance, yet every glance she gave his brother felt like a blade pressing against his chest. And he—he was fifteen, a young man already consumed by the need to guard Alaric, to make sure no one, especially her, could touch what was his.

He had tried to scare her, to mark his territory in the only way he knew. He attempted to scare her away Twice.

The first time, he had appeared in front of them, bloodied from a fabricated encounter with some bandits.

Her eyes had widened in horror, and she had stumbled backward, small hands trembling. And he… he had felt a brief, dark satisfaction.

But Alaric had been furious. “Asher! What are you doing? How can you act so recklessly!” His voice had rung in Asher’s ears like a hammer. The scolding had burned worse than any physical punishment could.

The second attempt had been no different. The next time he came down clutching a severed head he had staged to terrify her. Another staged scene, another bloodied display. And again, Alaric’s anger had been swift and unrelenting. “Do you think this is the way you behave? Or to prove yourself? You are acting like a barbarian!”

Asher had clenched his fists, jaw tight, but there had been no remorse—not truly. Only the understanding that he had gone too far. And the consequence had been inevitable: two years on the battlefield.

The memory of those years was rough, filled with the clang of steel, the cries of men, the cold of the morning mist clinging to his bones. It had been brutal, exhausting, unforgiving. And every day, every battle, had been a lesson in control, in discipline—but never in letting go of what mattered.

When he finally returned, war-hardened and changed, Alaric had made one thing clear: He was to remain at a distance from Lilith. She was not to be a subject of his anger, nor provoke his jealousy. Asher obeyed—for the first time in years, he had learned restraint.

And then, one evening, it happened.

He had been walking through the palace gardens, expecting nothing but the cool evening air and the distant chatter of the staff, when she appeared. No longer the small, cautious girl of eleven. No longer someone who had dared to draw Alaric’s attention with innocence and cleverness.

She had grown into a woman who commanded attention without effort. Her presence alone made him pause. Her beauty was devastating—sharp yet soft, regal yet approachable, a dangerous blend that made the air feel suddenly heavier.

Asher’s chest tightened—not with jealousy, not with anger—but with something far more dangerous: fascination. All the old resentment, all the possessive fury he had once felt toward her evaporated in an instant.

But still he hated her. She was the daughter of that Marquis Duskbane after all. He checked for his brother’s presence around her, when he confirmed that his brother was stuck up with some work and would be late, he sneaked into the library where she was all alone waiting for Alaric.

He wanted to warn her, scare her and at the worst circumstances- to silence her. But when her entered the library he was stunned.

The library was silent, bathed in the soft glow of the evening lanterns. Shelves of leather-bound tomes stretched into shadowed corners, and the only sound was the faint crackle of a dying fire. Asher’s boots were silent on the polished floor as he approached the table where Lilith slumped, waiting for Alaric.

At first, he only intended to warn her, perhaps frighten her slightly, or ensure that no harm could come to his brother from anyone in the palace—but the moment he entered, everything changed.

Lilith had fallen asleep, her posture relaxed, her face serene. She was unaware of him, of his presence, of the way his pulse throbbed with a mix of fascination, possessiveness, and longing. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

She looked impossibly delicate—yet regal, commanding even in slumber. Her lashes rested against pale cheeks, a faint color brushing the curve of her lips. Asher, despite himself, felt a pull he had never experienced before, a dangerous mixture of desire and obsession that made his body tense and his mind whirl. She smelled like jasmine. That smell which made him feel like home. She smelled like his mother when she sung him lullaby.

He approached slowly, kneeling beside her chair, careful not to wake her. His hand hovered for a moment, then brushed gently against her cheek. The touch was featherlight, reverent, and as he traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, he felt himself drawn closer to her.

Unable to resist, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, almost whispering against her skin. It was not forceful, not aggressive—only mesmerized, captivated by the perfection of her features.

And then—

“Asher!”

Alaric’s whispered shout cut through his stillness like steel.

In a heartbeat, Asher was upright, his expression hardening, yet the flush of fascination still lingered on his features. Alaric appeared at the doorway, eyes blazing with controlled fury, and before Asher could react, his older brother’s hand was on his arm, dragging him silently out of the library. Not a word, not a sound, to disturb Lilith’s sleep.

Outside the library, Alaric released him, voice sharp.

“What on earth were you doing in there? Do you even realize how reckless that was?”

Asher met his gaze evenly, the fire in his dark eyes unmistakable. “I want her,” he said bluntly, every word precise and unflinching. “I want Lilith, Brother.”

Alaric’s eyes widened, shock and disbelief flashing across his face. “Asher… She is… she is my potential fiancée. You cannot simply… act on this!”

Asher’s lips curved into a small, dangerous smile.

“You promised me anything I asked for when you become Emperor. I am asking for her. And I will not wait longer to have what I desire. I want her brother.”

Alaric’s expression darkened, his jaw tight.

“This is madness. You cannot demand her like a possession, Asher.”

“I am not demanding, I am asking politely,” Asher said, voice low, controlled, full of unwavering determination.

“I am telling you. I want her, and I will prove that I am the only one capable of having her. No one else—least of all anyone who dares to threaten my claim.”

Alaric exhaled slowly, eyes hardening as he weighed his younger brother’s words. “Very well,” he said finally.

“If you truly desire her, you must prove your worth. You must show that you are capable—of taking the position that I have planned for you, of ruling, of protecting her in a way that no one else could. Only then… will I consider your claim legitimate.”

Asher’s dark eyes gleamed with triumph, a dangerous promise hidden in their depths.

“I will prove it. And when I do… she will be mine, as I said.”

Alaric’s stern gaze lingered on him, a silent warning, but also an acknowledgment. He knew Asher’s capabilities, knew his strength, and deep down, he understood that this fire in his brother would not be easily extinguished.

The path was set: Asher would rise, claim his power, and show that he was worthy—not just for Lilith, but of the world he intended to dominate at her side.

The years that followed were unforgiving. Asher threw himself into every challenge, every duel, every strategy session with single-minded determination.

The battlefield had hardened him once, but now the stakes were higher. This was not merely survival—it was mastery, power, control. Every skill he honed, every alliance he forged, every title and position he seized was a step toward the day he would claim Lilith.