Chapter 8

Lilith had begun to expect him.

Not in the daylight—never there, where duty and silence kept him sealed behind the iron mask of the Duke. But at night, in the hush of her chambers, in the echo of her footsteps through the hall, she felt him. Always watching. Always near.

That night, the tension snapped.

She stood at her window, the moon spilling silver over her figure. Her hair was loose, tumbling down her back, her thin night-robe a whisper against her skin. She should have gone to bed, but her body thrummed with something restless, expectant.

And when the faintest sound of the latch clicked, she did not turn. She already knew.

He was there.

The door shut behind him with a hushed finality. His presence filled the chamber—vast, suffocating. She could feel his stare devouring her silhouette, tracing every line of her as if to carve her into memory.

“Are you going to keep haunting me, my lord?” Her voice was soft, but it cut through the silence like a blade. She turned at last, meeting the fire in his eyes through the gleam of the mask.

“Or will you finally speak?”

He moved before he could think.

In three strides he was upon her, his hand slamming against the wall beside her head, caging her in. His other hand hovered as though he meant to seize her but feared the ruin it would bring.

His chest heaved, breath ragged, and when he spoke it was hoarse, almost broken.

“I warned you,” he rasped.

“You tempt what should never be tempted.”

Her heart pounded, but she lifted her chin, defiant even with his body looming over hers.

“And yet you came.”

Something shattered in him. His hand gripped her chin, not cruelly but with desperate possession, tilting her face up.

But this time his mask didn’t cover his whole face. It looked deliberate as though he knew what he was gonna do to her. Lilith was surprised.

Her breath caught. For the first time, she saw what the mask had kept from the world.

The sharp cut of his jaw, darkened with stubble. Lips flushed as though painted in forbidden wine. Skin pale, almost luminous in the silver light. He was both cruel and divine, carved of marble and blood.

And with a pang, a memory stirred in her mind.

“You’ve never seen him, have you?” the Crown Prince had once asked her over tea, his tone light, his smile being gentle.

“Not truly. Not without that mask hanging on his face.”

Lilith had only laughed, dismissing the glint in his eyes. “Why would I care to? He is your younger brother Your Highness and focusing on other men within the presence of your fiance/husband is a sin.”

Then with a small laugh crown prince teased her saying, “Oh! Then will you acknowledge other men’s presence in my absence?”

“It isn’t like that Your Highness! Please stop teasing me.”

The crown prince laughed and further leaned closer, his voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “Ah, but that is where you’re wrong. His mother was the most beautiful woman this kingdom ever mourned, and he carries her features. They call it a cruel luck—that such beauty was given to a man who hides it in iron. Aren’t you curious… About what he looks like beneath that mask?”

At the time she had scoffed, thinking it another of his jests. Yet now, with the Duke’s face only half-masked before her, she understood.

The curse was real. Beauty that should have been celebrated was bound in silence, locked away behind steel and shadow. And here he was, inches from her, every line of him dangerous, intoxicating—enough to make her believe that the crown prince had not exaggerated but understated the truth.

She often saw him from a distance in the palace during her visits but she never acknowledged his presence. He fully covered his face with a silver mask.

But now, his half mask that came upto his upper cheek grazed her skin, cold steel biting against her warmth. His breath scorched her lips, uneven, trembling as though holding himself back was killing him.

Then the restraint died.

With a guttural sound torn from his chest, he crushed his mouth to hers.

The kiss was nothing gentle. It was raw, searing, filled with every forbidden hour he had spent watching her, longing for her, starving for her. His lips claimed hers with bruising force, teeth grazing, tongue demanding entry. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, while the other braced her hip, dragging her body into the hard lines of his.

Lilith gasped, the sound swallowed instantly into his hunger. Her fingers clutched at his tunic, torn between pushing him away and pulling him deeper. His kiss devoured, his breath hot and ragged as though he had drowned for years and she was the first taste of air.

He tore his mouth from hers only to drag his lips down her jaw, to the hollow of her throat. His mask pressed into her cheek as his mouth burned a trail of desperate worship against her skin. “Mine,” he growled against her pulse, each word a brand, a vow, a curse. “You are mine.”

Her knees nearly gave, but his arm locked around her waist, holding her upright, holding her to him. She felt the tremor in his body, the violent war between desire and discipline that made his hands shake even as they clutched her with bruising need.

“My lord… Magnus—” she whispered, breathless, her lips trembling against his ear.

That name broke him further. He wrenched the mask halfway up, enough for his sharp nose to be bare, and crashed his lips back onto hers. This kiss was worse—hotter, hungrier, his tongue sweeping past her defenses as if he could drink her soul into himself. Every inch of him pressed against her, his body a furnace of barely restrained violence and desire.

When he tore back, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged. “I cannot stop,” he confessed, his voice was a ruined whisper.

“I have tried, Lilith. Every night, I swore I would stay away. But I burn for you. I dream of you. You will destroy me.”

Lilith’s chest heaved, her lips swollen, her body trembling with the aftermath of his storm. Yet she did not flinch. She did not run. Her hands lifted slowly, deliberately, sliding along his jaw, her fingers grazing the cold edge of the mask he still wore.

“Then let me,” she whispered. “If I must be your ruin… let me.”

He groaned, a broken, shuddering sound, and crushed his mouth back to hers, sealing the vow in fire.

⚜️

His mouth ravaged hers, lips parting hers again and again until she could barely breathe. Every stroke of his tongue was a demand, every nip of his teeth a punishment for tempting him, for existing in the palace like a living sin he could no longer ignore.

Her body arched against his, caught between the wall and the unyielding hardness of him. The kiss deepened, hungry, devouring, until her fingers curled into his tunic, tugging, desperate for air, for space—yet craving more at the same time.

Magnus broke away only to drag his lips down her throat, sucking the skin until her pulse fluttered wildly against his mouth. He was marking his territory like a wild beast around her neck. His voice was hoarse, ruined, vibrating against her flesh.

“Do you know what you do to me?” His teeth grazed her collarbone, the words nearly a growl. “Every night, I fight myself not to come to you. And still… here I am.”

Her breath shuddered, her nails scraping his chest. “Then stop fighting.”

The words undid him.

With a guttural sound, his hand slid lower, gripping her thigh, lifting it against his hip as he pinned her harder to the wall. Their bodies aligned in a shocking heat—her soft curves pressed to the solid steel of him, every inch of him screaming his need.

She gasped, and the sound only spurred him further. His lips returned to hers with brutal force, the kiss was wet and messy, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in wild hunger. His free hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back so he could claim every inch of her neck, biting, sucking, marking as if to brand her into his skin.

Lilith trembled beneath him, her body betraying her—arching, yielding, pressing back against him though her mind whispered warnings she could no longer hear. His scent—steel and smoke and something darker—flooded her senses, dizzying, intoxicating.

“You drive me mad,” he rasped, lips bruising her ear, his breath hot and uneven. “I would burn kingdoms to ash for another taste of you.”

Her lips parted in a helpless moan, and he swallowed the sound with another desperate kiss, his tongue sweeping her mouth like a conqueror claiming territory. His hand slid up her thigh, fingers digging possessively into her skin through the thin fabric of her night-robe, while his body pressed harder, harder, until she could feel the full force of his arousal against her.

“My lord…” her voice cracked, part plea, part surrender.

His forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged. “Asher,” he begged. “Say my name.”

“Asher…”

The sound broke him. His mouth crushed hers once more, this time slower, deeper, almost reverent—yet still wild, it was as if his each kiss was a vow that he couldn’t say during their wedding.

His tongue tangled with hers, drawing out every breath, every shiver, every secret that she’d never meant to see.

When he finally tore back, they were both shaking, his chest heaving, her lips swollen, her body caged utterly by his. He pressed his face onto her shoulder as if embracing her, inhaling her as though she were his only air to breathe.

“You’ll ruin me, Lilith,” he whispered, voice shaking.

Before Lilith could comprehend her situation and come out of the steamy wild kiss, he was gone. He tore himself away from her and left with the speed of light. There was a huge banging sound near the wall of her room. Lilith was left speechless and needy for more by her husband Asher.