Chapter 4 - Lord Magnus Vorathiel.

The training yard leaves Alina’s muscles humming with residual tension, but her mind is far from still. As she walks through Castle Xalveria — castle by name, but on the inside, a marvel of modern architecture —her father’s voice lingers in her head like an unwanted echo. He's always been so critical of her, but this time he was harder than usual, and it makes her wonder why.

She exhales softly, trying to shake it off. She has heard it all before, so there's no use in being too hard on herself this time around, especially when she knows her father means well.

As she makes her way through the corridors of the castle, she can't help but appreciate its interior. Pure white walls adorned with blue and grey coverings and artwork, illuminated by beautiful natural white light from the open archways that lead straight to the courtyard. Inside, it is all polished floors, reinforced glass, high ceilings and sweeping halls... a mansion more than a fortress. And still, it feels colder today... And that's saying something coming from Alina.

By the time she reaches her room, the silence is a welcoming relief. She heads straight to the bathroom, peeling off her training clothes and stepping into a hot shower. Steam floats around her, washing away the tension in her limbs, but not quite the heaviness pressing down on her chest.

Thirty minutes later, she steps out, her skin warm and her hair damp. A towel wrapped around her body, she walks into her room — and stops.

Something’s wrong.

The shift in the air is subtle yet unmistakable. She senses a new current, a presence that wasn’t there before, and it makes her body tense. Her eyes dart to the fireplace, where she would find flames flickering softly.. She never lights the fireplace... not unless she has company...

Then, she catches it — another heartbeat. Just a half-beat off from hers yet steady and familiar.

Before she can react, a set of hands snakes around her waist and pulls her back into a hard chest. A gasp escapes her, but the scent that hits her a moment later is too powerful to ignore.

It's him...

“Careful… my love,” a deep voice murmurs against her ear teasingly. His hands roam slowly across her waist and hips with a familiar possessiveness, one that drives her absolutely crazy. “You wouldn’t want to hurt me, would you?”

The tension bleeds from her frame as his voice confirms what her senses already know. But she isn’t one to give in easily.

Alina reacts with speed, twisting in his grip, catching his hands — but he’s faster. In the blink of an eye, he spins her and presses her back against the wall with a force that draws a soft gasp from her lips, her eyes snapping up to him.

Lord Magnus Vorathiel.

He grins down at her, completely unapologetic, his deep blue eyes twinkling back at her.

Her voice is quiet and breathy, a small smile playing on her lips. “Are you out of your mind?”

Magnus' eyes gleam with mischief as she stares back at him, noticing a wayward lock of golden hair fall across his brow as he tilts his head. He brushes it aside with effortless grace, radiating a specific kind of charm that turns respect into indulgence.

He is dressed in the signature deep blue and gold of House Vorathiel, looking every bit the noble heir — regal, composed,  maddeningly self-assured, and he knows exactly how to weaponise it.

“You’re lucky I didn’t run you through,” Alina mutters, though her lips twitch despite her frustration with him.

“And risk ruining your beautiful chambers?” he replies with raised eyebrows and false horror. “Never.”

She rolls her eyes, but her heart betrays her — fluttering in a way that infuriates her.

He smiles down at her and leans in, his lips just barely brushing hers, teasing her with proximity. And then, finally, he kisses her — slow, passionate, as if tasting something rare. She melts into him for a moment, her hands reaching up, her fingers finding their way to the back of his neck.

Magnus. The heir to House Vorathiel. One of the six noble Houses of Lycania. As old and influential as House Xalveria. Their family’s power spans courts, councils, and battlefields alike. And Magnus? His reputation precedes him. A skilled warrior, a brilliant tactician, and a charmer whose smile disarms faster than any sword.

He’s always had that effect on her.

In Lycanian society, a male can mark a female once in his lifetime — choosing her as his mate through an ancient bond, solidified through ceremony and consummation. It is not something casual, rather... it is absolute.

Magnus has not marked her despite being intimate with her several times.

The matebond is primal, irrefutable. It is a connection so visceral, it defies logic. It is not merely affection but the tethering of souls. She wants that with him. She knows it should be him.

And yet, doubt flickers in Magnus' mind.

He steps back slightly, still close enough that his breath brushes her cheek.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her arms crossing. Her voice is sharp, but her expression softens. “You weren’t supposed to arrive until later with your parents.”

His grin shifts into something warmer. “I wanted to see you first.”

The words sink into her like sunlight. He always knows how to unravel her — how to make the walls she’s spent years building seem like glass.

Even now, two years after meeting him, he still manages to make her melt with a simple glance. A word. A touch.

There’s no question in her heart — Magnus Vorathiel is her mate.

So why hasn’t he claimed her?

Her voice falters slightly as she asks, “Magnus… and if someone says you—”

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he cuts in, stepping even closer. His tone drops, softer now. “Besides, I wanted to spend the day with you before we’re paraded around like show horses at dinner.”

A short laugh escapes her, but it’s hollow. His nearness sends another thrill through her, but this time it isn’t enough to quiet the question that’s been gnawing at her.

Her eyes search his. “And… when will you mark me?”

The words fall into the space between them like stones.

Magnus’s smile flickers — just barely—but enough for her to notice. That familiar shadow passes over his features, the one he always tries to mask with charm. For a brief moment, she thinks he’s going to dodge the question again.

But he doesn’t.

“I will,” he says. His voice is soft and careful. “Soon.”

He watches her reaction, eyes locked on hers.

“But Alina…” he continues, stepping forward and placing his hands on her waist. “This isn’t just about us. Marking you —claiming you — it’s not something I take lightly. You know what it means. What it will set into motion... We are the future of our Houses, if we choose each other, we shall be unified forever."

Her jaw clenches. She knows. Of course, she knows. She’s thought about it every night since they first kissed.

“I know exactly what it means,” she says, her tone sharper now. “Do you think I haven’t thought about it? Dreamed about it? I’m ready.”

Magnus doesn’t respond immediately. His expression remains hesitant, his hands warm on her skin but his eyes too still.

And somewhere deep inside her, the cold returns...