Chapter 3: My body for his father 

I shouldn't have come here.

But desperation makes fools of us all.

I clenched my fists as I stood outside Sir Alaric Valcourt's private estate, my heartbeat thudding against my ribs.

You shouldn't be here.

He had chosen another woman. He had broken me.

And yet, here I was—because no matter how much I hated him, he was the only one powerful enough to help me.

I swallowed hard and knocked.

The heavy oak doors swung open, revealing a grand hall lined with banners bearing the sigil of his house, a silver wolf poised in battle.

A maid led me inside, her gaze flickering with something I couldn't place. Pity? Amusement?

And then I saw him.

Alaric.

He stood near the hearth, clad in a loose white tunic, his sword resting lazily against the arm of a chair. His gaze raked over me, flickering with something unreadable.

"Genevieve," he mused, tilting his head. "I wasn't expecting you."

I swallowed my pride, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I need your help."

A slow smirk curved his lips. "Of course, you do."

I ignored the sharp sting of his arrogance. "My father has been imprisoned. He's accused of treason, but he's innocent."

Alaric leaned back against the chair, his fingers tapping the hilt of his sword. "And what exactly do you want me to do about it?"

"You have influence," I pressed. "You could speak to the High Council, vouch for him—"

"And why would I do that?"

I froze.

His voice was casual, lazy, but there was something cruel beneath it.

My chest tightened. "Because once, you would have done anything for me."

Something flickered in his gaze, but it was gone before I could grasp it. He exhaled slowly and stood, taking deliberate steps toward me.

"And what would you do for me, Genevieve?"

I frowned. "I—"

"You expect me to risk my reputation? To oppose the King for a man drowning in debt?" He laughed, low and bitter. "Tell me, what's in it for me?"

I took a step back. This wasn't the Alaric I knew.

"What… are you asking?" I whispered.

His lips curled, his fingers trailing along the edge of my gown.

"You were once mine," he murmured, his touch featherlight. "You could be again."

My stomach twisted.

No.

Not like this.

"Alaric," I whispered, shaking my head.

His fingers brushed my waist. "Be my mistress."

A sharp breath left me. I had expected rejection. I had expected cold indifference. But this?

His mistress.

Not his love.

Not his equal.

Just a hidden plaything in the dark.

I slapped him.

His head barely turned from the force, but the room fell into silence.

I took a shaky step back, my body trembling with rage. "How dare you?"

Alaric touched his jaw, his lips twitching in amusement. "You always did have fire in you."

"You disgust me," I spat.

His eyes darkened. "Then leave."

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall.

I begged. I had humbled myself. And he spat on me.

I turned sharply, my head held high as I stormed from the estate.

There was only one man left to turn to.

And I hated that he was my only option.

By the time I reached Edric's private quarters, my anger was a storm inside me.

I didn't think so.

I didn't hesitate.

I threw open the doors, storming inside before his guards could stop me.

He was alone.

Seated near the window, a goblet of wine in one hand, a dagger in the other.

The moment he saw me, his eyes gleamed with interest.

"Genevieve," he drawled, setting the goblet down. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

I didn't answer.

I crossed the room in a blur, my pulse pounding as I grabbed his collar and kissed him.

Hard.

His body stiffened.

For a moment, he did nothing.

And then he kissed me back.

It was different this time.

Not the slow, teasing hunger from before.

This was wild. Rough. A clash of fire and fury.

His hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head back as he deepened the kiss, his dominance pressing against my need.

I should have been afraid.

But I wasn't.

I was drowning in him, in the scent of spice, in the way his lips claimed mine like he had already decided I was his.

And maybe… maybe I was.

He pulled and immediately hugged me. "I really did missed you. I thought I might never see you again." He said, inhaling my scent.

 I stayed like that for a while and then I pulled back, my breath ragged. "Save my father," I whispered. "Take my body. Do whatever you want with me. Just save him."

A flicker of something passed through his golden gaze, and then, just as quickly, it was gone.

Edric leaned back against the chair, regarding me with a slow, almost lazy amusement.

"Why would I do that?"

I blinked.

"Because you want me," I breathed.

He smirked. "Do I?"

Anger coiled in my chest. He was toying with me.

"Yes," I snapped. "I saw it in your eyes. Felt it when you kissed me. You want my body. No worries, I have never been touched or kissed, not even by him. You will be… you are my first."

For the first time since I met him, his amusement faded.

"Genevieve," he murmured, shaking his head. "I expected more from you."

I flinched.

"You think I would take you like this?" His voice was deceptively soft. "You think I would allow you to sell yourself like a common harlot?"

Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

"If you don't have your way with me and save my father, if something happens to him…" I whispered, "then I will die."

"Think of something else but marriage, I don't even know how this bond thing works."

His expression didn't change.

But something in the air shifted.

His fingers brushed my chin, tilting my face toward his.

"I have never felt the mate bond before," he murmured. "And what makes you think I'd let you harm yourself?"

I swallowed. "Then let him go."

His golden eyes hardened. "Your father will stay in prison until you accept your place beside me. Until you stop acting like a child."

I jerked away.

"Do you even realize that I am a child?" I hissed. "I am eighteen. You are over forty. You have lived. I haven't even had the chance to grow up!"

He didn't react.

Not a flinch. Not a scowl. Nothing.

"And what of love?" I whispered. "Isn't that supposed to come first before marriage?"

His lips curled into something mockingly soft. "What did your first love give you in return?"

I stiffened.

He had no right to speak of Alaric.

"You don't know anything about love," I spat.

And then, I turned and walked away.

This time, he let me go.

But I could feel his golden gaze burning into my back, like a brand that could never be erased.

Like a claim.