A Touch of Control

Heat. Too much heat.

Vesaria stirred, her lashes fluttering as she surfaced from the haze of sickness. The fever had loosened its grip, but weakness still clung to her. 

Her mouth was dry, her body sticky with sweat—but it wasn't just from the fever. She shifted, and the sensation of linen brushing against her skin sent a spike of confusion through her sluggish mind.

Linen?

Not the heavy furs she had been given.

Her brows knitted together. How long had she been unconscious? Her pulse quickened.

Everything felt off. 

The furs beneath her were too soft, too warm. The weight against her waist—too heavy.

She turned her head—and her breath hitched.

Azgar was beside her.

Lying in bed. With her.

And worse—he was bare from the waist up, golden skin marred with scars, muscles shifting beneath the firelight.

Her body went stiff.

She barely had time to register the possessive weight of his arm over her waist before his voice, thick with sleep and something more dangerous, rumbled into the silence.

"Good morning, little rabbit."

Vesaria's heart slammed against her ribs. She tried to wrench herself away, but her body refused to obey.

Her limbs were sluggish, her movements pathetic against his strength. His grip didn't even tighten—he barely had to hold her down.

"Let me go," she hissed, voice hoarse.

Azgar's smirk was lazy, his icy eyes gleaming with amusement as he tightened his hold just enough to remind her she wasn't going anywhere.

"Not so fast," he murmured. "You've only just woken up. You should be grateful I'm here."

Her blood boiled. "Grateful? You dare—"

"Oh, I dare many things, woman." His voice was a slow drag of heat over her skin. "And you? You should be careful with accusations after what you did."

A cold weight settled in her stomach.

She swallowed hard. "What are you talking about?"

Azgar's gaze sharpened, drinking in her unease like fine mead. "You don't remember?"

She shook her head.

"You were out for three days."

A chill rippled through her. Three days?

Her lips parted, but no sound came. The last thing she remembered was… what? Burning. Drowning in fever. But three days?

She had been defenseless. For three whole days.

"Interesting," he mused. "Because you refused anyone else's help. You clung to me, begged for my warmth. Wouldn't let me leave your side."

Lies.

It had to be lies.

Her fingers curled into the furs, gripping them like a lifeline. "You're making that up."

Azgar's smirk deepened. His hand traced the curve of her hip—slow, deliberate.

"Am I?" His voice was silk-wrapped steel.

"Shall I repeat some of the things you whispered?"

Her stomach dropped.

His fingers drifted from her waist down to her thigh, pressing just lightly enough to make her shiver.

"You were quite… desperate." His eyes dropped to her lips, her throat, the curve of her chest beneath the thin linen. "It was almost endearing. Almost."

Heat flooded her face.

"Stop it." She shoved at his chest, ignoring how solid he felt beneath her palms. "I would never—"

"You did."

His head dipped lower. Close enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek.

"Do you know how hard it was to resist you?" he murmured.

His hand trailed lower.

Down her thigh.

Too far.

She jerked away. "You have no right to touch me—"

"I have every right."

His lips brushed the corner of her mouth, and Vesaria froze. 

A breath. A heartbeat.

Then she reacted.

Her hand flew up before she could think—

Smack.

The sound cracked through the chamber.

Azgar didn't move.

No recoil. No reaction.

He simply blinked.

For a moment, the room hung in silence.

Vesaria's pulse pounded, fear unwillingly curling through her.

Something about his stillness made her chest tighten.

Had—had she pushed past his limit?

Would he finally show his true colors?

A slow, terrible smirk curved his lips.

Then—low laughter.

A slow, deep, amused chuckle rolled from his chest, his blue eyes darkening.

"You shouldn't have done that, little rabbit," he murmured.

Before she could move, his fingers clamped around her wrists. Then, the world tilted—her breath hitched as he flipped her onto her back, the furs cushioning her fall.

The air rushed from her lungs.

Before she could even struggle, his weight settled over her, a knee pressing between her legs, pinning her down as effortlessly as a hunter subduing prey.

Then—his hand wrapped around her throat, tilting her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"You forget yourself," he murmured, his face mere inches from hers. His eyes burned coldly as he tightened his hold just a fraction more.

His thumb brushed over her pulse.

She swallowed.

Azgar's lips quirked. "I allowed your little defiance. But never mistake my patience for weakness."

Her eyes flashed with fury, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she glared at him. Silence reigned between them—tense, electric, dangerous.

Then his lips moved, brushing lightly against her jaw in a ghost of a touch that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Next time you raise a hand to me," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous, "I'll break it."

He studied her—watched the defiance in her eyes war with the involuntary tremor in her throat before she averted her gaze. A slow, knowing smile curved his lips.

And then, just as suddenly, he let go.

Vesaria gasped, sucking in air as he withdrew his grip from her neck, his weight lifting only slightly.

"See?" His voice was mocking. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

She wanted to claw his smirk off his face but she also didn't want to test her luck.

Vesaria was counting on her uncle and his men to rescue her. Survival was the priority, yet that didn't mean she would be docile. She would play her cards right without surrendering to his will."

"You're lucky I enjoy your fire," he murmured before rolling off her.

He stood, stretching his arms, his broad chest catching the firelight as the scars on his skin shifted with the movement of his muscles.

Vesaria swallowed hard as she scrambled upright, fists clenched, heart still hammering.

Was he finally leaving?

Azgar looked down at her, amusement returning to his face.

"Your fever has broken," he said casually.

She exhaled sharply, willing herself to calm down. Why was he pointing that out?

"The gods smile upon us. Just in time."

Her brows furrowed. "Just in time for what?"

Azgar turned, already making his way to the door.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Just in time for our wedding."

The words hit like a slap to the face.

Vesaria's breath caught. "You're insane if you think I'm—"

"That's amusing," he said, voice dripping with mock indifference. "I don't remember asking for your opinion."

Her fury erupted so hard she felt dizzy. "I will not—!"

Azgar reached the door.

"The snow will ease by tomorrow," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "The ceremony will be held before the clan."

Her vision blurred with rage. "You can't expect me go go along with this silently."

Azgar turned to look at her again.

"Oh, little rabbit, you truly do forget yourself." His voice was low, dangerous. "Do you really think you have a choice in this?"

Vesaria's fingers curled into the furs. No. This isn't happening.

"You can drag me to that altar," she spat, her voice trembling with fury but firm in its resolve. "But I won't be your bride. Not in body. Not in soul."

For a split second, something flickered across Azgar's face—something dark, almost... calculating. But it was gone before she could fully register it.

"Then I suppose," he said, his voice dripping with icy indifference, "I'll have to break your spirit. If not in the marriage bed, then by keeping you bound to me in ways you can't escape. You will bend, one way or another."

Vesaria's heart skipped a beat at the threat. But she would not let him see the fear it stirred. She lifted her chin, her gaze cool. "I'll never bend to you."

Azgar took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied her tense figure. There was a dangerous gleam in them, but instead of speaking, he only watched her for a long, tense moment.

Finally, he turned again, his silhouette framed by the door. "We'll see, little rabbit," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. "We'll see."

The door shut behind him, and the room was left in a still, heavy silence.

Her hands trembled slightly as she wiped away the last traces of her anger. Her mind raced with the bitter reality of her situation. He can't control me. He won't.

Her uncle's rescue couldn't come soon enough. But if Azgar thought he could break her... he was gravely mistaken.