The Beast Beneath
670 Words
(Adrian pov)
Adrian couldn’t sleep.
Not because of war.
Not because of the curse burning in his veins.
But because of her.
Antonia.
The slave princess with wildfire in her eyes and pride in her spine.
He stood at the highest balcony of his tower, hands braced on obsidian stone, watching the twin moons bleed light into the sky. Below, the cursed lands of the Ashen Realm stretched in silence. Nothing stirred. No danger lurked.
Except the one inside him.
The beast.
The creature inside him, born of blood magic and centuries of war, had never stirred like this for anyone not witches, not queens, not the willing girls thrown at his feet.
Only her.
“She belongs to us.”
The voice inside him growled low, ancient and guttural.
“She doesn't belong to anyone,” Adrian muttered, jaw clenched.
But he could still feel her body against him from hours ago her warmth, her scent, the defiance behind her false submission.
She'd played him.
And gods help him, he’d liked it.
The way she said “I surrender” with fire in her throat.
The way she dared to brush her lips near his neck.
The way she asked about the library.
She was testing him.
And part of him wanted her to keep going until she broke. Or he did.
---
By morning, he was seated in the grand dining hall, robes of shadow silk resting on his shoulders, crown absent. His armor lay untouched in the corner. He wasn’t in the mood for war.
Not when his war was already walking toward him.
Antonia entered slowly on purpose.
Her dress was unlike the modest one he had ordered for her.
No. This one clung to her hips like it was made for temptation. The bodice was tight, shaped in a deep V that exposed just enough of her soft curves to provoke and the slit at her thigh flashed bare skin with every step.
His hands curled into fists.
“She’s doing this to provoke you.”
“She wants to be taken.”
The beast inside him howled, but Adrian swallowed it back with cold silence.
Antonia smiled sweetly as she sat across from him, her dark hair swept over one shoulder, lips painted a soft berry hue.
“Good morning… Your Majesty.”
Adrian said nothing.
From the corner of the room, Halima sat with a goblet of bloodwine, her eyes flitting between them like a hawk watching a spark near dry grass.
“I see our little flame is adjusting well,” she said, voice dipped in poison.
Antonia didn’t flinch. “Your witches have excellent taste in clothing. Or perhaps you don’t keep a tight leash on your wardrobe.”
Halima's lips twitched, but her eyes narrowed.
Adrian’s gaze stayed on Antonia.
She ate slowly. Gracefully. As if she didn’t feel the weight of his stare crawling over her.
She licked a drop of fruit juice from her thumb.
He almost lost it.
The beast raged, whispering:
“Take her. Mark her. End this dance.”
He pushed back his chair suddenly, standing.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” he said curtly.
Antonia didn’t look up.
But Halima did.
And the witch’s smile sharpened.
“You’re losing more than that,” she whispered, too soft for mortal ears. “She’s already inside your head.”
---
Back in his chamber, Adrian slammed the door and paced like a caged monster.
She’s baiting you.
And you want to be caught.
His chest rose and fell with jagged breath. The veins in his hands glowed faint red his curse reacting to his restraint.
He closed his eyes, and there she was again.
Lips parted. Back arched. Whispers of surrender.
“You please me too much, little fire. That’s the problem.”
Gods, what a problem she was.
He was running out of time.
If he didn’t break the curse soon, the beast would win.
And the first thing it would take…
Would be her.
- Writer
