Verveville's Curse

Chapter31

Willow’s pov

The meeting resumed. Overseers began to speak again, laying out reports of border disputes, whispers of rebellion in the northern villages, trade routes that needed mending. I listened politely, nodding where I needed to, though truthfully, my focus was elsewhere.

My mission had nothing to do with borders or trade.

It had everything to do with the man beside me.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing one leg slowly over the other, the silk of my dress sliding high enough to reveal a sweep of thigh. My shoulder brushed against his arm as though by accident. He did not move away, but I felt the tautness in him, the way his body stiffened, as if every nerve had gone rigid with the effort of ignoring me.

A smile curled in my chest. Good, Let him squirm.

I traced a fingertip lightly along the stem of my goblet, not drinking, only letting the gesture speak for itself. Each shift of my body was deliberate, slow enough that only someone watching closely would notice. Kael noticed. His gaze flickered briefly down, betraying him before snapping forward again, his jaw tight as stone.

The overseers carried on, oblivious. Only Axel, across the table, had caught on. His eyes narrowed, dark with disgust, his fists clenched.

I ignored him too.

At one point, I let a small scroll slip from my lap onto the floor. It unfurled at Kael’s feet. I bent down as if to retrieve it, but as I reached under the table, my hand brushed deliberately against him.

The hard line of his c**k pressed beneath his trousers.

For a breathless instant, time stalled.

I lingered, the soft pressure of my palm bold, then slow, teasing, before retrieving the scroll and setting it back onto the table with an innocent smile.

Kael’s voice faltered mid sentence.

He caught himself quickly, masking it with a cough, then continued his explanation to the overseer who had been questioning him. But I felt it. The way his thigh shifted under the table, the way his grip tightened around the carved armrest.

He was not unaffected.

I savored the knowledge, warmth flooding my veins. Beneath the table, unseen by all but Axel’s burning stare, I traced the outline of his restraint once more, feather-light. His hand twitched, the faintest flex of knuckles betraying his need to seize mine and end it. Yet he did not.

Not here. Not in front of them.

That was my advantage.

His words grew clipped, focus fraying around the edges.

"We will...require...an additional...twenty...no, twenty-five...men to complete the eastern wall." He paused, his jaw clenched, as if the effort of speaking was draining him. The overseers leaned in, their faces intent, but none seemed to notice the strain etched on Damian's face. "The...the materials will need to be...procured...from the northern quarry," he continued, his words slow and labored, as if each one was a struggle to articulate. The silence that followed was oppressive, the only sound the heavy breathing of the overseers, who waited with pens poised, unaware of the turmoil raging beneath Damian's composed exterior.

But I noticed. Of course I did

I pressed again, firmer this time, a secret caress hidden by the thick oak of the table. His breath caught so quick I might have imagined it before he ground out another sentence to his council, voice harsh with discipline.

I smiled into my goblet.

I was winning.

Axel, however, looked ready to hurl the goblet across the room. His eyes drilled into me with raw fury, as if he could burn me alive with hatred alone. I met his stare once, deliberately, letting him see the glint of satisfaction in my eyes. He looked away sharply, jaw tight enough to crack.

Good, Let him rage.

This was not his war.

It was mine.

And Kael, for all his stubborn silence, was already unraveling.

I leaned in closer, feigning interest in a map an overseer had spread out, my shoulder grazing Kael’s arm again. This time I didn’t withdraw. My perfume, faint and deliberate, brushed the air between us.

He did not look at me, but I felt him harden further beneath the table, the heat radiating off him, restrained and furious.

My hand drifted down once more, lingering against him, pressing lightly over the taut line of his arousal. The world above the table droned on figures, provisions, laws but here, in the shadowed silence, a different war was being waged.

Kael’s chair creaked as his thigh tensed, his jaw a blade of stone. He spoke to the overseer across from us, but his voice was deeper, rougher, the edges slipping from control.

“Provisions… will be distributed… as I see fit.”

Every syllable vibrated with the effort of restraint.

I let my touch glide, slow and devastating, my thumb tracing the rigid outline through his trousers. My lips curved, a smile only he could feel, not see.

His hand twitched, fingers flexing against the wood of the table, desperate to grab me again, to end this madness. But to do so would reveal us. He was Alpha. He could not falter in front of them.

So I pressed harder.

A muscle in his throat jumped. His eyes remained locked forward, but sweat gleamed faint at his temple. His words faltered again, caught between obedience to duty and the pull of his body betraying him.

Axel noticed, but I didn't care.

His gaze burned through me from across the table, fury and disbelief twisting his features. His fists clenched, his shoulders braced forward as if to shout, to expose me, to tear me from Kael’s side.

I turned my head just enough, caught his glare, and slid my palm once more along Kael’s length, slowly, possessively. My lips parted in the faintest, knowing smile.

Axel’s nostrils flared. Rage darkened his eyes, but Kael’s command held him silent. He could do nothing. Not here, Not with the entire council watching.

And Kael…Kael could do nothing either.

That was the exquisite cruelty of it.

He sat there, muscles carved in tension, breathing harder than he wanted anyone to notice, while I teased him mercilessly under the table, owning every hidden reaction.

For the first time since I’d known him, Kael Varyn looked as though he might break.

Kael’s POV

On the surface, I was composed. Inside, I was not.

She was the reason.

Willow walked into the hall in a red dress that clung to her in ways no man in this room could ignore. My gaze cut away instantly, but the damage was already done. The fire had lodged itself in my chest.

I told myself not to look again. Not to notice the way her hair caught the light, or the curve of her lips when she sat down, calm as you please. Not to see the way the men shifted in their seats, their eyes dragged toward her before they forced them back to me.

It should not have mattered. She was here for strategy, for alliance, for necessity. Nothing more. But I could feel every flicker of attention that strayed toward her, and each one lit a fire beneath my skin.

I forced myself to listen as the men spoke. Patrols, border disputes, supplies. Words I should have carved into memory. And yet, my focus kept slipping, dragged back to her voice when she finally spoke.

Clear, Firm and Steady.

She carried herself like someone born to lead. There was no hesitation in her tone, no crack in her composure. My chest tightened as she addressed the room, her gaze sweeping over the table with an authority that belonged as much to her as it did to me.

I hated that I admired it.

I hated more that I wanted her.

She caught me looking once. Just a flicker, her gaze brushing mine before she turned away again. My breath lodged in my throat, and I had to dig my nails into my palm to keep from showing anything on my face.

The meeting dragged on. Reports blurred together. I answered when I had to, gave commands when expected. But half my mind wasn’t here. It was on her, always on her, like a flame I couldn’t smother.