Burned by His Obsession

Chapter 3 – The Serpent’s Embrace

The physician’s remedies left a bitter taste in her mouth, a chalky film that clung to her tongue. For hours, she lay in the quiet chamber adjoining her father’s study, her body trembling from the poison that had failed to finish its work. Candles burned low, shadows creeping across the walls like silent watchers.

Her father had ordered guards outside her door, claiming it was for her protection. But Isolde felt less guarded and more imprisoned.

Damien had vanished the moment the physician declared her “stable,” his dark gaze lingering on her with a look she could not decipher. He had saved her, yes but his presence in the ballroom, his too-perfect timing, the assassin bearing his crest, every detail tangled in her mind until she no longer knew whether to thank him or fear him.

And Liora. Sweet, smiling Liora, the friend who had pressed the poisoned glass into her hand. The memory burned like acid.

Sleep was impossible. Every beat of her heart carried the echo of betrayal. She needed answers.

So, when the guards outside shifted their posts and the corridors quieted, Isolde rose. Still weak, she pulled a cloak over her shoulders and slipped from the room, moving through the halls with bare feet silent against the cold marble.

The estate was a maze, but she knew its secrets. Hidden alcoves, servants’ passages, places her father believed she had long since forgotten.

Tonight, those secrets would be her salvation.

The hush of the east wing was broken by muffled voices. Isolde pressed herself against the wall, heart pounding, as she crept toward the half-open door of her father’s private quarters.

She shouldn’t be here. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back. But curiosity, sharpened by fear, dragged her forward.

Inside, two figures moved in the glow of firelight.

Her father.

And Liora.

Her world shattered.

Liora’s hands clutched his shirt, her lips pressed feverishly to his neck. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her close as though she belonged to him. The two of them moved with the intimacy of lovers long accustomed to stolen nights.

Isolde staggered back, bile rising in her throat.

Not only betrayal but degradation. Her friend. Her father. A secret bed shared beneath the same roof where her mother’s portrait still hung.

She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a cry, but their voices carried, slicing into her like knives.

“She suspects nothing,” her father murmured, pulling away from Liora’s kiss. “The girl is naïve. She believes the poison was meant for her enemies, not her own blood.”

Liora’s laugh was low, silken. “And yet it failed. Damien intervened.”

The name cracked through the air, and Isolde froze.

Her father’s jaw tightened. “He was never meant to play the savior. He risks exposing everything.”

Liora slid her hands down his chest, her voice laced with venom. “Then perhaps Damien is no longer loyal to you. Perhaps he wants her alive for himself.”

Her father’s eyes darkened. “If that’s true, he’ll answer for it. But Isolde cannot live, Liora. She carries what neither of us can allow to surface. If she learns the truth, everything we’ve built, everything I’ve sacrificed will burn.”

Isolde’s blood ran cold.

Her father. Her best friend. And Damien, somehow tied to both. They had conspired to kill her, to erase her existence like an inconvenience.

Her vision blurred, rage clawing up her throat. She wanted to storm in, to scream, to tear their lies into the open. But her body trembled with weakness still, the poison lingering. She wouldn’t stand a chance.

She needed to know more.

Careful, she stepped back into the shadows of the hall, forcing herself to breathe, to stay quiet. But as she turned, her cloak caught against the edge of the door. The hinge creaked.

Both heads snapped toward the sound.

“Who’s there?” her father barked.

Isolde’s heart slammed. She stumbled backward, fleeing into the dark corridor, her breath ragged. Their footsteps pounded behind her, voices calling.

She darted into a side passage, pressing herself into an alcove as they rushed past. Liora’s laugh carried faintly, sharp with suspicion.

“She’s slipping, Alaric. You’d better hope she didn’t hear us.”

“I’ll see to it she doesn’t,” her father growled, and their footsteps faded.

Isolde pressed a trembling hand to her chest, gasping for air. Her body shook with adrenaline, with betrayal too vast to comprehend.

She had to escape. To think. To find the only person who could untangle this snare, though he might be the snare itself.

Damien.

The night air outside the estate was cool, carrying the scent of rain. She slipped through a servant’s exit and out into the gardens, her cloak drawn tight, her mind reeling.

Every step was heavy with the weight of what she had seen. Her father, entwined with Liora. Their plot to end her life. Damien’s name whispered like a curse and a lifeline.

She needed him. Or she needed to know the truth of him.

But before she could decide, a voice sliced through the silence.

“You shouldn’t wander alone, princess.”

Her breath caught.

Damien emerged from the shadows of the hedges, his black coat blending into the night, his eyes glinting with unreadable fire. He looked like he belonged to the darkness, like the night itself had shaped him.

Her heart hammered. She wanted to rage at him, demand answers, claw the truth from his lips. Instead, her voice shook.

“You knew.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Knew what?”

“That they tried to kill me. That Liora, my friend” Her words broke, fury burning hot. “That my own father conspired with her. And you. Your name was on their lips, Damien. Tell me it isn’t true.”

Silence stretched.

Then he stepped closer, slow, deliberate, until the air between them burned with tension. His scent, his heat, his presence drowned her.

“Sometimes,” he murmured, his voice like silk drawn across a blade, “the truth is a poison more lethal than any wine.”

Her pulse raced. “Answer me.”

His lips curved, cruel and tender all at once. “And if I did, little heir, would you believe me?”

Her chest heaved. Anger, fear, desire tangled until she could no longer separate them. She tried to shove past him, but he caught her wrist, pulling her flush against him.

“Let me go,” she whispered, though her body betrayed her, leaning into his.

“Not when you’re this loud,” he said darkly, his mouth ghosting over her ear. “Not when you’re wandering halls where your name drips from traitors’ tongues. If they hear you, if they find you…” His grip tightened. “I’m the only thing standing between you and a grave.”

Her lips parted, a protest rising, but it died when his mouth crashed onto hers.

The kiss was brutal, silencing her fury, devouring her doubts. His tongue pressed past her lips, claiming, commanding, leaving no space for thought. She gasped against him, her body igniting as his hand cupped the back of her neck, forcing her deeper into the fire.

Every warning screamed, but her blood betrayed her, heat flooding, knees weakening. The taste of him was smoke and danger, drowning her in everything forbidden.

When he tore his mouth from hers, his breath was harsh, his forehead pressed to hers.

“You want answers,” he growled. “But the answers will ruin you.”

Her eyes burned, her chest heaving. “Then ruin me.”

His hand slid down her spine, pulling her tighter against him. His mouth brushed her ear as the garden wind howled.

“I already have.”

A sudden sound split the night.

A scream.

Both their heads snapped toward the mansion. From an open window above, firelight flared, shadows thrashing violently. Another scream tore the air, Liora’s voice, high and strangled.

Then silence.

Isolde’s stomach dropped, ice slicing through her veins.

Damien’s grip tightened, his expression unreadable.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

But as he moved, she saw it, blood smeared across his cuff, fresh, dark, damning.

Her breath caught. Her heart stopped.

And in that single, shattering moment, she realized the terrifying truth:

If her father and Liora were conspiring to kill her… Damien might have just struck first.