The Marble Pool

"What does he want? Do you know?" I whispered, my voice trembling as I looked at Davina. She was a wreck, her composure shattered as she hurriedly pulled her bodice back into place.

"He demanded I wash him," she sniffed, her eyes red and resentful. "I tried to oblige—I really did. But the moment I touched his skin, he recoiled as if I were a leper. He’s a powder keg, that one. You’d better get in there before he loses what’s left of his patience."

I nodded numbly and pushed through the heavy door. The bathroom was an architect's dream—walls of polished white marble and a floor that gave way to a massive sunken pool. One side of the room was completely open to the night air, a sheer drop that offered a panoramic view of the city lights shimmering like fallen stars below.

In the center of the pool, surrounded by a mountain of steam and bubbles, sat the Alpha Prince. His head was buried in his hands, his broad shoulders slumped in a way that looked less like exhaustion and more like a man carrying the weight of a kingdom he didn't want.

As the door clicked shut, his head snapped up. His eyes found mine, and the air in the room suddenly felt twice as heavy. He beckoned me with a single, slow movement of his hand.

"You. Come here," he commanded. "I want a look at you."

I walked to the edge of the marble pool, the overflowing water warm against my bare feet. I kept my gaze fixed on my toes, my heart thundering against my ribs. I knew he was naked beneath that water. I knew he was the most dangerous man in the Empire. And yet, Samba was pacing in the back of my mind, purring at his proximity.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice dropping to a low, velvet rasp. "I want to see your face."

I lifted my chin slowly. He sat back, scrutinizing me with an intensity that felt like it was stripping away my skin.

"What is your name?" he asked, his tone unexpectedly soft. "I can’t keep calling you 'girl.'"

"Elena, Your Highness," I whispered. "It means 'shining light.'"

"Elena," he repeated, testing the weight of the name on his tongue. He went quiet for a heartbeat, his gaze lingering on the curve of my jaw. "Come closer."

I took a tentative step toward the water's edge. He smiled then—a small, genuine thing that didn't reach his eyes but softened the harsh lines of his face.

"We shall start by getting you out of those rags," he murmured. "Then you will join me. I can sense your fear, Elena, but I won’t hurt you—unless you give me reason to."

"Join you?" I squeaked, my face heating to a brilliant crimson. "I... I couldn't possibly—"

"I am not asking," he said, though his tone remained patient. "You are a mess of blood and city grime. You need to be cleaned, and I intend to do it myself. Come."

He stood up then, rising from the water like a god carved from granite. I tried to look away, but my eyes betrayed me. He was a landscape of corded muscle and dark, swirling tattoos. A line of dark hair trailed down his torso toward a heavy, impressive length that left no doubt about his virility. I felt my breath hitch; I had never been this close to a man, let alone one who looked like a predator made flesh.

He reached out, his long fingers hooking into the collar of my torn dress. With a slow, deliberate motion, he drew the fabric over my head. I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest, but he caught my wrists, gently but firmly pulling them down.

"Don't hide from me," he whispered. "I want to see all of you."

He led me down the marble steps into the water. It smelled of crushed roses and expensive oils. He sat back down, pulling me onto his lap so my back was against his chest. I could feel his hardness pressing against me, but he made no move to take more than I was ready to give. Instead, he took a silk cloth and began to work a rich, fragrant lather into my shoulders.

"Tell me about yourself," he murmured into my ear, his breath hot against my damp skin. "You intrigue me, Elena."

"There isn’t much to tell," I stammered, leaning into the warmth of his touch despite myself. "I’m an orphan. I lived with my grandmother. I’m a freak who hates her own wolf."

"I am looking at you," he chuckled, the vibration of his chest rumbling through my spine. "And I don't see a freak. I see someone who got off on the wrong foot with a very frustrated Prince. I apologize for my words earlier... though my reasons were my own. Tell me, what was your dream? Before the Selection."

"My dream?" I let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "I wanted to be a nurse. I wanted to heal people, not be a 'tribute' in a golden cage. But dreams don't matter much when you won't see the year out."

"Watch that tongue, Elena," he said, his voice turning cool but not unkind. "A little less attitude and you might find this palace isn't the death sentence you think it is. So, you like to heal? What else? What makes you tick?"

"I like to read," I replied sullenly. "Stories about heroines who don't need saving. But what about you? You looked like you were in agony when I walked in."

The Prince went still. The rhythmic scrubbing of the cloth stopped.

"There is nothing you need to know about me," he said, the Alpha authority returning to his voice like a shutter closing. "The small talk is over. Remember your place, Elena. You are my servant now. Be loyal, be truthful, and I will protect you from everything—including my brother. There is something about you I can’t yet name, but I need you close."

He dipped a pitcher into the water and began to rinse the soap from my hair. "Now, be silent. Let me finish cleaning you."