🔞🔞🔞🔞The morning sun had barely pierced the heavy velvet curtains of Princess Callista’s chambers when a frantic pounding began. Callista bolted upright, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Beside her, the bed was still warm where Emrys had been only hours before; he had slipped away into the gray dawn to avoid the prying eyes of the morning staff, as was their custom.
"My Lady! Please, you must wake!" Ellara’s voice was high, laced with a panic Callista hadn't heard in years.
Callista threw back the silk sheets, her skin prickling in the chill air. She grabbed a robe of dark lace, wrapping it tightly around her as she threw open the heavy oak doors. "What is it, Ellara? Has the King collapsed? Has my brother been found?"
"No, My Lady," Ellara gasped, her chest heaving. "It’s the gates. The Nevalis delegation... they’ve arrived. Prince Alistair Crowley is in the courtyard, and he has the Saintess Ava with him.
They weren't expected for another three days!"
Callista’s eyes narrowed into slits of cold sapphire. Alistair. The man Lydia had likely warned, the man who was supposed to be her future husband.
Arriving unannounced was a power move—a tactic meant to catch the Asch royalty in their most private, vulnerable moments.
"They are here early to hunt for shadows," Callista whispered to herself.
She turned back to the room, her mind racing. "Ellara, find Prince Emrys. Tell him to compose himself and meet me in the Great Hall. And bring me the crimson gown—the one with the low back."
The Courtyard Encounter
By the time Callista descended the grand staircase, the air in the palace had changed. It felt heavier, charged with the static of a coming storm.
Standing in the center of the hall was Alistair Crowley. He was taller than she had imagined, draped in furs the color of a midnight sky, his eyes scanning the architecture with the predatory boredom of a conqueror. Beside him stood Ava Feywin, the Saintess. She was dressed in white, her face a mask of serene piety, but Callista recognized the look in her eyes—it was the look of a woman who had just stepped out of a bed she wasn't supposed to be in.
"Prince Alistair," Callista said, her voice a cool, melodic chime that cut through the murmurs of the servants. "You've traveled with great haste. One might think you were eager to leave your own kingdom."
Alistair turned, his gaze raking over her with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. He didn't bow. Instead, he took a slow step forward, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Princess Callista," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "I find that the best way to see a kingdom is to arrive before they’ve had time to sweep the secrets under the rugs. And you... you are even more 'cruel' than the letters suggested."
Ava stepped forward, her voice sweet and hollow. "The gods protect this house, Princess. We come seeking only the strength of our shared bloodlines."
"The gods have a habit of looking away when they're most needed in Asch, Saintess," Callista countered, her eyes flicking to the faint, fresh mark on Alistair’s neck, barely hidden by his collar.
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Hours later, after a tense breakfast where Emrys sat like a statue of ice, the guests were shown to their quarters.
But Alistair had no intention of resting. He found Callista in the solar, alone. He didn't knock; he simply entered and locked the door behind him.
"You're bold, Prince," Callista said, not turning from the window. "My brother would have your head for such an intrusion."
"Your brother is busy trying to convince himself he doesn't want to kill me for looking at you," Alistair said, moving closer until he was standing directly behind her. He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear.
"But I’ve read the letters, Callista. I know what you are. I know what he is."
He reached around her, his large hand splaying across her stomach, pulling her back against his hard frame. "You think you’re the only one with a twisted family tree? My cousin Ava is currently praying in her room, but her knees are still bruised from my floor this morning."
Callista didn't pull away. She felt a dangerous, dark curiosity. Alistair was a mirror of her own darkness. "And what do you want, Alistair? If you know my secret, why are you here?"
"I don't want a wife, Callista," he hissed, his hand sliding lower, gripping her through the thick silk of her gown. "I want an ally who understands that the only laws that matter are the ones we break."
He spun her around, his mouth crashing onto hers with a violent, possessive hunger. It wasn't the desperate, familiar love of Emrys; it was a challenge. Callista met it, her teeth grazing his lip as she pushed back.
He hiked her dress up, his calloused hand finding the sensitive skin of her thigh. He backed her against the desk, his heavy frame pinning her. "If we are to be joined by blood and crown," Alistair growled, "let's start by making sure there are no more secrets between us."
He didn't wait for her consent; he took it, his fingers finding her entrance already wet—whether from her morning with Emrys or the thrill of Alistair's danger, he didn't care. He entered her with a sharp, punishing lunge. Callista let out a high, jagged cry, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
"You're tight, Princess," he groaned, his pace becoming a brutal, rhythmic thud against the wood. "Does your brother fill you like this? Does he make you scream for mercy?"
Callista couldn't answer. She was lost in the friction, the sheer wrongness of it fueling a climax that hit her like a lightning strike. Alistair followed soon after, his body tensing as he spilled his seed inside her, a final act of dominance before the game truly began.
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The heavy oak desk creaked under their combined weight as the final, violent tremors of their climax subsided.
Alistair remained buried deep within her, his forehead resting against hers, both of them gasping for air that tasted of sweat and high-stakes treason.
Callista was the first to find her voice, though it was still raspy from the screams he had forced from her throat. She pushed against his chest, not to move him away, but to look into those cold, calculating eyes.
"We need to discuss the terms, Alistair," she whispered, her fingers still curled around his upper arms. "Before the sweat dries and the masks go back on."
Alistair let out a low, dark chuckle, his hips giving one final, possessive twitch inside her. "The terms? You want a contract signed in the heat of the act, Princess?"
"I want a marriage of convenience," Callista stated, her gaze turning as sharp as a diamond. "In the eyes of the two kingdoms, we will be the perfect union. We will smile at the galas, dance at the coronations, and act the part of the devoted husband and the doting wife.
The world must believe we are as obsessed with each other as they say."
Alistair withdrew from her slowly, his gaze never wavering. He straightened his clothes with a clinical indifference, looking down at her as she sat on the desk, her crimson skirts gathered around her waist. "And in private?"
"In private, we do not exist to one another," Callista replied, sliding off the desk and adjusting her gown. "You will have your Saintess. You will have your cousins and your conquests in Nevalis. And I... I will have my brother. You will not mingle in my personal affairs, and I will extend you the same courtesy. Our beds remain separate unless the theater of the court demands otherwise."
Alistair leaned back against the bookshelves, crossing his arms over his broad chest. A smirk played on his lips—one of genuine respect. "A cold-blooded proposal. You’re willing to sell your public life to buy your private freedom."
"I am willing to do whatever is necessary to keep what is mine," she countered.
"Very well, Callista," Alistair said, stepping forward to tilt her chin up.
"We have a contract. We shall be the most 'happily married' couple in history. I won't ask about the Prince, and you won't ask about the Saintess.
But remember..." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "If you ever find your brother’s bed too cold, you know where to find a man who can handle your 'cruelty.'"
He turned and unlocked the door, stepping out into the hallway as if nothing had happened, leaving Callista alone to scrub the evidence of his touch from her skin before Emrys came looking for her.
Novel: I Love My Brother: Callista and Emrys
