The Extra's Rise-Chapter 322: Witch’s Heart (2)

I left my room with practiced poise, every step calculated to appear effortless. The dormitory corridor was quiet.

Today had been exceptionally dull without him participating in the festival, which was why I didn't bother watching it.

Mine. My Arthur. And yet not entirely mine—not in the way I wanted. Not yet.

The evening air carried the lingering fragrance of spring blossoms, the academy gardens in full bloom despite the late hour. The pathways illuminated automatically as I walked, responsive to me—one of the small privileges afforded to those of my status. My ruby pendant pulsed gently against my throat with each step, attuned to my heartbeat's subtle acceleration as I approached his dormitory.

The pendant had been a gift from my father on my sixteenth birthday—"To protect what's precious," he'd said with unusual sentiment. Of course, he'd meant me, not my heart. The Emperor could hardly have anticipated that his carefully crafted daughter, his perfect political asset, would develop such an inconvenient weakness for a boy of no particular lineage.

My earrings caught the artificial moonlight as I turned a corner, tiny diamonds cascading like frozen tears from my lobes, each one enchanted with minor protective spells. My crop-top—deep crimson to match the pendant, made from fabric so fine it felt like wearing nothing at all—left my midriff deliberately exposed. The skirt, high-waisted and flaring just enough to suggest movement even when still, completed an ensemble carefully chosen to appear casual while being anything but.

I reached the floor where Arthur's room was located.

Unlike my previous visits, I found myself hesitating before his door. I raised my hand to knock, feeling a strange flutter of uncertainty. This was ridiculous—I was Cecilia Slatemark, princess of the Slatemark Empire. I didn't hesitate before doors, and I certainly didn't feel this absurd nervousness about seeing someone who was, technically speaking, beneath my station.

Yet here I was, knocking—three precise taps that somehow managed to convey both authority and invitation.

There was a pause, followed by footsteps approaching. The door slid open, revealing Arthur in casual clothes, his hair slightly windswept as if he'd only recently returned to his room. His eyes widened fractionally at the sight of me—a small victory that I cherished despite myself.

"Cecilia," he acknowledged, stepping back to allow me entry. A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

The casual certainty in his tone sent conflicting ripples of annoyance and pleasure through me. He expected me. Anticipated me. Perhaps even wanted me here.

"You were at the festival today," I stated, letting the door close behind me as I moved further into his space. My skirt swished against my thighs, the gold threading catching the light. I noted his eyes tracking the movement before returning to my face. Good.

"I was," he replied, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I thought I might see you there. The matches were quite impressive—particularly the Tactical Siege event."

I moved closer, deliberately trailing my fingers across his desk, disturbing a few items simply because I could. "I had more important matters to attend to than watching mediocre students fumble through predictable challenges." I leaned against the edge of his desk, positioning myself directly in his line of sight. "I wore this specifically thinking you might visit me instead."

His eyes traveled from my face down to my outfit, taking in the crop-top that accentuated my figure, the skirt that hit at precisely the right point to elongate my legs, the pendant that drew attention to the hollow of my throat. The appreciation in his gaze was gratifying, even expected, but the amusement that accompanied it was not.

"It would have been a waste to spend the day waiting for you to appear," he said, moving to stand before me. Close enough that I could feel the heat of him, smell the faint scent of the outdoors and that uniquely Arthur essence that I'd grown embarrassingly addicted to. "When I can appreciate the view up close instead."

"Boring," I pronounced, though we both knew I didn't mean it. "I had no interest in watching those tedious preliminaries. Do you know how tiresome it is to observe mediocrity when one could be doing practically anything else?"

His lips quirked in that almost-smile that never failed to fascinate me. "Did you miss me, Princess?"

The way he said my title—slightly emphasized, almost teasing—made it clear he saw it as a role I played rather than my essential nature.

"Miss you?" I traced a finger along his jawline, feeling the slight roughness of emerging stubble. "I don't miss things, Arthur. I simply decide when I want them in my presence."

His hand caught mine, his thumb pressing gently against my pulse point. "And you want me in your presence now."

I'll fix that part to reflect that it's Cecilia's chance with Arthur, not about an event.

It wasn't a question. It should have infuriated me, this presumption. Instead, it sent heat spiraling through my core, a warmth that bloomed outward until I swore he must be able to see it, a visible manifestation of my weakness for him.

"Tonight is my turn," I said, twisting a strand of golden hair around my finger. "I know those other girls have been monopolizing your time this week." I leaned closer, my voice dropping to something honey-sweet and dangerous. "But tonight, you're mine alone."

This time when he stepped closer, erasing the remaining distance between us, I didn't move away. Instead, I tilted my face up to his, an invitation that was simultaneously a demand. His hands settled at my waist, fingers splaying across the exposed skin between my top and skirt, each point of contact burning like a brand.

"And what about Rachel? Rose? Seraphina?" he asked, his voice deceptively casual. "They've been asking for my attention too."

Possessiveness flared in me, hot and sharp. The mere mention of their names from his lips made something primal rise up inside me, something that wanted to mark and claim and own.

"Tonight is mine," I stated, the words falling like imperial decree. "They can have you another time. Right now, you focus on me alone."

Something shifted in his expression then, his usual accommodating demeanor hardening into something more assertive. His grip tightened at my waist, one hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck, fingers threading through my carefully arranged hair.

"Demanding, aren't you?" he murmured, but there was no yielding in his tone. Instead, his thumb traced the line of my jaw, tilting my face up further. "Perhaps I should divide my time as I please."

My breath caught. This was the Arthur few saw—the one who didn't bend, didn't break, didn't placate. The one who matched my imperial nature with his own quiet strength.

"You won't," I challenged, though my voice betrayed me with a slight tremor.

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"No," he agreed, his eyes darkening. "I won't. But not because you commanded it, Princess." His lips brushed against mine, the ghost of a kiss. "Because I choose to."

That simple declaration—that he would do as I wished but on his terms, not mine—sent a thrill through me that I couldn't have anticipated. This delicate balance of power, of giving and taking, of demanding and yielding, was intoxicating in ways I'd never experienced before.

"You infuriate me you know?" I said to Arthur as I placed my hand atop his.

"Do I?" He leaned closer, his lips almost but not quite touching mine. "Then tell me to stop."

I didn't. I couldn't. Instead, I eliminated that final sliver of space between us, capturing his mouth with mine in a kiss that was both punishment and reward.

His response was immediate, one hand sliding up my back to tangle in my hair, the other remaining at my waist, thumb tracing maddening circles against my bare skin. The earrings I'd so carefully selected chimed softly as my head tilted to deepen the kiss, my body pressing closer as if trying to erase any separation between us.

'Mine,' I thought fiercely as his touch ignited familiar fires beneath my skin. 'My Arthur. My choice. My weakness.'

I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, my breathing embarrassingly uneven. "I should lock you away," I murmured, the words escaping before I could censor them. "Keep you where only I can find you."

Instead of the alarm such a declaration should have evoked, his eyes darkened with something like desire. "Would you visit often, in this hypothetical prison?"

"Every day," I promised, trailing my fingers down his chest. "Every night."

"Tempting," he acknowledged, his voice rougher than usual. "But we both know you'd grow bored of a caged bird. The hunt is half the pleasure for you, Cecilia."

I frowned, not liking how accurately he read me. "Perhaps I'm evolving beyond such simple diversions."

His laugh was warm against my skin as his lips found my neck, just above where my pendant rested. "Is that what I am? A diversion?"

"You know you're more," I admitted, the words painful in their honesty. "Why else would I be here, in this thoroughly average room, wearing an outfit that deserves far more appreciative surroundings?"

His hands slid lower, tracing the curve of my hips through my skirt. "Tell me what I am to you."

An impossible request. How could I articulate something I barely understood myself? This compulsion, this need, this terrible wonderful weakness that had taken root in my chest where nothing had ever grown before?

"Mine," I said finally, the single word containing multitudes. "You are mine, Arthur Nightingale."

His eyes met mine, something complex and beautiful shifting in their depths. "And you, Princess? What are you?"

The question staggered me. No one asked Cecilia Slatemark to define herself. No one dared suggest that I might belong to anyone or anything other than my own ambition.

And yet.

"Yours," I whispered, the confession like blood drawn from stone. "God help me, but I am yours."