Mated To The Cruel Prince novel Chapter 616

Chapter 616: Never

Islinda clenched her fists, her nails digging into Aldric’s scalp as she struggled to maintain control. It was as though the intensity of their connection threatened to consume them both in flames. Alive.

Aldric leaned his head back, his blue eyes slipping shut. He whispered under his breath, "You will be the death of me."

"Well, that is what you wanted. Congratulations, you picked your poison." She said with gritted teeth, her breath shaky and heavy.

How could she be the death of someone when she was already teetering on the edge of oblivion, consumed by desire?

Islinda knew she shouldn’t have joined him in the tub, but her stubbornness had always been her downfall. Even now, she was determined to see this through without surrendering to the overwhelming temptation. Aldric undoubtedly wanted her to fail, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of breaking first.

So despite the fiery urge coursing through her veins, urging her to give in to her desires and grind against him, she resisted. Islinda marveled at her own self-control, impressed by her ability to hold back.

Yet, as they sat in the heated tension of the moment, neither of them making a move, she couldn’t help but wonder who would emerge victorious in this silent battle. Aldric hadn’t even made a move to touch her, as if knowing that the moment he did, all restraint would crumble. The both of them teetered on the brink of losing control, their self-discipline hanging by a thread.

As Islinda’s fingers worked their magic, massaging Aldric’s scalp with gentle yet firm strokes, she felt the tension in his body slowly begin to dissolve beneath her touch. The stiffness in his shoulders melted away like ice under the warmth of the sun, leaving him visibly more relaxed.

But despite the easing of tension above, Islinda couldn’t ignore the tautness that remained below. Beneath her, Aldric’s body was as tightly wound as the strings of a drawn bow, poised and ready to strike at any moment. His outward calm was all a facade because beneath the surface, a storm brewed, waiting to unleash its fury.

As Islinda rinsed away the lather from Aldric’s hair, she carefully wiped away the excess water that trickled down his face in the process. With each gentle touch, she felt a small sigh escape him, as though her hands provided a sense of relief he had been yearning for.

Grasping his face tenderly, Islinda couldn’t resist the urge to stroke her thumbs along his cheeks, marveling at the clarity and unblemished beauty of his skin. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy at his flawless Fae genetics, wishing she too possessed such perfect features. She was too human and lately, she has been resenting that a lot.

One day, Islinda knew she would age, her skin wrinkling and her vitality fading, while Aldric remained unchanged by the passage of time. If the dark Fae prince chose to keep her around until then, which seemed unlikely, he would likely grow weary of her once her usefulness waned and her beauty faded. It was a harsh reality she couldn’t ignore.

Islinda couldn’t imagine herself, fifty years older, still in such an intimate position with Aldric. The thought was unsettling, even repulsive. It felt wrong to envision the ever-youthful Aldric with an older woman, and she doubted anyone, least of all Aldric himself, could stomach such a sight. The cruel reminder of her finite existence in contrast to his eternal youth left her bittered.

"What are you thinking, maité beag," Aldric’s voice roused her to reality.

"You’re calling me that new nickname again. What does it mean?" Islinda said, reaching for the washcloth and began to wash him. She made a mental note to inquire about it later.

"Do not divert the question, answer me." He demanded, his piercing gaze boring into hers. Not that he had any intention of telling her what it meant. For now.

Islinda pressed her lips together, wondering if this was the right time to discuss this. Yet she had no choice to open up. "When will you let me go?"

Aldric lifted a brow, taken aback by the question, which came out of nowhere. However, he was quick to compose himself, answering without hesitation, "Never."

Islinda sighed, his response both relieving and unsettling her. In one word, he confirmed she could never set foot in the human realm and unearth what remained of her past. Not that there was anything left of her stepfamily after she and Aldric had dealt with them. The memory sent a shiver down Islinda’s spine. Perhaps this darkness had always resided within her, drawing Aldric to her.

Despite the absence of her family, Islinda longed to revisit her past. Yet, she found solace in the assurance that Aldric wouldn’t discard her as she aged, leaving her with nowhere to turn after dedicating her youth to him, her captor. Still, she needed to be certain.

"So you won’t release me, even when..." Islinda hesitated, resisting the urge to mention Valerie’s imminent demise and Aldric’s ascension to the throne of Astaria. Instead, she moistened her lips and continued, "when you become king of Astaria?"

"Never," Aldric answered without hesitation.

Islinda, unconvinced, pressed for more assurance, her voice laced with apprehension. "Have you ever considered what it will be like when I’m old? When my beauty fades, my strength diminishes, and I’m plagued by ailments and mental struggles.... will you let me go then?"

"Never," Aldric reiterated.

Islinda frowned, disbelief clouding her eyes. "But you don’t understand, I’ll be—"

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