Mated To The Cruel Prince novel Chapter 672

Chapter 672: Fiendish Competition

"

"What do you say, brother? Like I said earlier, why don’t we make this game a lot more interesting?" Aldric smirked fiendishly, his arms wrapped possessively around Islinda.

Islinda stared Andre in the eyes, shaking her head and silently begging him to turn it down. Unfortunately, males and their inflated egos often led to poor decisions. Andre, with a confident smile as if they were about to go on a joyride, answered, "Sure, why not?"

Islinda’s nostrils flared with anger. She was so sick and tired of being caught in the middle of their fights. Why couldn’t Eli just let this go? Okay, maybe Andre had a little crush on her—so what? Must they measure dicks? Not that Islinda intended to literally see Andre’s dick.

The Autumn prince was handsome and all, but like he had accused her back at the palace, she was not collecting the brothers. Neither was she starting a harem like their father, King Oberon. One dick was enough for her. Except, the one dick she wanted was being a dick right now.

"Good." Aldric’s eyes lit up with excitement, toying with Islinda’s hair despite her brushing him off in annoyance. Undeterred, he continued his playful torment.

Like an orgasm, Aldric’s evil games always aroused him. "Why don’t you go stand in the target range and let us begin?" he said, his voice dripping with malicious anticipation.

Islinda’s frustration grew as Aldric’s grip tightened, his fingers brushing against her in a way that was both possessive and irritating. She watched helplessly as Andre moved toward the target range, his steps confident despite the clear tension in the air.

Something must be wrong with Andre’s head. Islinda just couldn’t understand how one would willingly walk to their death. Andre was smart and surely knew Aldric had ulterior motives for this game and yet, he willingly indulged him.

Wasn’t that practically suicide? ƒгeewebnovёl_com

Or has being practically immortal, given them the illusion of having an extra life? Or were they so bored they willingly welcomed death. Not that Islinda planned to send him to the early grave if that was Andre’s twisted desire. By chance, does Fae suffer depression? Islinda had a lot of wild thoughts running through her head.

The crowd around them watched with bated breath, murmurs of disbelief and excitement spreading like wildfire. It was not like everyday they saw a scene like this play out. This was the sort of spectacle they had come to expect from the Winter Court’s most notorious high lord, Prince Aldric.

"Aldric, this isn’t necessary," Islinda tried one last time, her voice a mix of desperation and frustration.

"Shhh," Eli whispered again, kissing her cheek this time and letting his lips linger there, sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine. Seriously, she had to start fighting against this influence he held against her. But then, she was too weak.

"Simply enjoy the show." He said with a dark promise in his tone.

With her heart in her throat, Islinda watched Andre reach the target range and turned to face them.

"Good." Aldric mused, his eyes blazing with intensity as he adjusted Islinda’s stance, his hands guiding hers on the bow.

The intimacy of the moment was not lost on the onlookers, nor on Islinda herself, who felt her heart race for reasons beyond fear. Something must be wrong with her head, else she wouldn’t be thrilled with this, Islinda thought. She was as damaged as Aldric.

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