Chapter 34: Power Play
He could feel every inch of her. Every curve. Every—
This is it. This is how my virginity dies.
Today. Right now. In this room.
I’m not ready. I’m NOT READY.
But wait.
She slled like roses?
Not what he expected. Not the sll of—
Did she use magic? So kind of cleaning spell?
His brain was trying to process, trying to understand.
Failing completely.
No words were coming out of his mouth. He tried—say sothing, anything, tell her to stop—but all that ca out was a strangled whisper, barely audible.
"I—you—MYRA—"
She leaned in closer, her lips right next to his ear. He could feel her breath.
"What is it, sweetie?"
Her voice was silk. Dangerous silk.
"We’re both adults. Why are you being so dramatic about biology?"
Her hand moved, slipped down, slid across his chest—slow, teasing.
"Maybe we can have so fun. Right?"
No. No no no no no.
This is NOT happening.
This CANNOT be happening.
Lucian’s mouth opened. He tried to speak, What ca out was:
"M-M-Myra ma-maybe s-so b-bound-dries we n-need p-profess-sinalism s-so h-human d-decency—"
She laughed right in his ear.
Low. Amused.
Then—
She let go.
Released him and stepped back.
"Oh, sweetheart."
She walked around to face him, that knowing smile on her lips.
"You walked into MY quarters. At dawn. After I said ’co in."
"What exactly did you expect to find?"
Lucian stood there frozen, his hands clenched into fists—so tight his knuckles were white, so tight he could feel his nails digging into his palms, drawing blood.
He was trying to calm down.
Okay. Calm. Calm down.
Deep breaths.
She has a point.
Yeah... She has a point.
His eyes widened as realization hit him like a brick.
Wait.
WAIT.
I HATE THAT SHE HAS A POINT.
"You’re no fun."
Myra tossed the cloth aside casually and reached for actual clothes—a simple shirt, loose pants—putting them on with zero effort, zero ti.
Lucian heard the fabric rustling and turned around, now seriously staring at her.
His brain was still trying to process everything that had just happened.
Still failing.
"You’re—you’re just going to—we’re just moving on? Like nothing happened?"
"Nothing DID happen, You interrupted my morning, I sent my guests away, and now we’re having a conversation."
She walked toward the bed with that infuriating grace.
"See? Simple."
She sat on the bed, crossing her legs, and looked at him with that smile—the one that said she knew exactly what she was doing to him and enjoyed every second of it.
A joker’s smile.
"Now co here. Shirt off and show
your ribs."
"What?!"
"I need to see the damage to heal it properly." Her voice was patient, like explaining sothing to a child. "Or you can go to the infirmary and explain your situation to Professor Kael."
She paused, tilting her head.
"Oh wait—you can’t. It’ll raise questions. Questions you can’t afford to answer, right?"
She leaned forward slightly.
"Am I wrong?"
I hate her.
I hate her so much.
Damn her, she wasn’t wrong.
He moved toward the bed stiffly, sat on the edge, and slowly—painfully—removed his shirt. Every movent reminded him his ribs were broken, that he needed this, that he had no choice.
The bandages ca off next, unwinding carefully.
Myra’s hands touched his back without warning.
Warm.
Glowing faintly with magic that he could feel radiating through his skin.
"Two broken ribs. Three cracked. Severe bruising. So internal bleeding."
Her voice had shifted completely—clinical now, professional.
"Soone really did a number on you."
"Professional assassin," Lucian managed through gritted teeth.
"Ah."
Her hands moved over his ribs, probing gently.
That explains the precision. These breaks are clean. Deliberate. Soone who knows how to hurt without killing.
The warmth intensified, spreading through his chest like liquid fire—not painful, just overwhelming. Healing magic flowing into him, knitting bone and tissue back together.
It felt strange. Not bad, just... too much sensation at once. Like warmth and pressure and relief all colliding in his ribcage.
"You’re tense," she observed.
"I WONDER WHY."
She laughed—that low, amused sound that made him want to throw sothing.
"Relax. I’m working."
"That’s NOT helping."
"Would you prefer I stop?"
"NO—just—" He took a careful breath. "Just keep going."
Her hands continued their work, magic pulsing steadily. And despite everything—the situation, the trauma, the complete inappropriateness of it all—the healing magic was actually working.
His ribs stopped hurting.
The constant ache that had been with him since the fight, the sharp pain with each breath—
Gone.
He could breathe.
Normally.
Deeply.
Could sit up straight without feeling like soone was stabbing him.
"There."
Myra pulled her hands away, examining her work with a satisfied nod.
"Good as new. Try not to get them broken again imdiately."
Lucian stood carefully, testing his movent.
No pain. None at all.
He turned to face her.
"Thank you."
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