The Immortal Prince ✔️

3

And I'm most definitely not frightened of the fireplace I inch closer toward.

Strangely, this dark cave is inviting, albeit a bit imposing. The natural ceiling is tall, curved over into the walls, which are shade lighter and smoothed back. I don't remember smoke coming out the top of the mountain, although the fire blazes, heating the space. And the furnishings are a surprise too. Not sure what I expected, but this isn't it.

"You're the one with a creepy spell pool," I grumble.

He takes a step forward, my entire body tensing as a result. "You climbed up here, and fell into it. I'm failing to see how that has anything to do with me."

Does he have to look this good when he appears moments away from killing me?

I've heard legends about purebloods and their appearances before, but they always felt too exaggerated to believe. An old friend told me the creater of our lands hand-crafted their faces as the first instance of perfection, and since then the purebloods have used mortal proclivity for weakness in the face of beauty to ensure and manipulate them.

All of a sudden, the legend has become very believable.

"Proximity," I retort. "I need someone to blame, and it falls on you."

He tilts his head back and forth thoughtfully. He looks as though he's restraining himself from tossing me against the wall and just being done with me.

"To answer your question, yes, I am a pureblood."

Dread, like cold poison, shreds it's way through me. I've spoken too much, dug myself a premature grave. Were the effects of this fireplace on my shuddering limbs not like a drug, I would be out of here. But wilfully subjecting myself to the bitter frost once again seems equally dooming.

"Are you going to kill me?" I whisper.

There's a cruel tint to his eyes. "Tempted."

"I'm sorry, my head is spinning," I rest my hand against my head, squeezing my eyes shut. "And your fire feels amazing."

His gaze dips to my knee. "You're probably going to die."

He doesn't want to kill me. I imagine it would be no more than a flick of his finger and I would be dead, so he's not a murderer. That's one legend about the Immortal Prince that stands to be a lie. As with the one about him luring poor girls into his cave...He wants me gone, at the very least.

"Can't you..." I break off, testing his patience.

He angles his head, "What?"

"Help me?"

"You walked into my home, blamed me for your own negligence, and now you want me to help you?" When he says it aloud, I realise how unravelled I sound. An infection is likely setting into my knee already.

He steps forward, gait far too graceful considering his staggering build. The closer he gets to me, the more aware I come of his overwhelming beauty. A dimple is etched into his left cheek, complimenting his raised cheekbones and straight jawline. The fine contours of his face alone must be created by magic, because it can't be possible to look like this naturally.

"I could just kill you." His tone is light, but I can't tell if he's joking or not.

My throat tightens, painfully dry. "You're a Sin, aren't you?"

He dips his head. "Yes."

I suppress a shudder, flexing and unflexing my fingers as I consider my next move. Some part of me, buried deep, is gleeful. So many people doubted this expedition would be worth it, doubted that the immortal Prince actually lived up here. I've proved them wrong, and finally doubted all the months of study I've put into this trip.