NOVPUBWarlock Ch 417. The Warlock and The Princess *
Every rough thrust, every possessive kiss, every hand gripping her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world—it burned her alive.
She sobbed his name when she came again, shattering around him, her whole body clenching desperately.
Damian growled low, losing the last shreds of his control, pounding into her through her climax until he followed, groaning harshly into her shoulder, filling her again with staggering heat.
They collapsed together, tangled and breathless and utterly undone.
This time, neither of them said anything.
There was no need.
Because in the small, steaming space between their ragged breaths, their shaking hands, their racing hearts—They knew.
This wasn't just survival.
Wasn't just a reckless mistake.
It was them.
The warlock and the princess.
The broken boy and the stubborn girl.
Tangled together now, bound by blood, by magic, and by something even older.
Something neither betrayal, nor war, nor death could ever fully erase.
Damian's arms tightened around her as he drifted down from the high, his lips pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the crown of her head.
Selena smiled sleepily against his chest, her body aching, her heart terrifyingly full.
Maybe the world was still burning outside.
Maybe tonight they'd walk straight into hell.
But for now?
For now she had him.
And he had her.
And that was enough.
An hour later, the room settled into a heavy, comforting silence, broken only by the soft sound of their breathing.
Selena lay curled against him, her head tucked neatly under his chin, her body pressed flush against his side like she was trying to melt into him entirely. Her hair spilled across his chest in wild, silky waves. Every now and then, she murmured something half-coherent in her sleep—small, soft noises that made Damian's heart tighten in ways he didn't entirely have language for.
She was asleep within minutes.
Deep, peaceful sleep.
The kind of sleep only the truly exhausted—or the truly safe—could manage.
Damian stayed still, letting her weight pin him down, one arm loosely wrapped around her waist.
His other hand traced slow, lazy circles across her bare back without really thinking about it.
He should sleep.
He knew he should.
He needed it.
But.
Yeah.
His mind refused to shut up.
He stared up at the ceiling, eyes heavy but refusing to close, his brain clicking through scenarios faster than any spell calculation he'd ever run.
Worst-case scenario:
The vault is a trap.
Cedric and Alric are dead or being used as leverage.
Marenvell, Ralvek and whoever else is involved are ten steps ahead.
Selena gets hurt.
He dies ugly.
Less-worst-case scenario:
They break into the vault, find Cedric and Alric alive, but trip every hidden security enchantment ever made by paranoid fae ancestors.
Fight six types of ancient guardian monsters.
Get out missing some limbs, but alive.
Best-case scenario:
Yeah, he couldn't even picture one right now.
Maybe they'd find Cedric sipping tea inside, flipping off his kidnappers.
Damian exhaled slowly through his nose, closing his eyes briefly.
'Focus.'
He tightened his arm slightly around Selena, grounding himself.
No matter how insane tonight got, he had one job.
Keep her safe.
Keep them all safe.
'No dying allowed.'
He repeated it in his head like a stubborn mantra.
But his mind kept wandering.
And, annoyingly, it wandered to her.
The dragon general.
Lysandra.
The stubborn, cold-eyed woman who chased him like a lunatic through a damn river.
Who insisted on calling him Kaelan like she knew every secret he'd tried to bury.
Damian grimaced, rubbing a hand down his face carefully so he didn't wake Selena.
He didn't trust her.
Hell, trusting anyone right now was borderline suicidal.
But…
He couldn't deny it.
She was strong.
Not just strong like a good-ranked mage or a veteran warrior.
Stupidly strong.
Her mana output had been absurd. Enough to match a full strike team.
Enough to give even Cassius—or hell, even Damian at full power—a serious workout.
And if she was offering even neutral support...
That might be the difference between surviving tonight or getting curb-stomped by whatever old monsters and political jackals were waiting at the vault.
He chewed the inside of his cheek, glancing down at Selena's sleeping face.
Could he risk it?
Could he risk bringing her into this—again—without knowing if she would turn the second it suited her?
"Ugh," he muttered under his breath.
Because the worst part?
The truly maddening part?
His instincts—the same instincts that had kept him alive through betrayals, exile, wars—
They didn't scream danger when it came to Lysandra.
They whispered something else.
Something even more dangerous.
That maybe—just maybe—she wasn't here to betray him.
That maybe she actually believed in what he was trying to do.
Damian tilted his head back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended him.
"You're getting sentimental, you idiot," he muttered to himself.
Selena stirred slightly against him, mumbling something sleepy and incomprehensible.
He immediately froze, soothing his hand gently down her back until she settled again.
Damian sighed.
Quiet. Long. Defeated.
He had two choices.
Either trust only himself, Cassius, Victoria, Evelyn, and pray it was enough...
Or gamble.
Invite Lysandra into the plan.
And if he was wrong?
Well.
It would be a very short fight.
Possibly ending with him being dragon-roasted like a particularly unlucky marshmallow.
He rubbed his temples slowly, glaring into the darkness.
Was this what leadership felt like?
Constant headache. Check.
Chronic second-guessing. Check.
Desperate calculations between 'horrible' and 'slightly less horrible' plans. Check.
Yeah.
Real glamorous.
He glanced at the mana clock etched onto the wall—soft blue numerals hovering in the air.
Less than seven hours left until they had to move.
'Dammit.'
Decision time.
He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Selena's forehead, careful not to wake her.
"You stay here," he whispered against her skin. "I'll deal with the crazy dragon."
Selena murmured something in her sleep—something that sounded suspiciously like "idiot"—before nuzzling deeper into his chest.
Damian smiled despite himself, brushing her hair back gently.
She murmured something in her sleep—something soft and warm and stupidly trusting—and it made him hesitate for half a heartbeat.
But only half.
Because the moment he pulled his hand back, reality slammed into him like a slap.
He couldn't stay here.
Not when there was a slim, suicidal chance to make sure none of them died horribly.
