BWG - 2

Eleanor read the holy scripture aloud.  

For someone who had never even flipped through the cover of the book in her twenty-something years of life, she now held it with both hands as if she were a devout believer, reciting its words piously.  

It was the same scripture she had always avoided focusing on during mandatory temple rituals, for reading such irrational and impractical texts made her skin crawl with irritation.  

But this time was different.  

She thought that if she could at least mimic the boring and disjointed content of the scripture out loud, it might help silence the incessant stream of intrusive thoughts, even if only for a moment.  

A ray of sunlight slanted through the window of the empty library, falling onto the table by the window.  

The light reflected off Eleanor’s silver-blonde crown, creating an almost sacred scene.  

Yet, despite her outward appearance resembling that of a saint, Eleanor’s mind was filled with chaotic and vivid fantasies about Fertan—imagining him pressing against her from every angle.  

At some point, the murmured words from the scripture stopped altogether. Even the archaic text couldn’t compete with the sticky thoughts that clung to her mind like glue.  

Above the densely printed pages floated visions of Fertan’s sexy face and his obscenely enticing lips. The thick, well-defined lips parted slightly, revealing a provocatively red tongue—and finally, Eleanor slammed the holy book shut with a loud thud.  

‘It’s hopeless. I’m utterly ruined. Just thinking these kinds of thoughts means I’ve already lost.’  

As she walked briskly in an attempt to shake off her distracting thoughts, images of Fertan’s enormous phallus drifted around her. Though he was just one man, the dicks in her fantasies multiplied endlessly. Some sprouted like vibrant trees; others stood rigid, pulsating with beautiful curves. Some flaunted their luscious fruit-colored glans right before her eyes.  

The sensation of Fertan thrusting it into her with lewd hip movements lingered vividly in her mind. It kept resurfacing, tormenting her more than ever.  

“Haa…”  

Sighs escaped her all day long.  

She tried shaking her head violently to banish thoughts of sex, but it was no use. That shameless man’s cock had thoroughly disarrayed her thoughts, leaving her unable to regain any semblance of mental order.  

Eleanor let out another deep sigh.  

Thankfully, she had somewhere to go today. Meeting other people and staying busy would surely distract her from her obsessive thoughts about Fertan—or rather, his member.  

As the cherished daughter of the prestigious Roland dukedom, Eleanor was always warmly welcomed wherever she went. Noble ladies from prominent families flocked around her, drawn not only by her high status but also by her close friendship with Princess Lucena. Among unmarried ladies, Eleanor’s standing was arguably unmatched.  

Her much older brother, Edwin—the current Duke of Roland—was always pleased with how well she fulfilled her role in society. Her prominence in social circles and clever navigation of interpersonal relationships ensured Edwin spared no expense in supporting her. He lavished her with extravagant dresses and jewelry, knowing that showcasing Eleanor’s beauty elevated the family’s prestige.  

Thanks to her impeccable behavior outside the house, Eleanor enjoyed considerable freedom in her daily life. No one meddled in what she did at home, nor restricted her outings. Even when she made plans every day or went out frequently, Edwin assumed she was raising the family’s profile somewhere.  

Today was no exception. She simply informed her maid of her destination without elaborating. Unless it was urgent, no one in the household would question where Eleanor had gone.  

“I’m heading to the palace. I’ll be meeting Princess Lucena, so I might return late.”  

As one of Lucena’s closest confidantes, Eleanor visited the palace more often than her duke brother.  

Their meetings were casual, filled with idle chatter. Today, they exchanged trivial impressions of the recent royal banquet.  

Someone mentioned how a certain nobleman showed interest in a lady, or how tensions brewed between certain noblewomen. Lucena, two years younger than Eleanor, seemed particularly curious about romantic relationships, given her impending marriageable age.  

Noticing that Lucena hadn’t brought up the commotion caused by the guards’ frantic search during the banquet, Eleanor subtly broached the topic herself.  

“Something seemed to happen during the banquet, didn’t it? Did Your Highness hear about it?”  

Despite the earlier chaos when Fertan was pursued like a traitor and the surrounding areas thoroughly searched, the palace now appeared eerily calm.  

Lucena tilted her head slightly after lowering her teacup.  

“There was some trouble while I was resting. Father gave strict orders, which led the guards to enforce security rather aggressively.”  

“I was searched too while resting in the lounge,” Eleanor added.  

“Oh dear, that must have been inconvenient.”  

Lucena flicked her hand lightly, empathizing with Eleanor’s presumed discomfort.  

“It wasn’t too bad since I was alone. I was just a bit startled.”  

Eleanor smiled faintly, folding her eyes in amusement. Given how many people used the lounges for private trysts, there was always the risk of being caught in compromising situations during searches.  

Lucena caught the underlying meaning and chuckled along.  

“You’re right. Eleanor, you’ve never been involved in any scandal, unlike so many others. If anything, I’m curious to see who will finally win your hand.”

Taking advantage of the cool atmosphere, Eleanor subtly asked about something that might relate to Fertan.  

“What measures will His Majesty take afterward?”  

“Nothing was stolen, and after investigating, there was no clear evidence of outsiders breaching the restricted areas. It seems His Majesty became overly upset during the initial report at the banquet. So, it looks like they’ll just let it go.”  

“That’s a relief. I’m glad nothing serious happened.”  

From what Lucena said, it seemed certain that Fertan had indeed broken into the emperor’s vault. But what could he have been trying to steal? Given his immense wealth, it was unlikely he coveted mere gold or jewels. Curiosity stirred within her, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was tied to something profoundly important.  

Still, in front of Princess Lucena, Eleanor maintained a calm expression and refrained from mentioning Fertan at all. Even though Lucena and Fertan were cousins, this wasn’t the kind of topic to be carelessly discussed.  

Somehow, Eleanor suspected that this incident went beyond Fertan acting alone as a criminal—it likely carried some hidden significance.  

The princess was one of the few people in the muddy waters of palace politics whom Eleanor genuinely liked. Though duty-bound as the daughter of a prestigious duchess to stay by Lucena’s side, their friendship wasn’t forced.  

Nevertheless, as royalty, she still had to tread carefully with her words. Balancing the roles of confidante and vassal, Eleanor kept up an amicable relationship with Lucena.  

After leisurely sipping tea and passing the time with embroidery for fun, Eleanor spent the entire day in the princess’s quarters.  

As the sun began to set, she prepared to leave the palace. Outside, a familiar attendant was waiting for her—this one belonging to Crown Prince Leonard.  

“His Highness Leonard requests an audience with Lady Eleanor.”  

It was an invitation she couldn’t refuse. Without betraying any discomfort, Eleanor followed the attendant with composure.  

She could easily guess why Crown Prince Leonard had summoned her. This wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened. After entering the crown prince’s chambers with proper etiquette, the formalities of greeting were skipped, and she was immediately led to where Leonard awaited.  

Upon entering the opulent reception room, a thin man of short stature hastily stood up.  

Though his demeanor toward the duchess was inappropriate for a crown prince, Leonard paid no heed and greeted her while standing.  

“Welcome, Eleanor.”  

“I came upon hearing your summons. I am the daughter of the House of Roland…”  

“Don’t be so formal, Eleanor. We’re among friends. It saddens me when you’re too distant.”  

Cutting off her polite introduction, he invited her to sit beside him with excessive familiarity. It was another offer she couldn’t decline, much like the summons itself.  

Reluctantly, she took a seat next to him.  

Leonard, the same age as Fertan, was entirely different from him aside from sharing the royal family’s signature black hair and dark eyes.  

With a sensitive disposition and picky eating habits, he’d never gained weight. His pale hands offered her refreshments, but he only sipped his tea, not touching anything else.  

Eleanor fulfilled her duties as a loyal subject without overstepping. Sipping her tea and lowering her gaze respectfully, she waited for him to speak.  

“We’ve reached the right time, haven’t we? I believe His Majesty will make a decision soon.”  

“A decision, Your Highness?”  

Though she already knew what he meant, she hesitated, unwilling to acknowledge the predetermined future.  

“Soon, a marriage proposal will come to the House of Roland. To delay this matter until now—it’s quite unlike His Majesty.”  

“…I consider it an honor.”  

Inwardly, she thought, This day has finally come.  

Her carefree days were over. Now, it was time to fulfill her role as the future bearer of the imperial line.  

Around the age of ten, which was typically considered the appropriate time for betrothal, Leonard’s status had completely reversed. When the previous emperor suddenly passed away and the current emperor ascended the throne, Leonard’s position in the line of succession abruptly shifted to first place.  

Because of this, earlier marriage discussions with other noble families were canceled, and the timing for his engagement was missed.  

But Eleanor had always been a prime candidate for the crown prince’s bride. The emperor’s choice boiled down to either a foreign princess or the daughter of the powerful House of Roland. In the end, the decision was made to focus on domestic affairs, favoring the House of Roland.  

By the emperor’s reasoning, there was no room for objection. Yet, Eleanor silently swallowed her discontent, unseen by anyone else.  

“Eleanor, this is a monumental day. Why don’t you stay here tonight?”  

His hollow, sunken eyes stared at her with an unsettling intensity.  

This kind of proposition wasn’t new. Leonard had repeatedly sent flirtatious advances her way.  

His presence evoked the image of a cold, damp basement. Despite wearing the finest cologne, he exuded an eerie, musty aura. Rumors swirled about his bizarre quirks, worse than anyone imagined.  

Throughout her interactions with Leonard, Eleanor often found herself suppressing shivers and trying to hide the goosebumps on her arms. She tried not to dwell on her aversion, but deep down, her instinctive repulsion remained.  

Politely declining was incredibly difficult. Knowing they would eventually marry, she felt obligated to show some semblance of affection to prepare for the future.  

Her lips twitched faintly as she forced a smile.  

“I deeply appreciate Your Highness’s kindness and consideration. But wouldn’t it be best to follow proper protocol?”  

“What use are those trivial formalities?”  

“And if an heir were to be conceived prematurely? If a child destined to become emperor were born before the wedding, wouldn’t it invite scandal?”

Thanks to her awareness of Leonard’s behavior—specifically, his refusal to use contraception—Eleanor had an excuse. She knew that he had several mistresses who secretly bore and hid his children.  

With a wistful gaze, he scanned her shoulders and chest as if reluctant to let her go.  

“I must urge His Majesty to hasten the wedding preparations. Waiting for you is becoming unbearable.”  

Maintaining her modest composure, Eleanor kept her head lowered.  

After enduring what felt like an agonizing audience, she finally left the crown prince’s chambers unscathed. As soon as she was out of sight, Eleanor exhaled a small, private sigh.  

Leonard—a man who regularly rotated through mistresses but remained obsessively possessive of her, even going so far as to plant spies to monitor her every move—acted as though she were already his property. Though his attention made her skin crawl, Leonard seemed utterly pleased with himself. Despite having numerous sexual partners, he continued to eye her as his future empress, repeatedly attempting to lure her into his bed.  

Every time she thought about spending the rest of her life as his wife, Eleanor felt a heavy weight piling up in her chest.  

Leonard must have expressed such a strong desire to the emperor, for within a week, an attendant bearing a marriage proposal arrived at the House of Roland.  

Edwin, the Duke of Roland and Eleanor’s older brother, accepted the proposal on the spot with great satisfaction. The crown prince’s marriage was decided at an unprecedented speed, and while the news spread widely, the noble families surrounding the empire and the imperial household viewed it as an inevitable conclusion.  

Though this day was bound to come, the sudden acceleration of events troubled Eleanor. Perhaps Leonard had been provoked during their last meeting. Was it because she had been overly formal? Or had rejecting his invitation to stay overnight fueled his determination? It seemed Leonard, spurred by pride, had immediately petitioned the emperor.  

Eleanor, already troubled by thoughts of her impending marriage to the crown prince and unable to shake off thoughts of Fertan, spent long hours alone in the library.  

It had already been seven days since she last saw him.  

This would be their final meeting—the very last one allowed by the circumstances.  

The day her engagement was announced coincided with the day Fertan’s scandal would ripple across the capital.  

“Haa…”  

Her sighs were becoming habitual.  

‘I’ll have to find a way to fix this somehow. Surely Fertan has heard the news of my engagement by now; he won’t insist on continuing our meetings.’  

With the certainty that this would indeed be their final encounter, Eleanor boarded her carriage, her heart heavy with confusion.  

Passing through the Bluewing Hotel and arriving at Fertan’s estate, the atmosphere in the garden near the main gate was unsettling. Servants were nowhere to be seen, and the air felt eerily still and cold.  

What could have happened?  

A gloom akin to the calm before a storm hung over the vast mansion.  

As she stepped out of the carriage, Eleanor finally noticed the source of the unease.  

In front of the central entrance stood a large couch, completely incongruous with the somber surroundings. Fertan sat there, blocking the entrance, watching her approach with an unmistakably displeased expression. His elbow rested lazily on the armrest, his legs sprawled arrogantly.  

His piercing gaze bore into her as she ascended the marble steps. He stared straight ahead as if ready to devour her whole, not moving an inch even as she came to stand directly in front of him. From beneath his lowered brow, he shot her a disapproving glance.  

Was this some sort of psychological tactic?  

Though slightly unnerved, Eleanor reminded herself not to let her guard down, remembering how she’d been emotionally outmaneuvered last time. With no guilt weighing on her conscience, she decided to take the offensive.  

“I came when you called, yet you don’t seem pleased to see me.”  

She tilted her chin defiantly, delivering words that didn’t quite fit the situation.  

Though she hadn’t expected a warm welcome, it was clear Fertan had waited for her for some time. Placing the couch right at the entrance was likely meant to fluster her, but he must have been sitting there for quite a while.  

If he were to admit something vulnerable now, like “I’ve been waiting,” it would almost amuse her.  

With feigned nonchalance, Eleanor took her time looking around the garden.  

How would he retaliate?  

Balancing anticipation with apprehension, she turned as if preparing to leave.  

“How amusing.”  

Finally rising from the couch like a bear stretching its back, Fertan moved toward her.  

At the same moment, he pulled her sharply by the waist. Her body, light as a feather, was yanked against his abdomen.  

The sharp angle of his jawline evoked an inexplicable sense of dread. What she had intended as a minor provocation now felt like poking a dangerous beast.  

Wrapped around her waist like a tender lover, he guided her inside.  

He quickened his pace but refrained from further physical advances. In fact, he spoke very little, which only heightened her unease more than any provocative remark could have.  

As they passed through the hallway, his touch shifted from her side to her elbow. Even the subtle pressure of his fingertips on her arm felt acutely sensual. Without making any overtly strange movements, merely pressing lightly on her joints, his presence overwhelmed her senses.  

Their destination was clear: the bedroom from a week ago.  

Fertan, his lips tightly sealed, strode purposefully toward the space where they had tumbled together before.  

Despite knowing she should stop him—despite being aware that her engagement to the crown prince forbade further private encounters with Fertan—Eleanor found herself walking alongside him toward the upper floor.  

To halt his actions, she needed to protest immediately. The words “Wait, just a moment” hovered on the tip of her tongue.  

But ultimately, she said nothing.  

Instead, she hurried her steps, her shoe catching awkwardly on the hem of her dress.  

When she had left home earlier, she had resolved only to talk with Fertan. But after meeting him, she couldn’t help but crave one last embrace. And as they traversed the long corridor and the bedroom door opened, a rebellious thought crossed her mind: Why shouldn’t she have a secret lover, just as the crown prince did?  

Even if that lover happened to be Fertan Clyce d’Aiblein, the sole legitimate heir of the late emperor and leader of a faction opposing the current emperor.  

What did royal bloodlines have to do with sex anyway?  

Names weren’t written on dicks, and all she craved was the beastly allure of his body.  

Titles and status were useless—and perhaps even obstacles—at times like these.  

As soon as the door closed behind them, Fertan wasted no time exploring the deep neckline of her dress.

He slipped his hand between her clothes, trying to grasp her breasts.

“Hot.”

As a sharp gasp escaped her lips, Fertan forcibly pulled down her clothing, and her left breast popped out over the frills of her dress.

He couldn’t wait a moment longer and eagerly took the exposed bud into his mouth.

Her improperly removed clothes were on the verge of tearing.

He kneaded her breast and sucked hard on the erect nipple. He was like a young animal, starved for its mother’s milk.

The man’s dark head clung tenaciously to her chest, burying his nose as he moved his head in rhythm with his fervent suckling.

Her breast, swollen on only one side, was unsightly yet stimulating. It felt as if all her nerves were concentrated there.

She arched her shoulders back so that Fertan could suckle her breast to his heart’s content. The sensation of his sucking was thrilling enough to give her goosebumps.

A sturdy hand supported her spine, which curved in a graceful arc. The nipple, caught between Fertan’s lips, was rubbed against his tongue and palate until it was flattened. He gently grazed the taut areola with his lower teeth, then gradually opened his mouth wider, drawing in more of her flesh. Half of her breast was devoured by Fertan.

He licked and smeared her breast with his saliva, as if marking his territory. He flicked her nipple rapidly up and down, then sucked on it again as if to tear it off.

While he indulged himself with her mouth and breasts, her body was soon completely bare.

Her body tilted onto the bed, and her shoes came off.

“Did you wait long?”

She asked Fertan teasingly, who seemed quite impatient.

But her own hands were trembling with excitement and tension as she fumbled with the man’s belt buckle.

The small metallic click of the buckle echoed loudly in her ears. She groped to unfasten the clasp, then brushed her fingertips against the bulge of his trousers.

His lower body twitched violently. Before Eleanor could pull it out, his long cock sprang up vertically with powerful elasticity.

The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed largely.

“You dare to provoke me, showing up only on the last day, acting like a fierce cat?”

He retorted in a rough tone, making it unclear whether he was angry or pouting. As he spoke, he impatiently tore off the remaining clothes.

Eleanor liked his disgruntled expression. She wanted to get back at him for teasing her so much last time, and also to provoke Fertan with provocative words.

Of course, it wasn’t easy to carry out her plan. Just then, his large, thick-knuckled hand caressed her hip in a suggestive way, confusing her mind.

His touch, gliding like an ice skater from her slender side to her navel and then down to her crotch, sent a tingling, thrilling sensation between her legs that made it hard to control her breathing.

Gasping softly, she provoked him with a sly remark.

“How long... huh... did you wait?”

Fertan’s eyebrows shot up like eagle wings.

She seemed to have succeeded in ruffling his feathers.

“If I had given you a three-day deadline, would I have been able to see you in three days?”

His obvious reaction to her question about waiting meant that he had clearly been waiting outside for a long time.

When she saw him outside by the couch, she was intimidated by his displeased demeanor, but on closer inspection, he really seemed to have been waiting anxiously for her.

“Isn’t it a bit much to come on so strong for just a hairpin?”

“If Eleanor hadn’t come by sunset, I was going to go to any noble’s house where the party was being held today, wearing your pin on my chest.”

“Fertan, please be reasonable...”

“It’s a shame, some interesting things could have happened.”

Fertan didn’t hide his eagerness for her. He didn’t bother to pretend otherwise, letting his feelings flow freely. He complained about her late arrival, frowned, and otherwise expressed his displeasure at the long wait.

Come to think of it, he had even threatened her to come, so he must have been very eager to see Eleanor again.

She had asked him a question to tease him a little, but she was rather taken aback by Fertan’s reproachful embrace.

He responded with the language of the flesh instead of words. He teased the area around her cunt, where sparse hairs grew, then curled his middle finger and delved into her core along the center line. His finger tapped at a sensitive spot.

Her lips parted in excitement.

Fertan groaned softly and licked between her slightly parted lips.

His voice was still displeased, but the sound of his throat vibrating as they rubbed their lips together was rather stimulating.

His hand didn’t stop, pushing into the wet center of her.

The stimulation was doubled with just one finger. The feeling of his touch filling her empty hole was like taking a bite of food when you’re incredibly hungry.

His finger slowly rubbed against her inner wall.

“Huh... uh.”

A sensual moan escaped her lips involuntarily. She gladly accepted Fertan’s tongue as he tried to invade her mouth.

His finger movements were similar to those of his cock. He moved it in and out like a shaft, and his fingertip touched a sensitive bump somewhere on her inner wall. Her body was quickly heating up, even without much foreplay.

This man, he’s too good.

Being touched by his hand felt just as good as the penetration of his cock.

“Weren’t you reluctant to come? Why are you sucking my fingers with your cunt like this? My fingers are going to peel.”

She felt a little embarrassed for having come so close to climaxing by herself.

But when she looked down, she saw him rubbing his erect member against her crotch with a messy hip movement. It wasn’t Eleanor who should be teased, but Fertan who was much more aroused.

Besides, look at that way of speaking, suitable only for the lower classes.

When did she ever suck his finger with her cunt?

Eleanor, unaware of how seductive her squirming cunt was, flared up instead. Feeling like she had found a point of attack, she chided him.

“If you had refrained from that elegant language befitting a grand duke, I might have come a day earlier.”

He stared intently at Eleanor. Sharp glints of light flashed within the artistic contours that stirred her heart.

His lips quickly pressed against Eleanor’s pertly raised eyes.

“Ha, so fucking hot.”

He pushed the head of his cock into the hole where he had inserted his fingers.

He hurriedly lowered his hips, filling her depths with his long, thick member.

“My cock seems to be broken. I’ve been leaking all day because of you, Eleanor.”

With a powerful thrust, he drove his cock to the hilt.

His cock, like a wooden log, filled the slick, wet passage with intense pressure. His hard glans rammed into the end wall.

“Stop saying such... ha, ugh.”

She tried to stop Fertan’s lewd words, but instead, she let out a moan mixed with a garbled cry that she herself couldn’t understand.

Like a fish in water, the speed of his thrusting increased. While kissing her panting lips, Fertan freely displayed his embarrassing eloquence.

“You like it when I say ‘cock, cock,’ and you spread your cunt wide open.”

He uttered such shocking words so casually.

The raw physical expressions sent shivers down her spine.

“That’s... uh-huh. No, I don’t.”

Fertan kissed her cheeks and ears evenly. He showered her face with moist kisses, blurring the lines between kisses and skinship.

“Restraint is out of the question. You can say something if you’re upset.”

His cock, filling her depths, began to stir. He slowly shook it, imprinting his touch on her.

His slightly curved cock, like an unstrung bow, gently rubbed against her inner wall. As he pulled back his hips, the mushroom-shaped rim of his glans caught on her vaginal opening, then slipped out with a soft pop.

He thrust in again, trying to pull out the inner flesh beyond her vaginal opening with his glans, like a hook.

The head of his cock swayed seductively. The amorous organs, rubbing against each other, repeatedly stuck together and separated within her cunt.

His glans popped out of her vaginal opening. Her insides felt parched. Her body had become so sensitive that she could feel the curve of his cock and the sinews of his shaft.

She swallowed her dry throat and let out a breathless sigh. Fertan’s mischievous teeth nipped at her chin, which she had raised high to feel the point of contact. He lightly scraped the surface of her skin with his lower teeth, as if to gnaw at her round chin.

Suddenly, he thrust his cock hard, making a loud thud, after a slow, reciprocating motion. It happened at the same time as he gave her a biting kiss on the spot where her artery passed just below her jawline.

He followed up with an even stronger blow. The collision was so intense that the depths of her cunt felt sore.

She felt the tension of his teeth on her chin, then was struck by the impact below, and Eleanor froze, holding her breath.

It felt like cracks were spreading through her body.

A tingling shock spread through her nerves and blood vessels.

“Ha... huh, uh...”

His heavy cock retreated slightly, then thrust in much deeper and harder.

He tightly squeezed the end of her inner wall, then eased up a little as she writhed in pain. His pressing was extremely wicked.

She knew his intention to torment her when he twisted his lips at the peak of her climax.

“Does my cock taste good?”

Was he trying to humiliate her with such words?

“Ha, a little...”

“Say it. Say Fertan’s cock tastes fucking delicious.”

As the tremors that had been rippling through her inner wall gradually subsided, he turned Eleanor’s waist to the side.

He lifted one of her limp legs high onto his sturdy shoulder, spreading her lower body wide like a pair of scissors.

His words were still a mess. His provocative words pierced her ears and made her heart pound.

“Your cunt chews so tightly, hoo... Are you trying to cut off my cock and take it home?”

“That’s ridiculous... ugh, it hurts, hot!”

He hastily thrust his cock deep inside her. With his crooked member, as if refusing any rebuttal, he probed the side of her vaginal wall. A twisted passage, an attack skewed to one side. The sensation was so intense it brought tears to her eyes.

His large testicles were tightly wedged between her thighs. With their lower bodies misaligned, the depth of penetration was greater than when they were face-to-face, but the more significant issue was that the tip of his cock was only stabbing towards the leg that was raised.

His scrotum, rubbing against her labia minora, was soaked and made a messy, squelching sound.

The fluid that continuously leaked from her opening moistened his base and the sac below, leaving no time to dry. The pair of round flesh masses slid and stimulated her inner thighs and cunt area.

Because he raised his upper body, their faces were further apart, allowing her to see his lewd hip movements in detail. It was forced into her sight, even if she didn’t want to see it.

His clearly defined abdominal muscles moved rhythmically. His hips bent elastically as if riding a horse, and when he quickly straightened, the base of his cock whipped her cunt. The bulging veins on his taut lower abdomen showed that he was also overflowing with excitement.

As if scratching her side, his cock scraped the side of her inner wall. The swollen glans ruthlessly dug into one direction.

He seemed to find the sideways position comfortable, judging by his nonchalant expression and continuous rapid movements.

Eleanor writhed uncontrollably, but he firmly grasped her slender ankle on his shoulder and thrust his cock with a frenzied energy.

“Does it hurt, or is it good? Or are you the type who feels more when it hurts?”

Her pale hands flailed in the air.

Fertan’s chest was out of her reach, so she couldn’t grab anything. Like a cat with its claws out, her knuckles formed sharp angles. After flailing, all she could grab was the crumpled sheet.

“Please, go ea... haa... easy...”

As he chuckled under his breath, it seemed as if devil’s horns were appearing on his dark head.

“Perfect timing. I also like thrusting hard. We’re a perfect match, aren’t we?”

His mind-numbing language was excessively lewd, and the kisses nibbling on her ankle were extremely lascivious.

The relentless thrusting of his cock made her insides ache.

Eleanor was losing herself in ecstasy, but he blatantly licked her calf. As if tasting food, he traced a long line from her ankle bone upwards.

While the saliva dried coldly like the trail of a snake, his persistent lips imprinted warm heat on the hollow spot inside her ankle. A subtle tickle bloomed from the rough lower intercourse point, transforming into a dizzying sensation.

“Uhh, huh... Fertan, ha...”

She felt the hairs on her ankle stand on end. Her toes spread apart as he licked. Then, as the cock rammed into her cunt swayed up and down, she curled her toes like a hedgehog with a fiery thrill.

She shuddered.

Every time the heavy glans rammed into her cervix, the thrill repeated.

Fertan counted with a wicked smile, “How many times is this?” He watched her climax openly, his spine rocking violently like a spring. With bulging tendons in his lower abdomen, he flicked his cock hard. As his testicles swelled like a balloon about to burst and he thrust violently, the sound of friction was loud.

She couldn’t count the moments of pleasure on her fingers. The primal physical sensations didn’t stop, as small and large waves came and went inside her.

She felt Fertan’s cum flowing inside her. A large amount of fluid was already filling her wet valley, as if pouring water into it.

“Hoo... fuck, ha, amazing.”

His embedded cock pulsed erratically.

She vividly felt the sensation of cum spurting out along his long shaft.

After a long while, when Eleanor tried to lower her aching legs, which were too sore to move on their own, he ruthlessly pulled them back up.

His hips, which had paused briefly, began to sway slowly again.

“Ugh, Fertan!”

Her body flipped over. From behind her back, Fertan embraced her like a net, pressing his lower body close to hers to prevent his cock from slipping out.

“Don’t run away.”

“Wait, ha. Fertan.”

As exhausted Eleanor tried to push him away with the last of her strength, he lightly clicked his tongue and released the leg he was holding. As if bestowing great mercy, he laid her body on its side. Fertan also bent his legs and waist to match the S-shaped curve of her body.

She felt the man’s heartbeat on her shoulder blade. Hot pulses also beat around their joined genitals.

“Ha... I’m horny again.”

His consistently hard member, which hadn’t softened, swayed slowly as if trying to be considerate of Eleanor. It felt even slicker as it swam through the cave filled with cum.

With gentle hip movements, Fertan gathered her hair to one side and kissed her deeply behind her ear.

“You have to go home before sunset, right? Let’s keep it in until then.”

Was he saying they should do this all day? She almost blurted out that he was completely insane.

“I can’t anymore, ugh...”

His thick cock struck her hard.

“Just keep your cunt open. I’ll keep making you feel good like this.”

The speed, which had been as if rubbing her inner wall, suddenly changed, and when Eleanor groaned and showed signs of distress, it became gentle again. His attitude of mingling bodies was extremely kind and friendly, but it revealed a firmness that did not allow refusal.

There had been no room for conversation. The two of them communicated solely through the language of their bodies.  

One intense session of sex seamlessly bled into the next. Fertan climaxed three times, while Eleanor was pushed to the brink of exhaustion, experiencing wave after wave of pleasure too numerous to count. They remained entangled in the throes of instinctual passion until the sun hung high in the sky.  

At some point, she drifted off, unsure whether she had fainted or simply fallen into a brief nap. When she came to, Fertan was kneading her hips and abdomen with his hands.  

“Your stomach is far too flat.”  

He meticulously inspected her waistline, as if critiquing it.  

“Stop touching me. I’m not your pet,” Eleanor protested, attempting to sit up.  

Even as he helped her into her robe, Fertan couldn’t resist teasing her further.  

“My apologies—I mistook you for a prickly new kitten I’d adopted.”  

No matter how coldly she glared at him, it had little effect. Fertan possessed a razor-sharp wit that never allowed for a moment’s complacency.  

Feeling too disheveled to venture outside, they ended up having lunch in the bedroom. A proper meal was laid out on the expansive bed, far larger than any dining table. On plates the size of shields sat steaks far too large for her usual appetite, their juices glistening invitingly.  

Fertan ate with elegant table manners but at an impressive speed, devouring his steak with gusto. There was something undeniably attractive about how heartily he ate.  

Yet, he kept glancing at her plate with dissatisfaction. He piled more salad onto her dish, pushed the bread basket closer, and created a veritable mountain of food around her main course.  

After finishing his meal first, he frowned at the small piece of meat on her fork.  

“Eat more. You must be starving after all that exertion.”  

“I’m eating plenty, thank you.”  

As she set down her utensils and reached for her glass of water, Fertan suddenly picked up a cherry and held it to her lips. His gaze was unmistakably coercive.  

The atmosphere suggested that refusing would invite trouble. Resigning herself to endure this once for politeness’ sake, she opened her mouth. Without hesitation, Fertan popped the cherry in, immediately grabbing a stick of cheese next.  

Why was he behaving so insistently? It felt almost like they were in a relationship. Under his piercing stare urging her to chew and swallow quickly, she nearly choked on the cherry.  

“What on earth are you doing?”  

The moment the cherry slid down her throat, he shoved a small piece of cheese between her lips.  

“What do you mean?”  

“Why… why are you acting like we’re close?”  

Her words stumbled awkwardly, but it was true—they weren’t close. Their physical intimacy had been overwhelming, yet they’d barely exchanged meaningful conversation as people should.  

Even Fertan, with his sharp nose wrinkling slightly, couldn’t outright deny it.  

Instead, he dropped a bombshell even more shocking. Amidst the bizarre atmosphere of him feeding her, he made a startling declaration.  

“Eleanor, you were originally mine.”  

His expression, staring straight at her, carried not a trace of jest.  

“What do you mean?”  

“I always intended to reclaim you when the time came. But since fate brought us together now, it’s all worked out well. Let’s build our rapport from here on out.”  

Eleanor was utterly baffled. She and Fertan didn’t share any significant memories from the past.  

The earliest encounter she could recall was fleeting—a brief crossing of paths when she was still young, accompanying Princess Lucena to the palace. After her debut into society, she had only ever noticed him from afar at various banquets.  

Fertan’s abrupt advances left her flustered. Just as their physical relationship skipped all intermediate stages, so too did his conversational approach barrel forward without warning. Typically, interactions allowed for some mental preparation, but he bulldozed far beyond the boundaries she had set.  

Though they needed to explore each other further through dialogue, one thing grated on her nerves: Eleanor despised being referred to as someone’s possession.  

“Why am I yours? I’m just an independent person.”  

In truth, her sensitivity to such phrasing stemmed from Leonard, the crown prince, who had long marked her as his future bride, often referring to her as “mine.” With no other suitable candidates, everyone had tacitly accepted Leonard’s claims. As a result, her marriage had been decided smoothly, leaving no room for her personal feelings.  

Though her emotional wounds stemmed from Leonard, she couldn’t confront him directly. Instead, she redirected her frustration toward Fertan.  

“Of course, Eleanor, you are an independent individual. And an influential one at that. What I mean is that you belong by my side, not Leonard’s.”  

“…?”  

Confused, she tilted her head to the side.  

“The late emperor decreed it. He said you would make a fine match for me.”  

Through her wavering gaze, she caught sight of Fertan calmly tearing apart another piece of cheese. Before she could protest, another bite was already in her mouth, puffing out her cheeks like a squirrel.  

Suddenly, the broader currents surrounding the imperial succession began to take shape in Eleanor’s mind.  

“So…”  

This wasn’t merely Fertan jokingly staking a claim on her or secretly indulging in a midday affair. If what he said was true, it changed everything.  

Assuming his words held merit, it was entirely plausible. Fertan’s fate had shifted dramatically after the late emperor—his father—passed away. At the time, Eleanor had been only six years old, perhaps too young for an official engagement. Still, it was possible that the late emperor had mentioned their connection before his death.

Was this the reason he had persistently begged her to come to his mansion?  

“From the very beginning, Eleanor, you were meant to be my bride. I’ve never thought of anyone else as a lover or bed partner.”  

His blunt, emotionless delivery struck Eleanor as oddly unfamiliar.  

“Did your connection with me in childhood mean that much to you?”  

She asked cautiously, though part of her struggled to understand how someone could hold onto emotions from such a young age for so long. She studied him carefully, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words.  

“Meaning? No. I simply didn’t have the luxury of thinking about women or romance. As far as my bride is concerned, time froze for me when the late emperor was still alive.”  

At last, Eleanor nodded slightly. It made sense—fate and destiny didn’t seem like concepts that suited him.  

Lost in thought, she chewed her food slowly, prompting Fertan to poke her cheek impatiently. He seemed unusually invested in her eating habits.  

“You don’t believe me, do you? You still buy into those rumors about me being some kind of nocturnal villain who seduces countless women. But trust me, I’ve been too busy surviving to have any leisure for sex until now.”  

“So, how did those rumors even start?”  

Fertan shrugged casually, replying smoothly:  

“I created the image because it served a purpose.”  

“What purpose?”  

“Anyway, Eleanor, how does it feel knowing that the so-called ‘night villain,’ who supposedly sleeps around, was actually a virgin when we slept together? Were you disappointed that our dirty little romp wasn’t as filthy as you imagined?”  

Just moments ago, they’d been having a serious conversation, and now all he could talk about was sex. Was this a glimpse into his peculiar mindset, or was he deliberately steering things this way?  

Eleanor leaned her head back to avoid him shoving another cheese stick into her mouth, scrunching her face slightly to show her reluctance. But Fertan, undeterred, moved closer and sat right beside her.  

This pattern of behavior—escalating whenever she resisted—was becoming familiar enough to make her wonder if he thrived on opposition.  

“Surviving? Are you saying there were assassination threats against you?”  

The current emperor wasn’t known for aggression. Throughout his reign, he had maintained a quiet, uneventful rule, leading to whispers that he was more of a figurehead than an active ruler.  

But perhaps he treated the late emperor’s son differently. The veiled power struggles within the imperial family were mysteries even to the nobility, and no rumors had reached Eleanor’s ears.  

Her brow furrowed as she posed the question seriously, but Fertan remained infuriatingly nonchalant.  

“The key point is that I was horny.”  

His slick tone grated on her nerves, as did his constant fixation on sex.  

After rinsing her mouth with water from a crystal glass infused with lime, Eleanor stopped resisting his attempts to feed her. Instead, he slid his hand under the cushion of her chair and lifted her effortlessly into his arms. His decadent charm—the hallmark of the infamous rake, Fertan—was on full display as he narrowed his sultry eyes.  

Through the gaping front of her robe, his tawny nipples stood out obscenely.  

Having just dropped a weighty topic, he now carried her back to the bed with a brazen smirk, clearly intent on resuming their lovemaking after a brief meal. With careless ease, he stripped off her clothes and began kneading her breasts.  

Was he a man without thought, or one harboring immense cunning? His hazy, lust-filled gaze offered no insight into the depths of Fertan’s mind.  

Unable—or unwilling—to conceal his raw desire, his lips wrapped around her pert nipple. He teased it gently with the softness of his mouth before sucking it deeply, drawing it fully into his mouth along with its areola.  

He sucked hard, creating a wet, smacking sound, flicking it teasingly until her nipple turned a deep shade of red. His large hands pressed down on her breast, embedding the sensation deep within her.  

As he moved from one breast to the other, he somehow found time to toss out a casual remark amidst his busy ministrations.  

“So, Lady Eleanor… since you’ve taken a man’s purity, shouldn’t you take responsibility for it?”  

It was an absurd claim. Why should she bear responsibility for Fertan?  

Though she bristled inwardly, something in her heart shifted. She hadn’t believed his earlier assertion that she was his first, but now, somehow, the idea intrigued her. Their relationship had transformed from one of indifference to one tied by a faint thread of childhood connection, and with it came a sliver of belief.  

Stripping away the perception of him as the worst kind of rake, what kind of man was Fertan, really?  

His touch was intoxicating, yet his true nature remained elusive. His techniques left her writhing in pleasure, and his massive cock filled her so completely that she could barely breathe.  

She stole a guarded glance at his chiseled forehead and jawline, reminiscent of the statues displayed in the Imperial Gallery.  

“Hmm… you’re handsome.”  

Her honest slip escaped before she could stop it. She bit her lip belatedly, but Fertan’s sidelong glance told her the damage was already done.  

He chuckled mischievously, his voice playful.  

“What part of me do you find so appealing? My cock? My face?”  

Any attempt to backtrack would be futile—he had already seen through her and was thoroughly pleased with himself.  

Eleanor turned her neck, which was beginning to flush pink, away from him, avoiding his delighted expression. Even as his kisses trailed up her neck and tugged playfully at her earlobe, she feigned ignorance.  

Realistically speaking, continuing to meet secretly with Fertan was incredibly dangerous.

For a fleeting moment, Eleanor considered the idea of becoming his mistress—but he wasn’t the kind of man who would settle for such a position. These days, the mistresses frequenting Leonard’s palace were mostly wives of barons or lower-ranking nobility. Even if, in the future, the crown prince were to publicly acknowledge a mistress after his empress bore an heir, the role would likely be filled by someone no higher than a countess.  

But Fertan? A member of the imperial family—and a direct descendant of the late emperor at that? Preposterous.  

Knowing full well how hopeless it was, Eleanor steeled herself to confirm his intentions as she prepared to end their relationship.  

“I’m getting married soon. There’s no future for us.”  

“…I heard.”  

“Even so, you still want me to keep coming here?”  

“I told you—I’ll take you back.”  

“No matter what scheme you’re hatching, Fertan…”  

Eleanor turned her gaze toward him briefly, their noses brushing delicately against each other.  

“After the wedding… will you become the crown princess’s kept man?”  

He froze like a statue, his expression unreadable. Through their pressed bodies, she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, warm and calm. Without excitement or heightened emotion, Fertan quietly held her amethyst eyes with his own.  

Eleanor hadn’t meant to mock or jest. Her words were an indirect way of conveying that they should no longer meet privately—a warning not to summon her again.  

If they continued this affair, the only foreseeable outcome was Fertan sneaking in and out of the palace’s back door—a role unbefitting a grand duke.  

Yet suddenly, his sardonic smirk softened into a relaxed curve.  

“A kept man, you say…”  

Fertan drew out the words lazily, twirling a strand of her platinum-blonde hair around his finger. Despite the potentially humiliating question, he remained infuriatingly composed—perhaps even amused.  

“Should I humbly offer myself to you? Hmm, sounds good. I think I’d be quite good at it.”  

It was absurd.  

With a sigh-like exasperation, Eleanor called his name pointedly.  

“Fertan!”  

“I’ll gladly accept.”  

“Accept what? I’m not asking you to be my lover—I’m saying we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”  

“You brought it up. I won’t step aside.”  

Unlike her, who wrestled with doubts, Fertan stayed firmly within the bounds of playful indulgence.  

He shifted her body over his, forcing her into a straddling position. In her haste to avoid crushing him, she propped herself up on her elbows, but miscalculated the distance, bumping her forehead lightly against his.  

Fertan grinned widely, exposing his teeth in a mischievous smile. When he twitched his nose slightly, he almost looked like a fresh-faced youth newly come of age.  

So this was another side of him. His dark hair fanned out on the sheets, and his eyes gleamed like distant stars scattered across a somber night sky.  

“There’s nothing left to negotiate—we can’t be together. You know that, Fertan.”  

Ignoring her protests, he spread her legs and aligned her hips with his fully erect cock. Eleanor tried to resist by tensing her thighs, but when his broad palm pressed firmly against her lower back, her strength faltered, and she began sinking down involuntarily.  

“Kiss me.”  

The tip of his tongue flicked teasingly, intoxicating her senses.  

“Forget the kiss—why don’t we skip straight to fucking? You love my cock, don’t you, Eleanor?”  

His decadent words elicited an involuntary sigh from her as he relentlessly tempted her deepest instincts.  

Their connection was one where the body led while the mind lagged behind. He was an enigma as a person, yet his sexual prowess bordered on perfection.  

Before she knew it, Eleanor found herself ensnared once more in his large, unyielding embrace, unable to make any decisions about him.  

Only after meeting Fertan did Eleanor realize just how weak her mental fortitude truly was.  

Never before had instinct overridden reason—but now, her instincts reigned supreme, and her mind felt as filthy as a sewer.  

She had given up pretending to be pious and flipping through the holy scriptures. No matter how hard she tried to focus on its archaic contents, it was futile. The image of Fertan’s bare torso, every chiseled muscle vivid and tangible, lingered far more vividly than any scripture ever could. She had been ignorant of the sweetness of physical pleasure once—but now, her body remembered all too well.  

Before, after their first encounter, she had merely burned with longing. But after the second time, she couldn’t stop reliving every detail, replaying it endlessly in her mind.  

The refreshing sensation of him entering her, the tightness as he filled her completely, the sharp ache that brought tears to her eyes when he thrust deeply—it all haunted her.  

‘How could something as trivial as sex consume me so thoroughly…?’  

Even as she berated herself, she could no longer ignore the gravity of the situation.  

While primping in front of the mirror, her hands hidden beneath the folds of her skirt clenched and unclenched repeatedly, cold from anxiety. Her thoughts were consumed by Fertan.  

‘I hate Fertan. From his swaggering attitude to his vulgar behavior, there’s nothing about him I like.’  

She had lost her temper countless times, even going so far as to throw punches in anger—something unimaginable for her usual self. Conversing calmly with him was proving nearly impossible.

At times, Eleanor wondered if Fertan was deliberately behaving this way. Even when she had brought up the idea of him becoming a kept man, his calm acceptance made her suspicious. His composed demeanor felt far removed from any normal reaction.  

In the mirror, she saw herself exhale a sigh laden with anguish. Her lady-in-waiting, Evelyn, asked if something was troubling her, but Eleanor couldn’t bring herself to confide in anyone.  

‘Will I end up seeing him again? Will we become… secret lovers?’  

The mere thought of another clandestine rendezvous with Fertan sent a dull ache through her lower abdomen. Her body reacted instinctively to him.  

Unable to erase Fertan from her mind, Eleanor briefly considered finding a substitute—a man whose sole purpose would be pleasure. If that was all she sought, she could simply hire someone handsome and well-built. Like Leonard, who kept mistresses, she could find a partner to warm her bed and provide nothing more than physical satisfaction.  

On her way out, Eleanor encountered one of the guards stationed at the mansion. He was young, with a decent enough appearance, and had served the House of Roland for years, so there was little risk of him betraying any secrets.  

But as she entertained the thought of getting closer to him, her perspective shifted unpleasantly. The greasy strands of his hair suddenly repulsed her, and the faint, unwashed odor that clung to him as he passed by was particularly off-putting.  

In contrast, Fertan’s immaculate grooming came to mind, starkly highlighting the differences between the two men. What had once been an indifferent detail about the guard now became a glaring flaw, forcing Eleanor to maintain a neutral expression with great effort. She hurriedly signaled for the carriage to depart, breathing in the fresh breeze that flowed through the window.  

The carriage carrying Eleanor came to a stop in front of the Imperial Opera House.  

Today marked a performance hosted by the royal ballet troupe, drawing many invited guests. It was another grand event following closely on the heels of the recent banquet, and the palace frequently held such performances for the nobility residing near the capital.  

She had heard that during the late emperor’s reign, events weren’t held as frequently. While some worried about the financial expenditures, the prevailing opinion favored indulging in pleasures while they lasted.  

Eleanor leaned toward the skeptical side but refrained from voicing her opinions on such matters. As the future crown princess, it was wiser to keep her thoughts to herself.  

Seated alongside close acquaintances in a box on the second floor, she watched the ballet performance unfold.  

Though the dancers’ movements were exquisite, Eleanor found it impossible to focus. Not far away, the royal box loomed within her peripheral vision, and every so often, she felt Leonard’s piercing gaze. It wasn’t distant enough to ignore, subtly lingering within her line of sight, making her increasingly uncomfortable.  

Leonard showed no interest in what transpired on stage. His pale face and hollow eyes stood out eerily against the dim lighting.  

When the first act ended, an intermission began. Most attendees took advantage of the break to indulge in desserts laid out in the hall outside the theater.  

Though Eleanor wasn’t particularly hungry, she left her seat to avoid Leonard’s scrutiny. While her companions went to grab light snacks, she lingered near a corner with only a drink in hand.  

Even standing alone, she wasn’t entirely isolated. A familiar count’s son approached her for a brief chat, soon joined by others. This was a common occurrence whenever Eleanor attended social gatherings.  

Amidst the bustling crowd, however, a distinct presence caught her attention.  

A figure taller than most, clad in opulent attire that screamed vanity, exuded an unmistakable aura.  

Though Fertan had always kept his distance in the past, his gaze now carried a new weight.  

Suddenly tense, Eleanor’s shoulders stiffened. No one else seemed to notice yet, but under Fertan’s lascivious stare, she feared her flushed cheeks would soon betray her.  

“Excuse me. There’s someone I need to greet.”  

Slipping away from the circle of young men, she moved gracefully toward the back of the hall.  

A small exit leading to the garden caught her eye. The gentle evening breeze cooled her heated cheeks slightly.  

She wondered when she’d hear Fertan’s voice, straining her ears without daring to look around.  

But before any sound reached her, a long shadow fell over her shoulder. An imposing figure—tall and broad enough to overshadow her completely—was already standing right behind her.  

“You’re quite the mischievous kitten, aren’t you?”  

His teasing tone, devoid of malice, still stirred something within her.  

Turning sharply, she found Fertan smirking, pulling her waist toward him with a natural ease.  

“Why don’t you just label me your cat sitter? Would raising your slit-pupiled eyes mean you want to see me?”  

“Say something that makes sense.”  

“Miaow~ and I might come running to serve you faithfully.”  

The back of his thick fingers brushed lightly against her powdered cheek like a whisper. His sultry gaze drifted to her crimson-painted lips.  

He refrained from any behavior that might ruin her makeup. With an expression simmering with desire, he mimed a kiss above her lips, producing a soft “chuu” sound for his own amusement.  

It was an absurdly flirtatious gesture, yet undeniably sexy. A dull throbbing sensation spread beneath her left ribcage. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his slightly pursed lips.  

“I never called for you. In fact, your excessive staring made me uncomfortable.”  

“Lying is an art best tailored to your audience. If your intention was to provoke me, consider it a success.”  

He fiddled with her gloved hand, emitting a low, dissatisfied groan. His palm lazily traced from her wrist to her fingertips. Given the public setting, even Fertan had to settle for restrained, almost innocent touches.  

“How about we skip the rest of the ballet and leave?”  

Eleanor opened her mouth to decline, citing the friends watching the performance with her, when his demeanor abruptly shifted.

And then, just like that, he vanished from sight.  

She saw his figure dart away, but it was so fast she couldn’t tell where he had gone. Eleanor looked around in bewilderment, unable to hide her confusion.  

“Eleanor…”  

Another voice approached her—Leonard, the crown prince. His soft, thin tone called out to her as if he had been anxiously searching for her all along. He stood close, his steps hurried and eager.  

“I greet Your Highness.”  

His face lit up with a smile, though the dark circles under his eyes were pronounced. According to palace rumors, he wasn’t ill, but his gaunt frame and ghostly pallor made him look perpetually frail, almost consumptive.  

Leonard acted unusually familiar, as though they were intimate lovers sharing more than just public courtesies.  

“Why didn’t you come to the royal box? You’re now officially my bride-to-be; only the date remains to be set.”  

Though he treated her kindly, Eleanor found it hard to believe this demeanor reflected his true nature. Secret reports from the crown prince’s palace described him as not just prickly but outright cruel—treating those beneath him as less than human.  

“Thank you for your consideration. From now on, I’ll stay by Your Highness’s side.”  

Still, Eleanor responded appropriately, adhering to the natural progression of their engagement. At this stage, there was no turning back. It was time to present herself alongside Leonard at banquets and events, showcasing their union to the public eye.  

With years of practice, Eleanor sculpted her smile into an impeccable mask, gently lifting the corners of her lips.  

Her demure expression seemed to satisfy Leonard immensely, as his face softened with evident pleasure.  

“You have no idea how much I’ve longed for the day I’ll welcome you as my own. His Majesty has considered a wedding in autumn, but I requested we hold it before summer arrives. Wouldn’t a bride beneath the blossoms be far lovelier than one amidst fallen leaves?”  

“Isn’t that too soon? If we aim for before the heat sets in, we’d only have a couple of months…”  

“You echo His Majesty’s thoughts exactly. He insists on thorough preparations to create a marriage ceremony worthy of history, while I prefer only the essential formalities. What do you think, Eleanor?”  

It was difficult to choose between the lesser of two options: a historically grand wedding or one hastily arranged within a few months.  

“Both have their merits and drawbacks. I’ll need some time to consider.”  

It was unsurprising that Leonard eagerly anticipated their marriage down to the precise date.  

To him, Eleanor was the most glittering prize he could claim in matrimony. Her beauty was unmatched, and her influence in social circles immense. Moreover, the House of Roland would serve as a steadfast ally during his reign.  

Yet, nothing about Leonard suggested he would make a faithful husband. Based on what she knew of his character, his private life would likely remain unchanged even after their vows.  

He scrutinized her body as if appraising a priceless artifact, from her waist to the top of her head. Satisfied with his assessment, his thin lips wriggled like worms.  

When Leonard opened his arms to embrace her, she couldn’t outright refuse. His dry, stick-like arms encircled her shoulders, forcing her to press her bare neck and chest against his fully-clothed form.  

She braced herself, tensing the muscles in her legs beneath her skirt to avoid leaning into him. While her upper body remained pliant, her lower half worked furiously to maintain balance, like a bird floundering through mud.  

“Why don’t you relax a little? A stiff woman is hardly charming.”  

Eleanor subtly pushed him away, glancing toward the distant hall.  

“So many people have come to enjoy the ballet today.”  

They both understood each other’s intentions to some extent. Eleanor played her part, maintaining propriety, while Leonard feigned affection to secure the ideal empress.  

But no matter how much they masked their interactions with politeness and etiquette, repeated rejections eventually soured Leonard’s mood. In a flash of irritation, his true feelings slipped out.  

His sharp, hissing words pierced her ear like venom.  

“Don’t play too hard to get. The more you act haughty, the harsher your treatment will be in my bedchamber later.”  

The icy breath brushing her ear carried unmistakable sincerity. The hand trailing down her side felt like a snake coiling around her, sending shivers down her spine.  

“…!”  

Wide-eyed and frozen, she stared straight ahead, unable to speak. Facing his unsettling expression up close would surely reveal the goosebumps rising on her skin.  

Leonard, realizing his slip, awkwardly tried to backtrack, his gaze stinging her now-stiffened cheek.  

“Ah, forgive me. I meant we’ll share passionate nights together.”  

Reluctantly, he released her, stepping back half a pace. His feigned affection dripped with insincerity as he retreated, pretending impatience to wait for her.  

Eleanor, visibly shaken but striving to maintain composure, didn’t miss the fact that Leonard noticed her alarm. No excuses were necessary. With a formal bow, he excused himself and left.  

Quickly turning toward the cool breeze, Eleanor exhaled the breath she had been holding.  

“Haa…”  

Her fingertips trembled faintly, and the ear Leonard had breathed into was now covered in goosebumps.  

The prospect of spending her life with that man felt suffocating.  

There was no way to defy the marriage arranged by the imperial household; she would have to endure whatever came her way.  

While the emperor and empress’s union was rooted in political interests, far removed from the simplicity of commoners’ marriages, Eleanor couldn’t escape the duty of bearing Leonard’s heir. She would have to lie with him, spread her legs, and accept his body inside hers—a thought that filled her with dread.

As she stepped over the threshold, Eleanor gazed at the neatly trimmed garden trees in the side courtyard bathed in the twilight. The trees—perfect ovals and cones—stood like soldiers in formation, evenly spaced apart.  

What had once satisfied her with their disciplined beauty now mingled uncomfortably with the lingering unease left by Leonard’s words. Everything in her sight felt artificial, as if nothing were real except for the breeze gently ruffling her hair near her ear.  

She mentally calculated the impending marriage as if shifting abacus beads.  

Eleanor would be granted the Crown Princess’s quarters, so she wouldn’t have to face Leonard daily. In public settings, she wouldn’t need to worry about his erratic behavior.  

The issue lay in the monthly obligation to share a bed until she conceived. How many times per month? Twice? Three times? Each count weighed heavier on her heart.  

“You’re getting wrinkles.”  

“Kyaa!”  

Out of nowhere, Fertan’s voice came from above her head.  

Suddenly, he swung down upside-down, his annoyingly handsome face rushing toward her like an arrow.  

Startled by her own small scream, Eleanor quickly glanced around to see if anyone had heard. From afar, the hall buzzed with people enjoying snacks and drinks between acts, oblivious to the secluded corner of the opera house where she now stood alone.  

Fertan dangled casually from the doorway’s threshold, his ankles hooked onto the marble frame above. There was no visible gap or foothold for him to balance on—it was as if he defied gravity entirely.  

Tilting her head up, Eleanor watched his absurd acrobatics with bewilderment.  

“You really… look like a monkey.”  

The unfiltered observation slipped out before she could stop it. It was the kind of remark she’d never dare say to Leonard—or anyone else, for that matter. Having lived her life bound by strict etiquette, she had never insulted someone by comparing them to an animal.  

Fertan grinned, folding one corner of his eye mischievously.  

“It’s true, I do have excellent athleticism. Thanks for the compliment.”  

His voice vibrated with genuine amusement, clearly delighted by her unguarded reaction. He rocked himself back and forth like a swing, his hair sticking out in all directions like a hedgehog. Oblivious to how ridiculous he looked, he chuckled smugly.  

Eleanor placed a hand on his exposed forehead, which jutted out due to his inverted position. His jacket sagged under gravity, making his usually long neck appear half its length.  

Though tempted to tease him further, no biting words came to mind. She wasn’t accustomed to cruelty, and even her earlier “monkey” comment made her feel guilty. Instead, she tried to adjust his disheveled appearance into something more human-like.  

“Come down already. You’ll hurt yourself.”  

Her fingertips traced the sharp line of his jaw carefully. Handsome—he was undeniably handsome. Where else could she find such beauty? Her fleeting thought of hiring a substitute for Fertan vanished instantly.  

The radius of his swinging gradually narrowed. With his lips still parted in a smirk, he tilted his face slightly to allow her fingers to glide smoothly over it.  

Here was a man whose movements rivaled those of an assassin evading detection, yet here he was showing off his agility while dangling upside-down. But somehow, seeing him like this softened his otherwise villainous demeanor.  

His arched eyes remained sultry, framed by thick lashes resting on plump eyelids.  

“Seeing you from this angle isn’t bad at all.”  

Though spoken lightly, his words caught her attention. Even without meaning to, her heart stirred at the implication.  

Fertan pressed his quivering lips against the palm of her hand, leaving a warm, circular breath against her skin.  

His slanted gaze, playful and teasing, sent shivers through her. As he wrinkled the bridge of his nose habitually and winked, Eleanor felt as though she were being ensnared by an incubus.  

It wasn’t her will driving her actions—it was as if her soul had abandoned her body. Like a marionette, she rose onto her tiptoes, aligning her height with his.  

Impulsively, her lips flew toward his.  

Her small, soft lips brushed against his sharply defined ones. Their upper lips met briefly, and she lightly sucked on the moist inner membrane. Though only slightly inside the usual boundary of skin, the sensation was entirely different, electrifying.  

Her heart raced chaotically.  

Her body tingled, especially between her legs.  

After lingering for just a moment, her lips slid away as if realizing the mistake. She clicked her heels together, retreating to her original spot as if nothing had happened. Internally, however, she was flustered by the fact that she had initiated the kiss.  

He looked oddly dazed, perhaps from hanging upside-down too long, blood rushing to his head. Surprisingly, his usual cocky response didn’t follow.  

“The intermission is about to end. I should go back upstairs.”  

After wiping the faint trace of lipstick from his lips with her fingertip, she hurriedly stepped back.  

Eleanor needed time alone to analyze what she had just done. Had she succumbed to physical attraction and kissed him impulsively? Most likely, yes. She resolved to reinforce this logical train of thought.  

With the grace of a falling leaf carried by the wind, he leapt down silently. The lack of impact noise made her startled heel clicks echo louder instead.  

“Wait, Eleanor.”  

His large strides closed the distance faster than her hesitant retreat. Before she could evade, he caught up to her completely. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with his natural musk stimulated her senses anew. His actions, his gaze, even the faintest trace of his fragrance—all of it affected her acutely.  

Her voice trembled as she clumsily tried to explain herself, fearing he might see through her failed attempts to suppress her physical reactions to him.  

“Crown Prince Leonard asked me to return to the royal box. If I linger here any longer...”  

At that moment, voices approached from the hall.  

“Eleanor, it’s time to head back upstairs.”

It was Leonard. He had clearly come looking for her.  

He acted as though she were already his bride, officially recognized by all, and his behavior suggested he viewed her as an important prize not to be lost. Perhaps she was overthinking it, but the possessiveness in his demeanor was hard to ignore.  

Unwilling to risk rejection again, he grabbed her elbow without preamble.  

“Do you hear the music starting? Let’s go upstairs.”  

There was no one else around—just Eleanor and Leonard. He didn’t seem to notice Fertan lurking nearby.  

“Yes… let’s go.”  

Eleanor couldn’t pull her arm away or resist without causing a scene. Though she felt like livestock being led to the slaughterhouse, she maintained the serene expression expected of a noble lady.  

This was a time when Eleanor needed to sort out her thoughts. For several days, she refrained from going out, focusing instead on preparing herself mentally for the future that awaited her.  

Upon reflection, Leonard wasn’t such a flawed match. Keeping mistresses was common among the nobility, especially among royalty and high-ranking aristocrats. In fact, those without mistresses were rare exceptions.  

His appearance wasn’t particularly unattractive either. Sure, compared to someone like Fertan, he might fall short—but honestly, he was about average. Besides, scrutinizing the crown prince’s looks was almost laughable. He wasn’t an elderly man in his seventies; he was physically fit with no glaring flaws.  

As for his reportedly cruel tendencies—rumors of him beating servants or guards to death—it wasn’t as if those actions would directly affect her. She could simply turn a blind eye and ensure she avoided becoming a target herself.  

After the day at the opera house, where she played the role of future crown princess seated beside Leonard in the royal box, their wedding preparations accelerated rapidly. Many had seen her there, and the emperor granted Leonard’s request to move the date forward.  

In just two months, she would leave the Roland estate where she had grown up and begin living in the palace.  

Preparations for the ceremony were rushed as well. The most pressing matter for the bride was, of course, the wedding gown. She had commissioned designs from various boutiques long ago and reviewed sketches at intermediate stages. Each time the boutique madam visited, they took new measurements to account for any changes in her waist size as she worked to slim down.  

Next came accessories and jewelry. Renowned jewelers from the capital flocked to the mansion to present their finest pieces.  

Given the high value of these items, Edwin, her older brother, initially attended the meetings. Over time, however, Eleanor and her lady-in-waiting handled the transactions themselves, showing selected pieces to Edwin afterward for approval.  

Evelyn, her lady-in-waiting, had been with her for years but wasn’t the type to whom secrets could be easily confided. Her somewhat timid personality made it uncertain how she might react in a crisis.  

One day, Eleanor received a visitor from Helios Jewelers.  

The shopkeeper, Macron, left his assistants outside the drawing room and personally brought in a locked case of jewels to show her. Given that even a single ring could buy an entire house, this precaution was only natural.  

“I apologize for not bringing more items at once, but safety concerns prevent us from doing so.”  

Macron turned a box containing a dozen dazzling accessories toward Eleanor.  

“I understand. Other jewelers also bring only this much per visit.”  

“In fact, I’ve prepared something quite special today—a treasure with more collectible than wearable value. Might you be interested?”  

“A collectible treasure?”  

“As the future crown princess, Lady Eleanor, you’ll surely want to acquire valuable artifacts. Preserving historically significant treasures within the imperial family is said to be deeply meaningful.”  

Eleanor knew well that the imperial treasury wasn’t merely a display of vanity or power. For instance, she had witnessed the late empress purchase a crude golden crown from a dynasty that had fallen centuries ago, recognizing its historical significance.  

Though Eleanor hadn’t yet developed an interest in collecting, curiosity piqued regarding what Macron had prepared.  

“Very well. Let me see it.”  

“Ah… may I humbly request a private audience with Lady Eleanor?”  

Macron cast a cautious glance at Evelyn beside her.  

Without hesitation, Eleanor agreed, dismissing Evelyn momentarily. Her curiosity grew as she wondered what Macron intended to show her.  

From a large wooden chest placed nearby, he carefully selected a far more luxurious jewel box than the ones previously shown. Lowering his voice, he placed it cautiously on the table.  

Something about Macron’s demeanor felt unusual, raising her suspicions further.  

When the lid of the small, palm-sized box opened, her attention immediately focused on the object resting on velvet padding. At the center lay a single treasure: a large golden ring. At first glance, it was unmistakably a signet ring.  

“What kind of ring is this?”  

Macron retrieved a neatly folded document from a small drawer beneath the jewelry box.  

“It would be better if you examined it yourself.”  

As Eleanor unfolded the document, she gasped audibly, instinctively covering her mouth. The contents revealed shocking information about the signet ring—it was accompanied by a certificate of authenticity.  

“By the hand of the finest craftsman of the age, this seal is created. It has pleased me greatly and is hereby designated as a symbol to act in my stead.  

Clyce III.”  

Below the text was the author’s handwritten signature, along with an imprint of the same seal as the one on the ring.  

“Clyce III…”  

A sigh escaped her lips involuntarily.

That name belonged to the late emperor—Claes III. He was Fertan’s father and the current emperor’s elder brother. Having passed away at a young age due to sudden illness, his death had been mourned by an immense wave of people flooding the capital.  

There was no doubt this ring held immense collectible value and should not be carelessly exposed. What astonished Eleanor more, however, was that it wasn’t housed in the imperial treasury but instead in Macron’s possession.  

“This… is something I should acquire.”  

It seemed proper for her to purchase it first and later add it to the palace collection.  

Just as she resolved to bear the likely exorbitant price, Macron did something unusual.  

Leaning closer, he bowed his head further and whispered into her ear. Though the drawing room door was open, his voice was so low that neither the guards nor Evelyn waiting outside could possibly overhear.  

In a hushed tone, Macron delivered a shocking statement:  

“Please deliver this to Lord Fertan.”  

Even without explicitly adding “keep it secret,” Macron’s demeanor made it clear how covert this operation was meant to be.  

Fertan? The mention of him felt absurd.  

To secretly deliver the late emperor’s signet ring to his son?  

And how on earth did a mere jeweler know about her connection with Fertan—a relationship no one else could possibly be aware of?  

Yet Macron seemed utterly confident. Without waiting for Eleanor’s response, he handed her the small case containing the seal. It was clear he didn’t entertain the idea of refusal. Since he hadn’t mentioned any price or attempted to sell it, Eleanor surmised that his intention wasn’t profit but rather ensuring the seal reached Fertan. His only concern seemed to be avoiding discovery of the item.  

“Hurry and hide it,” he urged softly, pressing her to act quickly.  

Given the circumstances, it seemed prudent to follow Macron’s advice and conceal the seal from prying eyes—for now, at least. Eleanor pushed the ancient signet box into her larger jewelry case, tucking it beside the rings and earrings she had selected earlier that day.  

Somehow, she had unwittingly become complicit in this clandestine operation. Before questioning whether it was the right course of action, her overriding instinct was to ensure the object remained hidden—it simply couldn’t fall into the wrong hands.  

With her hand still resting on the case, a chill ran down her spine. A foreboding sense of unease settled over her.  

The seal was now safely stored in a jewelry box that only she would ever open, leaving its fate entirely in her hands.  

Macron, meanwhile, looked visibly relieved, as if he had successfully completed a weighty mission. Eleanor watched him warily; she had never imagined this unremarkable jeweler capable of orchestrating such an affair.  

“Then, I’ll take my leave. Next time, I’ll bring a necklace set.”  

Macron returned to his usual polite demeanor, bowing respectfully before departing. Though Eleanor considered asking him for more details, his hurried packing and swift exit discouraged her. It seemed he wanted to leave as soon as the task was done—almost like fleeing after completing a dangerous assignment.  

Logically speaking, it was clear Fertan was the mastermind behind this, while Macron played the role of executor—likely responsible for procuring and delivering the item. The answers to her questions probably lay with Fertan himself.  

“Thank you for your hard work today,” Eleanor said, letting Macron leave without further delay.  

Once alone, she dismissed those around her and retreated to her dressing room. There, she used the built-in safe tucked away in a corner to store the signet box securely, hiding it deep within.  

Though no one else would likely access the safe, her unease persisted, prompting her to place it out of sight as much as possible.  

Only after securing the signet box did her racing heart finally begin to calm.  

‘What should I do now?’  

Her thoughts were a tangled mess. She realized anew that the seal’s arrival in her hands was anything but ordinary.  

At first glance, she hadn’t fully grasped the gravity of the situation. In modern times, signet rings were rarely used for practical purposes. While Eleanor herself owned a personal signet ring, it was largely ceremonial, unused in practice. In the distant past, they had been used to imprint wax seals or authenticate official documents, but with advancements in printing technology, signatures had replaced seals.  

However, given that Fertan wanted this particular ring and Macron had gone to great lengths to deliver it covertly, the implications changed drastically.  

This signet ring might not merely be treated as an antique.  

The more Eleanor pondered Fertan’s intentions, the grimmer her expression became. She tried to ignore the cold shiver running down her spine, struggling to accept the vague scenarios forming in her mind.  

Fertan sneaking into the emperor’s private vault, unknown factions loyal to him operating in secret, establishing safe houses in city hotels to cover their tracks…  

All these threads pointed hazily toward one direction—and it was undeniably perilous.  

She shook her head vigorously, trying to dispel the rising suspicions clouding her thoughts.  

‘Surely, he doesn’t intend to overthrow the emperor. Please, let that not be the case.’  

Though there were some who longed for the era of the late emperor, the current emperor’s power far surpassed anything Fertan could muster. The disparity between their forces was stark.  

If Fertan were reckless enough to speak out against the emperor or raise rebellion, he’d be dead within moments—executed for treason or quietly dispatched under the guise of a military appointment to perish in battle.  

Living as a carefree rogue suited him best. Eleanor herself had once silently judged him for it, but upon reflection, perhaps carousing through the night and indulging in debauchery was the smartest path he could take. Was it possible that beneath his frivolous exterior lay hidden ambitions?  

One signet ring wasn’t enough to draw definitive conclusions. Taking a deep breath, Eleanor resolved not to jump to hasty judgments.  

‘But why must it pass through my hands?’

This issue was the biggest stumbling block.  

She would do her best to keep it hidden, but what if—by some chance—the signet ring were discovered? What would become of her then? The future crown princess implicated in treason? There could hardly be a more scandalous affair.  

Then, like a flash of lightning, a thought struck her.  

Eleanor was in a position where possessing the seal wouldn’t immediately raise suspicion. If she claimed—just as she had initially considered—that she intended to eventually incorporate it into the imperial treasury, she might even earn praise for her actions. The only danger lay in being caught in the act of delivering it to Fertan.  

‘Why… why must I…’  

Why did she have to get entangled in this mess? Her head throbbed with frustration.  

Moreover, how had Macron learned about her connection to Fertan? His familiarity with Fertan seemed evident from the way he entrusted her with the ring.  

Perhaps she should feign ignorance and leave the seal locked away in the safe. Negotiating a price with Macron might be the safer option.  

Handing the seal over to Fertan blindly was far too risky when she had no idea how it might be used.