After spending far longer than I expected submerged in that enchanted hot spring, I finally stepped out of the water. I felt lighter. Or maybe just less crushed by the invisible weight I'd been carrying on my shoulders. The heat still clung to my body as I grabbed a soft towel and began to dry off, my feet sliding slightly over the warmed marble.
That's when I noticed the dozens of bottles lined carefully across the polished marble sink. Glass, ceramic, and crystal bottles, in varied shapes and colors—some sealed with golden ribbon, others with hand-carved corks. I'd never cared for that sort of thing. I was never vain. Not in this life, not in the last. But well, it's not every day that the queen of an empire waits for you on the other side of the door. And so, something in me, in that moment, wanted… to try.
I opened one of the bottles. A soft scent of sandalwood and something citrusy reached me like a discreet breeze. Another smelled of pine mist with a sweet undertone. I went through them one by one, smelling, judging, eyes half-closed.
I chose three. A body oil, a facial cream that was probably meant for nighttime use—but who cares—and finally, an amber perfume with a spiced undertone that reminded me of something warm, intimate, almost primal. I applied them to strategic spots, just like we used to wear perfume back on Earth: behind the ears, wrists, nape, center of the chest.
And then I applied some in places where I wasn't even sure if it would have the intended effect.
Combing my damp hair was the finishing touch. There was something strangely satisfying in feeling… prepared.
I dressed only in short trousers and a sleeveless light silk shirt, then returned to the bedroom.
The balcony doors were already shut, which was sensible—the mountain wind outside was razor-sharp.
Through the gap in the curtains, I could see tiny snow crystals beginning to fall, reflecting the moonlight into silver particles. The firewood in the hearth crackled and snapped, releasing a comforting warmth that filled the room; ever since I transmigrated into this world, it was the first time I'd seen it lit. The gentle scent of burning wood mingled with my perfume, weaving an atmosphere that was both inviting and provocative.
Selene lay on her back, like a living painting upon the sheets. Her silhouette shaped the linens as water shapes the earth: smooth, organic, powerful. Her hair spilled around her like a white stain of snow, her eyes closed—yet the rhythm of her breathing gave her away. She was awake.
I approached carefully, climbing onto the bed as if entering a sacred temple. I sat beside her and took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment.
'Remember, Glenn. Don't rush.' Good massages didn't come from strength, but from intent. And rhythm. Well, maybe in this particular case I would need to use a lot of strength, but to Selene it would feel like nothing more than a gentle morning breeze.
I leaned in and began slowly, fingertips brushing lightly over her shoulders. I traced slow circles, first exploring where her tension lay. She shivered. She said nothing. But the corner of her lips curled into a teasing smile, one eye cracking open just enough to give me a look that said, "about time."
I smiled back. Then continued.
I pressed harder now, this time using real strength, enough to bend a steel bar. Yet I barely managed to knead the skin and muscles of her back.
I kept working down the base of her neck, feeling her muscles yield under my touch. I slid lower with open palms, spreading warmth across her shoulder blades, then down to her lower back in long waves, like rolling heat.
My body tensed when I felt the firm curve of her buttocks just beneath my pelvis. A faint tremor seemed to echo from me into her, both of us breathing heavier.
I bent closer. The perfume of her hair hit me like a punch—jasmine and wildflowers. The heat of her body radiated through the thin fabric covering her back and hips. Each press of my thumbs drew out a sigh from her, surrendering inch by inch.
I leaned in until my lips nearly brushed her nape. Whispered:
"You're tense, your highness."
"You would be too, if you'd spent the last few days the way I did," she answered lazily, but her voice was charged with electricity. A visible shiver ran down her spine.
I moved back up, now using my knuckles in firmer strokes, tracing the curves of her shoulders, her trapezius, down to the start of her arms. It was a therapeutic massage, yes. But every move, every touch, carried something more.
Provocation.
My hands slipped beneath the fabric at her waist, pressing her hips in slow circles. I felt her bite her lip as she answered with a faint moan. My fingers grew slower, more exploratory. My hands now mapped her body with restrained hunger, as though trying to memorize every ridge of skin, every valley of heat.
She shifted slightly, just enough for her leg to brush against mine. The look she gave me now was different. No more teasing. Fire burned there. Those two crimson jewels we called eyes looked like they were erupting.
And still, I held back. She too held back, burying her face into a pillow again.
I kept the rhythm. Her breath grew heavier. The air between us stretched taut like a rope pulled to its limit. An unspoken invitation. A kiss without lips. A desire on the brink of collapse.
But not yet.
Not yet.
Because prolonging it—this weaving of intentions and skin, warmth and scent—was a sweet torture. And part of me wanted to see how far we could go before it all came crashing down.
And I knew it would. Collapse was the natural end of this path.
It was when I realized I was about to cross a line from which there might be no return, that Selene, with those eyes that always saw deeper than I wished, seized control.
With a swift, sudden motion, she rolled beneath me, her body grinding against my legs, my pelvis, with a raw savagery that stole my breath. The heat of that friction bound us in something primal, instinctive, ancient. Her arms rose like a feline's, wrapping around my neck, pulling me into her. Literally.
My head was swallowed between her breasts.
And for an instant — for all the gods, for all the planes — I ceased to exist.
There was no Glenn, no responsibility, no pain, no war. There was only the scent of her skin, the hypnotic texture of those two soft mounds of flesh pressing against my face like a forbidden refuge. It was like a powerful drug, addictive, as if every second there pulled me further away from reason and buried me deeper into that silent ecstasy.
But still, even there, even with my breath faltering and my body burning, I knew.
I knew what was happening.
I knew the line was still being drawn.
And I took a deep breath, trying to tame my nerves that were raw and exposed. The problem was that breathing only made it worse. Her scent invaded me with force, like some profane incense burning straight into my soul. My body trembled with the pressure of a dam about to burst. Each beat of my heart made my length pulse, hard, frantic, so painfully ready that I almost pitied myself.
That was when she whispered.
"It was even better than last time…" she said at my ear, her tone melodic and intimate. "What's the secret?"
I chuckled softly, still buried between her breasts, and answered with a muffled voice:
"The secret… is caring for someone so deeply that everything else loses importance."
She laughed too. A light, sweet laugh — one of those you keep in your chest and remember in silence, years later. And she hugged me tightly. As if I were something rare, precious, that she could no longer let go of.
"Stay like this," she murmured. "You're the perfect blanket for someone like me… someone who hasn't been able to rest for a long time."
My chest ached. In a good way. Like a longing being healed. Like a home found again after war.
I hugged her even tighter, burying my face deeper between her breasts.
"I'm not going anywhere," I replied. "And to be honest… I don't even want to."
She sighed against my shoulder, melting into me. And then I rose. Slowly, letting my body slide against hers until our faces were aligned. Our noses nearly touched, our breaths mingling.
Then, in a sudden movement, I turned her over.
She gasped softly but did not resist. Her body molded to mine as though it had been sculpted for that very embrace. I placed her head against my chest, wrapping her in a cocoon-like embrace — protective, firm, as though I wished to shield her from the world.
I stroked her hair. She slid her hands across my back. And in that silence heavy with meaning, I tilted my face down.
I kissed her lips.
Soft. Hungrily receptive. As if she had been waiting for it all along.
And maybe she had.
**
Hours had passed… maybe one, maybe three. I truly didn't know.
All my body could register was pain. Not the cruel pain of battle or the torture of a corrupted dungeon, but that delicious, unbearable, sacred pain that comes only after being mercilessly crushed by an aura so overwhelming it feels like your eye sockets might burst.
My lips throbbed — and honestly, I had no idea how many endless rounds of kissing we had gone through. I only knew it had been many. Long. Intense. Scorching.
And I endured. Well… more or less.
For someone at my level, it was still impossible to fulfill my rawest desires with Selene. It was like trying to dive straight into the heart of a sun. I had nearly collapsed last time, and now — even with all my strength, even with the progress I'd made over the past sixty days — I knew that if I let go, not even ashes would remain.
So I contented myself with each kiss. With every touch. With her warmth devouring me slowly, without haste.
But I suffered. I suffered greatly.
Selene's aura pressed heavier and heavier, like a tide rising inch by inch, and though my body was stronger, it was far from an unbreakable fortress. There came a moment when my muscles shook. My bones seemed to creak from within. My blood boiled, and my thoughts barely held together.
That was when she looked at me with that serene, gentle smile — an expression almost like a divine reward. She simply nestled closer against my chest, sliding her head until it fit like the perfect missing piece of a puzzle. Her lashes closed slowly, like the petals of a flower folding at dusk, and within seconds, by the rhythm of her breathing and the relaxed warmth of her body, I knew.
She was deeply asleep.
And by some miracle, I was still alive, even after everything I had endured.
As for me… I couldn't sleep.
It was impossible to ignore that my lower half was still throbbing so hard it felt like it had developed a will of its own. And no matter what I thought of — lists of alchemical ingredients, gruesome battlefield wounds, Master Silas's scowling face — nothing worked.
It wouldn't relent. The damn thing simply refused.
I sighed, resigned. Stared at the dark ceiling of the room, where only the crackling of the fireplace cast dancing shadows, and tried to convince myself I was a superior man. A knight. An unshakable warrior.
Lies. I was just a poor fool, burning alive, with the woman of my dreams asleep on top of me, as though the world were safe and simple.
But if she could sleep… then maybe I could too.
Maybe if I just closed my eyes and surrendered to the silence, to her calm breathing, to the sweet scent soaked into our sheets…
Maybe I'd drift off as well.
I closed my eyes.
Wished to fall asleep deeply.
And for an instant, between one sigh and the next, between the heat surrounding me and the gentle weight of her body on mine…
I think I managed it.