The young prince stood by the arched window, gazing down at the medieval town below red brick roofs huddled tight, their shadows unnaturally sharp beneath an aberrant sun that hung too low and too bright in the sky.
Behind him, the castle's eastern wing rose in cheerful absurdity, its roofs glazed a bright, impossible blue like scattered gumdrops.
There was a gentle breeze forcing his short blonde hair to flutter and wave in the wind. His bright emerald eyes looked longingly at the blue clear sky. The room was neat and large magnificent and most of all luxurious.
A knock, sharp and deliberate.
He didn't turn. "Enter." Deep stable and loud enough to be heard across the room.
The door opened and closed with quiet precision.
Viola stepped inside. She never announced herself; her presence was announcement enough. Her blue eyes locked onto his back took a small breath small enough not to be noticeable but only when you are close enough.
"My prince."
Her voice was level, cool, the voice of a woman who had seen too much. She was older noticeably so scars faint on her forearms, authority carved into every line of her body.
She could have hid it instead she wore a T-shirt probably made of cotton allowing them to breathe.
Carefully walking towards him she looked around the room it was a bit too clean to be a young man's room. The cleaning maids were not allowed into their rooms.
"You are late."
She stopped a few inches from him.
"Training was set for the sixth bell. You are thirty minutes behind."
Auther smiled faintly, still facing outward. "That so?"
"Yes." Her tone cut clean. "And before you try to charm your way out of it—don't."
He turned slowly, deliberately—one step, then another, closing the distance until she could feel the warmth radiating from him. A calculated invasion.
Viola held her ground he just lifted her chin in response. Her cute face was now fully facing his unnaturally unblemished one.
She met his eyes without blinking hand steadily reaching for the hilt of her rapier. "There you go being inappropriate you royal filth."
"But you like the inappropriateness you could have easily told a maid to bring me down to the arena, yet..."
"Stop with your little mind games!" A rapier edge was at his throat a pressure increase away from splitting him into two.
His smile deepened. "Are they working?"
"What do you think," The rapier drew blood.
The smugness faltered, just enough. He had to let go of her chin.
"You've been trying to get into my loins for three years, I do not plan to open my legs to you so stop it okay."
She pressed harder the rapier wanted to cut but couldn't he felt she was holding back. Then just as suddenly she removed the rapier placing it back in it's hilt.
"In the arena," she murmured, "you'd already be dead ok."
His breath hitched—barely audible, but she heard it.
"You're no fun," he said, voice lower now.
"I'm not paid to be fun," Viola replied, turning to face him again. "I'm paid to keep you alive long enough to wear the crown without dying to your own reckless desire."
He leaned in, emerald eyes dark. "Am I really going to ever wear that crown?"
"I don't know."
She turned for the door. The door closed with quiet finality.
"I swear one day that woman will kill me."
Later, they faced each other across the wide sand circle of the arena.
Both in training attire—his loose, hers fitted, accentuating every lethal curve. Viola held her rapier low and ready. Auther gripped his blade with outward calm, but his knuckles were white.
He had been here before.
The memory surged—sun on steel, the weight of inevitable death.
Some few minutes ago they faced off for thee first time same poses same windspeed if he could measure it.
"I will get you back for that instructor Viola."
"For what?" She answered looking at how messed up his stance was, she was teaching him basic battle stances and he was an egregiously bad student.
'How is this kid the son of the Phantasmal Blade he has not an ounce of swordsman in him.' She thought utterly disinterested in whatever he was saying he always said stupid shit she got too used to filter all of it out.
"For this." He gestured to his throat covered with a small bandage.
"Try me then I'll let you throw three if you make even one hit I'll cut the same size gash on my neck."
He knew he could not even fathom how fast she moved how would he land a single blow. He just wanted to be a nuisance.
"Is commander Viola scared of little old me?" He said, he never called her commander that was why he did not understand her next reply
"What did you call me?"
"Commander Viola's ears can't hear, huh."
"I'm warning you stop calling me that or else something bad is going to happen."
She said gripping on her wooden rapier. He failing to notice the manic look forming on his face continued teasing.
Suddenly just as fast as it had started a sharp pain came from his neck looking down, he was looking at Viola who at the time had a murderous look in her eyes upside down, a sudden thud that was his body following suite.
He had just been split into two, Viola kept her rapier in the air looking distantly at something. He lost consciousness he was dead.
He was shocked to open his eyes or something of the sort to see a bright light brighter that the sun could ever dream to be. Yet he was not blinded instead he feelt at peace.
His body was there jut immersed in a fluid maybe stardust it would fit the cosmic setting he found himself immersed in.
"Foolish mortal that was a relatively good life why did you in your terms fuck it up?"
A female voice sounded soft gentle and teasing.
"Why didn't you appear when I died the first time?"
"Do not mistake it it is a very special privilege to even know of my existence much less see me, to sow that this is not an ordinary situation. And entire class of souls is in danger and I want you to be their savior."
He didn't respond it was the absurdity of this isekai like wording that made him speechless.
"No it's in your own world and it does involve the heavenly demon something about the new one warrants very powerful forces which are above my ability to control to want to destroy the element of demonic nature hence she needs to die."
"The same one my parents failed so miserably to kill and they are heroes I doubt I am even more special than Viola..." He trailed off.
"Unluckily non of us can ignore this opportunity and believe me if there was anyone more capable I would have chosen him or her so have a bit of faith."
"Do I have a timeline?"
"At least 25 000 years in the planet you reincarnated into, so you are a bit pressed on time I will send you to ten seconds before your instructor killed you, good luck."
Viola lunged. He reacted instantly ducking then swinging to the left to dodge the follow up attack. Viola tripped him he was merciless on the ground, another swing he somehow managed to roll.
He ground not as lucky a huge crater formed simultaneously breaking her blade into splinters she still did not relent throwing her stub to his neck when distracted she was already above him closing his abdomen with her legs.
Holding the broken blade above him. His adrenaline and his other hormones made him pitch an ill timed tent, for some weird reason that snapped her out of her reverie.
Eyes wide in astonishment trying to process all that was happening, quickly standing up looking at the crater beside Auther.
"…How do you want to be compensated so that this is never told to anyone else?"
"I want to fight you while you are at my strength." That made her eyes dilate disbelief suspended in something else. Simply smilling.
"Alright brat but don't be shown up by a 45 year old hag."
After a long duel Viola lunged Auther dodged hit her hand with the hilt of his wooden sword disarming her. He had won somehow, though he looked more beat up that Viola.
In truth they resorted to a tally Viola had won thirteen times while this was Auther's first time, maybe his last.
There was some electricity in the air it was in the evening they spent the whole half day battling. Both sweaty frames showing through their training attire.
Auther stepped in until almost no space remained. Heat poured between them. He could smell her—steel, sweat, woman.
The blade lifted her chin higher, exposing the frantic beat of her pulse.
"This," she said, voice husky despite herself, "is seduction."
"Again." he answered, low and certain.
Her lips parted. A flush rose on her throat, spreading downward.
"You know I could end this."
"I know." His gaze dropped to her mouth. "You haven't."
Her free hand rose—not to disarm, but to fist in his tunic, pulling him fractionally closer.
The kiss was fire.
Slow, deliberate, his mouth claiming hers with patient hunger. He tasted her—salt, resistance, want. His tongue slid against hers, coaxing, demanding. She made a soft, involuntary sound that went straight to his blood.
Her body arched faintly toward him, breasts pressing against his chest through thin fabric. He felt her nipples, hard and straining.
When she finally tore away, her lips were swollen, eyes dark.
"Do not," she said, breathing ragged, "mistake that for surrender."
"I wouldn't." He lowered the sword instantly. "It was hunger."
She stepped back, chest heaving.
"You got lucky."
"Sure."
"You are still beneath me in skill."
"Yes." His gaze raked over her. "For now."
She turned to leave, paused.
"And Auther?"
"Yes?"
"Use that mouth on me again without permission," she said, voice low and dangerous, "and I'll cut it off."
A beat.
Then quieter, almost a confession: "But gods help me, I felt it in my bones."
She left.
Auther watched her go, pulse thundering, body hard and aching.
He hadn't won the duel.
But he had made her burn.
Viola could not sleep.
His mouth haunted her—soft, commanding, devastating. The memory of his tongue stroking hers, the way her body had melted against him despite every vow.
He was nineteen. She was old enough to know better.
And yet heat throbbed relentlessly between her thighs, slick and swollen, nipples tight and aching against her nightgown. She shifted restlessly, thighs pressing together, but the friction only sharpened the empty ache inside her.
She hated him for it.
She hated herself more for wanting more.
Finally she rose, choosing a dress that clung like a lover—arms bare, scars silver in moonlight, neckline low enough to reveal the upper swell of her breasts, fabric hugging her hips.
She told herself it was only restlessness.
She lied.
The castle grounds were silent, shadows deep. She walked swiftly, pulse already racing with forbidden anticipation.
He was waiting.
Auther leaned against the courtyard wall, moonlight painting him in silver and shadow. His gaze raked over her slowly—deliberate, possessive.
"You wander too late," he said softly. "Dressed like that, someone might take it as invitation."
Viola's chin lifted. "Do not toy with me."
His smile was slow, wicked. "Only because you crave it."
He stepped closer, glanced into the shadows. "Run."
Confusion flickered.
"Run," he repeated, voice rougher now. "Before someone sees how desperately you want this."
It was a game. She knew it.
Yet her blood sang.
She ran.
He chased—close enough that she felt his heat, heard his breath. Across moonlit stone, up hidden stairs, until he herded her into her own chamber and shut the door with a soft, final click.
Viola backed against it, chest heaving, nipples visible through damp silk. "Explain yourself."
Auther advanced, unhurried, predatory. "A test," he murmured. "And the truth."
He circled her, close enough that his fingertips brushed the air near her skin.
"You think you're in control," he said, voice velvet and steel. "But look at you—flushed, trembling, soaked for me."
A gasp escaped her. He was right; she felt the slick heat between her thighs, the throb that made her clench around nothing.
"And yet," he continued, breath against her ear, "you ran with me. You let me bring you here. You're not leaving."
Her knees weakened. She gripped his shirt, fingers digging into muscle.
He smiled, dark and certain. "Good. Because tonight I'm going to ruin you for restraint."
His mouth crashed onto hers—no more patience.
The kiss was raw, devouring. His tongue fucked into her mouth in slow, deliberate strokes, mimicking what she suddenly craved elsewhere. One hand slid to her waist, pulling her flush against the hard line of his arousal. She moaned into him, hips rocking instinctively.
He broke the kiss only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, teeth grazing her pulse. His free hand cupped her breast, thumb circling the aching nipple through silk until she arched with a broken sound.
She should stop him.
She didn't.
Every touch stoked the fire higher—wetness soaking her thighs, inner walls fluttering with desperate need.
When he finally pulled back, her lips were bruised, eyes wild.
She could have commanded him to leave.
Instead she whispered, voice shattered: "Don't stop."
His smile was triumphant, tender, dangerous.
"I wasn't going to."
He had her trembling, aching, utterly undone—and they had barely begun.