Serena's POV
"Get up. Now."
General Voltaire's voice cut through the air, cold and absolute.
"Aurein, we're leaving," he said.
Oh no.
I could already feel it—this was not going to end well. Aurein, you are so caught this time.
As much as I wanted to intervene and save him, instinct screamed that now was not the moment. I had no desire to become collateral damage to General Voltaire's wrath. Who knew? If he discovered I was here, he might very well sentence me to a hundred laps as well, assuming I had come to encourage Aurein's drinking.
I should leave. Immediately.
And yet... curiosity rooted me to my seat.
Thank the heavens for this pink veil. Truly. Without it, I would have been finished.
"General!" Ton-Ton and Asper exclaimed at the same time as they reached the table, both of them pale, their earlier drunkenness evaporating in an instant.
After mocking me behind my back? I would say this was well deserved!
Hmp!
"You were well aware that I forbade Aurein from drinking," General Voltaire said, his tone level, lethal. "And yet you brought him here. You even had the audacity to disguise him with a veil to conceal his face."
He wasn't shouting. That was the terrifying part. Every word landed with precision, each syllable heavy with restrained fury. It was the kind of calm that made one's spine lock in place.
"I–we apologize, General Voltaire," the three of them said at once.
"I was the one who insisted," Aurein said, stepping forward. "Do not blame them. This was my decision."
I blinked.
Standing up for them? In front of him?
When the General is too furious?
Wow.
Well. I had to give it to Aurein—he was growing braver.
"I do not appreciate being lied to," the General said, his gaze fixed on him. "You told me you were practicing for the competition. And this is what I find?"
"I'm sorry," Aurein said quietly.
Bang.
The General set Aurein's glass down the table with such force that I flinched where I sat.
Even the other people got startled.
"Come, Aurein. We are leaving," he ordered. Then his gaze swept toward the others. "As for the three of you—remain here if you wish. Tomorrow, be prepared for the punishment I will assign."
Aurein stood at once and walked toward the exit without another word.
The General followed.
But just before he left completely, he stopped.
Right beside me.
I swallowed hard.
"You as well," he said in a low voice, not even sparing me a glance. "Return to the palace now, Princess Serena."
And then he walked away.
What—?
How did he know?
My face was completely hidden. I had taken every precaution. And yet he had known instantly.
I exhaled slowly.
Truly... that man was something else.
"Well, we're doomed," Ton-Ton muttered anxiously. "Tomorrow's punishment is going to be brutal."
"This is exactly what I warned you about!" Asper groaned. "General Voltaire is going to destroy us!"
"We brought this upon ourselves," Dante said calmly. "We knew he did not want Prince Aurein to drink. We could have refused to come. But we didn't. So yes—we share the blame."
They all sighed in unison.
"I don't feel like drinking anymore," Asper said.
"Same," Ton-Ton added weakly. "Just thinking about the punishment drains all my strength."
"Let's go," Asper said. "We should rest while we still can."
Asper and Ton-Ton stood, but Dante remained seated.
"You're not leaving yet?" Ton-Ton asked.
"I'll stay for a while," Dante replied. "Prince Aurein was dragged out before paying. I'll settle the bill."
"All right," Asper said. "Don't drink too much."
"Don't worry. See you tomorrow," Dante said.
The two of them left, and soon Dante was alone.
He called over the staff to clear the table, then ordered another drink for himself. When everything was settled and he took his first sip, he let out a deep sigh.
"I'm sure you heard everything we discussed, my lady," he said suddenly.
I froze.
I didn't respond at once. Perhaps he wasn't speaking to me.
"It's you," he continued calmly. "The one wearing the pink veil. I noticed you earlier. You were listening."
"No," I replied, lowering my voice deliberately. "I don't even know the four of you. Why would I eavesdrop?"
He regarded me for a moment, then smiled faintly.
"Care to have a drink with me?" he asked.
I smirked beneath the veil.
"Very well," I said, standing and taking the seat across from him.
I wanted to talk to him and maybe I can gather some information about what he's hiding beneath that innocent facade of his.
He signaled the server for another glass.
"You're quite secretive, my lady," he said smoothly. "It's a shame I cannot see your beautiful face behind that veil."
Too smooth. Too practiced.
This was not the Dante I knew.
The Dante I had always seen was gentle, almost innocent. This version of him was different—bold, controlled, serious. As though I were sitting across from someone entirely unfamiliar.
And I found that... intriguing.
He was hiding something.
No—many things.
As he drank, my gaze lingered on him despite myself.
I had to admit it. Reluctantly.
Dante was more than passable.
His features were striking without being showy—sharp lines softened by restraint. A defined jaw that spoke of discipline rather than vanity. High cheekbones that caught the light just enough to make his expressions unreadable. A straight, refined nose that hinted at noble blood, even if his name suggested otherwise.
His dark hair—nearly ink-black—was worn slightly long at the top, brushed back in a way that appeared careless yet intentional. A few strands fell forward when he moved, tempering the severity of a face that seemed perpetually controlled.
But it was his eyes that unsettled me.
Deep brown—no, darker. Observant eyes. Eyes that watched more than they revealed. Calm on the surface, endlessly calculating beneath. Patient.
Dangerously so.
His build completed the picture. Lean, well-proportioned, shoulders broad enough to suggest strength, yet lacking the bulk of a frontline warrior. This was a body honed by training, not labor—efficient, restrained, prepared.
Too perfect, I thought.
Far too perfect for someone meant to be ordinary.
And that, more than anything else, made him dangerous.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" He suddenly asked, "I knew someone with the same eye color as you, pale lavender."
"Really? Who's that?" I asked.
He sighed deeply, fingers wrapped loosely around his glass as he tilted it slowly from side to side, as if simply watching the liquid move amused him.
"You might not even know her," he said, his tone casual yet weighted. "But those kinds of eyes... it's as if she can read your soul. A very dangerous girl," he added.
Well, I thought dryly, you're not wrong. I am dangerous.
"What's your name, by the way?" he asked.
"M–me? Umm... Lenora," I answered.
"Lenora," he repeated. "That's a beautiful name."
"And yours?" I asked.
He smirked.
"Dante," he said. "And you'll be hearing that name again soon. Everywhere." He added, lifting his gaze until it locked directly with mine.
I swallowed.
The way he said it—calm, assured, almost prophetic—sent an unexpected chill down my spine.
I hadn't known he could be like this.
The server arrived then, placing a fresh glass in front of me. Dante reached for it and poured beer into my glass himself, unhurried, deliberate.
"Let me be direct," I said, leaning forward slightly. "I wasn't eavesdropping, but I overheard something you mentioned earlier. About... another royal family that vanished from this kingdom."
He smirked.
"Why?" he asked. "Interested?"
"A little," I admitted. "Is it true? That aside from King Lucen's bloodline, another royal line once existed?"
"I'll tell you something about it," he said lightly. "You might want to take out your booklet and write it down." He smirked again before taking a sip of his drink.
"My booklet?" I asked, startled.
"I noticed," he said. "You weren't really reading a novel. You were holding something filled with handwritten notes. That didn't look like a book to me."
So he was that observant.
He chuckled softly. "But it's only a rumor. You don't have to believe it."
"Still," I said, refusing to let it go, "when you spoke about it earlier, it sounded very real."
"Maybe it is," he said calmly. "Or maybe it isn't."
He was toying with me. I could feel it. And I knew then—I wasn't going to extract anything useful from him.
He drained another glass.
"If you truly wish to know," he said lightly, "I can tell you. But knowledge, as you know, is never free."
"Name your price," I replied without hesitation. "I will pay it."
A low chuckle slipped from his throat.
"I'm not interested in your money," he said, his gaze dragging over me with deliberate slowness. "I want your body." His lips curved into a knowing smirk. "There's an inn just down the road. We could settle it there—if you're willing."
My breath caught. My eyes widened before I could stop myself.
"No," I said immediately, my voice tightening despite my effort to remain steady. "I refuse."
He tilted his head, amused rather than offended.
"What a shame."
He was far too bold. This was nothing like the Dante I thought I knew.
Then I noticed his gaze shift.
He was looking at my chest.
I covered myself instinctively.
"Why are you staring at my chest?" I asked, flustered.
"I wasn't," he replied calmly. "I was looking at your hair—that's slipping past your veil."
I froze and glanced downward.
"Silky white hair," he said evenly. "A very rare color. Often said to signify great fortune."
Oh no.
My hair had slipped free.
I quickly adjusted my veil, lowering it just enough to conceal it once more.
So that was it. That must have been how the General recognized me earlier—even with my face hidden. My hair had betrayed me.
Dante lifted his glass again, holding it at eye level as he studied the pale golden liquid inside.
"Relax," he said, smiling faintly. "You don't need to hide so much. It's just you and me."
"I–I should go," I said quickly, rising to my feet. "I just remembered I still have something to do."
"Yes," he said easily. "Go ahead... run."
I paused.
"What do you mean by 'run'?" I asked.
"I mean run," he said with a soft chuckle. "You're in a hurry, aren't you? It was nice meeting you... Lenora."
"You too, Dante," I replied, and left as quickly as I could.
The conversation had not been harmless. It had been suffocating—tight, controlled, as if invisible walls had closed in around me.
But I have this gut feeling that he knows it was really me. He's just trying to be cautious as well.
I stepped out of the pub, yet the strange feeling lingered, as though I had not truly escaped. I felt trapped.
I shook my head.
I needed to focus.
If what he said about another royal family was true, I had to uncover it. The way he had cornered Aurein earlier—his questions, his timing—it all pointed to something more.
My instinct told me Dante might be connected to that lost royal bloodline.
And if he was, then he was hiding it better than anyone I had ever met.
Even better than I hid my own true nature.
I would search the royal archives. Consult the elder historians. Somewhere, there had to be records—proof that they existed... and proof that they had been erased.
* * *
Aurein's POV
We were already walking side by side back to the palace, yet General Voltaire stubbornly refused to acknowledge my existence.
The last time he had spoken to me was when he made me stand up in that blasted pub. The moment we stepped outside, silence—absolute, merciless silence.
"General Voltaire, come on, talk to me already. I'm sorry. I know it was my fault. I know I lied to you," I said, trying my luck.
Nothing.
His gaze stayed fixed straight ahead as he walked, unbothered, unmoved. He didn't even spare me a single sideways glance. Not even a side eye. I would have taken that as a victory, honestly. Instead, it felt like I was passionately confessing to thin air.
I wanted to grab his hand—but we were still outside, and too many people could see us.
I sighed.
"I mean, you confused me since this morning. You punished Dante without a proper reason—or if there was one, it was ridiculously shallow. Just because he was slacking off. So, to comfort him after your viciousness, I asked them out for a drink," I said, defending myself.
Still nothing.
He truly had no intention of responding.
"General! Fine! I'll collapse right here! Right now! I'll embarrass you in public!" I threatened.
No reaction. He kept walking.
"This is it! I'm really doing it!" I announced.
Without hesitation, I laid down to the ground.
"General Voltaire! Talk to me now! Please forgive me!" I shouted, hitting the ground with my hands and feet in an undignified fit that could only be described as a grown man's version of a child's tantrum.
Every single person around us turned their heads.
Some giggled. Some laughed. Others stared in utter confusion and shock. Imagine it—a prince doing it in the street, loudly begging a general for forgiveness. Definitely not a common sight in Ardentia.
Instead of him being humiliated, I was the one who suffered.
"Sorry!" I muttered, covering my face with my hands before scrambling up and running after him as he continued walking as if I hadn't just humiliated myself in front of half the city.
When I caught up to him, I jabbed his arm with my finger.
"Look what you did! I embarrassed myself! This is your fault—you let me do that!" I snapped irritably, then added a dramatic huff and rolled my eyes.
Suddenly, he lifted his hand.
Wait.
Progress.
Was he finally going to pat my head and forgive me?
Yes. This had to be it.
Instinctively, I leaned closer, ready to receive my well-earned forgiveness.
And then—he calmly scratched his own cheek.
That was it.
Nothing else.
I froze.
So he wasn't forgiving me yet.
"General..." I muttered, crossing my arms and sighing deeply. "This is so annoying. What do I even have to do for you to talk to me again?" I grumbled to myself.
I looked at him again and immediately pointed accusingly.
"I saw that! Your eyes moved just now! You looked at me—don't deny it!" I said with a smug grin.
He responded with a perfectly deadpan expression.
"You're really hard to get, you know that? So annoying," I said, lightly slapping his arm.
Still no reaction.
"Ugh! What am I supposed to do with you?" I groaned, tilting my head back in complete despair.
* * *
By the time we reached the palace—right outside my chamber—he still hadn't said a single word.
Then he stopped and positioned himself beside my door.
"Don't tell me you're just going to stand there and guard the door? You are not coming inside with me?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
He didn't even look at me.
I clenched my fists. Fine. I needed to do something drastic—something he absolutely couldn't resist.
And then, as luck would have it, my mother appeared.
"Aurein, I haven't seen you since yesterday. I'm glad you're finally home," she said warmly.
"We couldn't return last night because we were caught in the rain. I ended up falling asleep in General Voltaire's hut until dawn. Then there was training, so I only just got back now," I explained.
"Would you like me to have the servants prepare a nice bath for you?" she asked with concern.
"Yes, please," I said with a smile.
"Alright, I'll inform them," she replied.
"Mother, I have a favor to ask," I added quickly.
"Yes, my love?" she asked.
"Can you please order General Voltaire to talk to me? He hasn't spoken to me this entire time," I said.
Ha! This was foolproof.
A direct command from my mother—there was no way he could refuse.
My mother frowned slightly.
"General Voltaire refuses to speak to you?" she asked.
"Yes! I've been talking to thin air all day! Please scold him," I said.
She sighed deeply.
"Aurein, perhaps you did something wrong or disobeyed him, which is why he refuses to speak to you. How you reconcile with the general is up to you. Don't use me to command him into talking. Alright?" she said firmly.
I glanced at General Voltaire—and I saw it.
He was holding back laughter.
"Look, Mother! He's trying not to laugh at me!" I protested, pointing at him.
When she turned to look at him, he instantly returned to his stone-cold expression—making me look like a liar.
"He isn't laughing," she said calmly. "Make it up to the General yourself. I won't force him to speak to you. You must find your own way to reconcile." She paused, then added, "I'll go now and have your bath prepared."
I let out a long sigh as she walked away.
"You win again. This is so unfair! Even my own mother is on your side! What did you do, huh? Why won't she support me?" I complained. "What do you want me to do so you'll forgive me already?"
He only sighed deeply.
And that was all I got.
I narrowed my eyes at him, irritation simmering just beneath my skin, then deliberately stepped right into his path.
This time, I stared at him properly. Unfortunately, because he was taller, he simply lowered his gaze for a split second—only to snap it straight forward again as if I didn't exist.
"Incredibly annoying," I muttered, raking a hand through my hair in frustration. I was officially running out of ways to deal with him.
"Prince Aurein," a female servant said as she arrived, bowing lightly. "Your bath is prepared. Fresh fruits have also been arranged."
"Thank you. You may go," I replied.
I started walking again, only to notice—of course—that he followed me. I turned on him immediately.
"So," I asked, folding my arms, "you're going to follow me everywhere I go and still not talk to me?"
He kept his eyes forward. As usual.
"You're losing your mind," I groaned, "and you're dragging me down with you. Ugh." I stormed off toward the bath chamber before I could say something I'd regret.
* * *
The palace bath chamber greeted me like a sanctuary carved from silence.
Warm mist clung to the air, softening the marble walls until they gleamed like moonlit ivory. Pale veins of gold traced the stone beneath my bare feet, still warm from the heated floors, sending comfort slowly up my legs. The ceiling arched high above, painted with ancient celestial designs—constellations, suns, crescent moons—watching over the room like quiet gods.
At the center lay the bath itself: a wide, sunken pool carved from smooth white stone, its surface gently steaming. The water shimmered faintly, infused with crushed herbs and fragrant oils. Citrus and jasmine mingled with a deeper, grounding scent, wrapping around me like an unspoken promise of rest.
Bronze braziers flickered along the walls, their flames reflected by polished columns standing like silent sentinels. Silk curtains swayed lazily in the heat. A stone table nearby was arranged with ceremonial precision—fresh fruit glistening with juice, crystal pitchers of cool water, perfectly folded linens, and a scrubbing cloth, of course.
Water trickled from carved lion-head spouts, the sound echoing softly through the chamber. This place spoke of royalty—but also vulnerability. Here, armor was shed. Titles dissolved. Even a prince was allowed to be human.
Once both General Voltaire and I were inside, I firmly shut the door, making sure no one else could enter.
"Finally, a real bath," I said with a sigh of relief. Then I glanced over my shoulder. "You're not planning to just stand there while I bathe, are you?" I added as I began holding my upper garment to undress myself.
That was when I noticed him staring.
His gaze was fixed on my shoulder, lips slightly parted.
Ah.
An idea sparked—brilliant and slightly wicked.
So this was how I'd make General Voltaire talk again.
Alone in the bath chamber, doors sealed, privacy guaranteed—this felt perfectly appropriate.
As he watched, I removed my clothing slowly, deliberately. I let the fabric slip from my shoulder first, exposing skin as if offering him a glimpse rather than a view. I savored every second of it.
I noticed him swallow.
Yes. Definitely working.
Once my upper garment was gone, I lowered my trousers just as slowly.
That was when he abruptly turned his back.
"General! Turn around!" I protested, stomping my foot once. "Why are you turning away? Look at me! Look at my body!" I added, stripping the rest of my clothes off without hesitation.
Now I stood completely bare behind him.
His ears were bright red—an unmistakable sign that he was flustered, no matter how serious he tried to look.
I wanted him to see me properly.
So I walked around to face him—only to step on a slick patch of marble I hadn't noticed.
Swoosh!
My feet slid out from under me, my body tipping backward—until, in a blur of motion, General Voltaire lunged forward and caught me.
"That was close," I said breathlessly. "Thank you, General Voltaire."
But then I noticed his face.
He was completely flushed as we stared at each other, his arms still firmly around me.
Then—
Press.
Something squeezed my butt.
I froze.
One of his hands had landed there by accident.
"General!"
He immediately set me upright, stepping back so fast it was almost comical.
I clutched my backside while he stared at his own hand like it had betrayed him—opening and closing it repeatedly, as if trying to feel the sensation of how soft my butt is again!
"General! What are you doing?" I said, mortified.
And then—
Twoot.
My eyes widened.
So did his.
Because, to my absolute horror, my own 'thing' had reacted on its own.
Right there.
Standing hard and proud!
Pointed directly at him!
He merely smirked—clearly teasing me in his own mind over the fact that my body had reacted the moment he touched me. Embarrassed, I quickly covered myself.
"That doesn't mean I'm in heat, alright?" I snapped, flustered. "It was just my body reacting on its own! And if this is the only way to get a reaction out of you again, you're unbelievably annoying. Hmph."
He inhaled deeply, dragged a hand over his face, then tipped his head back as if steadying himself.
"How am I supposed to ignore you or stay silent?" he said in a low growl. "You're far too adorable. It's infuriating. I can't even last a day. I was hoping to tease you more by giving you silent treatment, but I guess cannot control myself."
"So this whole time," I said, narrowing my eyes, "it was really my body that could make you talk again?" I paused. "So... are we good now?"
He smirked—defeated—and nodded slowly.
"Good," I said, rolling my eyes. This time, I decided I would be the one sulking. "I'm going to bathe now. You can join me if you want," I added with a pout, giving him an unimpressed look.
In truth, though, I was already relieved. I'd won him back.
I stepped into the water and lowered myself until it reached my waist. The pool wasn't deep, but the warmth wrapped around me instantly, easing the last of my tension.
Then, right in front of me—while facing me—he removed all his clothes.
My eyes widened.
I had seen his body countless times, yet every single time he undressed like this, it still felt like the first. Broad shoulders, sculpted lines, quiet power—my breath caught before I could stop it.
As he walked toward me, I heard every step.
And with each one, I swallowed hard.
We were naked. Alone. Enclosed within the bath chamber. The air felt charged, like something inevitable hovered between us.
He slipped into the water and came to stand beside me.
I wanted to tease him—to act annoyed for making a fool of me—but instead, all that surfaced was shy silence.
Standing close, he placed both hands on my shoulders and pressed gently.
He didn't speak, so I looked at him first.
"I'm sorry, General Voltaire," I said quietly. "I know what I did was wrong..."
"Next time, don't do that again, Aurein," he said softly. "I'm strict because it's for your own good."
I nodded.
"I'll wash you," he said, a faint smile touching his lips.
He gently turned me around and reached for a scrubbing cloth resting beside the bath—one of the things I used when bathing.
Then he began to wash my back, slow and careful.
"General," I said, my voice low, "what really happened? Can you please tell me? I'm confused." I hesitated. "That's why I became impatient and did reckless things. I didn't mean for any of that to happen. I don't want us to fight."
He stopped for a moment.
I glanced over my shoulder.
He smiled faintly at me.
"I will tell you soon, Aurein," he said. "But for now, don't think about it too much. Please."
"Alright," I replied softly and looked forward again.
Even so, despite his words, I still wanted to know what he was hiding.
Then I felt something warm against my shoulder.
He had leaned in—his face resting there—and pressed a gentle kiss against my skin.
"Ge-General..." I whispered, suddenly weak at the feel of his lips.
His hand tightened at my waist, his palm burning through my skin.
Then he inhaled deeply, as if committing my scent to memory.
No—more than that.
He sounded starved for it.
A low, restrained sound escaped him, somewhere between a moan and a growl, like a beast struggling to hold itself back.
I felt his grip tighten.
Then his lips found my neck—firm at first, then softer, slower, almost reverent.
"Mmm—" A breath slipped from me. "It's too good..." I whispered.
He didn't answer. He only continued, lips lingering at my neck.
He pressed closer from behind, and my heart began to race.
I felt it.
His hardened 'beast', hot and unmistakable, pressing against my back.
Just the sensation alone made my knees feel weak.
I felt trapped—but not in fear.
It was the kind of trap that made my body go still, as if I belonged there, held in place, completely under his control.
Without thinking, I reached for his hand at my waist and held on.
Then he began to lick the curve of my neck, slow and deliberate, and the moment I felt his tongue against my skin, my strength melted away.
All I could do was pant, shallow and unsteady, as if he were drawing the air—and the will—from my lungs.
"General... do you want to do it here?" I said weakly. "I'm allowing you to take over my body."
"No," he whispered softly. "Not yet. But I want to make you feel good right now."
Just his voice alone sent a tremor through me, my nerves flaring awake all at once. My sensitivity sharpened, every sound and breath suddenly too much.
His hand slid toward my chest, and that single movement was enough to tear a moan from my throat. Even the lightest touch made my body flinch, betraying me completely.
Behind me, I could feel him—his hardened 'length' pressing insistently against my back, twitching as if it wanted to claim me, as if it were chained and straining to break free. I could feel his restraint, and somehow that made everything worse.
He lifted his hand and cupped my chin. Slowly—deliberately—he slipped his index finger into my mouth.
Without thinking, I sucked it.
He toyed with my tongue, guiding it gently, while his lips returned to my neck and shoulders, leaving soft, maddening kisses in their wake.
Then he withdrew his finger and, just as slowly, placed it against my right nipple.
He touched it—pressed once—and my voice broke into a helpless moan.
"You're already too sensitive," he murmured, his tongue suddenly tracing the outer shell of my ear.
"General... please," I said, my voice trembling. "Just do it."
"Now, now," he said calmly. "Don't rush, Aurein. We're not in a hurry. We have all the time in the world. I told you—I'll do it in a place meant only for you."
But my body no longer cared for patience. My mind still tried to hold on, but my body was already searching, already yielding, aching for what he refused to give.
He began to play with my nipple, drawing light circles around it, and with every careful motion, my knees threatened to give way.
Then he cupped my chest fully, pressing and kneading it as if he were memorizing the shape of me, as if I were something delicate.
He moved slowly, his fingers firm against my skin, deliberate and unhurried.
He had once told me he had never done this with a man—that these touches were meant for women alone. And now, he was making me feel exactly like one.
That was what he was doing to me—turning me soft, pliant, responsive, the way he touched me and kissed me stripping me of anything rigid or guarded.
"Just the sight of you drives me wild, Aurein," he said, his breath uneven now, warm against the back of my neck. "But I have to restrain myself."
Then he turned me to face him.
All I could do was stare at his face—the kind every woman dreamed of kissing.
He smiled faintly and kissed me. Once. Then again. And again—each kiss deeper than the last.
He held my cheeks as he did it. The kiss wasn't rushed, not desperate or starving. It was gentle, unhurried, meant to be savored—the texture of his lips, the warmth, the tenderness.
He was far too good at this.
I wasn't.
We had kissed before, more than once, but I had never truly known how.
So I pulled back.
"Why, Aurein?" he asked.
"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I don't know how to kiss. It's embarrassing."
"No," he whispered. "You're doing just fine."
And then he kissed me again.
This time, I felt it—his tongue slipping past my lips, meeting mine, teasing and intertwining, guiding me without force.
I couldn't explain it. The sensation was intoxicating. The taste of him flooded my senses, his warmth, his essence, and all I wanted was more. Anything that came from him, I wanted to take in, to swallow, to keep.
Then he pulled away slightly.
"You see?" he said softly. "You know how to play with my tongue too. You really are a fast learner—even at this."
Heat rushed to my face, and I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze.
"I'm just following you," I murmured.
I felt moisture slip from my lips.
He caught it with his tongue, drew it back into my mouth, and then we were kissing again, deeper this time, slower, heavier.
My hand moved on its own, sliding to his back, pressing against him.
His body was solid beneath my palm—muscle and strength, overwhelming and dizzying to touch—and in that moment, I felt like I might lose myself entirely.
Then he pulled away again and slowly—deliberately—licked my lips, as if savoring me. He bit my lower lip, not hard, but gently, the kind of bite that felt like restrained hunger, like he was barely holding himself back.
He kissed me once more, then trailed downward—along my jaw, my neck—until his lips reached my right chest.
Just beside my nipple, he latched onto my skin and sucked, hard enough that pain flared sharp and sudden. It stung—but it was bearable, intoxicating even.
"Ge—General..." I moaned, gripping his head with both hands.
He sucked harder, the sting deepening, my breath breaking.
Then he pulled away.
A red mark bloomed against my skin.
I looked down, then back at him. He was smiling—slow, satisfied—and I didn't know why that expression sent such a rush through me.
He lifted his hand and gently caressed the mark he had left behind.
"Do you know what this is, Aurein?" he asked.
"No... isn't this just a mark," I answered.
"No," he said softly. "It's more than that. It's a kiss mark—a proof that I'm the only one who owns this body, the only one allowed to touch it."
His thumb brushed over the reddened skin again.
"It'll take a while to fade. And if it does, I'll just put another one there. But don't let anyone see it. Only I'm allowed to see my marks on you."
I nodded.
I felt claimed.
And it felt good—no, more than good. It was the most ecstatic sensation I had ever known.
"Can I put my mark on you too?" I asked shyly. "So I can be sure you're only mine? I don't want anyone else to have you."
"Getting selfish now?" he teased.
I couldn't bring myself to look at him.
"Go on," he said gently. "Give me your mark."
I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his right chest. Slowly, carefully, I sealed my lips against his skin and sucked.
"You have to suck harder, Aurein," he said calmly. "Like you really want it."
So I did it again—harder this time.
"Yes," he murmured, his hand coming up to caress my head. "That's it."
After a moment, I pulled back. A faint mark had formed on his skin.
"It'll fade quickly," he said. "You weren't forceful enough. But don't worry—you'll learn."
Then he leaned down toward my left chest.
And he did it again.
"Mff—!" I gasped as pain flared, sharp and almost tearing, his mouth pulling at my skin with unrestrained strength.
When he pulled back, that same satisfied smile curved his lips.
"If I could give you more marks, I would," he said, smirking. "But I don't want to stain that flawless body of yours too much."
I looked down at my chest.
I wasn't angry about the marks at all.
I was happy—thrilled—to see proof of him on my body.
Then I looked at him.
And without warning, I lunged forward, aiming for his neck.
"Aurein!" he exclaimed in surprise.
This time, I didn't hold back.
I sucked hard—harder than before. His skin was firm, his muscles solid, and it took more force than I expected. My lips burned from the effort, but I didn't stop. I even bit down, determined to make the mark last.
"Ah—" he let out a low sound.
When I pulled away, a deep red mark bloomed on his neck.
I smiled.
I had done it right this time.
He chuckled and slowly shook his head.
"I placed mine on your chest so no one would see it," he said teasingly. "But you put yours where everyone can see. Isn't that unfair?"
"No one will suspect it came from me," I said calmly. "At least now, when the ladies see that mark, they'll know you're already taken."
"You really are getting possessive," he said with a smirk.
"When it comes to you, yes," I answered. "If you're claiming me, then I'm claiming you too. No one is allowed to take you away from me."
I rose onto my toes and kissed his lips once.
He smiled at me.
Then my gaze drifted downward.
I swallowed.
The sight of him was overwhelming.
"I guess I'm not the only one hard," he teased. "You are too."
Even submerged in water, he could tell. I could see him clearly—the water only reaching his hips, his height giving him away.
"General," I said softly, curiosity burning through me, "if you allow it... can you teach me?"
"Teach you what?" he asked.
I swallowed again.
"Please guide me. I know you don't want us to do that thing yet. But this one... I'm really curious."
Then I knelt down in front of him.
His body towered over me, and right before my eyes was his hardened 'beast'.
"General," I said, looking up at him as if in reverence and with innocence, "I want to feel you inside my mouth."
"Aurein..." he breathed, startled.
I saw his throat move as he swallowed.
End of Chapter 30