Emilia, Subaru, and Otto traveled together to Priscilla's mansion, ostensibly for a business meeting. Otto had spent days preparing, eager to negotiate a trade deal that would benefit their camp. Subaru tagged along for moral support and to assist with any issues that might arise. Emilia, however, had her own agenda. Priscilla's mansion was as grand as ever, its opulent halls filled with the echoes of past negotiations and political maneuverings. The trio was greeted warmly by Priscilla's attendants and led to a spacious sitting room where the lady of the house awaited them.
Priscilla sat regally in an ornate chair, her presence commanding and confident. As they entered, she regarded them with a haughty smile. "Ah, welcome, my dear peasants. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" she said, her tone dripping with amused superiority.
Subaru and Otto exchanged a quick glance, both feeling slightly put off by Priscilla's greeting. They knew her reputation for being condescending, but the stakes of the meeting were too high to let her words get under their skin.
Once they were seated, Otto began outlining the details of the proposed trade agreement, presenting their case with clarity and enthusiasm. Subaru chimed in occasionally, offering additional support to bolster Otto's points.
Priscilla listened intently, her expression thoughtful as she considered the proposal. She asked a few pointed questions, probing for more information and testing their resolve.
As the conversation continued, Otto and Subaru grew more confident that they could reach a mutually beneficial agreement. Despite Priscilla's dismissive attitude, she seemed receptive to their ideas, which was a promising sign.
Emilia watched the exchange with interest, but her mind was elsewhere. She had a different reason for being here, and she was waiting for the right moment to broach the subject.
After some time, Emilia saw her opportunity. As Otto concluded his presentation and the conversation turned to more casual topics, Emilia spoke up.
"Priscilla," she began, her voice calm and composed, "I was hoping to speak with you privately. There is a personal matter I intend to discuss."
Otto and Subaru exchanged surprised looks, their confidence suddenly shaken. They hadn't anticipated Emilia needing a private audience, and Subaru's protective instincts flared immediately.
Priscilla regarded Emilia with a knowing, sharp smile. "A private audience? How bold. Usually, the world brings me entertainment without me having to seek it out, but your eyes tell me you've finally found something worth saying. I shall allow it, half-devil."
Subaru opened his mouth to speak, worry evident in his eyes. "Emilia-tan, are you sure? I can wait just outside the—"
"It's fine, Subaru," Emilia interrupted, her tone firm and reassuring. She didn't look like a girl asking for permission; she looked like a Candidate making a decision. "I promise it's nothing to be concerned about. Please, return to the inn with Otto. I'll join you once we are finished."
Reluctantly, Subaru nodded, trusting her growth despite his misgivings. Otto, though hesitant, recognized the authority in her voice and accompanied Subaru out.
"Follow," Priscilla commanded, rising gracefully without waiting for a reply.
She led Emilia to a secluded terrace overlooking the crimson-leafed gardens. The air was still and private. Once they were alone, Priscilla turned, her fan snapping open with a sharp clack. "So, speak. The world revolves to my whim, but even my patience has its limits. What 'personal matter' could possibly bring a stagnant doll like you to seek my brilliance?"
Emilia took a deep breath, meeting Priscilla's ruby gaze head-on. "I've come because you are the only one who doesn't look at me and see someone who needs to be protected. I want to explore a side of myself that everyone else treats like a secret... or a sin."
Priscilla's smirk widened, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh? The little frost-witch wishes to thaw? And you come to me as if I am some common tutor? Tell me, why should I bother myself with the stirrings of your mediocre heart?"
Emilia felt her cheeks flush, but she didn't look away. Priscilla's tone was as haughty as ever, but Emilia remained determined.
"I want to understand intimacy," Emilia explained, her voice steady even as her face burned. "But I want the experience without the weight of a promise I'm not ready to make. I want to understand this heat in my body, and I believe you are the only one who knows how to navigate such things without the 'pure' nonsense my camp insists on."
Priscilla closed her fan and chuckled, a sound of genuine, mocking delight. "So, you seek the flame without the hearth? How selfish. How greedy. Perhaps there is hope for you yet, half-devil."
Priscilla raised an eyebrow, her amusement growing like a flickering flame. "Intimacy without commitment? A desire for the fruit without the labor of the harvest? You are far more decadent than you appear, half-devil. But tell me, are you so naive to think I wouldn't use this little confession to ruin you?"
Emilia met Priscilla's gaze with steady determination. "I doubt anyone would believe you if you told them the 'Emilia' they know came here asking for your help to find a man. It's not exactly your style to spread rumors, is it? You'd find it beneath you to care what commoners think of me."
Priscilla chuckled, a dark, melodic sound. "You do have a point. The world's opinion is irrelevant to me, and your petty scandals are even more so. Very well, witch. I may consider granting you my brilliance, but first, you must prove your willingness to earn it."
Priscilla's smile turned cold as she sat back, gesturing toward her feet with a flick of her fan. "If you are truly serious about 'exploring' yourself, then discard that useless pride. Get on your knees and show me your dedication. A student must know her place before she can learn."
Emilia's eyes widened. A jolt of shock and indignation shot through her. The "heat" she had felt earlier was momentarily replaced by a cold sting of insult. She was a Candidate for the Throne; the idea of such degradation was unthinkable.
Swallowing her pride, Emilia hesitated, her knees beginning to bend as she lowered herself. But as she reached for Priscilla's foot, she froze. The image of the people she protected—Subaru's face, Otto's hard work—flashed through her mind.
"I can't do this," she said, her voice trembling but firm as she pulled back and stood up straight. "I won't."
Priscilla's laughter echoed through the terrace, sharp and genuine. "Good! You have a spine after all. I would have been disappointed if you had groveled so easily. A dog that rolls over at the first command is a boring pet indeed."
Emilia glared at her, her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "I won't be your servant, Priscilla."
Priscilla waved her hand dismissively, her crimson fan fluttering. "Oh, I'm not asking for a servant. I have plenty of those. I merely wanted to see if you were desperate enough to throw away your soul for your skin. It seems you aren't quite lost yet."
Priscilla leaned forward, her voice dropping into a low, predatory purr. "There are other ways to experience the feeling you seek without throwing yourself at some filthy commoner. You wouldn't want to betray that boy Subaru and his pathetic, pure devotion, would you? If he knew you were seeking a man to satisfy a 'buzzing' in your skin, his heart would shatter."
Emilia's breath hitched. Priscilla had found the exact nerve. The thought of Subaru's hurt face was the one thing that truly scared her.
"You misunderstand, Emilia," Priscilla continued, her eyes gleaming with condescension. "I am not asking you to serve me. I am offering to be your guide. To show you that you don't need a man to quench your thirst. But such knowledge is not given to 'equals.' If you want my help, you will address me as 'Mistress.' Call me that, and I will help you explore this desire without tarnishing your precious reputation."
Emilia stood silent, the word hanging in the air. To say it would be to give up her status as a rival, but it would also open the door to the answers she was so desperate to find.
Emilia's breath hitched, the word "Mistress" feeling like a heavy stone on her tongue. As a Royal Candidate, the very idea of submission was an insult to her camp, to Subaru's faith in her, and to the crown she sought.
"I... I am a candidate for the throne. I cannot say that to you," Emilia whispered, her voice trembling, but her violet eyes flashed with a spark of her natural pride.
Priscilla didn't back down. She stepped into Emilia's personal space, her physical presence overwhelming. Priscilla didn't need to know Emilia's secrets to see the truth; she was a master at reading the "scent" of hidden desires. To her, Emilia looked like a starving person trying to pretend they weren't hungry. Seeing that resistance only made the prospect of subjugating a rival more delicious.
"Is that so? Then take your pride and leave," Priscilla purred, her voice dripping with bored arrogance. "Go back to your little camp and play at being a saint. But do not lie to me, half-devil. I can see the restlessness in your hands. I can see the way you look at the world—as if you are searching for a fire that your 'pure' companions are too afraid to light."
Before Emilia could retort, Priscilla's hand moved with the swiftness of a striking viper. She pressed her palm firmly against the center of Emilia's chest, right over the heart that was hammering against her ribs.
"You think you are betraying them by seeking me?" Priscilla whispered, leaning in so close that the scent of her sun-warmed perfume filled Emilia's senses. "You betray them every time you look at them and wish they would touch you with more than just 'respect.' I am the only one who won't pity you for your needs. I am the only one who will give you the peak you crave—but I do not give gifts to my equals. I give them to my subjects."
Emilia felt a violent chill. The touch was firm and authoritative, making the "weird heat" in her body flare up instantly. She hated the title Priscilla demanded, but she was terrified that Priscilla was right. Subaru and Otto saw an angel; they would never give her the release she was starting to crave.
Stumbling back, Emilia turned and made her way back to the inn. The transition was jarring. She found Subaru and Otto in the common room. Subaru was pacing, his brow furrowed, while Otto was hunched over his trade ledgers, looking exhausted but determined.
"Emilia-tan!" Subaru cried, rushing to her side. "You're back! Did that woman do something? You look... you look flushed. Did she insult you?"
Emilia looked at him—at his honest, kind eyes—and felt a wave of guilt. He looked at her with such worship. If he knew she was considering calling Priscilla "Mistress" just to understand the sensations in her own body, he would be devastated.
"She... she offered me a chance to stay the night," Emilia said, her voice sounding far away. "She claims there are private matters regarding the Royal Selection... things she will only discuss with another candidate, without 'distractions' around."
Subaru's expression shifted to pure suspicion. "Stay there? Alone with her? Emilia, that sounds like a trap. She's arrogant and cruel. I don't like this at all."
Otto looked up, rubbing his tired eyes. "I have to agree. It's highly irregular. If she intends to pressure you into a disadvantageous position, we won't be there to advise you."
Emilia looked at the two men who had worked so hard for her. Her pride as a candidate told her to stay. But her body—restless, heavy, and still buzzing from Priscilla's touch—told her that if she didn't go back, she might never understand this feeling.
"I've made my decision," Emilia said, her voice gaining a firm, regal edge. "I am a candidate, and I cannot be afraid of Priscilla Barielle. If staying one night is what it takes to secure our future, I will do it. I can handle her."
Otto, spoke up in a more measured tone, though his eyes remained tight with worry. "It is not uncommon for Royal Selection candidates to forge private alliances. If you and Priscilla can find common ground, it could benefit the camp immensely in the long run," he reasoned. "But you must be careful, Emilia-sama. Priscilla is unpredictable. Her world only moves for her own benefit."Subaru crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. "I still don't trust her. Priscilla has a reputation for being manipulative."
Subaru crossed his arms, his expression deeply skeptical. "I still don't trust her. She doesn't do 'private chats' out of the goodness of her heart. She's looking for a way to trip you up."
Emilia nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of her secret. "I understand your worries, but I think it's important for me to take this chance. Priscilla might have... insights that I can't find anywhere else."
Otto nodded slowly, appreciating what he thought was Emilia's political growth. "Just remember: do not agree to anything that would compromise our position. There are parts of our trade proposal that are non-negotiable. It is better to walk away with nothing than to make a deal that humiliates us or our goals."
He looked Emilia in the eyes, his voice dropping an octave. "She will try to exploit any perceived weakness. Stay vigilant."
Emilia listened, her stomach churning. She trusted Otto's judgment implicitly, and hearing him talk about "integrity" while she was planning to return to Priscilla's room made her feel like a fraud.
"I'll be careful," Emilia assured them, though her voice lacked its usual clarity. "I won't let her harm our camp."
Subaru remained uneasy, his protective instincts screaming at him. "I still hate the idea of you being there alone. If she says one mean thing, just leave, okay? I'll be right here at the inn. If you don't come back by morning, I'm kicking her front door down."
Emilia placed a reassuring hand on Subaru's shoulder. Looking into his honest, devoted eyes was almost more than she could bear. "I'll be fine, Subaru. I promise to be cautious."
Despite his reservations, Subaru nodded. He respected her autonomy, even when it terrified him. "Alright. But please... be careful."
As Emilia left the inn and walked through the quiet streets back to the Barielle Estate, the cool night air did little to soothe the fire in her skin. She was venturing into a den of lions, unsure if she was going there to find herself or to lose herself.
When she entered the mansion, the atmosphere had changed. The business of the day was over, and the halls were lit by the flickering, amber glow of oil lamps. Two of Priscilla's maids greeted her with silent, efficient bows.
"We will handle your belongings, Lady Emilia," one said, her voice devoid of emotion. "Schult will be here shortly to escort you."
Emilia watched them take her bags. She felt more exposed now, stripped of her belongings and her companions. The opulence of the mansion felt suffocating—every gilded mirror seemed to reflect a girl who was betraying her own crown.
Soon, a small boy appeared, dressed in a sharp uniform that seemed a touch too large for his youthful frame. He was Schult, the polite little attendant who tried his best to emulate the professionalism of an experienced butler. His efforts to maintain a formal demeanor were endearing, and Emilia couldn't help but smile at his determination.
"Lady Emilia," Schult said with a deep bow. "Lady Priscilla is currently in her private bath, but she has requested that you join her there immediately."
Emilia's heart skipped a beat. A bath? That was far more intimate than a sitting room. The realization hit her: the lessons were starting before they had even spoken a word.
Emilia's eyes widened slightly at the request. It wasn't often that someone invited her to such an intimate setting immediately, and the implication made her stomach twist with a mix of nerves and anticipation. Nevertheless, she followed Schult as he led her through the mansion, his small steps quick and purposeful.
As they arrived at the luxurious changing room adjacent to the bathroom, Emilia was struck by the sheer weight of the atmosphere. Gold-trimmed mirrors, plush velvet seating, and intricately designed fixtures adorned the space. It wasn't just wealthy; it was aggressive. The room seemed to glimmer with the same suffocating opulence that Priscilla surrounded herself with, designed to make anyone else feel like an intruder in a goddess's temple.
Schult stood by the grand double doors, waiting for Emilia to proceed. "Lady Priscilla is expecting you," he said, his tone respectful yet carrying an innocent warmth.
Emilia hesitated, glancing around the room as a wave of insecurity washed over her. It wasn't just the money—Emilia had never cared for gold—it was the power these walls projected. She had grown up in the frozen forest, and even now, as a candidate, she often felt like she was playing dress-up. Standing here, about to trade her dignity for knowledge, the disparity between her and the "Sun Princess" felt like a canyon.
How can I stand on equal footing with her when I am the one coming to beg? she thought bitterly. A pang of self-doubt crept into her heart. Yet, the "weird heat" in her skin buzzed, a reminder of why she was here. She wasn't here to be a Queen tonight; she was here to be a woman.
Taking a deep breath to steady her trembling hands, Emilia straightened her posture. "Thank you, Schult. I'll go to her now."
The young boy smiled, clearly pleased to have served his mistress well, before bowing and retreating. Emilia was left alone with the door.
With a mix of apprehension and a dark, heavy resolve, Emilia pushed the heavy doors open and entered the steam-filled chamber.
Emilia stepped inside, her breath catching in her throat. The bathroom was an opulent masterpiece—polished marble floors that reflected the candlelight like a dark mirror, gold accents climbing the walls like ivy, and the soft, rhythmic sound of water lapping against stone. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and expensive oils, heavy and intoxicating.
In the center of it all, Priscilla Barielle reclined in the bath, the water shimmering around her like liquid gold.
She did not cover herself. She did not turn away. She sat with the absolute confidence of a creature who knew she was the most beautiful thing in the world. Her long orange hair flowed like silk over the marble rim, damp and dark at the ends.
Emilia couldn't help but stare, her cheeks heating up. Her eyes traced the elegant slope of Priscilla's neck, down to the full, heavy swell of her breasts that floated buoyantly in the water, the nipples hardened by the cool air. Her waist was slender but soft, leading to hips that were wide and undeniably womanly—a stark contrast to Emilia's own slender, doll-like frame. Priscilla's skin glowed with a flushed, rosy vitality, looking ripe and untouchable. She didn't just look like a noblewoman; she looked like a goddess of fertility and desire, lounging in her temple.
Priscilla's crimson eyes tracked Emilia's entrance with the sharpness of a hawk spotting a mouse. There was no boredom in her gaze now. There was a dark, satisfied glint—the look of a conqueror who had just watched a rival city open its gates voluntarily.
"You are late," Priscilla said, her voice cutting through the steam. It was rich with authority, echoing off the marble walls. "I expected you five minutes ago. But I suppose hesitation is the only defense a prey animal has left."
Emilia flinched at the comparison, her pride flaring up despite the suffocating atmosphere. She straightened her back, refusing to look at the floor. "I'm sorry, Priscilla. The mansion is large, and I had to—"
"Silence."
The word wasn't shouted, but it carried the weight of a royal decree. Priscilla slowly sat up in the water, the liquid cascading off her skin in rivets. She looked at Emilia with a terrifying, beautiful smirk.
"Do not sully this air with that name," she purred, her eyes narrowing. "You stepped through those doors, half-devil. Do you understand what that means? Out in the hall, you were a Candidate. You were a rival. But the moment you crossed that threshold to seek my favor, you left your crown on the floor mat."
Emilia stiffened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "I came here for guidance, not to surrender my status. We are still equals in the selection, regardless of—"
"Equals?" Priscilla laughed, a low, melodic sound that mocked Emilia's very existence. "Look at us, girl. I am naked, vulnerable to the world, yet I hold all the power in this room. You are fully dressed, armored in your high-necked clothes, yet you are shaking like a leaf. There are no equals here anymore. There is only the one who knows, and the one who begs to be taught."
Priscilla extended a wet hand toward Emilia, beckoning her closer.
"You came because you are broken. You buzz with a heat you cannot name, and you are too cowardly to take what you want from your own men. So you came to me," Priscilla said, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "And I will help you. I will train you, Emilia. I will take that shivering, fragile porcelain doll you pretend to be and I will mold it into a woman."
Emilia felt a chill run down her spine. The way Priscilla said "train" implied something far darker than simple lessons in romance. It sounded like breaking a horse.
"I... I am ready to learn," Emilia said, trying to keep her voice steady, trying to sound like the Royal Candidate she was. "But I will not be treated like a servant. I have my dignity."
Priscilla's smile widened, showing a hint of teeth. "Dignity is for those who are not starving. You will learn, little witch. But first, you must acknowledge the reality of this room."
She pointed a slender finger at the marble floor beside the tub.
"If you want me to stop the heat... if you want to know what it feels like to be truly touched... then drop the pretense. Address me properly. Tell me who I am to you right now."
Emilia's throat felt dry, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The steam and the heavy scent of jasmine were suffocating, but it was the word Priscilla demanded that felt like a weight crushing her chest.
"M... Mistress," Emilia whispered.
She felt a surge of pure, bitter resentment as the word left her lips. It was a stain on her pride, a betrayal of the crown she sought to wear. There was nothing "good" about the humiliation; she felt small, exposed, and angry. But as the word hung in the air, she saw Priscilla's eyes flash with a predatory triumph that made the "heat" in Emilia's veins pulse with a sudden, violent intensity.
Priscilla didn't offer a kind word or a smile. She looked at Emilia as if she were a piece of property finally being claimed. "Good," Priscilla purred, her voice sharp. "But words are cheap. If you truly want the relief you came here for, then shed those clothes. Undress and get in the bath."
Emilia's breath hitched. "I... I told you, I am not a servant," she tried to protest, her voice shaking.
"You are whatever I say you are in this room," Priscilla countered, her presence commanding and absolute. "Hurry up. Or do I need to have Schult come in here and strip you like a child?"
The threat of further embarrassment forced Emilia's hand. With shaky, fumbling fingers, she began to undo the clasps of her travel dress. Each layer of fabric that fell to the marble floor felt like a fresh insult to her dignity. She felt cold despite the steam, and the way Priscilla watched her—scanning her body like a merchant inspecting fine silk—made Emilia want to cover herself and run.
But she couldn't. The "fever" in her skin, the restless ache that had haunted her for months, was screaming for the release Priscilla promised.
Finally, Emilia stood naked in the candlelight. She felt vulnerable and humiliated, her silver hair draped over her shoulders like a failed shield. She hated how exposed she felt under that crimson gaze.
"Slower than I expected," Priscilla muttered, her voice cold. "And you stand there like a frightened rabbit. I will have to punish that lack of grace later."
Before Emilia could snap back with a retort, Priscilla moved. She reached out from the water and gripped Emilia's ear, yanking her forward with a firm, painful tug.
"Ah!" Emilia winced, her bare knees hitting the hard marble rim of the tub as she was forced downward.
"For tonight, you are mine to command," Priscilla hissed, her face inches from Emilia's. "You will do as I say. If you want to feel the pleasure you've been chasing, you will learn your place. Only a vessel that is properly broken can be filled."
Emilia's face burned with a mix of shame and rage. She hated this. She hated the way her ear throbbed and the way Priscilla looked down on her. "I didn't come here to be a toy," Emilia gritted out through clenched teeth.
Priscilla released her with a dismissive flick, sinking back into the water. "You came here to stop the ache. And I am the only one who knows how." She gestured to a sea sponge on a gold tray. "Get in. Clean my body. And if you are thorough... I might consider giving you what you want."
Emilia stared at the sponge. Her mind was screaming that this was wrong, that she was a Royal Candidate and should never stoop this low. But as she stepped into the hot water, the sensation of the liquid sliding up her thighs triggered a spark of pure, physical electricity.
She hated the woman in front of her. She hated the title she had been forced to use. But as she took the sponge and approached Priscilla, the proximity to another person made her body betray her.
With trembling hands, Emilia began to wash Priscilla's shoulder. She kept her head down, her pride stinging, even as the physical heat in her core began to roar back to life, demanding the pleasure Priscilla had promised.
Emilia's hands moved with a frantic, unsteady rhythm as she ran the sponge over Priscilla's damp, radiant skin. Every stroke was a stinging reminder of her lost status, but she couldn't stop. The jasmine-scented steam and the heavy silence of the room made her head swim, the "heat" in her core now a demanding, heavy throb.
Priscilla reclined against the marble, her orange hair fanned out like a crown of fire. She didn't look like a woman taking a bath; she looked like a conqueror receiving tribute. She watched Emilia's flushed face and trembling lip with a sharp, possessive glint in her eyes.
"You show a modicum of talent for service, half-devil," Priscilla drawled, her voice vibrating with authority. "But your eyes are still too full of that useless, freezing pride. It is a bore to look at."
Before Emilia could retort, Priscilla's hand shot out of the water, her wet fingers tangling firmly into Emilia's silver hair. She yanked Emilia forward until their faces were inches apart.
"Since you are now a woman of my house for the night, I shall treat you as such," Priscilla purred, her gaze dropping. With her other hand, she reached out and squeezed Emilia's breast, her thumb grazing the nipple with a sharp, calculated pressure.
Emilia let out a sharp, choked gasp, her body jerking at the sudden, intimate contact. "P-Priscilla...!"
"Mistress." Priscilla corrected her, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low frequency. She didn't stop her hand; she began to knead the soft flesh, mocking the way Emilia's body immediately reacted to the touch. "Your skin is screaming for this, yet your mouth still plays at being a queen. How tedious."
Priscilla's hand moved lower, sliding beneath the water with the grace of a predator. She didn't hesitate, driving her fingers between Emilia's thighs to claim the center of the "heat." She touched Emilia with an expert, dominating precision—not to soothe her, but to play her like an instrument.
A jolt of pure, agonizing electricity shot up Emilia's spine. Her knees buckled, and she fell into the water, her breath coming in ragged, broken hitches. Under any other circumstances, she would have fought, but the physical sensation was so targeted and overwhelming that her mind went blank.
"Ah... no...!" Emilia cried out, her fingers clawing at Priscilla's wet shoulders for balance.
"Quiet," Priscilla commanded, her fingers working with a merciless, rhythmic pressure. She explored Emilia's sensitivity with a predatory curiosity, pushing the girl toward a peak that felt more like a surrender than a gift. "You came here to find your desire, did you not? Then look at me while I take it from you."
Priscilla leaned back, forcing Emilia to remain in the water, her fingers never stopping their assault. She watched as the Royal Candidate's eyes glazed over, her silver hair floating in the tub like silk.
"You are no longer a candidate in this water," Priscilla whispered, her smirk widening as she felt Emilia's body begin to pulse against her hand. "You are merely a beautiful, hungry thing that belongs to me. Now, show me how much you appreciate the lessons of your Mistress. Use your mouth for something other than excuses."
Priscilla didn't offer the final release. She held Emilia right at the edge, the pleasure turning into a desperate, aching tension that made Emilia's whole body shake.
"Please..." Emilia whispered, her pride finally crumbling under the weight of the physical overload.
"Please what, my little pet?" Priscilla mocked, her crimson eyes gleaming with the absolute joy of seeing her rival reduced to this. "If you want the sun to shine on you, you must earn the warmth."
"Please what, my little pet?" Priscilla mocked, her crimson eyes gleaming with the absolute joy of seeing her rival reduced to this. "If you want the sun to shine on you, you must earn the warmth."
Priscilla's fingers didn't stop, but they slowed to a torturous, teasing crawl. She leaned back against the marble, the water rippling around her breasts, watching Emilia's silver hair sway as the half-elf shivered.
"You are a Candidate for the Dragon Throne," Priscilla mused, her voice like velvet-wrapped steel. "Yet here you are, soaking in my bath, begging for the touch of a woman you claim to despise. Does the half-elf girl want me to stop? Does she want to go back to her little merchant and her 'knight' and pretend this fire doesn't exist?"
"N-no..." Emilia gasped out, her pride failing her completely as the friction of Priscilla's thumb sent a fresh wave of lightning through her nerves.
"Then say it. Beg me not to stop," Priscilla commanded. She increased the pressure suddenly, a sharp, dominant movement that made Emilia's back arch. "Tell me that you would rather be my plaything than be 'pure' and empty."
Emilia felt the words dying in her throat, her mind a chaotic blur of shame and physical overload. "Please... don't stop... Mistress... please!"
Priscilla chuckled, a low, melodic sound of pure triumph. She allowed her fingers to dance with a final, merciless precision until Emilia's body finally buckled, a strangled cry escaping her as the first wave of release finally broke over her. But the satisfaction was brief, cut short as Priscilla withdrew her hand with a splash.
"Get up," Priscilla ordered, her voice leaving no room for the dazed Emilia to linger. "The world does not stop because you are in a state. You are a woman of the Barielle house tonight, and I have no use for a servant who spends her time soaking in a tub like a decorative fish."
Emilia struggled to the marble steps, her legs feeling like water. She felt exposed and raw, the pleasure still humming in her nerves like a dying ember. But Priscilla was not finished. The Princess sat on a dry marble bench at the edge of the water, extending a slender, damp foot toward Emilia.
"My feet are weary from carrying the weight of the world," Priscilla drawled. "Attend to them. And let me see you use that tongue for something more than stuttering. Lick them. Show me that you understand exactly who the sun is in this room."
Emilia's face burned with a volatile mix of resentment and desperation. To go from a Royal Candidate to licking the feet of her rival was a humiliation that made her spirit weep. But as she leaned forward, her tongue darting out to touch the soft skin of Priscilla's arch, the salt of the bath and the skin made her stomach turn even as the "heat" flared up again.
Priscilla watched with a look of supreme, regal satisfaction. When Emilia pulled back, gasping for air, Priscilla tilted her head, a cruel smirk playing on her lips.
"Tell me, half-devil... how do I taste?" Priscilla purred, nudging Emilia's chin with her damp toes. "Now you know the flavor of your betters. It is a taste you should learn to crave, for it is the only thing that will ever truly satisfy that vulgar hunger of yours."
After this demeaning display, Priscilla leaned forward, grabbing Emilia by the shoulders and pulling her back against her own chest. She forced Emilia to lie back, her silver hair spilling over Priscilla's wet, naked breasts. The intimacy was suffocating. Priscilla's heart beat steadily against Emilia's back—the heart of a woman who felt no shame, only power.
"Now, let us see if we can find that spark again," Priscilla whispered, her voice a seductive hiss. Her hand slid down again, but this time, there was no gentleness. She used her long, sharp nails to catch and squish the sensitive flesh of Emilia's lower part, a sensation that was half-pain and half-electric pleasure.
Emilia let out a sharp, choked gasp, her body jerking in Priscilla's arms. "Ah! P-Priscilla—!"
"Mistress." Priscilla corrected, her nails digging in just enough to make Emilia's vision blur. "You want the peak again, don't you? You want me to drown you in it. Then give me the words I want. Tell me you love me. Tell me your heart belongs to your Mistress."
Emilia's mind screamed in protest. She could accept the touch, she could even accept the title for the night, but to say those words felt like the ultimate death of her identity. She bit her lip, her head thrashing against Priscilla's shoulder as the physical pressure between her legs became an unbearable, throbbing demand.
"I... I can't..." Emilia whimpered, even as her body betrayed her, arching into the sharp, dominant touch of Priscilla's nails.
"You will," Priscilla promised, her rhythm becoming faster, more punishing. She pushed Emilia right to the very edge, to the point where the world was nothing but crimson light and the scent of jasmine. "Say it, Emilia. Say you love the woman who owns you."
Emilia's resistance finally cracked. The pleasure was too much; the need for release was a physical agony. She opened her mouth, the words 'I love you, Mistress' forming on her tongue, ready to be screamed into the steam—
But just as the first syllable was about to leave her lips, Priscilla abruptly pulled her hand away and pushed Emilia forward, letting her fall onto the cold marble floor.
"That is enough," Priscilla said, her voice suddenly cold and disinterested. The sudden absence of the touch felt like a physical wound. Emilia lay there, trembling and panting, the words dying in her throat as she was left utterly unsatisfied and broken.
Priscilla stood up, looking down at the shivering girl with a look of profound disdain. "I have no interest in hearing lies from a broken doll. You were about to say it just to stop the ache. How pathetic."
Priscilla stepped toward a luxurious chair, the steam framing her like a crown. "You will dress me now," she said, pointing toward a robe of crimson silk. "And do not take all day about it. Your incompetence is starting to bore me."
Emilia swallowed hard, her mind a whirl of resentment and desperate, unquenched longing. She picked up the heavy silk robe, her hands shaking so violently the gold threads shimmered in the flickering light. As she draped the silk over Priscilla's damp shoulders, she knew the night was far from over.
Once the robe was in place, Priscilla tied it loosely around herself, the silky fabric clinging to her form. She turned her sharp gaze back to Emilia. "You'll be staying in my room tonight," she said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I've decided. It'll be useful to have you close by."
Emilia's eyes widened, a wave of cold uncertainty washing over her. "Your... your room?"
Priscilla's lips curled into a mocking, sharp smile as she tightened the belt of her crimson robe. "Naturally. Did you think I would tuck you into a guest bed like a visiting dignitary? You are a woman of my house tonight, half-devil. You will be where I can see you."
Emilia shook her head quickly, her silver hair still damp and clinging to her skin. Staying in Priscilla's private quarters felt like stepping into a cage, the bars made of gold and silk.
"Good," Priscilla said, her satisfaction radiating like heat. She stepped closer, her height and presence looming over the smaller girl. "You will sleep on the floor, of course. Near the foot of my bed. Consider it the most important lesson of the night: the sun does not share its height with the earth. You must understand your place before you can ever hope to master your body."
Emilia's heart raced, but she didn't dare argue. Priscilla moved closer, her hand resting on Emilia's bare shoulder, her thumb tracing the line of her collarbone in a way that made Emilia's skin prickle with that unfinished "heat."
"You'll enjoy what comes next," Priscilla whispered, her voice a seductive, commanding hiss. "But first, I must see if you can truly follow the simplest of my laws... or if you are just another ignorant girl playing at being a queen."
Priscilla surveyed Emilia with a critical, predatory eye. As Emilia reached for her own discarded travel clothes, Priscilla's expression darkened into a sharp scowl.
"And another thing," Priscilla snapped, her voice like a whip. "I do not recall giving you permission to put on those vulgar undergarments. In this house, you wear only what I allow to touch your skin. Put them down."
Emilia's face flushed a deep, burning crimson. "But, Mistress, I—"
"Watch your mouth." Priscilla cut her off, her tone turning ice-cold.
Before Emilia could retreat, Priscilla's hand shot out, grabbing a handful of Emilia's silver hair and pulling her head back with a sharp, forceful yank. Emilia gasped, her neck arching painfully as she was forced to look directly into Priscilla's merciless crimson eyes.
"You speak only to agree," Priscilla hissed, her grip unrelenting. "If you want to move, to breathe, or to touch yourself in this room, you get permission from me first. Is that clear, or do I need to mark the lesson into your skin?"
Emilia's breath came in short, anxious bursts. The pain in her scalp was sharp, but the look in Priscilla's eyes was even more terrifying. "Yes... Yes, Mistress," she managed to whisper.
Priscilla released her hold with a dismissive flick, allowing Emilia to stumble back. "Good. At least the half-elf can be house-broken."
Priscilla gestured toward the luxurious silk robe Emilia had picked up earlier. "Wrap yourself in that. It is far too grand for a servant, but I will not have you dripping water on my rugs. Then, follow me. And do not let me hear the sound of your footsteps; a proper servant moves like a shadow."
Emilia nodded quickly, her body trembling from the mix of humiliation and the lingering, unquenched desire. She threw the silk robe over her naked, shivering body. It felt heavy and alien, the gold embroidery scratching against her sensitized skin.
As she followed Priscilla down the opulent, torch-lit corridor, Emilia felt a swirl of conflicting emotions. The pride of the Royal Candidate was screaming in protest, but the woman inside her—the one Priscilla had awakened with her nails and her tongue—was watching Priscilla's swaying hips with a desperate, silent hunger.
She was learning, just as Priscilla promised. She was learning that the price of pleasure was her very soul.