Cyrene clutched her cheek with a dazed expression. Areos had caused her pain before, but he had never struck her so casually, so indifferently.

“A slave should act like a slave.”

The Count said with a faint smile, gripping her chin and tilting it upward. The cheek he had slapped earlier stung fiercely, heat radiating from it. His hand rose again, and without hesitation, he struck her once more.

“Ah!”

The blow left her dizzy, her head spinning. Fear like ice spread through her body, reaching even her fingertips.

“Don’t like it?”

Her cheek burned once again, and the sting reached the inside of her mouth, leaving a metallic taste of blood. Cyrene’s shoulders trembled violently.

“You seem to be begging to the wrong person.”

Not even a scream escaped her lips. One side of her face throbbed, burning with unbearable heat. Cyrene looked up at the man who was smiling faintly, his expression both calm and cruel.

“I-I’m sorry…”

She couldn’t tell if it was her voice trembling or her whole body. It wasn’t just her cheek that hurt – her eyes were burning too. Her tear-stained face stung as if it were raw.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”

The words barely making it past her quivering lips. Only then did the man’s hand stop.

Her mind felt utterly scrambled, as though every blow had rattled her thoughts into chaos.

“That’s right. Do you know how much I paid for you?”

The moment his grip released, Cyrene scrambled away, pressing herself into the corner of the carriage as if trying to escape. Tears kept streaming down her face, soaking her br*ast, leaving her dress damp and heavy.

The carriage rattled lightly, causing the lamp hanging inside to sway with the movement. Cyrene had no idea where they were headed, and she couldn’t even bring herself to ask.

She pressed a hand to her already swollen cheek, wincing at the sharp pain that radiated from it. Heat burned under her palm as though her skin were on fire.

Ilion…

She wanted to see him. Leaving like this—would she ever be able to see him again? The fear of being separated from Areos and the sorrow of possibly never meeting Ilion again weighed heavily on her.

She bit her lip as she felt the Count’s gaze sweep over her body, taking in every inch of her with a disconcerting thoroughness. Though they had made love before, he had never laid a violent hand on her. Was it only because she had been the Crown Prince’s?

When their eyes met for a fleeting moment, Cyrene instinctively lowered her gaze. The Count, noticing her swollen cheek, only smiled faintly, as if amused.

She wanted to throw the door open and run. Anywhere would be better than being with the Count. Cyrene clenched her fists tightly. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, the moments dragging on as if frozen.

When the carriage finally stopped, she was ordered to get out. Stepping down, she found herself standing in front of a dark, ominous mansion cloaked in the pitch-black of night.

“Ah…”

The faint sound escaped her lips as she stared at the imposing structure before her.

The Count gripped her arm tightly and strode in with determined steps. Cyrene followed, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. She had no idea where this place was or how far it was from the capital. She looked around, but at this late hour – or perhaps due to the nature of the household – she saw only a few servants moving about.

“A disobedient slave must be punished.”

Cyrene’s entire body flinched at his words. What kind of punishment? Would he strike her again? Or perhaps he’d use her as Areos sometimes did, forcing her into degrading acts? Maybe he’d even use some drug to make her compliant.

Every possibility filled her with dread. She bit her lip hard, trying to suppress the trembling of her body. The Count, as if savoring her reaction, glanced back at her and smiled in satisfaction.

“Are you afraid?”

“…Yes.”

She hadn’t wanted to answer, but the gleam in his eyes made it impossible to refuse. Reluctantly, she nodded.

The man began descending a set of stairs.

‘Underground?’

‘Why underground?’

With each step deeper down the staircase, the damp, clammy air clung to her skin. The carpeted floor above gave way to damp stone beneath her feet, its chill seeping through her thin shoes.

The sound of her footsteps echoed off the stone walls, repeating over and over until it seemed to surround her. Cyrene’s eyes darted to the iron bars and shadowy corners of the room. It looked as if it had once been a prison, transformed into something else – its new purpose unclear, but undoubtedly sinister.

The Count suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“Strip.”

The instinct to flee surged within her, but she forced herself to suppress it. With trembling hands, Cyrene tugged at the ties of her dress, loosening it and letting the fabric fall open. She slipped out of the dress, then removed the thin chemise and undergarments until she was completely n*ked. The cold, damp air prickled her skin, making goosebumps rise all over. She hunched her shoulders, trying to shield herself from the chill, but the Count grabbed her arm and pulled her forward again.

“Ah…”

He positioned her in front of a low table and pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her to her knees. The sharp impact of her knees on the stone floor sent a jolt of pain through her.

“Bend over.”

“…My lord, please…”

Cyrene’s voice trembled as she spoke, barely audible.

‘What is he going to do?’

The uncertainty only increased her fear. Cyrene cautiously called out to him, her voice barely above a whisper, but the Count responded by slapping her across the face again. The force of the blow sent her reeling and she collapsed to the cold stone floor.

“What did you say?”

His lips twisted into a mocking smile as he repeated the question, his tone dripping with derision. Tears welled up in Cyrene’s eyes, spilling over as her cheek throbbed with fresh pain.

“Your Highness…”

“No, no, that’s not it.”

Another harsh slap sent her head snapping to the side. She gasped for breath, her body curling in on itself as she lay on the damp stone floor, trembling.

“Think carefully.”

The Count said, as if giving her a moment to correct herself. He leaned down slightly in front of her, tapping the table rhythmically with his fingers.

‘What should I call him?’

Her mind spiraled into a chaotic haze of fear and confusion, the titles she knew blurring together in her panic. The thought of uttering the wrong one paralyzed her—if she misspoke, he would strike her again. Her back was soaked in cold sweat, strands of hair clinging uncomfortably to her damp skin.

“Ma… Master.”

“Half right. Should I only give you half the punishment then?”

The man made a thoughtful sound, dragging out his response as if toying with her. Then, slowly, he raised his hand again.

“Master! Master! Master, please! Master!”

Cyrene cried out urgently, repeating the word over and over in desperation.

The Count paused, seeming to deliberate for a moment, before lowering his hand with a smirk.

“Good. If you act foolishly, you’ll be punished. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes… yes…”

Cyrene nodded frantically, her motions jerky and desperate. A lone pin, barely holding onto her disheveled hair, finally gave way and fell, its faint clink echoing against the stone floor.

“You behaved insolently in front of His Highness. Punishment is only fair, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes…”

He dragged her roughly toward the low table. A sense of foreboding churned in her stomach—not that she had ever felt anything remotely good around the Count. Cyrene clung to him desperately.

“I’m sorry, I was wrong. Please forgive me.”

“Yes, if you do better next time, there won’t be any punishments.”

“I’ll do better. Master, I’m sorry… so sorry…”

Her tears wouldn’t stop. She sobbed uncontrollably, hiccupping as she cried. The Count, watching her tear-streaked face, smiled again.

“His Highness was softer than I expected.”

He deliberately reached out to wipe away her tears, his touch lingering over her swollen cheek. Instead of being gentle, his fingers pressed down cruelly, amplifying her pain.

“…Ahh.”

“Did that kind of tearful pleading work on him? Did he let you off when you cried like this?”

Cyrene shook her head. Areos had never resorted to this kind of violence. When she met Ilion, she thought Areos lacked any kindness, but now, facing the Count, all she could think of was how gentle Areos had actually been in comparison.

The Count forcibly grabbed her arm and tied it tightly to the leg of the table. He secured her thighs just as firmly, rendering her completely immobile. When she looked up at him with trembling eyes, he smiled and brushed a hand through her platinum-blond hair as if in mock affection.

“Behave properly, and maybe you’ll be treated like a human being.”

“…I-I’ll behave…”

Her voice shook uncontrollably. At the Count’s subtle hand gesture, a low growl filled the room, followed by the clinking of chains. Cyrene bit her lip hard and turned to look behind her.

“Hhk…”

A large dog was entering the room. The only small relief was the muzzle strapped tightly over its snout. Even so, its strength was evident—the servant holding the chain attached to the dog’s collar was half being dragged as they struggled to control it.