“I picked a large one to ensure it would be a good match for you. If this keeps up, perhaps you’ll end up pregnant by this dog.”

He grinned at her from behind the bars. She didn’t even want to think about it. The thought of being pregnant by that dog. No, it couldn’t be.

But even as she dismissed the thought, disgust welled up inside her. Every time the dog *jaculated, it went deep into her v*gina. And she had to take a long, painful bite out of the dog’s swollen p*nis.

“Ugh!”

The dog, who had wiggled his hips several times, finally found a hole and entered deep into her v*gina. The more Cyrene struggled, the more the dog pinned her down with its front paw, as if annoyed. The claws digging into her br*ast left scratches on her skin, and the suffocating weight pressed down on her, making it hard for her to breathe.

Cyrene’s moans echoed through the walls every time their flesh hit each other. The count leisurely admired the sight as the dark red p*nis pierced her v*gina without hesitation.

“You should hug him a little more, Cyrene. This dog has been prepared for you. As a female, shouldn’t you be happy to accept him?”

The dog’s muzzle pressed tightly against Cyrene’s face with every movement of its hips. The beast’s harsh breathing and dripping drool landed sticky on her skin.

“Hngh… ugh…”

She really did feel like an animal, not a human being. The Count, fully clothed, looked into the iron bars as if he were watching. She had to pant in the dog’s lap without a single thread on her.

The difference was painful. Cyrene squirmed against the rough texture of the fur that pricked her skin. Every move she made only seemed to provoke the dog further as her breathing grew heavier.

“Come here.”

The count’s hand seized her hair and pulled it back.

“Mmm…!”

His blunt tip rubbed against her lips that couldn’t even close tightly, accompanied by the sound of his heavy breathing.

“Haah…”

“Mm, hmm…”

Cyrene’s body was shaken roughly up and down. The slick tip of his p*nis seemed to rub against her face before it began dripping s*men.

“Ugh. Ugh…….”

A fishy liquid seeped through her parted lips. Something sticky smeared across her face, and just as the count, panting heavily, adjusted his pants, someone approached with firm, deliberate steps.

“What is it? …”

“A guest has arrived, sir.”

“A guest?”

Cyrene stared blankly into the Count’s face. The messenger, who had glanced at her briefly, turned bright red and quickly looked away. The beast’s heavy breathing still hung in the air.

“Haah… hhmm…”

The count exchanged a few brief whispers with the man before leaving without a second thought. Cyrene clung tightly to the iron bars. The clanging sound echoed, but they didn’t look back.

“Ugh, uh……!”

The dog that had been bumping into her with a thud thud sound entered deep inside her v*gina at once. It felt familiar.

“Ugh!”

She could feel her bottom slowly swelling, stretching her inner walls to the point of pain. Cyrene let out a long, tearful moan.

***

Ilion clenched his hands tightly, his unease unmistakable. Ever since he was forbidden from seeing the Crown Prince, he had been seeking alternative solutions.

Then, out of nowhere, he received the shocking news of her disappearance. She had vanished without a trace. Despite his fears, he refused to believe that Areos would go so far as to kill Cyrene. Determined to uncover the truth, he delved deeper into the matter and uncovered a single clue: Count Katara had taken her.

Please, let her be alive and unharmed…

Why did it have to be him, of all people?

The count’s sadistic tendencies were already well known. Such a man had spared no expense, using his wealth to curry favour with the crown prince and take Cyrene from him.

Ilion closed his eyes tightly before opening them again.

Nothing will happen.

He muttered to himself, as if trying to convince his own mind. How could anyone think of ruining her after seeing her? He kept telling himself that it couldn’t possibly happen.

“Marquis Laska.”

“…Count.”

“To visit so suddenly… I must admit that I’m quite surprised”.

A faint smile lingered on Count Katara’s face. The damp, oppressive scent still clung faintly in the air, mingled with the sharp, fishy smell of s*men. Ilion took a deep breath, trying desperately to catch any trace of Cyrene’s scent, but he couldn’t detect even a hint of her.

“And how, may I ask, did you know about this estate?”

“Isn’t it something of an open secret?”

A man who delighted in gathering what pleased him, torturing it, and crushing it with cruelty. Ilion didn’t even feel the need to mince words. His fists clenched tightly.

“You took Cyrene, didn’t you?”

“Ah, so that’s why you’re here. But what can be done now? She’s mine.”

Mine. Ilion squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again, the word echoing in his mind. He recalled how the count had paid for Cyrene’s price.

“I’ll buy her back.”

Ilion added firmly.

“Offer more than you originally paid.

“My, my. There isn’t a second Cyrene in the world, is there?”

“Are you suggesting a negotiation?”

“What I meant was that I have no intention of selling her.”

The count shrugged as if Ilion’s question was absurdly obvious. Ilion bit back the words that threatened to escape his lips. He couldn’t kill the man outright, nor could he take Cyrene by force without causing considerable trouble.

“…At the very least, I’d like to confirm that she’s doing well.”

At those words, Count Katara’s eyes narrowed. His gray irises gleamed with amusement before he let out a chuckle.

“Ah, that’s right. I almost forgot that Your Excellency is Cyrene’s half-brother, born of the same mother.”

“…”

“So how does it feel to have been intimate with your half-sister? I’m sure it was pleasant. After all, one wouldn’t dare ask His Highness the Crown Prince such a question. Is there indeed a certain… unique flavour in a sibling relationship?”

Ilion clenched the hilt of the sword at his waist tightly.

“…Nothing of the sort ever happened.”

“Impossible. You’re telling me you simply stood by and watched, with that face and that body right in front of you?”

“Cyrene is my sister.”

“…You, of all people, must know that saying so doesn’t erase everything.”

The count burst into laughter. Ilion gritted his teeth. It was true. He loathed himself for feeling desire for his own sister, yet the mere thought of Cyrene filled him with uncontrollable emotions that he struggled to suppress.

“At the very least, I want to confirm that she’s unharmed.”

“She’s doing perfectly well, so you needn’t worry.”

The smirk on the count’s face only made Ilion’s anger boil even more. It was clear that the crown prince hadn’t even bothered to show Cyrene the minimal care he had promised. Was she healthy? Had she been hurt? Was she crying? Every little thing gnawed at him.

“Or perhaps, since you’ve come all this way, would you like to see her for yourself?”

For a moment, the thought that he shouldn’t look came first. Just seeing the count’s smug face made it clear that Cyrene wouldn’t simply be sitting there, beautifully adorned.

Had someone else been holding her again? Ilion had seen Cyrene in the arms of other men before. Even as he tried to convince himself it was nothing surprising, the thought scorched him with an unbearable pain.

“…I’ll check.”

How long had it been since he’d last seen her? The last image burned in his mind was of her in front of the iron bars, her head buried between the crown prince’s legs. That was the last time.

Ilion slowly followed the man, who strode confidently ahead. The path led downward—to the basement. A damp, oppressive place reeking of a musty stench.

How many days had it been?

It had been less than a week since the count had taken her. During that time, Ilion had prayed desperately that nothing had happened to her. If the worst had occurred, he considered taking Cyrene back by force, no matter the consequences.

But doing so would mean making an enemy of the crown prince. Whether he had been compensated or not, it would still be akin to stealing what the prince had bestowed upon another.

Damn it.

Why was noble society filled with so many pointless complications? Ilion frowned, his irritation growing. Faint groans seemed to drift through the air amid the echoing footsteps. He could feel his nails digging painfully into his palms.

If only none of this mattered. If only Cyrene didn’t matter. Would he have been happy then? Ilion walked slowly deeper into the corridor.

“Ahh… hah…”

The sound of labored breathing grew louder. As the flickering torchlight wavered, glimpses of silvery platinum hair became visible at the farthest end.

“Ah, what a pity. If you’d arrived just a bit earlier, you’d have witnessed a much more entertaining scene.”

The count clicked his tongue as if he were genuinely sorry. Ilion’s eyes widened in shock at the scene inside the iron cage. It would have been easier to bear if it had been a human. Instead, he saw her legs entangled with a dog, her pale skin marred by red scratches and her br*ast covered in wounds. Her tear streaked face was drenched, her expression vacant and dazed.

“Cyrene!”

Ilion rushed to the cage, his voice urgent. Her limp body gave a faint shudder and her arms were covered in cuts and bruises.

“…Ugh, ahh…”