Tears welled up and slid down her chin as she wiped them away. She clung to Areos’ legs, her voice breaking.

“Your Highness, please save me.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say, Don’t abandon me, because he had already discarded her once before. But she felt as if she might truly die. Pressing her forehead against his knee, she clung desperately to his legs, her arms wrapping tightly around them.

His fingers slowly brushed through her hair, smoothing it down, before moving to clear away what clung to her back. She felt his fingertips trace the wounds on her skin, gently brushing over the marks.

“Hngh…”

She couldn’t suppress the moan of pain that escaped as the sting surged through her body. Tears fell freely, dripping onto the floor. For Cyrene, Areos was the only person she could rely on, the only one who had ever been her god, her savior, her everything.

“Your Highness, I was wrong.”

Her sobs grew louder, the kind she couldn’t remember crying in years. She wailed openly, her voice broken and raw.

“Please save me. Hic… hngh…”

Her chest tightened to the point she could barely breathe. She didn’t even have the strength to gauge Areos’s mood or expression. All she knew was that she couldn’t bear to return to the new “master” she had been with for what felt like an eternity, even if it had only been days. She couldn’t endure that hell again.

Areos reached out and picked her up effortlessly. As he had done in the past, he placed her on his lap, his gaze fixed on her face. Without hesitation, Cyrene wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly. Tears continued to stream down her face, unstoppable.

Amid her soft sobbing, she vaguely heard the count’s voice saying something in the background. Areos’s large hand gently stroked her back. The touch stung, but it also brought her a small sense of relief—at least he seemed to pity her.

Areos’s low voice resonated, calm and cold.

“…Take him away.”

The sound of the door opening reached her ears. She didn’t have the courage or the composure to look back. The count’s voice rose sharply in protest.

“Your Highness, have you forgotten how much I’ve sacrificed for that thing?”

“So what? I never asked you to make any sacrifices. I simply said, if you wanted to take her, then speak up. Besides, she was mine to begin with.”

“And you’d go so far as to oppose me over a mere woman—”

“And yet here you are, defying me over that same mere woman.”

The room was soon filled with nothing but chaos—sounds of scuffling, shouting, and a physical struggle. Cyrene clung even tighter to Areos’s neck, tears falling steadily, overwhelmed by the relief of being alive. His hand moved slowly, brushing her hair back gently.

As the noise outside faded, the only sound in the quiet room was her soft sobbing. Gradually, her frantic emotions began to settle. Breathing heavily, she buried her face in his, but Areos pulled away slightly. His golden eyes scanned the red marks on her pale chest and the scratches left by the claws, tracing each one carefully.

Though he was only looking, there was a strange tenderness in his expression that caused tears to fall again, dripping down her chest. Areos lowered his head and licked the drop as it fell between her flushed skin. He planted a soft kiss on her tear-stained cheek.

“Hiik…”

Cyrene gasped, inhaling sharply. When she closed her eyes tightly, she felt his touch brush against her eyelashes. His tongue lightly grazed the corner of her reddened eyes.

Her body was lifted onto the desk. She knew what was coming, her body reacting instinctively. A flush of heat surged deep within her abdomen.

“Haah…”

Her legs spread. Familiar hands began to caress her once dry core, and soon the smooth sounds of w*tness filled the air. Without a word, Areo’s firm p*nis pressed inside her.

“Ahh…!”

Cyrene’s hands gripped tightly at his collar. She suddenly realized how much she had missed the warmth of shared intimacy.

The room was soon filled with breathless moans of pleasure.

***

“Ouch…”

The touch on her wounds stung. When Cyrene flinched, Areos’s hands became rougher. His brows had been furrowed for some time, and his lips were pressed into a tight line.

“Speak.”

“Sorry?”

“Tell me what the count did to you.”

What could she possibly say? Cyrene’s lips parted slightly. Should she tell him she had been forced to have s*x with a dog? Or that she had been beaten? Those were the only memories that stood out—the rest was just being hung or tied up somewhere, struggling in vain.

“…Ah!”

His long fingers brushed against one of her wounds. She tried to stifle a moan, but it wasn’t easy. She thought she had grown used to pain, but in front of Areos, her tolerance seemed to crumble.

“Your Highness, the… the master…”

“Master?”

His brow arched and he gripped her chin tightly. Cyrene’s face twisted into a grimace. What should she call him then? Could she still call him the Count? Was she Areos’s again? None of this made sense to her.

“I am your master.”

Areos muttered with a displeased expression as he rubbed medicine over her swollen, reddened n*pple.

“Ahhn…”

A soft whimper escaped her lips.

His fingertips, almost teasingly, spread the slippery ointment around, pressing and rubbing her half-hardened n*pple as if caressing it. Cyrene flinched, trying to escape his touch, but Areos showed no intention of stopping.

“The count is dead.”

The calm words slipped out as if they had no meaning. Cyrene froze and looked up at Areos, her face blank. Dead? Could it be true? Or was this just another cruel joke?

She didn’t know whether to feel relief or fear at the news of his death. As she stared at him in confusion, Areos quietly applied the ointment to the bruise on her cheek.

“You should smile.”

“…Pardon?”

“You begged me to save you, so I killed him for you. You should smile.”

Cyrene forced a smile from the corners of her mouth. Seeing her attempt, the Crown Prince smiled faintly and lowered his head. As always, he licked her lips lightly before planting a kiss on her. He ran his fingers gently through her hair, his eyes half closed.

“Should I bring you his head?”

“…”

“Was there nothing you wanted to do to the count?”

“N-no, nothing.”

It wasn’t a joke – it was clear from his tone and demeanour that he meant every word. If she asked, he really would bring her the Count’s severed head. The vivid image flashed through her mind, making her jump and pull away from him.

“So, what happened?”

His long fingers slowly slid through her hair, untangling it.

“…I heard you were with a dog.”

Why was he asking when he already knew everything? Cyrene hugged her knees tightly. Areos, as always, was an incomprehensible and terrifying figure. She edged backward slightly.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“N-no…”

His hand slid between her legs. She tried to squeeze her thighs together, but it was no use against the Crown Prince’s persistence. His fingers slowly traced the smooth folds, pushing into the area where traces of s*men still lingered and began to seep out again.

“Why are you wet while saying you didn’t like it?”

“Because… because it’s you touching me, Your Highness.” Cyrene replied in a trembling voice. His lips curled into a smirk.

“I heard you were panting and moaning even with the dog.”

She shook her head frantically, denying it, but his expression showed little belief. His fingers moved deeper, tracing the inner walls deliberately.

“It feels like you’ve stretched to accommodate the dog.”

“N-no, that’s not true.”

Cyrene panted, gripping his arm desperately.

“Please…”

Was that why he seemed displeased? Because she had been with the dog? Or because she was now ruined? Her thoughts spiraled in confusion, tangled beyond comprehension. Unsure of what to say, she opened her mouth, but no words came out. Areos’s hand gently stroked her cheek.

“…What should I do with you?”

Cyrene placed a trembling hand on his chest and leaned forward. Areos, who had been slowly stroking her hair, suddenly shoved her shoulders hard.

“Ahh!”

She tumbled off the bed, landing on the floor. Dazed, she pushed herself up, confusion written all over her face.

“You’re filthy.”

There was nothing to say at that moment. Even to herself, there had been times when she had been worse than a beast, and she couldn’t cry out that she wasn’t dirty.

Is he going to throw me away again? Cyrene’s mind hummed. Is he going to send me away somewhere again?

“Your Highness. Your Highness…”

She crawled slowly and grabbed his knee.

“P-Please don’t throw me away. Don’t throw me away.”

“Because of you, I killed the Count.”

Areos whispered in a gentle voice, softly brushing her platinum hair.

“Because of you. Because of you.”

The voice, tinged with a hint of laughter, sent a chill down her spine.

“Just because of you.”

His fingers, which had been gently caressing her ear, gripped her chin tightly.

“I have to deal with this troublesome situation.”

His soft lips pressed against her forehead. Despite the sweetness of his voice and actions, the pressure in his grip became painfully strong. Cyrene couldn’t hold back a shallow groan.

“Ugh.”

At the sound of her tearful moan, he released his hand. His gaze fell upon the red marks left on her chest.

“…I can’t stand the sight of you. Leave.”

Cyrene hesitated before rising. Barely clutching a robe, her clothes gone, she took a step back. Areos’ eyebrow twitched. He was torn between approaching her and acting shy or simply letting her go as he had ordered.

“Leave.”

He commanded again in a low voice. Cyrene fled the room hastily. She could feel the gaze of the guards posted by the door.

In a hurry, she slipped her arms into the robe and tied it tightly. The night air was cold.

Why?

She was confused. He had applied the medicine with gentle hands, only to become angry again. He had called her filthy and yet pressed his lips to her forehead in a tender gesture. Cyrene bit her lip as she tightened the strings of her robe.

As confused as Areos was, she couldn’t get her bearings either. He had spoken to her roughly, as if to cast her aside, only to pull her close as if he would never send her away again.

Walking barefoot down the corridor in a daze, Cyrene suddenly thought of Ilion. She looked down at the garden where she used to meet him.

Ah. If I’m here, I can meet Ilion.

Even if it was only a faint trace, she thought, at least she could see him. With that thought, her heart felt a little lighter. If she was going to be trapped, it was better to be at Areos side.

Even if it was only a fleeting glimpse, leaving only a trace, at least she could see him. The thought brought a small comfort. If she was going to be imprisoned, she would rather be with Areos.

Cyrene hurried back to her room. Although she had never exchanged more than a few words with the maids, she was suddenly glad to see them.

The feeling of ‘being back’ struck her anew. Relieved, Cyrene lay down on the bed.