“Can’t we go on?”

“We must think of returning. If we overdo it today, you might be too sore to learn to ride properly tomorrow.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“That… well,” he hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll teach you.”

“Understood. I’ll teach you.”

Ilion said with a gentle smile.

“Then let’s go back for today.”

Cyrene said, lifting her chin.

Ilion responded with a slight smile and planted a light kiss on her forehead.

“As you wish.”

His soft lips and gentle voice – everything about him – was so comforting that it frightened her. Could she allow herself to fall in love with him? The thought made her grip his arm tightly.

‘He’s not coming back, right?’

Areos had said he would come for her, but wasn’t leaving her here the same as abandoning her? She couldn’t believe he’d really come back for her, not out of concern or love. Cyrene leaned back against Ilion’s chest, letting his arms steady her.

She wanted to ask him, “Do you think the Crown Prince will come for me? Do you think I’ll have to go back?” But fear held her back. The thought of wanting to stay frightened her more than anything else, and she dreaded the answer – an answer that might tell her she had to return.

“Ilion.”

“Yes?”

“I… like it here.”

She listened to the faintly quicker rhythm of his heartbeat as she turned her head slightly, resting her cheek against his chest and closing her eyes.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Mm, I really like it here.”

It was fun doing things she had never tried before, and fascinating to see things she had never seen. Even the simple act of people talking to her felt strange and new. She had lost count of how many times someone had approached her, blushing, to hand her flowers.

Of course, every time, they had insisted that it be kept a secret from Ilion.

They like you, Ilion had explained once. That’s why they acted that way toward her.

It was strange to Cyrene. The kind of “liking” she knew was so different from what Ilion described that it felt almost unreal. It was as though this kind of fondness came from another world entirely.

The “liking” Cyrene had learned from Areos was different—stripping off clothes, replacing words with m*ans. She had been taught that his hardened p*nis was proof of wanting her, of liking her. By that definition, the Crown Prince liked her very, very much, as he had shown her that proof countless times, day after day.

She tilted her head upward, gazing at Ilion’s face. Liking… She repeated the word in her mind, over and over. Unlike those men who had thr*st their hardened p*nis at her, she wanted to share something deeper with Ilion. She wanted to hold him close, to connect with him—not just anyone, but Ilion.

He was the first person to ever stir such thoughts within her. Her mind felt like a tangled mess, and she wondered if these feelings, too, were what it meant to like someone.

Sitting atop the gently swaying horse, she tightened her grip on Ilion’s collar.

“What’s wrong?”

Without answering, she turned her body halfway and wrapped her arms firmly around his waist.

“I want to give you flowers, Ilion.”

“…Pardon?”

“I want to give you flowers. So many flowers.”

Would her cheeks be as flushed as those of the men who had handed her flowers before? She raised her head, her gaze meeting Ilion’s. The heat spread across her face, making her entire body tingle with an unbearable sense of embarrassment.

Pressing her cheek against his chest, she rubbed her forehead against him, as though trying to burrow into his warmth. The rhythm of his heartbeat grew louder and more erratic, echoing through her.

“I’ll give you every flower in the world.”

The words spilled out without thought. If flowers were a way of saying “I like you,” then she wanted to give him every single one. Not a single bloom would go to anyone else; they would all be for Ilion alone.

“Ilion.”

His dark eyes deepened, reflecting something unreadable yet profound. Cyrene leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, a fleeting yet deliberate gesture.

“…Ah, Cyrene.”

He whispered her name like a sigh, his trembling hand moving gently along Cyrene’s cheek. For a moment, it felt as though the world had come to a standstill. His quivering lips finally managed to form words, low and strained.

“There’s something I haven’t told you…”

“I don’t want to know.”

At her words, Ilion fell silent, his mouth closing. His arms tightened around her waist, drawing her closer. Slowly, their lips met again, this time with more intention.

“…I’ll bear this sin alone.”

As Cyrene’s tongue lightly brushed his lips, Ilion gripped the back of her head firmly, pulling her into a deeper kiss. Their tongues intertwined, and for the first time, she tasted him. His kiss was as sweet as the nectar of flowers.

***

“Ah, Ilion… ah…!”

Cylene let out a ragged breath, her hips trembling. The golden hair buried between her legs tickled her thighs, and the soft tongue licked her sensitive spot.

The unfamiliar sensation, something she was experiencing for the first time, strangely elicited pleasure. Her hardened cl*toris was pressed, nibbled, and licked. Each time, it felt as though sparks ignited deep inside her p*ssy.

“Haah, ha…”

Cylene’s slender fingers gripped his golden hair tightly. Ilion, whose tongue prodded the slick, dripping folds of her v*gina, lifted his head. A long silver thread stretched from his lips to the space between her legs.

“Put it in…”

Breathing heavily in excitement, Cylene urged him on, pulling at his arm desperately. Ilion licked his lips and smiled faintly. Just as he seemed to draw closer, he instead pushed a finger deep inside her.

“Just a little longer… allow me to explore.”

With wet, squelching sounds, her inner walls tightened firmly. A scorching heat surged through her body, as if it would burn and twist her from the inside out. Cylene gasped, throwing her head back. She had believed the pleasure Areos gave her was the pinnacle.

No one had ever brought her greater ecstasy than he had. Yet, as if mocking that notion, Ilion introduced her to something entirely new. With just one finger, he sent shivers through her entire body.

The way he gently scraped and stirred her inner walls made her hips lift involuntarily.

“Ah, Ilion, haah…!”

It was just his finger. Yet the cl*max that overtook her was more intense than anything she’d felt even when filled by a hardened p*nis. The sensation began deep in her belly, spreading as her entire body tensed. Cylene’s nails dug into his shoulders as though clawing at him.

“Ugh, ah…!”

The skin became damp and soaked with sweat. As the fingers withdrew from the twitching, convulsively tightening v*gina, a surge of love fl*ids gushed out as if spilling like s*men.

“Ha… Ilion, ah….”

A large, firm p*nis, radiating heat, lightly touched Cyrene’s stomach. Her entire body trembled to the point of fear. Just a single finger had been enough to bring her to cl*max—what would happen if this were to enter?

She exhaled in short, rapid breaths as she touched the thing resting on her flat stomach. A clear, sticky substance dripped down in beads. Somehow, she had the urge to lick it with her tongue, to take it fully into her mouth and feel the pulsing veins. Just as Cyrene’s thoughts wandered that far and she licked her lips with her tongue, Ilion leaned in to kiss her again.

“Ugh… … hmph… … .”

It was different from the usual taste of s*men. Her lips, soaked with her own lewd fl*ids, pressed and rubbed together, their tongues intertwining. Breathless gasps escaped through the gaps in their lips.

“Ha, hurry…”

Cyrene panted heavily, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him closer. Her already slick and loosened entrance quivered, eagerly searching for something to engulf. As the blunt tip brushed against her, her hips bucked instinctively, and her p*ssy was roughly grazed against the p*nis that slid along her.

“Mmngh…!”

“Slowly… so you can feel everything, Cyrene.”

Ilion pressed his lips to her cheek, his ragged breath mingling with hers. Sticky kisses were scattered all over her body – her forehead, the tip of her nose, her eyelashes, the curve of her ear, the corners of her eyes…

Each time Cyrene moaned and gasped, his large p*nis slid in ever so slowly. It was as if he wanted to feel every fold and ridge of her inner walls with deliberate, unhurried movements.

“Ah, Ilion, haa…”

Her body, already heated to its peak, sensitively took in every part of him – the blunt tip, the tapered curve, the throbbing pulse of the veined p*nis. She could feel it all.

Cyrene’s legs tightened around his waist, but Illion wasn’t in a hurry. Each time his large p*nis entered her, her inner walls clung to him, sticking with a wet, intimate sound. Despite the slow pace of his movements, the pleasure was so intense that it was almost bewildering how such a leisurely rhythm could feel so good.

Her mind was spinning in a dizzying haze. She wanted nothing more than to take him completely, to become one with him, but Illion continued his leisurely exploration, as if he wanted to know every part of her.