“What exactly is fine?”

“Just… mmph, on my face. Uh—”

Every time she tried to speak, his frantically wiping sleeve blocked her words, rubbing so hard that her skin turned red. Illion’s face was as red as a flame.

“Ow.”

She finally managed to protest, giggling as she gently pushed his hand away.

At her words, the sleeve that had been rubbing her skin raw finally stopped. Cyrene, however, had already begun to caress his hardening p*nis again, her hands teasing his growing d*ck. Ilion reached out to stop her as she tried to climb onto his lap.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“I like you, Ilion.”

“…”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, his lips parting and closing several times, but in the end, he said nothing. Cyrene slowly lowered herself onto him.

“Haah… ugh…”

The sight of Ilion biting his lip, trying to suppress the pleasure, made her heart race. As she began to move her hips slowly, Ilion grabbed the back of her head, pulling her down.

“Mmph… hmm…”

Their lips met. She tasted the faint saltiness lingering there, and his eyebrows furrowed slightly at the flavor. Cyrene couldn’t help but laugh. Despite his expression of slight displeasure, Ilion didn’t pull away. He moved closer, kissing her all over her face as if to wipe away every last trace of what was left.

“Haah, hmm, ah…”

His lips trailed down to her br*ast, and the light brushes against her n*pples sent a ticklish sensation through her. The thought of wanting him to touch her there barely formed before Ilion’s lips closed over the tip, gently biting down.

“Mmngh…!”

A jolt of pleasure shot through her, starting at her toes and racing to the top of her head. Cyrene panted heavily, bracing herself on his shoulders as she lifted her hips, moving in rhythm.

For the first time, the bed creaked beneath them, adding to the symphony of their movements. Her fingers tangled in his golden hair, pulling him closer. Ilion sucked the soft flesh of her br*ast into his mouth, teasing her sensitive skin with deliberate nibbles.

“Haah, ah… harder…”

The faint mark left by his lips began to fade too quickly, making her long for more. Panting, Cyrene clung to him, her nails digging into his back. The sensation of his teeth grazing her tender skin was both thrilling and maddeningly ticklish.

Red marks dotted her pale skin wherever his lips had trailed, and every touch left her insides clenching so tightly it almost ached. Slick fl*ids dripped down, tracing a path along Ilion’s thighs as their heated bodies pressed together.

Wet skin smacked against each other, sticking and pulling apart with every motion. Each time she pushed her hips down, his hardness reached places deep inside her, where only he could touch.

“Mmngh… ah, ugh…!”

Cyrene trembled, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Sweat slicked her entire body, making her glisten under the dim light. Ilion kissed her shoulder tenderly before wrapping her firmly in his arms.

Even before the echoes of her cl*max faded, his rough movements pushed into her sensitive walls, sending waves of overstimulation coursing through her. Overcome by the intensity, she clung to him desperately, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes.

“Haah, ahh…!”

“Cyrene.”

His large hand combed through her messy hair, gently finding her small face, and their lips met once more. As his mouth opened, he swallowed every soft m*an that escaped her, their breaths mingling in the heat of the moment.

There was no fear of being devoured, as she had felt with Areos. Instead, everything about him—even his every breath—was sweet and comforting. Cyrene willingly accepted his tongue, letting the warm sensation spread through her once again.

***

With a pounding heart, Cyrene handed over a coin. Watching intently with sparkling eyes as the woman returned a few coins in change, she clenched her fist tightly.

“You did well.”

For the first time, she had bought something. It felt strange—just the act of paying money was fascinating. For Cyrene, items were things that simply appeared if she asked for them.

“I bought it.”

What she had purchased was a butterfly hairpin made of wood. It didn’t sparkle, nor was it brightly colored. When she held it out to show him, Ilion smiled and placed a few more coins in her hand.

“If there’s anything else you want, feel free to buy as much as you’d like.”

Humming a tune, Cyrene stared at the hairpin. There were many things far more beautiful than this, but she liked it the most. She liked it best. Not as much as she liked Ilion, of course, but out of everything she had, it was her favorite.

“This. I’ll give it to you, Ilion.”

“To me?”

He laughed, his face showing a hint of disbelief.

“I bought it.”

“With my money, though.”

“But I’m the one who bought it.”

“I have short hair.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

When Cyrene reached out, Ilion lowered his head slightly to let her pin the hairpin awkwardly into his golden hair. He let out a faint, exaggerated groan.

“It hurts.”

“You’re pretty, Ilion.”

In truth, it looked a bit funny. As Cyrene burst into laughter, Ilion touched the pin with a subtle expression and shrugged his shoulders.

“If you say I’m so pretty, should I just go around like this?”

Cyrene hesitated, debating whether to take the pin back, but instead, she looped her arm through his.

“Yes, you’re really pretty. Truly. Beautiful.”

At those words, Ilion chuckled softly and held her hand tightly. He realized he preferred holding hands to linking arms—it felt much better. It wasn’t like her wrist was being grabbed and dragged somewhere; their palms simply met, and their fingers intertwined. When Cyrene gripped his hand tightly, Ilion squeezed her hand firmly in return before letting go.

Just the playful act of squeezing each other’s hands a few times made them both laugh.

“What’s that?”

“A blacksmith’s shop.”

“And that?”

“A bakery.”

“They sell bread?”

“Mm-hmm. That’s right.”

“In the castle, we make our own bread.”

“Would you like to try some of the bread they sell?”

“I’ll buy it.”

“Alright. Bread bought by Cyrene must taste delicious.”

As they stepped into the shop, a middle-aged woman inside stared at them in shock.

“Your Grace…?”

Her gaze fixated on Ilion’s head and refused to move away. A faint blush began to creep across his cheekbones.

“Your hair… no, no…”

The woman muttered in a stunned tone, then started lightly slapping her own lips. Cyrene, meanwhile, quietly stared at the neatly arranged bread. She reached out toward one, but Ilion caught her hand and pulled it back.

“If you touch it, you have to buy it.”

“Buy it without even tasting it first?”

“Hmm… it’s all about taking a chance.”

The woman rolled her eyes playfully, then approached them with a bright smile.

“This one is our bestseller. And this one is made with honey…”

Cyrene, half-listening to the woman’s passionate explanation, simply pointed at the shiny, glossy bread.

“This one, and that one… and…”

“Cyrene, can you eat all of that?”

“If not, I’ll give it to the horses.”

“You shouldn’t feed just any bread to horses.”

“Hmm, hmm… then I’ll give it to Anna.”

By the time they left the shop, they had bought so much bread that the largest bag the shop had was practically bursting. Cyrene, still holding a warm loaf, took a bite as they walked out.

It was slightly coarse but sweet. Chewing the bread as she walked, Cyrene pointed toward another shop.

“What’s that place?”

“A clothing store… but, hmm, I don’t think it’s the kind of place you’d like.”

“I like clothes.”

“They sell dresses in other shops.”

“Then what do they sell here?”

“Hmm. Mostly clothes that commoners wear.”

Commoners. For the first time, Cyrene closely observed the clothes worn by the women walking around. There was no lace, no frills. The fabrics weren’t smooth, and there wasn’t a single ribbon or jewel in sight. Everything lacked any shine or sparkle.

“I want to go in!”

“But…”

Ilion, who had been about to stop her, shook his head with a sigh.

“No, no. Do whatever you like, Cyrene.”

Cyrene practically dragged him along as she strode confidently into the shop.

“Your Grace?”

“Ah, yes.”

Ilion gave a small nod in acknowledgment.

“Everyone seems to know who you are.”

“Yes, well, it’s probably because I’m a marquis…”

“Does everyone always know a marquis?”

“This is my territory, so naturally, they do.”

“Ah, I see.”

Cyrene nodded absentmindedly and browsed through the rows of hanging clothes, scanning them here and there. None of them truly caught her eye, but she pulled out a few and held them up against herself.

“Hmm.”

She tilted her head while standing in front of a mirror, and when she turned, Ilion was handing out pieces of bread to the shopkeeper at his whim.