“Ilion, how does this look?”

“It looks lovely.”

“You’re so stunning that you’d look beautiful in anything.”

The shopkeeper chimed in quickly, almost eagerly.

Somehow, her spirits lifted slightly.

The wardrobe in the Crown Prince’s palace was overflowing with clothes, yet not a single one of them had been chosen by Cyrene or matched her wishes.

It had always been Areos who decided what he liked, what suited her, and what was discarded afterward.

This—this was something I chose.

Thinking that way made her feel like she might actually like it. Compared to the dress she was wearing now, the clothes were plain and unremarkable. But the fact that she had chosen it herself made her happy.

“Hmm.”

Cyrene held up the hem of the skirt in front of the mirror. She bent her knees slightly as if pretending to curtsy, and it felt oddly strange.

“Would you like to try it on?”

“Can I?”

In the bakery earlier, Ilion had said that if she touched something, she’d have to buy it. If she tried it on, wouldn’t that mean she’d have to buy it too? She tilted her head in thought, and the shopkeeper called over a young woman to assist her.

With the woman’s help, Cyrene changed into the outfit. It was such a fascinating feeling. It was as light as wearing nothing but a chemise. The fabric was a little rough, but it felt cool against her skin. The undecorated skirt seemed like it might float away with the slightest breeze.

When she stepped out with an awkward expression, Ilion smiled warmly.

“Do you like it?”

“I don’t know.”

Standing in front of the mirror, Cyrene twisted and turned, looking at herself from various angles. The feeling of lightness was so unfamiliar it was almost unsettling. It felt like she was wearing nothing at all. She gave a small hop on the spot, and Ilion burst into laughter.

“It seems you like it. I’ll buy it for you.”

“No, I’ll buy it myself.”

Cyrene held out the coins he had given her earlier. The shopkeeper glanced at the coins in her palm, then subtly shifted his gaze toward Ilion behind her.

“Thank you.”

“Send the dress to the castle.”

“Understood, Your Grace.”

Ilion handed the shopkeeper a few more coins.

“Why are you giving more?”

“It seems you could use a bit more study on coin values, Cyrene.”

Cyrene silently watched as he replenished her pouch.

“The copper-colored coins are the lowest value. Ten of them make one silver coin.”

 Cyrene fiddled with the coins as she listened to his explanation. She had thought it was as simple as just handing over money, but it turned out to be more complicated than she had imagined.

After that, she bought a particularly eye-catching pair of new shoes, and Ilion purchased a pretty ribbon for her to tie in her hair.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, it was fun.”

It was fascinating and enjoyable. Buying something was surprisingly satisfying. Choosing what she liked and then purchasing it—it was a completely new experience for her.

From head to toe, everything she wore had been personally chosen by herself—the hair ribbon, the clothes, the shoes. Though they weren’t tailored to fit her perfectly, being loose in some places and tight in others, she still liked them.

Ilion set down the armful of items he had been carrying. Cyrene handed the large bag of bread to Anna, who had come into the room to tidy up.

“Anna, eat this.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a gift from Cyrene. Make sure to share it with everyone.”

“No, it’s for Anna.”

At her words, Ilion shrugged. Anna, looking slightly bewildered, hugged the enormous bag of bread and nodded before leaving the room.

“Cyrene, Anna won’t be able to finish all that on her own.”

“Ilion, do you know everyone?”

Cyrene tugged him closer. Flopping onto the bed, she looked up as Ilion’s shadow fell over her.

“At the very least, I know the names of everyone working in the castle.”

“I don’t like it.”

“What don’t you like?”

Cyrene wrapped her arms around his neck. Ilion’s hands loosened the constricting fabric around her br*ast. The flesh, tightly pressed beneath her clothes, finally felt a sense of relief. His long fingers traced the marks left by the garment.

“The clothes could use some adjustment. Later, Anna could…”

She didn’t like hearing him say Anna’s name. Or maybe it was just the idea of him mentioning someone else at all that bothered her. Lost in thought, Cyrene leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

“Mm…”

“Ah… haa…”

His large hand gently cradled the back of her head. As his weight pressed down on her, her legs instinctively parted.

“…There are some advantages to simpler clothes.”

“Why?”

She let out breathy, shallow gasps. Calloused fingers slowly trailed up her leg, as if tickling her, aided by the thin fabric of her skirt, which made it easy for the two of them to remain pressed closely together even with the garment simply lifted.

Cyrene curled her legs around his waist. She moved her hips in response to the fingers exploring her underwear.

“Do you like it?”

“…It feels like you’re just a village girl.”

“Do you sleep with village girls too?”

“No.”

Ilion spoke bluntly, then chuckled softly. He pressed his lips firmly against Cyrene’s br*ast.

“If Cyrene were a lady of my domain, I would have been a terrible lord.”

“…Ha, Ilion?”

At her question, he only responded with a laugh. Something hot pressed against her already slick, drenched entrance. Her inner walls tightened as if eager to swallow him up.

“I think I can somewhat understand His Majesty now.”

Cyrene pulled his head closer again for a kiss. She didn’t want to think about Areos—not at all. No, she hated hearing him mention anyone else.

She just wanted him to look at her and speak only of her.

“Mm… mm…”

Each time her body rocked, the sensation of him reaching deep inside made her head swim with a dizzying rush. They sought each other’s lips through ragged breaths, clutching at each other’s backs as if afraid the other might vanish at any moment.

“Ah… oh… ah!”

Cyrene’s m*ans filled the room completely.

***

Cyrene sat curled up on the bed, gazing quietly out the window. Pure white snow was falling heavily.

“It’s snowing.”

At some point, he had awakened. A voice, low and thick, sounded from behind her.

“Yeah, it’s snowing.”

She turned her head from the window and burrowed into Ilion’s arms. Despite the warmth of the lit fireplace, the cool air left her shoulders feeling chilled.

Ilion gently stroked the nape of her neck and her back before pulling the blanket up a bit more.

“Isn’t snow fascinating?”

The warmth of his embrace was overwhelming. Their legs tangled together, and when she teasingly ran her toes up his calf, he tightened his hold around her waist as if to stop her.

“It snows in the capital too.”

“I thought it wouldn’t, since it’s warmer there.”

“Not much, but it does.”

Ilion chuckled softly before wrapping her snugly in the blanket and lifting her up with ease.

“Ilion?”

“I figured you haven’t seen thick, heavy snowfalls before.”

He moved toward the window and pulled a chair over, settling into it before gently placing Cyrene on his lap. Outside the window, the world was blanketed in pure white. That dazzling white. The training grounds, the village—everything had vanished beneath the snow, leaving nothing visible.

Cyrene stared blankly up at the sky. Snowflakes, seemingly larger than her fingernails, fell endlessly, one after another.

“Snowy days are eerily quiet.”

In the already hushed Crown Prince’s palace, snowy days were so silent that even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Cyrene rested her head lazily on Ilion’s shoulder. The slow, steady beat of his heart echoed softly in her ears.

“It’s one of the few days when the castle grows quiet.”

His words made her smile. It was true—this place was usually alive with various sounds. But today, perhaps because of the snow, there was no noise from training, no bustling movements of servants hurrying about.

“It feels like it’s just the two of us.”

She shifted, slipping out of the blanket cocoon and straddling his lap. Ilion smiled as he draped the blanket over her shoulders.

“It’s cold.”

“Let’s do something to warm up.”

He was already half-hard. As her fingertips lightly teased along him, Ilion let out a languid sigh. Soon, his stiffened p*nis pressed against his navel.

She slowly ran her hand down his p*nis, gripping it firmly and pulling. She could feel the steady throb of his pulse.

“I’m sorry, Ilion, touch me.”

He too seemed aroused, letting out a hot breath as he reached his hand between Cyrene’s legs. As he gently parted the entrance and moved inside, an involuntary m*an escaped.

“Ugh, ah…… .”

The lingering traces from yesterday left a slight scent of s*men. Soon, even Ilion’s palms became damp and sticky. Cyrene’s hands, too, were a mess, covered in the viscous fl*id that seeped from his p*nis.

They caressed each other between their legs while sharing a deep kiss. The movement of fingers stirring within made hips lift involuntarily. Cyrene, panting heavily, gripped his p*nis tightly.

“Please, let me put it in, Cyrene.”

The pleading whisper in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She lightly brushed her lips against his several times before pulling away.

“Ask for it a bit more.”

“Cyrene.”

“Hmm? Please…”