The hands tending to the healing wound moved with care and caution. Atlion’s gaze rested on his wife’s neatly trimmed, crescent-shaped fingernails. Her pale hands were precise and deliberate, much like those of a maid working under a court physician.

“Well, that’s not surprising, considering her family have been apothecaries for generations.”

Swan, using tweezers to gently move the cotton so as not to inflame the wound, lifted her head. The tenderness reflected in her pale green eyes was so deep it was unfamiliar.

Suddenly aware of Atlion’s large hand brushing against her rounded shoulder, Swan straightened and cleared his throat.

“Finish the rest.”

“A maid sent by the court physician has arrived, so I think it’s time for me to leave.”

Although it had become a habit for Swan to tend to Atlion’s wounds, in truth it was not her responsibility. Earlier that day, the court physician had sent a maid to disinfect the wounds and check the prescribed medication. Despite this, Swan had once again overstepped her role and taken on a task she should not have.

The maid sent by the court physician was someone on the imperial payroll, a trained professional far superior to someone like Swan, who was an unlicensed apothecary. She feared that by overstepping her boundaries once again, she might get him into trouble.

“I’ve already sent the maid back.”

“What?” 

Atlion’s voice stopped her as she gathered up the scattered cotton and disinfectant. Startled, Swan turned her head to look at him. Atlion tilted his neck to the opposite side, revealing the wound. His look seemed to say that if she didn’t tend to it, it would never heal properly and might even fester.

“Why did you do that?”

She thought of the maid who must have left the court physician’s residence at dawn, only to be sent away the moment she arrived. Swan considered Atlion’s actions carefully. Without answering, she stared at the man, who smiled faintly, as if satisfied with her silence. She let out a small sigh and picked up the tweezers again. 

The sharp smell of disinfectant filled the air as the cotton was soaked in it.

Atlion studied his wife as she leaned towards him once more. The freckles on her nose seemed lighter than when they first met. Her beautiful coral hair had grown thicker and more vibrant, curling gently. Her absinthe green eyes remained as mesmerising and otherworldly as ever.

“Does it still hurt?”

“No.”

Swan dabbed at his wound with cotton, her lips parting slightly as she worked. Her warm breath brushing his neck seemed to condense into a tangible sensation. It tickled. Atlion, enjoying the feel of her full br*ast pressing lightly against him, carefully wrapped his arms around her delicate form.

She sat partially on the edge of the bed, concentrating intently on the wound, as if threading each stitch with great care. Lifting her head, she realised that she was now held firmly in his embrace. Her chest pressed against his broad, muscular torso, exposed by his partially undone robe. Swan froze, her breath catching in her throat.

Her heart pounded like a drum, beating furiously. A blush spread across her face as the tweezers in her hand trembled slightly. Her eyes became distracted and unfocused. Atlion’s hand, which had been on her back, slid down like a snake and gripped her hip tightly.

“Your Majesty.”

The slight curve of his lips was tantalising. Even the breath that escaped through the parted lips was sweet and sensual. Atlion gently pinched Swan’s flushed cheeks, red as ripe apples, and pulled her onto his thigh.

Swan nervously tried to wriggle away from his leg but froze in shock as she felt something firm press between her thighs. The sensation in the hollow between her b*ttocks made her stiffen.

“Your Majesty, this is…” 

The more she twisted and shifted, the more the long, hard object brushed against her sensitive area. Swan went rigid, her eyes staring at him in alarm. The half-*rect p*nis was pointed directly at her entrance, ready and waiting. Trembling slightly, Swan pressed against his chest to create some distance and whispered.

“It’s not time yet.”

“What isn’t?” 

Atlion, who had been leaning back against the bed, straightened and grabbed her hands as they pressed against him. Swan, avoiding his gaze, murmured weakly, her voice trembling. The atmosphere was as if he might pull up her skirt at any moment and thrust his tip into her tight entrance. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he had.

“Your Majesty… hngh…”

The impatient hands pulling up her skirt made Swan’s thighs tremble. His long, elegant fingers caressed her plump thighs and hips, sending shivers through her body. Swan let out a shaky breath, biting her lips to stifle a sound. Even the calluses on his fingers, formed from years of wielding a sword, added to the overwhelming sensations.

“Haah…”

Exposing her backside during treatment – this was exactly why Swan didn’t want to tend to his wounds himself. Why did she have to be left alone? Whenever the court physician visited, Swan could easily assist, but when they were alone, the atmosphere always turned unseemly.

The Emperor kneaded her b*ttocks hard enough to leave red marks, then moved his hand to tease her most sensitive area. Swan twisted her hips and gripped the collar of her robe, meeting his gaze as she slowly shook her head. Atlion, his smooth and composed face breaking into a mischievous smile, leaned in and kissed her.

She turned her head to avoid his lips, but her chin was quickly caught in his hand. His touch wasn’t rough, but there was a firm, inescapable strength to it. What exactly was he up to?

Her mind was consumed by thoughts of his wounds. The damaged area was significant, and its location near his neck made it even more worrying. The injury had barely missed his carotid artery – the slightest misstep could have been fatal.

And yet, despite such painful scars, all he seemed to think about was enjoying her body day after day. Swan couldn’t understand him. Unable to push him away, she was forced to kiss him.

For Atlion, a kiss was never just a matter of pressing lips together. It was an intense act, involving tangled tongues, the exchange of saliva and an almost desperate exploration, as if he had to devour her completely to be satisfied.

“How can pressing lips together be considered a kiss? We’re not children…”

She remembered him muttering those words once. When she had asked him if they couldn’t just stop at a gentle kiss, he had looked incredulous, wondering how something as simple as pressing lips together could be called a kiss. The way he had looked at her then, as if she were a naive and innocent maiden, had made her feel uncomfortable and insecure.

She stared at the man as their tongues intertwined relentlessly, not even bothering to close his eyes. Her fingers gently ran through his sleek black hair, the lustful gaze in his eyes softening slightly at her touch.

He was a man who had once spoken as if expressing love out loud was a ridiculous idea. He had claimed that such things were for noble girls who wasted their days wandering aimlessly through palaces, reading romance novels, or for wandering poets. A knight, he said, regarded his wife as a woman to be cherished quietly and without sentimentality – a precious companion to be cherished, but without grand declarations of affection.

To Atlion, Swan was just that: a rare and precious woman. Someone he kissed and touched endlessly, someone he longed to carry his child. That was the way of knights; a wife was a woman to be worshipped and protected, not someone to be showered with sweet words of love.

And yet this same man had knelt before her. He had told her he loved her – that she was his soul, his madness. He had done with astonishing ease what he had once dismissed as a foolish, sentimental gesture. The fingertips she had held in his grasp and the skin that had touched his own seemed to pulse, sending electric jolts through her body.

It was a moment Swan knew she would never forget. She had never felt so at peace, so fulfilled. She felt that no matter how many times he might hurt her in the future, she could love him again and again. The pale fingers that had combed through his black hair moved to trace the corners of his eyes.

Meanwhile, the tip of his p*nis fumbled against her entrance, searching.

A faint shiver ran through her, but she wouldn’t give in. She wasn’t going to be dragged around helplessly like an animal.

“Not now.”

Atlion, who had been looking at her with rapturous eyes, looked at her as if he’d been doused with cold water. Swan hesitated, considering how to calm him before speaking again.

“When you’ve fully recovered.”

“I’ve already recovered enough.”

“No, Your Majesty, you need more time to rest.”

“Rest means holding you in my arms.”

She looked at his sharp, determined gaze and let out a deep sigh. It was absurd. She knew he was going to lose control, as wild as an animal in heat. If she hadn’t known what it was like when he held her, maybe she wouldn’t have avoided him so much. But his body, from neck to chest, sides and even thighs, was covered in wounds large and small. How could she let him strain himself like that?

When he was in heat and moving so intensely with such a body, the result was obvious. The wounds that were barely stitched and beginning to heal would all reopen. They had only just begun to subside. That’s what the court physician had said – that wounds sustained during a period of weakened mental state would not heal easily.

Fortunately, with Swan’s return, Atlion had recovered emotionally and avoided a dangerous period. Still, Swan hoped that Atlion’s lithe, strong body would remain as resilient and unblemished as ever.

“Either way, not now.”

His hands at her waist felt like iron. The wet tip of him seemed ready to thrust into her entrance at any moment. It wasn’t easy for Swan to resist him. She knew only too well how overwhelming and intense the sensation would be, and that made it even harder. But his recovery had to come first. Swan steeled her resolve.

“Atlion, I’m already…”

“Mommy!” 

It felt as if the door would burst open at any moment. The sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor was like the bounce of a ball rolling across the floor. Swan, startled and nervous, looked around in a panic. Atlion quickly adjusted her skirt before helping her down from his thigh. Swan in turn straightened Atlion’s clothes, making sure his appearance was in order.

“Mommyyyy!”

Mirabella’s voice came from behind the door. Fortunately, a servant was standing guard and hadn’t allowed her to burst in, but it was clear that the little girl would soon run into the room. Atlion cleared his throat several times before telling the servant to let her in.

Dressed in a mint satin dress, the little girl appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath. She seemed momentarily startled to see her father sitting on the bed, perhaps forgetting that this was his chamber, but her hesitation quickly dissipated. Mirabella’s face broke into an angelic smile as she cheerfully approached her parents.