Chapter 10.10

Unable to hold herself up, Syria collapsed in the Tyrant’s arms. Karl, not sparing her, also added two fingers in her mouth. His smile widened at the thought of filling both her holes with his fingers.

Even without a sword, Syria trembled before him.

“Hmmm…”

Unable to speak, Syria drooled around the fingers blocking her throat. If she’d had any sense left, she would’ve tried to hide her panting, but she’d already forgotten they were outside.

Just as she was about to reach cl*max, the Tyrant’s fingers slipped out. At the same time, her fl*ids dripped down to the cold brick floor. The swirling sensations faded, leaving behind a faint sense of loss and deep embarrassment.

‘Am I… really a pervert?’

At this point, Syria wondered if she’d discovered a new side of herself. Meanwhile, Karl tore open his front and pulled out his fierce member.

“Ah… Not here… Your Majesty.”

When the heat from his body touched her tailbone, Syria panicked. She tried to jump up, but his grip wouldn’t allow it.

Karl grabbed his *rect p*nis with one hand and, with the other, lifted Syria’s hips, aligning her with his wet entrance. Then, matching her slick opening, he pulled her down onto him.

“Hmmm…”

The wet sound of fl*ids splashing spread between Syria’s hips and Karl’s thighs.

“So wet, you’re doing well.”

Even as he praised her, Karl slid his hand up her waist, grabbing and twisting her br*ast. The pressure made Syria’s body jerk as if she was about to stand, but his grip forced her to sit back down.

“Ha… aaang…!”

As the Tyrant’s member thr*st even deeper inside, Syria’s lower body contracted tightly. The sensation of being completely filled left no gap, his length pushing in so firmly that it felt as if a second heart had lodged itself beneath her ribs. The throbbing pulse of his member echoed in her ears like an illusion.

Syria, her face twisted in agony, gave up her attempt to stand. Forced to sit atop the Tyrant’s pillar with a heavy thud, she simply couldn’t muster the strength.

“You swallow well.”

Karl bounced Syria’s lower body with his thigh. Her hips lifted slightly, only to be pressed back down by his grip, and each time, his length drove in roughly.

In this almost squatting position, the space inside felt even tighter, and the object pushing in was thicker and harder than usual. The discomfort brought tears to Syria’s eyes.

Her body, responding to her own sobs, kept producing clear fl*ids that trickled down, pooling beneath her and threatening to fall. Like the first drops of rain, they finally plopped to the floor.

Karl twisted her n*pples, crushing them in his hand, then pulled her down. The lower part, pressed and pushed, grew wet and slick.

Each time his thigh bounced upward, Syria helplessly muffled her m*ans, gripping her curled toes in an effort not to lift her hips.

Seeing this, Karl lifted her as she was and pressed her against the front railing. Syria’s hands instinctively found the cold brick. Karl aligned his bulging member to fit perfectly inside, then moved his hips forcefully.

“Haaaang…!”

Unable to cover her mouth as she clung to the railing, Syria’s cry rang out like a she-cat’s wail. The forceful thr*sts made her body tense, and the sound of splashing fl*ids echoed loudly.

Now fully in position, Karl moved quickly, not allowing a moment’s rest. He gripped her soft hips, spreading them wide, and the red flesh, exposed and glistening, grew even riper.

Karl focused on pushing himself further inside, even though there was no more space to go. He scraped her swollen inner walls, digging deeper, then forcefully buried himself again.

“You’re so good, spreading your legs for me.”

“Ha… Wh-what… for you, Your Majesty…?”

He spoke as if she was sacrificing herself for a great cause, but Syria could only feel bewildered. With no loyalty in her heart, it felt as if she was meant to be some kind of supplement for His Majesty’s noble body.

Even though the distant city glowed mysteriously under the black sky, Syria couldn’t appreciate it. Her vision shook too much to enjoy the view.

Her silver hair, dropped forward, caught the moonlight as it draped over the railing, then fell away again. The fl*ids that leaked out ran down her legs, finally dripping onto the floor.

Karl’s stamina showed no signs of waning, his member remaining firm. Ten years’ worth of pent-up desire still raged within him, and the excitement swept through him. His length, refusing to subside, hungrily devoured Syria’s delicate body.

“Tell me… what you want…”

“Ha… nothing…”

He asked as if granting a great reward, but Syria shook her head. She hadn’t expected anything, and nothing came to mind in this situation. Biting her lips, she shook her head as if trying to shake off the pain.

The faster he thr*st, the more fl*ids burst out, streaming like hot springs.

“Your… Majesty… please stop…”

“Ugh… I’m not finished yet. I’ll reach your womb.”

The Emperor truly didn’t know moderation. Whenever his pelvis slammed into her, her waist bent backward as if a large mass was being extracted, then her knees folded forward with the next thr*st.

Her hands, gripping the railing for support, turned pale, and her thin, outstretched arms trembled as if they might break. She moved back and forth, as fragile as a marionette caught in the Tyrant’s grasp.

“St… stop… I have to… go back…”

“I don’t care.”

She gasped out her words, squeezing them out, but his cold reply came immediately. As the Emperor said, he showed no sign of stopping. He seemed to have forgotten any sense of responsibility for leaving the banquet for so long—if he ever had any at all.

Thud, thud, thud!

With each thr*st, as if pouring all his desire into her, Syria’s waist bent sharply. Her head spun from staring at the floor, and she pressed her forehead into her folded hands.

Her hands were pressed down with each push, but the vibrations in her brain finally began to fade. Still, Syria panted out her cries.

“Haaang… ha!”

The Tyrant’s thumb, spreading her hips, gently moved to tease her rear entrance. The sensation of his finger hovering there filled Syria with dread, making her body shudder.

Her inner walls contracted in surprise, gripping Karl’s member even tighter. A flash of lightning seemed to pass through Karl’s eyes. He gripped her slender hips tightly, pulled her back, and then drove the head of his length in forcefully.

The impact, like a chopping axe, sent droplets splashing at their joined points, like rain hitting the ground in a storm. The rapid pace drove both of them toward cl*max.

As her toes curled, Karl released his desire inside Syria’s body.

When he finally withdrew, white fl*id ran down her thigh and dropped to the floor, and Syria couldn’t lift her head until it finished falling.

The Emperor pressed his lips to Syria’s cheek, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, then let go. Finding the rosy traces pretty, he went back for more, until Syria had to cover his face.

“Please stop, Your Majesty.”

Syria spoke in a teary voice.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“…Probably?”

After being bent so much, there was no way she wasn’t sore.

“I’ll send you medicine to restore your strength.”

“What kind of medicine?”

She shivered at the thought of what else he might do to her if he sent medicine.

“I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

The Emperor left first, and Syria deliberately waited a bit before returning to the banquet hall. She didn’t want anyone to see them entering together.

‘Who knows what people would say if they saw…’

She planned to sneak in quietly and sit as if nothing had happened.

As soon as Syria opened the door and entered, soft music began to play. It seemed the palace orchestra had finally started.

She held her dress and tiptoed like a stray cat back to her seat. She was relieved to see only Firenze there. The Duke of Dronia and Duke Alpen must have gone elsewhere, as her quick glance didn’t catch them.

‘Thank goodness.’

Syria hurried to the sofa and sat down, sinking deep into the cushions.

‘Good. That looked natural.’

Even though she’d made a good excuse about going to the lounge, her own guilty conscience made her act more suspiciously. A few people glanced over, but the orchestra’s cl*max turned their attention away.

She took a slow breath and looked around. The noble ladies and gentlemen were in the midst of dancing.

‘Right, this is a ball, isn’t it?’

The nobles danced gracefully, like protagonists in a medieval movie, and the full skirts of their dresses swept the wide hall as they spun.

It was a picturesque scene, but Syria’s dry sensibility thought,

‘Guess they don’t need to clean the floor. They’re sweeping it themselves.’

The floor was so shiny, she figured the palace staff must have it easy.

Sniff, sniff.

She heard an animal-like snuffling sound, as if searching for food. Turning her head, she saw the strikingly handsome Firenze right beside her. Despite his perfect face, his behavior was odd.

He seemed to be picking up a scent, approaching her with subtle curiosity. He wasn’t snorting like a pig, but it was as if he was tracking something.

Firenze’s head lowered slowly, glancing at her lower body as she sat. His silver eyelashes, tinted with a gentle glow like her hair, drooped slightly.

“…? What’s wrong, Sir Firenze?”

She looked up at him with a dissatisfied glare, her slim eyes flickering.

“I smell another man’s scent.”

He tossed out the words, and Syria’s eyes widened.