The Black Mage with the build of a bear sat with his eyes closed, spreading his energy outward.

With abilities beyond those of ordinary men, he sensed the approach of a familiar presence drawing near the imperial capital—traces of the Grand Witch, her aura unmistakable. The Black Mage’s eyes snapped open as he felt that malevolent hatred, that killing intent willing to burn even her own death away.

‘The witch is coming.’

Theodore, who had been confined once more to the Red Tower, was currently locked away—though not quite imprisoned—in one of the palace bedrooms.

As though to punish him in keeping with Iberis’s warning not to overstep, the several days he had spent re-confined to the Red Tower had been a wretched stretch of time for Theodore as well.

Had he never known, perhaps it would have been bearable. But he had come to know the sensation of that white skin, had felt her gaze—laden with killing intent and cold severity—pierce through him with undisguised revulsion. How could he ever return to who he had been before, as though nothing had happened?

Even knowing that Iberis would seek him out again, if only because of the curse. Even knowing she was likely spending her Oracle nights with other men for the sake of the solution. The anxiety gnawing at him had been so unbearable that he had chewed his thumbs raw until they bled.

What might have happened if the emperor’s people had been even a day later in coming for him?

‘I’ve lost my mind.’

Theodore knew it well.

He had always been a man of withered emotions, a broken clockwork—and yet, meeting Iberis had sent him careening down entirely the wrong track.

A year of obsession, of craving, of reckless charging forward—and then a year of confinement in the Red Tower.

In that dark space, unable to catch even a glimpse of a single strand of Iberis’s hair, a mind that had never been quite right to begin with had gone half-mad.

Smirks would burst out of him without warning. He muttered to himself like a lunatic. When anxiety surged, he stammered pitifully. The magical power that had once felt strong enough to work any miracle became erratic, and his grip on his emotions grew even more unsteady.

But Iberis had come looking for me.

For me…

“Soon. S-soon, now.”

Before the witch arrived.

If he poured as much of his dark magical energy into Iberis as he could, the curse would not be fully completed. The witch’s designs would not come to fruition. Certain of this, Theodore let a smirk break across his face in the privacy of his bedroom, where no one could see.

Oh, please.

When would the emperor’s summons finally come for him?

Each day felt like a hundred years.

The emperor—by now, she was probably in some dizzying bedchamber, taking another man into herself, spilling faint, breathless m*ans. Every time that image rose in his mind, unbearable rage surged through him, then gave way to endless anxiety, then to a grief that felt like his heart being torn apart.

“Only me. M-me, only me!”

How wonderful it would have been if Iberis had needed only him.

He was confident he could be an excellent pleasure slave and satisfy his noble emperor. He believed that his brutishly large member, befitting his massive frame, could fill her tight opening completely and sweep through her roughly, delivering pure pleasure.

“I c-can do well.”

He could have pushed in deep enough that she couldn’t close around him. The part of him that had once been content simply to have her arrows of hatred aimed at him alone—to draw even that attention toward himself—now felt a hunger. Having come to know touch and pleasure, desire had taken root.

More than anything, he wanted to be cherished.

He wanted to become the person the emperor treasured most…

“Haa. I-Iberis.”

Whispering the name he dared not speak in her presence, Theodore counted the passing moments with restless urgency. His *rection ached. If he was to become the emperor’s attendant and remain here from now on, would every stretch of waiting feel like this?

One day. Two days. Then the last night passed, and a pure blue dawn was closing around his breath when—

Right then, the door creaked open.

What met him was a pair of bestial eyes, blazing with heat that seemed to rival his own.

“Follow me.”

At the grim beast-knight’s voice, the sensitive Black Mage’s shoulders tensed for a moment, then released.

Having quietly extended his own aura outward, the Black Mage could feel what was happening deep within the palace without needing to look.

Sirak. The rage that seemed ready to burn everything to ash, the trembling emotion—it was his. And within it, behind the aura of someone standing firm and unyielding, the fierce, surging flame of emotion belonged to Iberis and the man who had held her.

‘Hmm.’

Feeling something he could not suppress, Theodore exhaled sharply. At last, the period of neglect was over. His master was calling for him. Excitement surged to the very tips of his fingers.

There. He could feel Iberis’s presence from over there. The moment the mage lost all sense of restraint and moved to quicken his pace—

A cold blade still in its scabbard cut across his path.

“Mind the line.”

She had called him in, then confined him to the Red Tower again.

After that, she had brought him into the palace as an attendant, given him only a brief orientation, and left him to languish once more.

It was likely a deliberate humiliation, carried out on Iberis’s orders.

Theodore laughed inwardly. Iberis—his noble emperor—still did not truly know what kind of person he was.

There had been a time when he held the position of a trusted mage, with rumors circulating that he was the empress consort’s lover. Back then, if he so much as wished for something, those around him would line up on their own. People captivated by the witch’s peculiar allure had done everything they could to curry favor with the mage who stood at her side.

But such prestige, all manner of wealth, beautiful and noble things—none of it had held any value.

It was the same now. He had been reduced to the status of a criminal, unable to leave even while living within the palace, a shadow with no way out. The ladies-in-waiting had changed their manner toward him, ignoring him entirely, as though hoping he would feel degraded and humiliated.

But the emperor’s pleasure slave knew nothing of such things. From the moment he had encountered the girl named Iberis, his life had stretched on—utterly ignorant of what humiliation even was.

If he could receive even a single glance from her—even contempt, even revulsion—if he could draw that attention toward himself.

‘I could even become a dog.’

He truly could crawl on all fours and make every sort of spectacle of himself. She didn’t know that.

He could clearly feel Sirak casting a look of contempt at him as he smirked and pushed past the scabbard, but Theodore’s eyes were fixed solely on the firmly shut bedroom door.

This was not the place where he had shared that secret encounter with Iberis. Yet she was certainly inside. The master of Theodore’s life, his hope, the sum of all his desires. Oh, oh. Master. Your slave has come.

The door creaked open.

Feeling like a beast gone feverish, tail wagging, he stepped inside.

For a brief moment, Theodore felt an intense force slam into him—enough to stop his heart.

Hatred. Killing intent. Clearer than any other emotion.

In the past, he would have felt only joy at Iberis’s anger, but now it ached a little, deep in his chest. Even so, it was fine.

“Your Majesty.”

The one who made him feel like a living person was right there.

“M-may I come closer?”

“……”

“To you. May I come closer?”

“……”

Of course, unlike the Black Mage’s elation, the sovereign’s gaze was as cold as ice.

The one who would not even call his name sat on the wide bed in a state of dress that was dizzying just to look at, watching him, blinking slowly.

Theodore’s excitement spiked at the sight of the translucent fabric—moonlight shining through it to reveal the skin beneath, impossible to tell whether she was clothed or bare.

His member swelled as though it might burst, the root pulling taut.

It was because he knew all too well what sensation and pleasure that beautiful feminine form, with its soft curves, gave when it melted in his hands.

The door creaked shut completely, and Theodore swallowed against a dry throat. Saliva kept pooling in his mouth, the way it did when appetite stirred.

He wanted to close the distance quickly, but Iberis still had not permitted him—the despised Black Mage—to draw near.

A cold sweat broke out over him. Unable to bear the gnawing impatience, Theodore curled his toes. His *rection, now too large to conceal, lifted its head and pushed against the fabric of his clothes.

Those cold silver eyes traveled over him slowly, from top to bottom, and came to rest on the massive, risen thing.

The scornful curl of her lips—whether it held reproach, revulsion, or mockery—was sharp as a blade.

Those shoulders, as broad as a giant’s, shrank inward. For reasons he couldn’t name, it throbbed as though an arrow had been driven into his chest. And yet his shameless member reacted with even greater pleasure, and at last began to leak, dripping steadily.

“You really are something.”

The emperor’s eyes narrowed as she gazed at the wet, spreading shadow it made.

“Worse than a dog.”

He rolled his eyes. If he ignored the ache in his chest from those cutting words, it was still fine. Even in that voice soaked with contempt and cold derision, a thrilling excitement stirred, and his member lurched once more.

“Y-Your Majesty.”

At last, that white hand beckoned him. It drifted, scattering like a leaf before the wind, and all sense left him. He nearly bolted forward like a madman before a fierce glare made him falter.