Chapter 2

“You’re wringing my cock like you don’t want to wait even a moment to get pregnant.”

His heated breath dampened her reddened earlobe.

As her head was turned, a tongue pushed in through the seam of her overlapped lips. Her already ragged breathing, panting from the short breaths, was crushed once more.

“Mmmph…!”

Both the intense kiss and the hot touch of his hands on her skin were hard to bear, but the most unbearable thing was his bold, thrusting hips. Each time he stirred her inner walls, her consciousness seemed to melt away.

“Haah… Haa… Leon…”

The man’s hand, which had been fondling her breasts with a firm pressure, slowly moved downward. As his fingertips, which had been caressing her soft flesh, touched her hot, swollen clitoris, a sharp pleasure rippled throughout her entire body.

“Haah… That’s something neither I nor you can help…”

“Is that so.”

The man’s lips, wearing an unreadable expression, curved into a slant.

Was he agreeing, or was he mocking her?

It was impossible to get an answer from his face, which was inscrutable, neither cold nor hot. The arrogant man curved his lips into a flawless, mocking smile.

“I’m very pleased with our marriage.”

Adeline let out a trembling breath at the man’s sly smile, which made no attempt to hide his desire.

This was a snippet of the daily life that followed the marriage between Adeline de Velasque, princess of Velasque, a kingdom destroyed under its futile ambition to dominate the central continent, and Leon von Rübenhart, the Duke who had once served as Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Nations and now governed as Consul.

︵‿୨ ₊‧꒰ა ཐི༏ཋྀ ໒꒱ ˚₊ ୧‿︵

“The war-criminal state of Velasque shall be reduced to the Velasque Territory and, under the joint administration of the three Allied nations, Neidel, Stein, and Nestva, shall maintain, in name only, a republican system of government.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The sound of the gavel striking down sharply cut through the heavy silence. As the verdict fell, the previously quiet gallery stirred. Reporters, who had been busily scribbling in their notepads, scrambled and clamored to be heard.

“Then who will govern the territory going forward? Is there anyone being considered as a successor to the late King of Velasque?”

“Will the three nations be dispatching a special envoy chosen among themselves?”

One journalist, unable to contain his excitement, accidentally set off his flash, and the solemn courtroom wavered with brief commotion. The atmosphere, so carefully held in restraint, fractured in an instant.

“Maintain order!”

At the court official’s shout, the commotion somewhat subsided, and the presiding judge cast a glance toward the woman standing at the center of the courtroom.

The woman, placed before the assembled kings of the Allied Nations in the status of a criminal, looked pitifully frail. Her figure was so slight it seemed it might vanish beneath the enormity of the hall. The black veil draped over her like a shadow quivered, trembling as though with her breath, evoking a sense of pity.

It was Adeline de Velasque, Princess of the Velasque royal family, who was participating in the trial as a member of the royalty, in place of the King, who had been beheaded by insurgents during the civil uprising that preceded the war.

“Adeline de Velasque, do you contest this ruling?”

“….”

“Lift your face and answer.”

At the judge’s repeated demand, the woman, who had stood motionless for so long, finally raised her hands. She pushed back the black veil that had concealed her face.

A collective, sharp intake of breath followed as her face was revealed. For a moment, the entire hall fell into a deathly stillness.

Sunlight pouring in through the stainless-steel-framed windows pooled across the woman’s features, which were pale to the point of pallor. Despite her plain black dress, her delicate and refined face was beautiful enough to captivate the gazes of all the men present.

Between the veil of her long, lowered lashes, her blue eyes shimmered like the surface of a clear, sunlit lake. Her long, glossy platinum hair, draped softly over her shoulders, gleamed like strands of silver woven from captured sunlight.

Her delicate features, fine and harmonious as if drawn with a single, tender stroke, blended with her slender figure to form the image of a living portrait.

“…I have no objection. I’m grateful for the lenient judgment.”

Despite the humiliating verdict, the woman voiced no protest, no bitterness. Her reply flowed with quiet elegance, and the soft beauty of her tone stirred another ripple of admiration through the chamber.