Weeks had flown by, leaving Agneyastra, now a spirited 19-year-old, brimming with contentment. She reveled in the sight of Emathion and Moriko, both fully recovered from the harrowing attack they had endured. In the bustling streets of Stone City, the atmosphere was alive with jubilation, for this day marked Emathion's graduation from the illustrious second level healing class.

  Strolling alongside Tyson and Yeongi, Agneyastra's heart swelled with warmth as she embraced Emathion, whispering with genuine joy, “I am so incredibly proud of you.”

  As the celebratory festivities continued into the evening, Agneyastra found herself still standing beside Tyson, her infectious smile illuminating her face like a cascade of starlight. Her eyes danced with delight as she caught sight of Jeremy and Lee, making their way through the crowd. A wave of exultation washed over her, and she instinctively waved back at them, their smiles mirroring the happiness that radiated from her.

  Yet, as Agneyastra's gaze lingered upon Jeremy, she noticed a woman intertwined with him, their hands locked together in an intimate embrace. As Jeremy approached Tyson and Agneyastra, his finger extended towards them, introducing them to the woman named Helena. With a gentle smile upon his face, he spoke, “Helena, allow me to present to you my dear friend Agneyastra and her valiant uncle Tyson.”

  Agneyastra's violet eyes began to glisten, adorned with delicate tears. Her voice trembled as she offered her greetings, “Nice to meet you.”

  Concerned, Jeremy inquired, “Agneyastra, is everything alright?”

  With each passing moment, Agneyastra's tears flowed more freely, a torrent of emotions pouring forth. Seeking solace from her uncle Tyson, she expressed her heartfelt desire, “I want to return home now.”

  Without a second thought, Tyson guided Agneyastra away from Jeremy, their steps carrying them deep into the forest. It was there, amidst the emerald foliage, that Tyson reached out and touched a tree, unveiling a mystical portal suffused with a vibrant green glow. As he whispered words of guidance, his voice dipped into a soothing tone, “Go straight home.”

  Agneyastra hesitated for a mere moment, her determination taking hold of her trembling form. With resolve in her eyes, she entered the portal, her entire being enveloped in its captivating radiance. And when the ethereal embrace released her, she found herself standing in the bustling Dweller city.

  Agneyastra's heart heavy with sorrow, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, she traversed the familiar streets with a determined step. As she approached Ramil’s house, her gaze fell upon the empty doorway, a grim reminder that he was not home.

  But Agneyastra wouldn't be deterred by his absence. With a flicker of determination in her eyes, she picked up a rugged rock from the roadside, and with a resolute swing of her arm, shattered the glass window that stood as a barrier between them.

  Boldly, she stepped over the shattered shards of glass and ventured into Ramil's house. She ascended the stairs. And then, Ramil returned to his home. His gaze immediately fell upon the telltale signs of break in - the scattered fragments of glass littering the floor. His hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his trusty sword, his mind alert and prepared for danger.

  With measured steps, Ramil ascended the stairs, his heart pounding in rhythm with Agneyastra's. As he pushed open the door to his bedroom, uncertainty etched across his face, his sword gradually lowered, its gleaming blade losing its edge.

  There, on his own bed, lay Agneyastra. Her posture both vulnerable and defiant, her presence commanding yet delicate. His initial anger slowly dissipated, replaced by a mixture of confusion and concern.

  “You broke my window,” Ramil began, his voice laced with a hint of accusation. “You are responsible for the damage you caused. But why, Agneyastra, are you here, on my bed?”

  Agneyastra met his gaze, her dark eyes flickering with a mixture of resolve and sorrow. Silence hung in the air, pregnant with unsaid words and lingering emotions. And in that moment, as their eyes locked, “I no longer desire love,” she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. “You are right, it's a curse,” she concluded, her voice tinged with bitter resignation.

  Angeyastra, with a heavy heart, sat up on Ramil's bed, her eyes cast down, the weight of her words hanging in the stillness of the room. The air crackled with tension as Ramil stood frozen, his sword slipping from his hand, forgotten on the floor. His eyes darted over Agneyastra's figure, her dress clinging to her slender form, as if reluctant to let go.

  Though his mind was overwhelmed with confusion and disbelief, Ramil couldn't hold back his longing. Slowly, cautiously, he leaned in close to Agneyastra, his voice barely above a whisper as he dared to ask. “Are you sure?” he breathed, his words mingling with the fragile silence that enveloped them.

  Agneyastra met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with resolve and a touch of sadness. There was a hint of vulnerability in her voice as she spoke, her words tinged with the weariness of a thousand battles fought. “Yes,” she replied, each syllable carrying the weight of her convictions.

  Ramil's desire-filled hands tremble as they hover above Agneyastra, ready to embrace her. With a mix of anticipation and apprehension, he slowly lowers his lips to hers, seeking connection and passion. However, instead of melting into the kiss, Agneyastra's tears begin to flow.

  Confusion etches itself onto Ramil's face as he pulls back slightly, his breath still lingering tantalizingly close to Agneyastra's lips. “I thought you wanted this,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with both disappointment and uncertainty.

  Agneyastra, her tears staining her delicate features, manages to utter between sobs, “I... I do.” Her trembling hand hesitantly moves towards the buttons of her dress, as if seeking to shed both her inhibitions and her fears.

  Caught off guard by the sudden shift, Ramil's conscience awakens, urging him to reconsider. A sense of unease grips his heart, and he musters the strength to defy his desire. “No,” he declares, his voice filled with conviction. “This feels wrong.”

  In a tender and compassionate gesture, Ramil pulls Agneyastra into the shelter of his embrace. As their bodies meet, her tears continue to flow, soaking the fabric of his shirt. He turns his body, lying back to create a sense of security and solace for her. Ramil gently brushes away the tears, his touch filled with tenderness and concern.

  His voice, a soothing melody amidst the chaos, resonates with genuine care. “What is wrong?” he softly asks, a mixture of curiosity and compassion present in his eyes.

  Agneyastra's cries intensify, her emotional dam finally bursting, as she struggles to articulate the shattered fragments of her feelings. Agneyastra's tears fell onto Ramil's chest, dampening their embrace as they lay on the bed. Her voice trembled as she spoke, “Jeremy... he was with another girl at Emathion's party. It felt like a searing pain, as if someone had thrust a dagger straight into my heart.”

  Ramil, ever playful, tried to lighten the mood. “Ah, my dear, that's what all men secretly desire - a woman we desire, shedding tears over another man, especially in bed.” His words were tinged with humor, an attempt to bring a flicker of laughter to Agneyastra's sorrowful eyes. And for a moment, they shared a genuine laugh, a brief respite from the weight of her heartache.

  But their moment of levity was interrupted as the bedroom door swung open, revealing a girl standing in the threshold. “I didn't know he had someone over,” she murmured, her gratitude seeping through her words. Turning her gaze towards Ramil, she offered a heartfelt, “Thank you.” With that, she turned on her heel and made her exit.

  ***

  Morning sunlight spilled into the room, casting a golden hue on Ramil as he stood, resplendent in his gleaming armor. The weight of his helmet pressed against his temples, a constant reminder of the task that lay before him. He paced back and forth across the wooden floor, the clanking of his armor echoing through the empty space.

  His eyes scanned the room, searching for something. There, leaning against the old stone wall, was his trusted sword. It stood as a symbol of his unwavering determination, its blade glinting with a faint shimmer. With a firm grip on the hilt, he lifted the sword and felt its familiar weight fill his hand.

  Taking one final breath to steady himself, Ramil made his way to the front door. As he swung it open, he was met with the sight of Marudeva who was about to raise his hand to knock.

  “Yes, father,” Ramil spoke, his voice carrying the weight of his purpose. The pair exchanged a knowing glance, a silent understanding passing between them. Their shared commitment to a greater cause bound them together, like the threads of a tapestry woven by fate.

  Marudeva trailed behind Ramil, his footsteps crunching softly on the dirt path as they made their way towards the grandiose warhorse. The sun's rays cast a golden glow, illuminating the scene before them. Ramil, his face stern with determination, loaded provisions onto his loyal steed, preparing for the impending battle.

  Amidst the flurry of activity, Marudeva's voice cut through the air, breaking the silence. “I want you to consider taking a bride, Ramil,” he suggested, his voice laced with a hint of intrigue. “If you desire wealth, marry one with a noble title.”

  Ramil rolled his eyes, a hint of exasperation shining in them. “I am but twenty-two years old,” he retorted, his voice tinged with youthful rebellion. “I have plenty of time for such matters. Besides, most highborn girls from the Fire Kingdom are dreadfully dull.”

  Marudeva, undeterred, continued to press the matter. “Well, what about the Wind Kingdom?” he inquired, his tone brimming with curiosity.

  Ramil's interest was piqued, his eyebrows raised in contemplation. “From which part?” he asked, his voice laced with a newfound curiosity.

  “The Lord of Mist has many daughters,” Marudeva unveiled, a glimmer of excitement dancing in his eyes.

  Ramil, absorbed in the task of loading his steadfast steed, glanced at his father with an air of indifference. Without missing a beat, he replied, “Pass. I've heard of their lack of beauty.” With nimble agility, Ramil leaped onto the back of his horse, his movements fluid and confident.

  Marudeva, undeterred, persisted in his gentle prodding. “Perhaps you desire a husband,” he offered, a hint of playfulness lacing his words.

  Ramil's laughter resounded, breaking through the mist like rays of sunlight piercing the clouds. “Perhaps, not,” he retorted, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Have a good day, father.” With a flick of the reins, Ramil signaled his departure.

  Marudeva's deep sigh hung in the air for a moment, his gaze following the silhouette of his son who was rapidly disappearing into the folds of the murky morning. “Just marry someone,” he murmured softly, a tinge of sadness coloring his voice.

  But Ramil, determined and unyielding, called back from the distance, his words echoing through the stillness of the morning air. “One day, but not today. Keep trying, old man.” And with that, he vanished amidst the mists, leaving Marudeva alone on the porch.

  As the searing desert sun beat down upon the endless expanse of sand, casting shimmering waves of heat into the air, Ramil continued his relentless battle. With his sword held firmly in his grasp, he parried the strikes of his enemies and struck back with deadly precision.

  Amidst the chaos of the battlefield, Ramil's eyes were drawn to a familiar figure. Evain. Her long, flowing mane of blue hair spilled out from beneath her battle-worn helmet, adding a striking contrast to the barren desert landscape. With graceful movements, she effortlessly cut through Ramil's fellow warriors, her blade dancing with deadly elegance.

  Ramil fought alongside his comrades, the sound of clashing metal and battle cries filling the air. As he pressed forward, he caught glimpse of Evain's determined gaze. She too fought with unwavering determination, leading her own army of soldiers into battle. With every swing of his sword, Ramil fought his way through the sea of enemy soldiers, inching closer to his target. Finally, he found himself mere feet away from Evain, their weapons poised to clash.

  But then, something unexpected happened. Evain turned away from the battlefield, her gaze fixated upon a distant sandhill. Suspicion guiding his actions, Ramil swiftly followed, his footsteps muffled by the shifting sands. What he discovered left him bewildered. The sandhill led to the heart of the Water Kingdom's camp, nestled near the Palm Tree forest. Peering through the swaying branches, Ramil's eyes widened as he witnessed Evain and a soldier slipping into a tent.

  Intrigued and fueled by a mix of curiosity and urgency, Ramil silenced his breath and stealthily trailed behind them. Ramil he peered through the opening of his worn canvas tent. His eyes locked onto the sight the graceful silhouette of Evain’s perched with her legs open upon the polished desktop.

  The soldier sat at his weathered wooden desk, his head positioned between her thighs. With a delicate touch, the soldier brought her wetness closer to his face. As he lick her with his tongue she shimmered with hints of opalescent pinks and purples, mirroring the depths of an enchanted realm. As he savored her with his mouth and fingers delicately pried her open, her juicy droplets of essence escaped the confines of the undergarment, trickling down his fingers.

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  Ramil cautiously crept into the tent, his footsteps silent against the worn-out canvas floor. Ramil drew his gleaming sword and positioned it menacingly at the soldier's throat. The soldier and Evain were froze, their eyes widening with shock. The soldier slowly backs way, as Evain was still exposed as she is perched on the edge of the desk.

  With a voice laced with authority, Ramil delivered his assertive proclamation, “You, my friend, are doing that wrong.”

  The soldier's dark eyes met Ramil's unwavering gaze, a mix of confusion and fear evident in his expression. Swallowing nervously, he stammered, “What...what do you mean?”

  Ramil's grip tightened around his sword hilt, his resolve strengthening. His eyes darted towards Evain, her succulent juices glistening under the dim light. “To truly savor such a delicacy,” he began, his tone steady yet brimming with conviction, “one must approach with firm tongue.”

  The soldier stood tall, grabbing his sword hung menacingly by his side, ready to strike at any given moment. Ramil leapt forward, his sword poised to strike. The room filled with the clash of steel as their weapons collided. But Ramil had no mercy with a swift and precise movement, he delivered a fatal blow. As the soldier's lifeless body slumped to the ground

  Slowly, Ramil lowered his sword, carefully sheathing it back into its scabbard. “I should do you, the way your brother did mine,” he spat, his voice dripping with icy venom. Ramil approached the desk cautiously, his footsteps barely making a sound on the plush carpet. Evain, still perched gracefully showing on the edge of the desk,

  Ramil gestured towards her, then he gently brushed his gloved fingers against Evain's pink flesh, as he continues with his fingertips caressing her, his touch gentle yet laden with tension. Leaning closer, brushing his lips against the delicate curve of her ear, Ramil's voice carries a weight of sorrow and pain. “I am not a monster, like your brother,” he confesses. Evain watches as Ramil's form recedes, vanishing into the dimness beyond the tent's entrance.

  ***

  The morning sun spilled through the frosted glass windows, casting a soft glow in the Earth Kingdom Palace. Steam rose from the shower, enveloping the room in a warm mist. Moriko emerged from the cascade of water, her skin still glistening and dewy.

  For a fleeting moment, Moriko's eyes were drawn to the scars that marred her arms, remnants of Deveraux’s attack. But it was the scar on her abdomen that captured her attention, a delicate reminder of a haunting memory. She traced the thin line with her fingertips, and as if summoned by her touch, a vivid reel of images began to play in her mind's eye.

  The scene unfolded before her in a fragmented dance of memories. She saw Devereaux, once her trusted ally, have his way with her beloved Emathion multiple times. The tableau shifted, and her breath hitched as Evain, Devereaux's sister, materialized with a glinting blade in her hand. In a swift and heart-wrenching moment, Emathion’s stomach brutally stabbed, and forever staining Moriko's soul.

  Startled, Moriko snapped back to the present, her body trembling with the weight of the vision. Droplets of water continued to slip down her naked skin, mingling with the remnants of her memories and pooling on the cool marble floor. She closed her eyes, the echoes of that fateful day still reverberating within her.

  Moriko gingerly slipped on the stunning gray dress. Its fabric was so soft and smooth against her skin, like a delicate caress. The gown flowed gracefully, gently cascading down her body, accentuating her slender figure. The intricate, golden embroidery traced intricate patterns across the dress, adding an ethereal touch.

  Moriko's heart lurched as she stepped into her bedroom, her eyes drawn immediately to the standing mirror that loomed in front of her. Moriko lay on her bed, her eyes fixed on the reflection staring back at her from the mirror. Her trembling hand reached below in her dress, fingers searching for a trace of her own familiarity. As Moriko's eyes fluttered shut, her mind swirled with vivid images of him – Emathion still with Devereaux, her heart's desire. Her body trembled with anticipation as she took a hesitant advance forward with her soft fingertips.

  With a gentle sigh, his lips brushed against his, setting off a cascade of emotions that surged through her like a wild river. Time stood still, as still guilds her fingers into herself. Emathion, her beloved, locked in a passionate grip with Devereaux, that slowly turn into a vision her.

  Moriko's fingers further into herself, as she laid on her bed clenched. As if was really Emathion stood poised at the edge of her, his muscular frame crouched towards with determination. In one hand, he tightly clenched his hardness, ready to pierce through her. With a resolute grip on her waist, Emathion positioned behind her.

  In her vision, she was wrapped in the embrace of Emathion, their lips delicately meeting. But reality rudely interrupted, as a knock broke the enchantment, echoing through the walls of her bedroom. Disoriented, Moriko scanned her surroundings, only to realize that the blissful encounter had been nothing more than a figment of her imagination. Her eyes locked with her own reflection, tears pooling in their depths. With a deep breath, Moriko turned away from the mirror.

  Moriko's delicate fingers smoothed over the intricate embroidery on her dress as she stood, the soft fabric rustling against her skin. Opening the bedroom door, she was met with the sight of Yeongi, her sharp eyes immediately observing the subtle change in her complexion.

  A hint of pink painted Moriko's usually verdant cheeks, betraying her hidden emotions. Yeongi's concern radiated through her voice as she asked, “You look flush, are you okay?”

  Summoning a gentle smile, Moriko nodded in response to Yeongi's question. “Yes,” she answered, though her words couldn't completely disguise the tumultuous thoughts swirling within her mind. “Did Emathion arrive?”

  Yeongi nodded in confirmation, her gaze meeting Moriko's. “Yes, he is currently speaking with Tyson in our neighboring castle.”

  With Yeongi leading the way, Moriko stepped out of her bedroom, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the plush carpet that lined the corridor. The Earth Kingdom castle sprawled before them, its intricate architecture and twisting hallways creating a maze-like atmosphere.

  Absorbed in her own thoughts, Moriko spoke softly as they walked. “Emathion... he used to confide in me, sharing his deepest feelings and pains.”

  As Moriko and Yeongi traversed the path outside the Earth Kingdom castle, they made their way towards the quaint little building nestled beside it. The air was crisp, carrying with it a sense of anticipation and unease.

  Yeongi turned to Moriko and spoke in a hushed tone, her voice filled with genuine concern. “Emathion has endured a harrowing experience, much like Tyson did many moons ago. It has left its mark on him, reshaping him in ways we may never fully understand. But, like Tyson, he will find a way to adapt and face the pain head-on.”

  As they approached the smaller castle, Yeongi led Moriko through its corridors, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floors. The door to Tyson's office stood partially ajar, allowing a sliver of light to seep out into the dimly lit hallway. Behind that door, Tyson and Emathion engaged in a solemn conversation.

  Moriko positioned herself across from the office, watching intently as Yeongi settled himself onto a nearby seat, patiently waiting for Tyson and Emathion to conclude their discussion. With a gentle nod, Yeongi excused himself, promising to return shortly after checking on the brewing tea.

  Moriko rushed over to Tyson's open office door. A sense of urgency filled the air, mingling with the weight of unspoken pain and sorrow. She strained to hear their conversation, her ears catching snippets of Tyson's words.

  “Sometimes in the moment of a tragic event,” Tyson's voice carried a weight of understanding and empathy, “our minds drift off to a place of wonder. A place that reveals to us our true desires, a place that helps us survive.”

  Emathion's angst was evident as he held his head in his hands, his anguish spilling into the room, palpable and raw. “When he had me lay with him,” Emathion began, his voice strained but determined, “every time, I envisioned myself with Moriko. In those moments of darkness, I sought solace in thinking of her, because of the connection we shared. I refused to let him penetrate me, for I knew that Moriko would feel it too. And I couldn't bear the thought of subjecting her to the horrors from Devereaux.”

  And in that moment, Tyson's gentle words broke through the turmoil. “Just breathe,” he reassured Emathion, his voice a balm to soothe a wounded soul. “Focus on your Healing and medical studies. They will guide you through this difficult time. Remember, you can always talk to me. I survived, and so will you.”

  Tyson's outstretched arms hung frozen in the air, anticipation etched across his face. Yet, as he inched closer to Emathion, a tremor ran through the latter's body, causing him to recoil involuntarily. The weight of his past traumas lingered, casting a shadow over this moment of vulnerability. “I am sorry,” Emathion muttered, his eyes downcast with a mix of guilt and fear.

  In response, Tyson offered a gentle nod, his voice carrying understanding and empathy. “There is no need to apologize,” he reassured, his words as calming as a gentle breeze. “But if you ever feel the need to talk more, please seek me out. Few truly understand what we've been through.”

  The weight of their shared experiences hung heavy in the air, a silent understanding binding them together. Recognizing the fragile state of their emotions, Tyson suggested, “Let's go see if Moriko and Yeongi are ready for breakfast. Perhaps the warmth of companionship and the aroma of freshly brewed tea will lift our spirits.”

  ***

  In the scorching midday sun, the desert stretched endlessly before Evain, adorned in her gleaming armor, and clutching her formidable sword. With grace and precision, she effortlessly cleaved through the oncoming ranks of Fire Kingdom soldiers and Dweller Warriors, each strike a testament to her unmatched skill.

  With a steely gaze, Evain directed her own soldiers to engage another group of Dwellers, her commanding voice slicing through the chaos of battle. “Attack with no mercy!” she bellowed, her voice carrying across the desert expanse.

  But amidst the clash of blades and cries of war, Evain caught sight of a Dweller soldier who possessed a level of skill and finesse far beyond the others. His movements were fluid, his strikes deadly accurate. He dispatched her soldiers with a horrifying ease, his blade piercing their armor and leaving a trail of fallen warriors in his wake.

  A cruel smirk danced upon the Dweller's lips as he skillfully maneuvered, his eyes searching beneath the helmets of Evain's fallen soldiers. It was as though he sought out a particular face among the fallen, a name that remained locked within the recesses of his twisted mind.

  Driven by a sense of urgency, Evain quickened her pace, closing the distance between them. With a deft movement, she maneuvered herself behind Ramil, surprising him with her stealth. Her voice pierced the stillness of the desert air, as she questioned, “Who are you looking for?”

  Ramil's reaction was swift, his sword clashing against Evain's with a desperate determination. Through the clash of steel, Ramil's voice cut through, filled with intensity, “Where is your brother?”

  Evain, nimble and swift, darted towards a nearby sand hill, with Ramil hot on her trail. There, amidst the shifting dunes, their battle continued. Evain's blade gracefully slid against Ramil's, their swords dancing in a furious symphony of clashes and parries. With her breathless words, she taunted him, “Why, Ramil? I am a far superior companion than any you seek.”

  In a surge of desperation, Ramil's hand shot towards Evain's throat, his grip tightening as he pulled her closer. His words, laced with frustration, escaped through gritted teeth, “I have no time for you.”

  Acting swiftly, Evain unleashed a calculated strike, her elbow colliding with Ramil's abdomen. The impact caused him to release his hold on her, crumpling to the ground in agony. As if capitalizing on the brief respite, Evain kicked Ramil's sword away, ensuring he was disarmed. With controlled grace, she settled herself beside him, a mixture of threat and compassion in her gaze.

  With a gentle touch, Evain traced her finger along the smooth surface of Ramil's glass breastplate. Amidst the heat of battle just beyond the sandhill, they found themselves locked in a momentary pause. Ramil's eyes fixate on Evain as she gracefully leans down toward his manhood. The melodic strains of the battle in the next room float into his ears.

  Perplexed by Evain's actions, Ramil voices his curiosity, “What are you doing?” His voice carries a hint of anticipation, mingling with the melody that wraps around them.

  With a mischievous glimmer in her eyes, Evain offers a sly smile, her fingers lingering on his zipper. “It's only fair,” she retorts with a whisper, her voice a playful interruption to the carnage backdrop of the battlefield. “For what you did to mine the last time we met.”

  Time seems suspended as Evain delicately opens his pants, revealing Ramil's cherished piece from within. Without hesitation, she raises it to her lips and slides into her mouth. Ramil finds himself lost in the enchantment of her mouth. Each stroke resonating within him, awakening emotions he thought long forgotten. But just as quickly as the enchantment began, Evain abruptly stops, leaving him yearning for more.

  As she gracefully glides towards the battlefield, Evain turns to face Ramil, a mischievous twinkle still present in her eyes. “How did you like it, my dear?” she teases, her words hanging in the air like a lingering echo. And with that tantalizing question, she disappears, leaving Ramil exposed and yearning for more of her.

  As the sun set on the battlefield, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Evain guided her weary horse back towards the glorious Water Kingdom. The palace loomed before her, its grandeur mirroring the power and opulence of the kingdom it represented.

  Within the walls of the palace, in the seclusion of his lavishly adorned room, Devereaux undressed reclined on his regal bed. His eyes scanned the pages of Moriko’s notebook, filled with cryptic symbols and faded ink.

  Yet amidst the quiet solitude, two ethereal ladies swayed gracefully before the prince. Their silky gowns embraced their lithe figures as they twirled and twined like phantoms in the moonlight. Their movements were a ballet of elegance and enchantment, captivating Devereaux's senses and beckoning him to join their ethereal dance.

  One of the ladies, her eyes twinkling with mischief as they undressed each other, one approached the prince. Her voice, like the sweetest melody, caressed his ears, “Prince, why don't you join us?” she implored, extending her delicate hand towards him.

  Devereaux laid proudly on his bed, his eyes on the pages of the notebook, With a warm smile and he lowered his hand, Devereaux presented his piece to the two enchanting ladies who had caught his attention. His eyes sparkled with delight as they approached his bed, their curiosity piqued by the mouthwatering spectacle before them.

  “Please, indulge yourselves,” he entreated. As though under a spell, the ladies drew closer, their anticipation palpable.

  Taking his shared piece in their delicate hands, the ladies savored the first rapturous of him in their mouths. Their tongues, a harmonious symphony of explore Devereaux’s body. Their eyes widened with delight, their expressions mirroring the unspoken delight that coursed through their veins. “you feel so good,” one of them exclaimed.

  Devereaux laid transfixed, his gaze fixated still on the pages of the notebook. Devereaux's pulse quickened, a surge of exhilaration coursing through his veins. He could feel the ladies craving him, as they continued. The sensation, far from pleasant, prompted a rush of adrenaline to surge through his veins, awakening his primal instincts. “Watch your teeth,” he whispered, as he hit them with the notebook.

  The knock on Devereaux's bedroom door echoed through the room, punctuating the hushed silence that enveloped him. With a secret flurry of anticipation, he set aside his book, its pages fading into the shadowed recesses of his mind. His eyes flickered towards the two delicate figures perched on him edge.

  “Who is it?” he called out.

  Marius's voice, tinged with warmth and familiarity, reached him from the other side of the door. “It's me, brother.”

  A fleeting smile played upon Devereaux's lips as he invited his brother to enter. With a swift motion, he gently nudged the ladies away from him and out of the room. Draping himself in the thin veil of a sheet, he concealed his vulnerable state, protecting the depths of his being from prying eyes.

  Beneath the pillow, his prized possession lay hidden - the notebook, as Marius approached him, Marius cautiously approached his brother. His voice quivered slightly as he asked, “Father, I must know...are the rumors about you true?”

  Devereaux's gaze hardened, his features set in an unreadable expression. Slowly, deliberately, he nodded. “Yes, attack Moriko,” he replied, his voice low and grave.

  Shock and confusion washed over Marius. His mind struggled to comprehend the gravity of his father's confession. “And...is it also true,” Marius hesitated, barely able to form the words, “that you had relations with Emathion?”

  Devereaux's eyes blazed with indignation as he vehemently denied the accusation. “No! Never! I would never stoop so low.”

  Before leaving the room, Marius hears Devereaux’s harsh words ringing in Marius' ears. “Now get out of my room. Tell the soldier outside I want new ladies, by tomorrow.”