Chapter 1: The Princess and the Secret Greenhouse

Lewellyn, princess of Bressente, was the late King Pallun’s only daughter and sister to the present king, Bastian. She was considered one of the golden feathers that adorned the Royal House of Raven—the guardian of the gods.

She lived in a glorious palace, the kind most could only dream of seeing, as befitted her status. She wore gowns of the softest, most luxurious materials, and lustrous gems decorated her neck, hands, and ears. Everything she wore instantly became the latest fashion trend in the capital.

At least, that was how it used to be.

Lewellyn was not happy. Her life had fallen to shit, and she’d never been more aware of that fact than she was today.

With gritted teeth, Lewellyn balled her sapphire-blue dress in both fists, as if about to shred it to pieces. She stepped inside the banquet hall. The attendants all turned when the servant announced her entrance, but she didn’t see a hint of respect in any of their eyes.

The abandoned princess of Bressente. That was what they called her—she who had once been called the kingdom’s golden feather, a Raven revered above all others.

Lewellyn had adjusted to her new status long ago. Yet her face still burned like she’d swallowed fire, and she had to clutch a cooling stone to quench the beads of sweat along her brow.

How much longer could she endure this? But endure it she must. Patience. That was how she would survive. If she failed in her quest, Queen Dowager Pamela would ruthlessly attack her.

The queen dowager might have been behind her present physical state, as well as her mental one. Then again… If that were the case, I probably wouldn’t even be standing. A rogue drop of sweat rolled down Lewellyn’s jaw.

“Lewellyn, is something wrong?” her half-brother King Bastian asked, looking worried.

The princess managed a faint smile and shook her head. “Of course not, Your Majesty. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Perhaps you should lie down if you’re feeling unwell.”

Lewellyn almost nodded but caught herself. Her brother’s concern came from the heart. However…

“Your Majesty, I do not think it would be commendable for the princess to leave her guests unattended due to such trivial matters as her health,” Pamela interjected.

“But Mother…” The king hesitated. Alas, Bastian was his mother’s puppet.

Lewellyn was hardly surprised the queen dowager had intervened. Once again, she concentrated on the cooling stone nestled in her palm.

“Listen to your mother, Your Majesty,” Pamela murmured. “As an elder of the royal family, I must say, the princess requires instruction on acting according to her station. While it grieves that she neglected herself before such an important event, her childish behavior must not be condoned. It is our duty as royals to endure.”

The king listened in silence.

“Not to mention, tonight’s banquet has been prepared to celebrate Duke Hvitserk’s return. You would not wish to insult the wielder of the Holy Sword, would you?”

Lewellyn flinched at that name. Upon seeing the princess’s countenance change, Pamela’s crimson lips curled.

Her olive-green dress contrasted with the bright blue of Lewellyn’s, but the lavish golden stitches proved how much influence she wielded in the palace. It had been over a year since Pamela wore a luxurious purple dress to one such event, but the noblewomen still spoke of its magnificent beauty.

The queen dowager gracefully fanned herself with an ostrich feather fan. “Won’t you stay to welcome his return, my dear daughter?”

Lewellyn gritted her teeth. “Yes, Mother.”

“I thought so. After all, he is a childhood friend of yours, is he not?”

Lewellyn did not reply.

“I trust that you do not continue to harbor any dislike toward the duke for condemning your mother’s sins.” Pamela wanted everyone to know Lewellyn was weaker than her, which was why Pamela was embarrassing her in public.

She knew very well that Duke Hvitserk had been Lewellyn’s greatest source of pain. It wasn’t enough for Pamela to defeat Lewellyn—she needed to grind Lewellyn underfoot too, as if to ensure she would never rise again.

The gathered aristocrats clicked their tongues. To them, it was only natural that a stepmother should despise her late husband’s daughter—especially if that daughter was next in line to the throne after her childless son.

“You won’t have to worry about that, Mother,” Lewellyn answered, without a moment’s hesitation.

Pamela wanted her to fall into despair. If she ran away, her stepmother would stop at nothing to make her life even more miserable. Lewellyn had made up her mind when her family abandoned her: she would never defy Pamela.

So, she folded her hands and sat beside her brother. The young duke, who not only held the Holy Sword but was also royalty, deserved praise for ridding the kingdom of the dark wizards and the monsters they’d summoned. Still, Lewellyn tensed when the trumpets blared to announce his presence.

A tall man strode onto the red velvet carpet. Lewellyn felt as if she were watching a play. She forced herself to look impartial as she gazed at him.

He’d grown even taller in the six years they’d been apart. Apart from Tristan Jayard, the commander of the knights, he was taller than anyone else in the hall. He radiated dignity and aristocratic grace. He didn’t seem arrogant about it, just well-bred. His auburn hair had been swept back neatly from his face, glistening under the banquet hall lights.

Onlookers seemed mesmerized by his beauty, like an exquisite garnet. He wore a neutral expression, neither insolent nor polite, and his clothes fit perfectly over his powerful upper body.

Lewellyn noticed his hands were clasped in loose fists as he coolly surveyed the other guests. His blue-green eyes looked as piercing as ever. Just as Lewellyn had imagined in childhood, the boy she’d known had grown into a handsome man.

Her heart pounded. The heat she had managed to subdue began to spread again, radiating out to her limbs. For a moment, her eyes met the duke’s, and she looked away in a hurry, desperately suppressing the warmth. Her hands shook with the effort. Lewellyn wasn’t sure how much longer she could control herself.

“Duke Hvitserk, welcome back.” The king rose and extended an arm.

“Greetings, Your Majesty. My deepest apologies for failing to attend the inauguration ceremony,” the duke replied.

“That’s all right; it could not be helped. I was so pleased when I heard the news of your victory, I could barely sleep.” Bastian smiled radiantly. He had inherited his mother’s beauty, and as his pale face lit up, the noblewomen blushed.

“It was all due to Your Majesty’s care,” the duke said politely.

Lewellyn smirked. The man who had once pledged loyalty to her late mother had now become the king’s lap dog, degrading himself for a pat on the head. Bile rose in her throat. But if she left now, she would be eaten alive by these wolves—and worse, she’d attract the duke’s attention.

Everyone cheered for Almandite Hvitserk, who had defeated the dark wizards. Their propensity for human sacrifice had terrorized the people of this kingdom—they worshipped the Dark Lord and summoned monsters far more sinister than the regular, everyday kind, which wreaked havoc all over Bressente and the Holy Kingdom.

The duke deserved this praise. Even more astonishing, he had found the Holy Sword, which everyone believed to be lost for good.

However, Almandite had failed to prevent the most important thing of all. Lewellyn smiled coldly as rage coursed through her veins.

Suddenly, Almandite turned to her and said, “You look in good health as well, Your Highness.”

How dare he! Lewellyn’s eyes blazed like coals. The men of Hvitserk—her mother’s most powerful allies—had remorselessly dragged her away, even volunteering to conduct her mother from the prison to her execution. They’d taken away her little brother, Elphias, too.

“I wonder why my health matters to you, after how little care you showed for my mother’s,” Lewellyn replied, knowing the listeners would not be certain which mother she referred to.

Silence filled the room, and then a murmur swept through the aristocrats. “The princess has not changed at all,” some whispered.

“She spoke just as coldly to that great knight, Sir Jayard…”

“She ought to congratulate the duke, and be more ashamed of her mother’s sin.”

Lewellyn was well aware that her behavior would only isolate her further, but she didn’t care. Everyone already believed she was horrid—that hardly mattered. Ever since her mother died, Lewellyn’s life had become a living hell.

And twenty days ago, after that incident, life had descended even further into that fiery pit.

Wincing, she received a final signal of warning from her body. “I do not feel well. Your Majesty, I beg your pardon to retreat to my chambers.” With that, Lewellyn fled from the hall.

***

The princess massaged her neck. The blood-red hexagon inscribed on her delicate skin felt hot to the touch. Every breath she took was filled with burning desire.

Lewellyn had become a slave to her libido, overcome with lust.

No knights were foolish enough to pledge loyalty to a princess who’d been thrown out by the late king after her mother’s death. Even the few guards who had been assigned to protect her for show frequently left their posts to fulfill other duties. But for whatever reason, Pamela did not seem to want to kill her. She was safe for now.

At least, that was what Lewellyn thought, before dark wizards kidnapped her during a hunting competition twenty days ago.

She had not intended to participate in the competition. She only forced herself to attend out of gratitude for Bastian’s kindness. While the guests laughed and frolicked, Lewellyn sat under her pavilion and hoped time would pass quickly.

She must have fallen asleep at some point. When she opened her eyes, she was blindfolded. She had been gagged, too, so she could not cry for help. She felt herself being heaved onto a cold altar, her hands and feet bound.

Then a hand caressed her trembling body.

She could still hear the deep voices chanting. She recognized the spells as dark magic, just as a sharp pain bit into her neck. Blood trickled down her skin, and Lewellyn realized she was being offered as human sacrifice.

“Oh, lord of all that is dark and mysterious. We beseech you, Lord Asmodeus!” the voices cried in unison.

Lewellyn stiffened. She was not being offered up to a demon but to the supreme lord of darkness. Asmodeus’s dark powers were as deadly as the Holy Lord’s were divine. She began to sob in terror.

At least her death would be painless, she thought. But as the wizards continued their strange ritual, her body began to heat up. A cry of pain mingled with the saliva seeping from her gagged mouth.

The pain was excruciating. Lewellyn thought she must be dying. Terror rocked through her. But the pain did not last long. Soon, a warm sensation replaced it, and she smelled something sweet and aromatic.

The scent intoxicated her. At the same moment, a strong hand caressed her throat. It felt cold and warm at once, both soft and prickly.

What an interesting child. The moment she heard the voice inside her head, she knew Asmodeus was touching her.

And she harbors an even more interesting wish. A cool hand brushed across her forehead. I like things that interest me.

The god of magic and lust deigned to bestow a curse upon the humble human offering.

You, a poor girl who knows nothing of love, shall learn what it is to desire another. Henceforth, you shall be prey to your libido. You shall seduce and mate with any object of your passion. I grant you the gift of seduction, as you have been denied the pleasures of the flesh thus far. Go forth, my girl, and enjoy yourself.

A sharp pain erupted in her neck. She felt certain she was going to die. But for some reason, the dark wizards carried her back to the hunting grounds.

It must have been a nightmare, Lewellyn thought at first. Until a guard came looking for her. The moment she heard his voice, a spike of desire shot through her.

That wretched god! Was this his idea of a gift? Asmodeus had cursed her with an endless thirst for sex.

Ever since that day, every time she saw a man or even heard a male voice, goosebumps rose all over her skin, and the mark on her neck heated up. She yearned to fall into his arms.

Perhaps it would make things easier if she just slept with someone. Maybe I ought to get a lover, Lewellyn thought. But how?

She felt like she was losing her mind. She’d hoped the curse would subside over time, but the mark only seemed to get worse. Every night as she tried to fall asleep, she writhed with frustrated passion. Worse, her lust only grew stronger as time passed.

On days like today, when she had to attend a banquet with many male guests, the whole thing became unbearable.

As soon as she returned to her palace, Lewellyn asked all the maids to leave. No one was overly eager to serve the disgraced princess anyway, so Lewellyn could often obtain privacy. No one had even noticed her absence on the day of that hunting competition.

Lewellyn smiled bitterly and let herself into a small greenhouse attached to her palace, which had been left in disrepair. Her breath came hot, her face as red as if she’d drunk too much wine. A burning sensation erupted between her thighs.

At first, she’d only felt a tingle over her skin. Now, she could barely stand the torment. If this goes on much longer, there’s no doubt I’ll lose control.

A man might help relieve it, but if word got out that she was a promiscuous woman, she’d never be able to join the abbey. That was her only hope of escaping this country without getting married off.

Her lips parted as heavy breaths escaped her mouth. Her cheeks felt hot and her lips stung. The sweet scent of passion leaked from the folds of her dress and her head burned with dizziness. It was a blessing that no maids were around to see her like this.

Lewellyn flopped onto a rotten bench and moaned. The cooling stone had ceased to have any effect long ago. Asmodeus’s hexagon blazed dark red on her exposed neck.

The greenhouse door opened with a creak and Lewellyn jumped. She spun around to see a dark shadow enter. Her body responded at once: male. A man had come to free her from her passions.

Lewellyn sat up in a hurry.

“Your Highness?” His voice signaled something inside her. Asmodeus’s mark burned like a flame. This was the man she’d been waiting for.

The mark exploded with heat, paralyzing her thoughts. As a mere mortal, Lewellyn had no choice but to succumb. Only one thought coursed through her mind: I don’t care who he is; I must have sex with this man. Now. Entranced, Lewellyn approached the unknown man.

“Your Highness, what is the matter?” He sounded startled.

Lewellen smiled in satisfaction. She reached out and wound her arms around the man’s torso. His musky scent drove her wild. “I missed you,” she crooned.

“Y-you missed me?” The man flinched in disbelief.

Lewellyn failed to notice the uncontrollable happiness in his tone. She only wanted one thing: to sleep with this man, whoever he was. Not realizing what she’d just said, Lewellyn caressed the man’s solid chest.

He seemed taken aback by her boldness. “What are you…?”

“Do you not like it?” The princess affected a pout. Her eyes sparkled.

The man felt her soft skin against his firm body. He caught the sweet scent of seduction she was emanating, and his eyes lost focus, his brain clouding over. “Princess, I…”

“I want you.” Lewellyn smiled sweetly and kissed his lips. She felt something hard against her thighs and reached for it. He had become stiff with undisguised desire.

“I hope you don’t regret this, Your Highness.” Those were his last words before they lost themselves in each other’s bodies.