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chapter 17
Between their lips, ragged breaths mingled.
Sylvester only opened his mouth after inhaling Bellita’s breath half a dozen times. His distinctively low voice flowed out.
“…It’s not like you’d actually say yes.”
‘Hah.’
Bellita found it ridiculous. He could answer back this smoothly, yet still asked for permission?
Playfully, he nipped at Sylvester’s chin. Do you think I don’t know what’s going on inside you?
He had already given her his hands, his neck, his first time. He had even entrusted her with his breath. And now… he wanted to hand over his emotions too?
“Of course not. Who would dare be angry at me?”
Bellita pinched his chest.
“You knew the answer, but still asked. How cheeky.”
Sylvester bit his lip. Taking advantage of the pause, Bellita’s hand slid down over his flat stomach, tugging at his trousers.
“You don’t want to get angry by yourself. But if you ask permission, you know I’ll say no.”
“Haha…”
Their already close bodies pressed even tighter. Sylvester tilted his head back.
“So what you wanted was just to show it a little. How arrogant, trying to dump your feelings on me….”
Bellita pressed her lips to his nape.
“…What if I say, that’s not it.”
The hot breath made Sylvester’s waist tremble in tiny shivers. His messy strands shook along.
“What if I say I only asked because I was timid…?”
“As if.”
What kind of excuse is that? Bellita had no intention of listening further.
At best, it meant he would obey her completely. At worst, it was just a way of shifting responsibility onto her.
She had no desire to indulge him— not out of malice, not even because it was particularly irritating. Just because—
‘It’s fun.’
She bit down hard on his neck.
“Ugh!”
Ah, haah…. Sylvester exhaled upward, shuddering with a sharp wave of pain. Like a lion gnawing at its prey, Bellita chewed with satisfaction.
“Do you… find me insolent?”
Sylvester twisted, his lower body stirring. The familiar heat crept below his waist.
“If you say yes, will you reflect on it?”
Her lips, leaving a mark, wandered around his collarbone.
Looking him in the eye, she licked the hollow, then bit down on the protruding bone.
“What should I do? I’m slow at repentance.”
Will you punish me…? His lazy voice spilled out.
His hips, which had only twitched beneath her, now began moving in a slow rhythm.
Bellita stroked his chest and trailed her lips downward.
She stopped only when her position made it impossible to go further, pulling away with a wet pop.
Reddish marks bloomed across his nape and chest.
“You’d just take punishment like a gift anyway.”
Sylvester grinned. His fingers traced over the marks with satisfaction before he hugged Bellita tightly, burying his face in her chest as if to stop her escape.
“Of course. Punishment should be unpleasant, shouldn’t it? But if it comes from you, how could I dislike it….”
The slow movements below continued. Fabric brushed against fabric again and again. He greedily inhaled her scent, urging himself on just as before.
We’ll go further after this, right? You’re already craving it, aren’t you? If I tempt you this much, there’s no way you won’t give in. His actions spoke those words.
His large hands circled her back, supporting her as she leaned back under his weight.
His breath spilled onto her shoulder, warming and tickling her skin.
“Ha….”
His breath trailed downward. A gap opened between their bodies.
Sylvester’s tongue traced her neckline.
“…Let’s go to the bed.”
His voice, strained to the limit of patience, nibbled at her earlobe.
Bellita panted in Sylvester’s arms. He placed a silent kiss atop her head.
Back when Roman had tried to seduce her, she hadn’t intended for this to happen.
Never had she imagined lying in the same bed with someone, stomachs pressed together. How had it come to this?
Perhaps Roman’s meddling had agitated her more than she realized. Thanks to Sylvester, not a single part of her body remained unscathed. Looking down, she saw herself as though mauled by a wild beast.
Did I provoke a predator…?
She lifted her gaze to Sylvester.
…Well, he didn’t look much better. Of course— who did she think she was?
Bellita was reminded just how much of a demon she truly was, devoted to instinct. Sylvester was already meeting her eyes again.
……
Their lips were about to meet once more when—
Knock knock.
A polite knock sounded from outside.
Moments later, a loud voice pierced the thick walls.
“Sir Sylvester, Lady Bellita. The master invites you to dinner.”
Bellita glanced at Sylvester as if asking what to do, but he acted as if he hadn’t heard a thing, leaning in steadily.
His dark intentions were plain: Forget everything else, let’s kiss first.
Bellita saw his tongue dart out in anticipation and promptly threw the blanket over his head.
“Ah.”
Sylvester peeked out from under the blanket. Bellita stared at him again. Without a word, they exchanged a silent conversation. Are we going? No, not now.
Knock knock.
“Sir Sylvester, Lady Bellita? Are you there?”
The servant asked again. Bellita propped her chin, waiting to see how Sylvester would handle it.
He rolled his eyes, then smirked.
He pulled Bellita’s hand to his chest and began rubbing it there.
Was he teasing himself, or teasing her hand? Bellita simply watched as Sylvester opened his mouth.
Then, loud enough for those outside to hear, he groaned dramatically.
“Ah…! Bellita, haah… Just a moment.”
“…Pfft.”
“Wait, ah. Too strong….”
“…Hahaha!”
Bellita burst out laughing, unable to hold it back at his act. Fearing the servant might hear, she buried her face in his chest.
Her muffled giggles leaked through, her tousled hair clinging to his skin.
The two held their breaths, waiting.
Then— retreating footsteps. The summons never came again.
Sylvester brushed Bellita’s hair back into place.
“…Did I do well?”
“Yes, seems you’ve got a talent for acting.”
Bellita’s smile shone dazzlingly.
“……”
That smile stirred something aching inside him again. Sylvester’s hand slid along her waist.
As his face drew near once more, his tongue flicked out.
His plea for praise was obvious. Bellita didn’t resist— she captured his lips, tangling their tongues together.
Soft laughter passed between mouths.
Flags fluttered in the wind.
One by one, figures clad in robes of white embroidered with gold thread mounted their horses.
Between the horses stood a pale-gray carriage, engraved with delicate vine patterns.
As they were preparing to depart, a priest came running from afar.
“Haah, huff… Monsignor! It’s Raul.”
Bent over, he panted heavily. A nearby knight, not yet mounted, clicked his tongue.
“Huff… We have guided them to their room as planned. They seemed cautious, but only because the place was unfamiliar.”
Introducing himself as Raul, he straightened, face bright with pride after his report.
“…Well done, Raul. You make me feel secure.”
The one addressed smiled gently, pure as light. Like the others, he wore the robe, and laid a soft hand on Raul’s shoulder.
“You came all this way to tell us— you must be tired. The annex is even farther from here.”
At that, the young priest’s eyes sparkled. His face radiated overflowing gratitude.
“No, Monsignor Zion! You too walked the long path from the temple to the walls. Our temple is built far from the gate for a reason— to symbolize the clergy’s path of hardship!” Raul added proudly.
Hearing that, Zion smiled again. His pale-blue eyes gleamed beautifully under white lashes, overflowing with benevolence.
“You don’t even complain once. With such steadfastness, Raul, even God must be pleased.”
He patted Raul’s shoulder. The young priest’s large eyes brimmed with emotion.
After a pause, Zion spoke again.
“Then, Raul.”
“Yes, Monsignor, please speak!”
“May I ask one small favor?”
“Anything!”
His soft voice and boyishly handsome smile made the request sound all the more gentle.
“It’s nothing difficult. About the children you guided earlier… If they face trouble, could you send word to me?”
Raul’s eyes rounded with joy at being entrusted with such a task.
“Leave it to me! And I’ll be sure not to trouble them in the least.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Whispering so, Zion turned away. Raul gave a short bow. With a knight’s help, Zion boarded the carriage.
“……”
Through the window, Zion scanned the surroundings. One of the priests nearby returned a discreet signal.
“…Let’s go, Benjamin.”
Zion lowered the blind. Benjamin, after quickly checking the formation, mounted his horse.
“We depart for the Kingdom of Orhen!”
At his command, reins snapped lightly. Horses began moving. The carriage wheels rattled along the road beyond the city wall.
Benjamin’s neatly cropped brown hair rippled in the wind.
“……”
He recalled a boy he had once seen on a day with a breeze just like this.
Hair as white as snow, skin pale as light itself, irises so pale they nearly blurred into the whites of his eyes.
A man who embodied nothing but shades of white.
The boy had once told Benjamin: he was curious about this world. About what existed, about what lived within it.
His words were as pure as his color, untouched, unstained.
The only blackness in him was the pupil at the center of his eyes.
As though that was his sole darkness, he seemed always gentle, peaceful, as if incapable of any emotion at all…
…A boy who knew nothing.
Clad in rags that marked him as either a slave or a beggar, he had asked Benjamin one day:
He had seen him carrying a strange lump out of a shop. Of all the things there, why had he picked something so small?
When Benjamin ignored him, the boy began following him.
Other people carried something in and exchanged it for what he held. So why hadn’t he done the same? Why had he rushed out instead, as if hiding it?
“……”
Benjamin couldn’t tell then if the boy was threatening him or truly ignorant.
Afraid he’d tell the baker about his theft, Benjamin ran.
“…Huff!”
Of course, waiting in the alley he fled to— somehow, impossibly— the boy was already there.
“What are you? Why are you following me?!”
Benjamin backed away, clutching the small loaf. Damn it, what kind of weirdo was this?
But instead of scolding or tattling, the boy stepped forward and held something out.
“For you.”
It was a much larger, finer loaf of bread.
Handing it over without hesitation, the boy said:
He had imitated Benjamin, realizing he didn’t need to give up his “shiny things” to get bread.
This was a gift. Because Benjamin looked like he needed it.
“…Are you serious?”
Benjamin eyed him skeptically. Unlike himself, who knew the rules but still stole, this boy seemed utterly ignorant of laws, ownership, or markets.
He didn’t know what was expensive or cheap, what selling or trade meant. Not even why Benjamin had stolen bread in the first place.
Remembering that moment now, a faint smile tugged at Benjamin’s lips.
Anyone else might not even notice, mistaking it for his usual blankness. But still.
“……”
Glancing at the procession of carriages, Benjamin tightened his reins.
His softened expression vanished, returning to its usual severity.
