TEWRIT 78

Chapter 78

Flint pressed himself against Eliano, their bodies touching. She was ice-cold. To warm her, he held her tightly, breathing steady heat into her. Eliano’s icy hair tickled his back, but Flint ignored it and focused on keeping her warm.

She felt fragile—like she could shatter. Sometimes he loosened his hold, then tightened again. Sweat dripped down—though neither knew why.

After what felt like an eternity, Eliano’s body finally relaxed. Her warmth returned. Flint exhaled, relieved: she was out of danger.

Her face regained color, her lips pink again, and her breathing evened out. With time, her heartbeat she grew strong once more.

Flint still didn’t let go. He stared at strands of her hair that had fallen to the cave floor, exhaling hot air. Her body was soft, warm—sending a heat through him he didn’t expect.

Just a little more…

Eliano lay stable, but Flint wanted to stay close. She was safe finally, yet he held her tighter. He closed his eyes and let warmth lull him.

Just as Flint nearly drifted off, Eliano’s eyelids fluttered. She stirred, searching for warmth.

So warm…

Her arms slowly wrapped around what she thought was a dog, hugging tightly. But when she realized the fur was gone, she looked up in alarm.

Before her chest rose and fell rippling muscle. She was holding a man—Flint himself.

Shocked, she pulled back, only to find Flint holding her close, drawing her into his embrace. She gasped.

“Y—Your Highness…?”

“Yes.”

His low voice trembled in her ear, sending a chill through her. Her mouth parted awkwardly.

“Are you still cold?”

Flint hugged her deeper. Eliano looked into his eyes—his mismatched silver and green irises were alive, softer than she’d ever seen.

When she tried to pull away, he tightened his hold. Surprisingly, it felt safe.

She realized what she had been pressing against—his thigh. In her other life, she had ignored similar urges. Now, with him in her arms, she felt a fierce need.

They stared at one another. Their lips so close. Eliano whispered, breathless, “It hurts if you hold me too tight.” She pressed her lips to his collarbone. He shivered with desire.

Then—without warning—Flint leaned forward and kissed her hard. He held her firmly, mouth pressing into hers. Eliano gasped, mingling tongues in a heated kiss.

She pulled away, panting. But Flint moved back in. They kissed again with more urgency. The forest quiet around them.

Their clothes fell away, warmth replacing drenching rain. They rose to their desire. Eliano’s mind was gone, only the press of his body mattered. This was no duty or duty-born love—it was pure desire.

They nearly reached their consummation when—

“Kiang! Kiang!” A dog barked sharply.

Flint’s vision cleared. Eliano stopped, too, upon hearing the shout.

Voices: “Lord Flint is here! Lady Duchess too!”

One voice followed: “Lord Duke Howard and the Duchess—”

But Adel, who had entered the cave behind them, cut it off as soon as she saw them half‑clothed and entwined.

“Get away! I said get out!”

She pushed knights out of the cave. Flint and Eliano scrambled to re‑dress quickly.

“What’s happening? Fighting monsters alone?” one knight shouted.

“A monster den? Save the Duchess!”

Believing the worst, the knights stormed in.

Eliano cursed in her heart, fumbling with her many ribbons and petticoats. Flint stood in just trousers, quickly draping his cloak over Eliano as he shouted:

“I and the Duchess are safe—no need to make a scene!”

His voice rang strong, though his mind raced. Eliano tugged at him urgently:

“Call Jane, please.”

She turned to fasten her outfit—always clumsy without her lady‑in‑waiting. Jane’s assistance was essential.

Meanwhile…

Outside a rustic lodge in the forest, masked men knelt trembling before a tall man. A sharp slap echoed, and a mask flew off—revealing the face of a servant once trusted to watch Eliano.

“You incompetent fool!” the masked man hissed, backhanding him again. Blood dripped from the servant’s lip.

“You failed even to guard her properly. I warned you she was not a helpless prey!”

The servant bowed silently. Around him on the forest floor lay more kneeling, terrified masked men—each one trembling under the glare of their master: Marcell Zacaedor.

Marcell’s expression was beautiful—handsome like Zacaedor emperors of legend—but laced with ferocious cruelty. He pulled out a whip, lashes arcing through the air like art, and his servants cried out in agony.

“Beg forgiveness if you dare!” Marcell snarled, striking again, hair swaying like molten gold in sunlight.

When the whip snapped into the mask of a kneeling servant, blood sprayed. Pain-wracked screams echoed.

Finally, Marcell tossed aside the whip. Mask crushed, face exposed—a shock of beauty twisted in rage.

“Feed them to the wild beasts.”

A lieutenant spat assent. One servant lay still on the ground, blood adding to the gore. Marcell’s boot pushed the body aside contemptuously.

He spat out the final words:

“The Duchess of Howard? Ridiculous. A duchess taken by that low-born hostage dog? She’s not his—nor theirs. But she was—that woman was remarkable.”

Despite being a bastard himself, Marcell claimed to hold disdain for all others—but not Eliano. The moment she had come to him as his bride, the Duchess stole his heart. He had never stopped loving her, even through court politics and rival meddling. Countless beauties he took… but only she made his heart beat.

She remained, always, the woman he loved—and would again rule with him as Empress.

He would not repeat past mistakes.