The night had grown deep.
A cold, clear moonlight cast a layer of silver frost over the newly built defensive line.
Inside Sunset Fortress, the soldiers slept soundly, filled with hope and fighting spirit for the future, conserving their energy for the decisive battle to come.
Only the footsteps of the patrol echoed through the silence.
One person stood alone atop the towering battlements, the unique night wind of the Northern Region carrying a hint of chill, tugging at his hair and the corners of his clothes.
Despite the beautiful night view, Wendy had no mood to appreciate it; his mind was entirely occupied with planning his escape.
Running away was an art.
He certainly didn’t want to play out that kind of tragic scene, where the protagonist leaves in tears without saying goodbye, leaving behind a pile of misunderstandings, and then both sides chase each other in the pouring rain, shouting and struggling in exhaustion…
Just thinking about that kind of situation made his toes curl with embarrassment—enough to dig out a whole Sunset Fortress.
If he was going to leave, he had to do it cleanly, gracefully, in a way that no one could find fault with—and maybe even have everyone feel grateful to him, remembering his goodness.
With a “heartfelt” and “tear-stained” farewell letter, making everything clear and arranged, that was the way a “decent person” like him should operate.
“As for my Cursed Bloodline, and how, to save my beloved you, I must go far away in search of purification…”
Wendy drafted in his mind, only to immediately dismiss it.
“No, no, that’s too blunt—it sounds like I’m trying to take credit for myself, makes me look bad.”
He changed his approach, continuing to ponder.
“I, a Prince of the Fallen Kingdom, a Calamity Star, truly cannot bear to bring this misfortune upon you, who I treasure, as radiant as the sun…”
“Hmm, that’s more like it! Artistic and tragic, full of noble self-sacrifice. Add in something like, ‘My departure is for a better return,’ and the style is at its peak! When Astreia reads the letter, won’t she be so moved she’ll want to build a shrine to me in her heart?”
As Wendy’s mental theater ran at full speed, pondering which calligraphic style would best package his escape as a “great expedition for love and peace,” a familiar, deliberately light set of footsteps came from behind him.
Wendy didn’t turn around.
Because that faint fragrance—daisies mixed with the unique, lingering sweetness of a young girl’s sweat—clearly revealed the newcomer’s identity.
Astreia had changed out of her heavy armor, wearing the deep blue silk gown that Wendy had praised before.
She quietly walked up beside the Prince, mimicking his posture as she rested her arms on the cold battlement, not making a single unnecessary sound.
Neither of them spoke, simply standing side by side, gazing into the distance at the undulating mountains under the moonlight, and up at the dazzling Milky Way above, as if it could be touched.
The silence spread in the night wind, yet there was not a trace of awkwardness—on the contrary, a tacit understanding flowed quietly between the two, needing no words.
“Wendy.”
In the end, it was Astreia who broke the silence first.
“Thank you…”
Her voice was soft, with a faint, barely noticeable tremble.
“You’ve already thanked me so many times today. If you keep going, my ears are going to grow calluses.”
Wendy turned, just in time to meet the Princess Royal’s lovely face.
The moonlight poured down without reservation, tracing her heroic features with extraordinary gentleness.
Her usually clear and resolute emerald eyes were now filled with endless longing and attachment, like a lake stirred by a spring breeze.
Astreia said nothing more, just silently turned to face Wendy, staring at him without blinking, as if trying to imprint his image onto her soul in this clumsy way.
That gaze was too intense, too focused. It made Wendy uneasy, and he turned his face away, uncomfortable.
“W-What are you doing? It’s not like flowers are blooming on my face.”
The next second, a slightly cool, inexperienced yet tentative embrace gently wrapped around him.
As those peach blossom eyes widened in surprise, Astreia closed her eyes and, a bit recklessly, kissed him.
Her lips were soft and warm, yet trembling with uncontrollable nervousness.
Rather than a kiss, it was more like a tentative, reverent, and fearful touch of two lips—innocent, as pure as a blank sheet of paper.
Wendy found it amusing, but his body didn’t resist; instead, he relaxed completely, letting that uniquely girlish scent envelop him, savoring the rare sweetness and innocence.
However, such a fleeting touch was clearly not enough to satisfy the Prince with the Black Heart.
Just as Astreia was about to break away, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Wendy suddenly reversed their roles.
He reached out, grabbed the Princess’s slender waist, and with just a little force, pulled her even closer.
In those suddenly wide, starry eyes, Wendy demonstrated what a true Long Kiss of France was.
“Mm!!!”
Astreia felt as if something exploded inside her; all her reserve, nervousness, and shyness were shattered in an instant, melting into a pool of spring water.
Her body went weak, unable to muster any strength. She instinctively clung tightly to Wendy’s clothes, barely managing to stand.
Like a drowning person clutching the only driftwood.
The sorrow of parting was, in this moment, completely replaced by the ambiguous, intoxicating breaths between them.
In the night wind, only two wildly beating hearts remained, composing a moving melody atop the city wall.
No one knew how long it lasted, until Astreia felt she was about to suffocate, and Wendy finally, reluctantly, let her go.
At this moment, the Princess Royal’s face was crimson, as if she’d been boiled like a shrimp; her emerald eyes were misty, lips parted, panting heavily.
This innocent yet alluring look made Wendy’s lips curl with satisfaction, his mood growing even lighter.
He leaned close to the Princess’s ear, now so red it seemed about to drip blood, and chuckled softly, “Your kissing needs a lot of work. Practice more, and let’s do it again next time.”
This teasing remark was the last straw, completely breaking Astreia’s psychological defenses.
“I-Idiot!”
The Princess Royal let out a wail and ran off without looking back.
All that remained was the intoxicating fragrance in the air, and a Prince with the Black Heart, watching her flee before finally bursting into laughter.
But as he laughed, the smile slowly faded, until it vanished completely in the cold moonlight.
Wendy raised his hand, lightly touching his lips—still warm and fragrant—with his index finger, a complex, unreadable expression in his peach blossom eyes.
A bit of melancholy, some lingering sweetness, and a trace of emotion.
“Forget it…”
In the end, all his feelings were forcibly pressed down, turning into a single sigh.
“In the letter, I’ll just tell the truth after all…”
At the very least, he had to explain that Cursed Bloodline, that “Blessing,” exactly as it was.
Let her know that his departure was never a heartless abandonment…
Why is the author so afraid to write smut?
Just make them bang dude.