Early morning.
A sliver of dawn pierced through the gap in the curtains, falling onto the messy, disheveled bed.
The air was filled with the fragrance of the Ocean, mingled with subtle, decadent scents.
Wendy slowly opened his eyes, his lashes trembling softly, a familiar yet corrupted intoxication lingering at the tip of his nose.
His consciousness struggled to rise from the depths of the Sea; the first sensation was the aching soreness of a body shattered and reassembled, followed by a sharp pain in his lower back, as if it had been broken in two.
“This, this is…”
He moved his fingers, only then realizing he was being tightly restrained, his entire body trapped in another’s embrace.
Platinum-blonde hair was strewn chaotically across the pillow, flowing like moonlight. Exquisite, well-defined features and skin as pale as jade—this moment, the Witch who had shed all her ferocity and madness, resembled a sleeping goddess statue, exuding a kind of breathtaking sanctity and fragility.
“So beautiful…”
Wendy’s throat bobbed in silence. The frenzied scenes of last night began to replay uncontrollably in his mind, frame by frame.
Although Princess Astreia was forceful and rough at first, with every subsequent round, Wendy had tried to seize the initiative, the two locked in a fierce contest of positions and knowledge.
Countless times he was pushed to the brink of suffocation, teetering between forced delirium and oblivion, all weaving together into the deadliest poison.
This woman was a monster.
Whether in stamina, or in her bottomless appetite.
His own endurance was no match for the Witch Queen at the height of her desire, yet each time he reached his limit, Astreia would use her domineering magic to “recharge” him, and Wendy would be able to fight again.
It wasn’t until just before dawn, when the Prince could no longer muster any energy, that he was finally spared.
“What a… truly exhilarating Legion War…”
Wendy let out a powerless laugh, trying to gently push aside the burning-hot “blanket” on top of him, only to find the surroundings in utter chaos.
The bedsheets were torn to shreds, stained with blood—some Astreia’s, some his own.
But then, his gaze was caught, utterly captivated by a certain sight.
The Witch’s sleeping posture was anything but stable. Her legs, overlapping and pressed together, displayed plump curves slightly deformed by the pressure, glistening in the morning light with a gentle sheen. The athletic, graceful lines of muscle traced an enthralling arc from the end of her legs, culminating in a delicate, dainty ankle.
And those bewitching, vivid red Magic Patterns, blooming on her skin like Hellflowers from the depths of hell, coiled around her legs, adding an ultimate sense of decadence and temptation to her sacred beauty.
“Win~Win~”
Staring at this breathtaking view, Wendy, as if possessed, gently placed his palm upon her, his fingertips tracing from the vivid red Magic Pattern at her waist, along the mesmerizing curve, slowly gliding down to her arch. Every motion made his heart pound violently.
His eyes were as reverent as a pilgrim; his expression so intoxicated it was as if he’d glimpsed the only truth in the world. On that androgynous face, a sickly smile appeared—any outsider seeing this would surely think the Prince had gone completely mad.
Suddenly.
A thought sprouted uncontrollably in Wendy’s mind.
Last night, he had been passive the entire time, toyed with like a puppet, stripped of all dignity.
But now…
Perhaps the roles of hunter and prey could be switched, just a little.
Wendy licked his somewhat dry lips, a flash of aggression flickering in his eyes, completely at odds with his delicate appearance.
“Since we’re already like an ‘old married couple,’ another round of madness won’t hurt… right?”
Holding his breath, Wendy, like a thief about to steal from a temple, carefully lifted the Witch’s leg, slowly adjusting its position.
Time ticked by, second after second. The room was saturated with an increasingly ambiguous atmosphere, every cell in his body clamoring with joy.
The fate of the world, looming crises, all past misunderstandings—for this moment, all were cast aside. Only the voluptuous girl beside him was real, the proof that he was truly alive.
He was gambling.
Gambling that Astreia wouldn’t wake up at this moment.
Gambling that last night’s “obedience” had earned him enough “privileges.”
“Astreia…”
Wendy murmured his beloved’s name.
Using his own way to “taint” this trophy that belonged to him alone.
In a daze, he could no longer tell if this was reality or a game—he only knew that this moment was filled with boundless satisfaction and happiness…
Suddenly.
Beneath him, the Witch’s lashes quivered ever so slightly.
Wendy froze, his blood seemingly turning to ice in an instant.
He stiffened, holding this humiliating yet exhilarating pose, holding his breath, staring fixedly at the beautiful face just inches away.
His heart pounded like a drum.
Awake?
Or… still asleep?
One second, two seconds…
After a long wait, the Witch only muttered a vague, sleepy sound, seeming to fall even deeper into slumber.
Wendy let out a long sigh of relief, his back already drenched in cold sweat.
Thrilling.
So damn thrilling.
The rush of surviving disaster, mixed with the exhilaration of conquest, made the feverish madness in his eyes burn even brighter.
Afraid of what?
A real man should dare to dance on the edge of a cliff over and over!
Since last night you were the King.
Then at this moment…
I am the master~
Wendy’s lips curled into a crazed and twisted grin.
He hesitated no longer, unleashing without reservation the deepest darkness and desire in his heart, returning everything he’d endured last night—doubled.
And at that very moment.
The Witch, who seemed to be asleep, curled her lips ever so slightly in a victor’s smile.
She was gambling, too.
Gambling whether this Prince’s obsession was genuine, or just a facade.
Now it seemed…
She’d won again.
By late morning.
When Wendy once again let out a long, satisfied breath, he actually felt that being the Witch’s Princess Consort… wasn’t so bad after all?
In his previous life, he’d been a single workhorse. In this life, a Valoran Kingdom prince cloistered in the inner palace—when it came to the idea of a partner, he had always only a vague silhouette.
But now, that vague silhouette had been entirely filled out by Astreia’s beauty.
Especially those long, beautiful legs branded with the flowers of hell—they were now carved deep into his soul, impossible to forget.
“Mm…”
At last, with a long-suppressed moan, the Witch’s eyelids slowly fluttered open.
She was awake.
Wendy jolted, like a duck with its neck wrung, stiffly lifting his head.
Their eyes met—silence.
It’s over!
Caught red-handed! Busted on the spot!
Yet, the thunderous wrath he’d expected never came.
Astreia simply gazed at him quietly.
In those Witch’s eyes, burning with ghostly purple flames, there was no anger, no killing intent—only a kind of… knowing amusement, and the lazy satisfaction after indulgence.
“Darling…”
Her voice was hoarse, with a unique morning huskiness, every word like a feather gently brushing Wendy’s heartstrings.
“Have you played enough?”