CHAPTER 81…………………………………
: Depending Only on Each Other
Celiya’s hand touched Dietrich’s chest.
His chest was far harder than she had expected—so much so that she wondered if he had stuffed a boulder inside.
Taut skin, broad shoulders, and a torso wrapped in muscle—he was perfection itself.
Her eyes followed his falling black hair, the sharp line of his brows, and then the high bridge of his nose.
In the crimson eyes gazing down at her, there was raw, unmistakable desire.
Primal desire.
The only man who could heal her broken body.
Celiya realized that the reflection of herself in Dietrich’s eyes bore the exact same expression.
Their lips met once more.
Their breaths tangled roughly together—sometimes forceful, as if devouring, sometimes soft, as if wrapping around each other.
Dietrich kissed her lips again.
His hand traced her skin in a teasing caress, making Celiya twist her body slightly.
Her hands, which had been wrapped tightly around his neck, slowly slid downward.
Soon, her ten fingers pressed into his back, leaving nail marks—her very own traces etched deeply onto him.
Dark and light, long and short—her marks covered his body.
A moan escaped between Celiya’s lips.
The more her voice spilled out, the rougher Dietrich’s touch grew, as though to devour her whole.
The alternating pressure of his hands made her feel as though she might truly go mad.
The sky spun; she was losing sense of where she was.
But her body’s sensations only grew sharper, more intense.
Dietrich’s large hand caressed her narrow waist and stomach, sending sparks of sensation wherever he touched.
Celiya pressed harder against his lips.
As though to torment her further, Dietrich’s long fingers swept down her thigh, never leaving her still, his touch endlessly alternating.
Each of his five fingers brought a different sensation.
“……!”
Unable to hold back, a shameful sound slipped out from Celiya’s mouth. She was embarrassed by her own voice, but Dietrich’s touch forced it from her regardless.
“……”
No matter how she tried, she couldn’t suppress it.
In the meantime, Dietrich drew himself closer, their bodies pressed tight.
His sculpted abs before her eyes looked nobler than any piece of art.
Every fiber of her being longed for him.
He stripped away his upper garment, then began removing his lower one.
Soon, his waistline was revealed, and his hip bones came into view.
“!”
Celiya’s eyes widened, her cheeks blazing like fire. Yet her gaze remained locked on him.
Those pronounced hip bones seemed to writhe, promising not to let her be.
His crimson eyes, burning with sensual fire, bore down on her with overwhelming intensity.
Only moments ago, those eyes had been tender.
For a second, Celiya wondered if he had become another man.
But no—this was still Dietrich.
Overwhelmed by his intoxicating presence, Celiya felt faint.
Perhaps from the earlier rainfall, her body was damp and heavy.
Her shoes had somehow slipped off, leaving her pale feet dirtied with soil and grass.
Above them, tall trees reached toward the sky.
Yet in this moment, she forgot entirely where she was.
The earthy scent of the forest mixed with their heated breaths.
Celiya felt utterly free, drinking in raw, unrestrained nature.
Perhaps jealous of their love, a sudden downpour began.
Without warning, rain poured down, soaking both their bodies.
Shhhhh—.
The chill of the rain seeped into Celiya’s skin.
“…Damn, it’s raining.”
Dietrich realized he could not leave her fragile body exposed here any longer.
Nearly naked himself, he hurried to dress her again.
The jealous rain continued to pour between them.
Dietrich threw on his own clothes quickly and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“Cough!”
Just a brief moment in the rain, and Celiya was already coughing.
Dietrich had intended to return to his estate in the imperial palace, but he changed his plans.
He needed to deal with matters concerning Illéon in prison and other palace affairs, but none of it mattered compared to Celiya’s condition.
Even after sharing his own vitality with her, she was still this weak—her health truly was poor.
I need to warm her up first.
Leaving palace affairs to Anderson for half a day, Dietrich made his decision.
“Your body’s cold. I can’t allow this.”
Without another word, he swept her into his arms.
Holding her as lightly as if she weighed nothing, he quickly carried her down from the forest toward the village.
Still carrying her, Dietrich entered the finest-looking inn in the village.
“The best room you have.”
He placed a gold coin on the counter.
“Keep the change.”
The innkeeper, wide-eyed, promptly handed him the most expensive room.
Celiya’s clothes were drenched, dripping with water.
The wet fabric clung tightly, outlining every curve of her body.
Dietrich immediately lowered her into the bathtub.
It was large enough for two, but he did not climb in himself.
“You’ll be warm soon. Once your body temperature rises, we’ll leave for the palace.”
“…Aren’t you cold?”
At her question, Dietrich smiled faintly.
“I’m fine.”
As warm water filled the tub, he kissed her forehead.
He resisted the temptation to enter with her—he couldn’t risk losing control.
He couldn’t bear to treat her like the other men who had once defiled her.
He remembered how close he had come to losing his restraint in the forest earlier.
If not for the rain, he might have scarred her with a terrible memory.
“Let’s get these clothes off. Staying wet will only make you colder.”
He gently undressed her, his touch now tender, filled with concern rather than desire.
Seeing her soaked white garment clinging to her chest, he deliberately averted his eyes.
Shhhhh—.
The bathwater rose steadily.
Warmth spread over her skin, and she closed her eyes in relief.
The water reached just beneath her chest.
Watching her relax, Dietrich smiled softly.
He took a peach-scented oil from the bathroom shelf and rubbed it between his palms.
“I’ll wash your hair.”
At her small nod, he worked the oil gently through her silvery locks, carefully massaging each strand.
His touch was so soothing that a faint smile spread across her lips.
The sweet scent of peaches filled the air.
With her eyes closed, she spoke softly.
“When all this is over, let’s go on a journey. Somewhere no one knows us. We’ll do whatever we want, see everything we want, and just live.”
What she longed for was nothing more than a simple, ordinary life.
Though once a noble princess, even such a simple dream had been denied her.
Dietrich’s chest ached at her words.
As he rinsed the oil from her hair, he replied:
“Yes. Let’s go. Somewhere no one knows us. Let’s live depending only on each other.”
He dried her hair gently with a towel, then pressed his lips to hers.
She accepted his kiss as though she had been waiting for it.
Their passionate kisses continued endlessly in the steamy bathroom.
It was impossible to tell whether the heat came from the water or from their bodies entwined.
The only certainty was that the steam was so thick that no one outside could see in.
The flickering shadow of a torch danced across Gabriel’s face.
She darted her eyes around, taking in her surroundings.
Behind her, prisoners lined up, waiting to be interrogated. Ahead, knights stood with swords at their sides, radiating fierce energy.
Beyond their backs was a rusted iron gate. One by one, people were called forward, each disappearing inside—never to return.
“Next! Step inside.”
At the knight’s shout, Ariel—standing just behind Gabriel—turned pale.
“Gabriel, what do we do? More than ten have gone in already, and not a single one has come out!”
Gabriel wanted to comfort her mother, but she herself was in no position to console anyone.
Nothing about this situation sat well with her.
Her mood was fouler than words could describe.
The man she had adored with such desperate passion, Dietrich, had looked at her as if she were an insect. And beside him sat sly Celiya, as though she belonged there.
Every man desired Celiya.
Without exception.
When Gabriel had practically sold her off to the old emperor, she thought everything would finally go smoothly.
How did it come to this…?
“Next!”
The repeated call forced Gabriel to bite her lip and step into the iron cell.
Inside, a knight in crimson pauldrons stood beside an old chair. There was also a black door, presumably leading deeper into the prison.
“Gabriel Brillion of the Brillion Viscountcy. Sit.”
