Goosebumps spread over her body as Arnald’s long fingers glided across her skin.
“A wife who lies about her desires must be punished, but a wife who sweetly begs for my touch deserves to be rewarded. You look angry that your body so easily dances to my tune, but you always show me a good time.”
“No… A-ah…”
Byletta stared at Arnald, gasping for breath, only to find an alluring light gleaming in his eyes. All her emotions were replaced with an ache, and everything went white.
Byletta coveted neither reward nor punishment, but her anger was soon overwritten with shame and delight. She was gaining a deep self-loathing for her body, thirsty as it was for pleasure, but even those feelings soon turned into a sweet euphoria.
“Prepare yourself, Byletta…”
Arnald’s fleeting whisper vanished into Byletta’s melting consciousness.
As he held his unconscious wife, Arnald reflected on how he’d let his emotions get the better of him in the courtyard.
They were in the carriage, heading back to the Swangan manor house. Inside the vehicle were roomy seats that could fit multiple people facing each other, one of which had been claimed by Arnald. He tightened his grip on his wife, who was in his arms. Before embarking on the journey home, he’d simply told everyone at the venue that his wife had taken ill. The event was almost over anyway. Arnald had never stayed at any of those functions for this long before anyway, so when he’d left Byletta in the carriage and gone back inside to tell them he was leaving, his acquaintances had been in shock. They hadn’t been able to believe he was still there.
As the carriage trundled along the path home, Arnald began to feel calm again. It was unusual for him to become as hot-blooded as he had back there.
He had never felt that depravity and sexual desire could come bound together as they had in the courtyard, but that had been the most turned on he’d ever felt.
Arnald had had no idea that such a savage heart beat within him. Byletta was out cold and didn’t appear to be waking up anytime soon. A spasm of horror ran through his body as he looked down at how her tiny frame fit snugly in his arms.
When she stood at his side, she was bold and had a spirited aura about her. That was probably what made her seem so larger than life. But as Arnald cradled his sleeping wife, he could see just how petite she really was.
Had she always been so slim and fragile looking?
As he stared down at her, he realized that he’d always thought of her as a steel plate, something that could be hammered back to normal, but she was as delicate and fragile as glass. He tightened his grip on her again.
I’ve always known she was close with her uncle, haven’t I? Arnald asked himself within the rocking carriage.
He absolutely had.
He’d read the reports, heard the rumors that they were more than just family. Of course, he didn’t suspect that at all. Plus, he knew for certain that he’d been the first man that Byletta had ever slept with. But the impact of reading something on paper didn’t compare to seeing something with one’s own eyes.
Were they close?
Most uncles and nieces didn’t sit side by side on benches, embracing each other.
They didn’t stare into each other’s eyes and speak so happily.
Nor did they stroke each other’s backs to offer comfort.
And, of course, most uncles didn’t hold such a murderous malice toward their nieces’ husbands.
You could tell that their connection transcended familial closeness just by looking at them. When Arnald thought back to what he’d seen on that bench, it seemed no great wonder that rumors had gone around about them. Yet somehow it made him feel sick to his stomach.
Seeing his wife like that had made him feel that something just wasn’t right.
The more rational side had just found it interesting and laughed.
The only two emotions he’d ever recognized within himself were discomfort and emptiness. He’d faked all the rest by watching the people around him. Most of the time, he was completely expressionless because keeping up an emotional facade was surprisingly tiring. But when she was involved—and only then—he found his emotions changing. They changed shade and shape. Sometimes his discomfort felt like it was going to boil over in an instant, and other times it felt like a slow and painful poison. And occasionally, it would be accompanied by a feeling of heaviness in his gut or an irrepressible frustration.
“Just how far have you fallen?”
Arnald couldn’t help but remember what Movris had asked him.
It was the first time he’d ever felt favorably toward anyone.
It wasn’t until his superior had pointed it out that Arnald had thought of her as anything other than an interesting and amusing wife. Movris’s words had been what motivated him to see Byletta as something more, as an object of his affection.
How insensitive was he if he needed someone else to enlighten him about his own emotions?
But, Arnald reminded himself, there was no way to confirm whether what his superior had told him was true or not.
He’d just have to wait and see what happened.
As his feelings continued to evolve day by day, he couldn’t be sure how things would ultimately end. He could only stand by and wait. He couldn’t think of any other way to deal with what was going on between them.
If his feelings really were what people called “love,” it was a hell of a thing.
Still, there was something within him that he wouldn’t compromise on.
“Prepare yourself, Byletta. I have no intention of letting you go.”
Ruminating on the last words he’d said to her before she passed out in the palace courtyard, Arnald planted a soft kiss on Byletta’s lips. They were beautiful, pillowy, and delightfully warm.
Arnald tenderly closed his eyes.
He basked in the warmth of the woman who’d sent his feelings into such disarray.