Deep in the Mountains

Fresh air rushed into Ilisia’s lungs, but her head still buzzed with shock.

She needed someone to talk to—but her sisters were still at the banquet, her closest friends busy with social duties.

And her father?

Duke Wenser had far weightier matters to handle tonight.

Who could she turn to?

Ah—Cassius.

He’d told her he’d be delivering a letter to a nearby village first, arriving at the banquet later…

She’d go find him now.

Ilisia threw on a cloak, mounted a horse, and galloped toward the village.

At the edge of the hamlet, she spotted a farmhouse guarded by soldiers in distinctive armor.

Cassius’s personal guard.

She reined in her horse and dismounted.

“Where’s your master?” she asked.

“He’s… occupied,” a guard replied curtly, clearly annoyed.

Ilisia paused, taken aback.

Then she realized—she wasn’t in her elegant gown, but a borrowed dark cloak, hood pulled low over her face.

They didn’t recognize her.

Frowning, she opened her mouth to press further—when she froze.

From inside the farmhouse came heavy male panting… and a woman’s breathy, moaning sounds.

“What are they doing in there?” Ilisia asked, voice tight.

“Exactly what you think,” the guard sneered. “Unless you’ve got urgent business, leave.”

“Exactly… what I think?”

Ilisia leaned closer, brow furrowed.

She crept to the back of the house and peered through a crack in the shuttered window.

A man lay bare-chested on the bed.

Undeniably—Cassius.

By the gods… what is this?!

A woman straddled him, equally unclothed, fingers tracing his heaving chest.

“Master, you’re amazing…” she cooed, voice dripping with pleasure. “You’re so good to me…”

“I love you, Sasha,” Cassius groaned. “Let me come every day, alright?”

“I’ll be waiting,” she giggled, pinching his chin playfully. “Is that silver-haired sweetheart of yours as fun as I am?”

Silver-haired sweetheart…?

Ilisia’s heart clenched like a fist. Her fingers dug into the windowsill.

“She’s busy flirting with the prince right now,” Cassius said with a lazy chuckle.

“No wonder you came running to me…” Sasha pouted.

“If only she were as filthy as you…” Cassius added, voice thick with mockery.

They shifted positions, bodies entwining once more.

Gods above… am I dreaming?

Ilisia felt blood rush to her head—dizzy, nauseous, near fainting.

The betrayal was staggering.

Shock. Humiliation. Rage. Disbelief.

The “pure-hearted” Cassius—the noble sword genius—was here, rutting like a beast in a peasant hut…

And using her—her name, her image—as part of his crude bedroom fantasy?!

She whirled around and sprinted back to her horse.

Hooves thundered into the night. Wind howled in her ears.

All she wanted was to flee—far, fast, forever.

They don’t care about me. They just want my body…

“Hss—!”

Distracted, she failed to see the ditch ahead.

Her horse leapt—she lost her balance—and tumbled hard to the ground.

Pain shot up her leg like lightning.

Bad.

She was injured. Alone. In a pitch-black forest.

Damp night wind slithered through the trees, whispering like unseen things.

Monsters? Ogres?

Father… Mother…

Too terrified to stray from the roadside, Ilisia curled into a ball, burying her face in her knees.

Her body trembled uncontrollably.

Then—footsteps.

Closer. Closer.

No…

“Little miss, what’s wrong?”

Ilisia looked up.

A middle-aged woman in simple farm clothes stood before her, holding a torch. Her face was kind, her features gentle in the flickering light.

“I—I got lost… and hurt my leg,” Ilisia stammered, voice breaking. “I’m Duke Wenser’s daughter!”

“If you take me down the mountain, my father will reward you—he’ll—”

“Oh, poor dear,” the woman sighed sympathetically. She knelt, gently examining Ilisia’s leg.

“Not too serious,” she said softly. “Tell you what—I’ll carry you to my home. It’s just ahead. You can rest, soak your foot in warm water, and I’ll send my son to fetch the duke’s guards.”

“Th-thank you,” Ilisia whispered, nodding weakly.

The woman handed her the torch, then hoisted Ilisia onto her back.

As they walked, Ilisia pressed her cheek against the woman’s broad shoulder, comforted by the warmth.

Maybe… she’d be safe.

After a few minutes, a lit cottage appeared on the hillside.

The woman stopped at the door. “Hang the torch on the hook there, dear.”

Ilisia obeyed—but unease prickled her skin.

The stable outside was full.

Not of plow horses.

Of warhorses.

And the noise from inside—raucous laughter, shouting, clinking metal—was far too loud for a simple farmhouse.

This isn’t a peasant’s home…

It was too late.

“Boys!” the woman shouted as she kicked the door open. “Looks like we’ve caught ourselves a big one tonight!”

Inside, a dozen rough men sat around a table—ragged clothes, broken armor, faces scarred and stained.

This wasn’t a home.

It was a bandit den.

The outlaws turned as one, eyes locking onto Ilisia.

“By the gods—Duke Wenser’s daughter?!” a one-eyed man gasped.

“Finally, someone here who knows their prey,” the woman smirked.

She dumped Ilisia onto the table and bound her wrists and ankles with coarse rope.

“Let me go! My father will hunt you down!” Ilisia screamed. “You filthy—”

A foul-smelling rag was shoved into her mouth.

“Mmmph—!!” Her eyes widened in horror.

The cloth reeked of salt, sweat, and rot. Combined with the stench of unwashed bodies and spoiled meat, it made her stomach heave.

The woman tossed her to the center of the room like a sack of grain.

“This one’s lively—way more than the last wench we caught,” a bandit grinned.

“Duke Wenser’s little jewel… he’d pay a fortune. Enough to live like kings for life!”

“I say we have some fun before we ransom her,” another leered, eyes raking over her form. “Look at those—”

“Yeah! Maybe she’ll carry one of our bastards—imagine the duke’s face when she waddles into court pregnant!”

They roared with laughter, their hunger sharpening into something far more dangerous.

“We’ll play with her after we hit the banquet,” a bearded, bald giant said, guzzling from a wineskin. “There’ll be plenty more noble girls there—princess included.”

“I’m hungry now,” a chilling voice cut in. “Let me taste her blood first.”

Ilisia shuddered.

She turned toward the speaker—and froze.

Among the bandits sat a towering man.

Nearly bald, his muscles bulged like cured slabs of meat. His skin glistened with oil, covered in purple-black boils and oozing sores.

But his eyes…

Pure black orbs, ringed with a web of crimson veins, fixed on her with terrifying intensity.

Unlike the others, his gaze held no lust.

Only raw, primal—

Hunger.

He wanted to devour her. Every last drop.

“Cool it, Cook,” the bald leader said. “You just ate two ‘meals.’ Not enough?” He turned to Ilisia. “Honestly, without this noble brat, we’d be stuck on our raid plan. Now? Perfect.”

“But I’m hungry,” Cook repeated, voice guttural.

“Drink, then,” the leader sighed, tossing him a bottle. “This girl’s too valuable to snack on. One bite, and our payday’s gone.”

Cook stared at the wine… then at Ilisia.

A low growl rumbled in his throat.

Finally, he dragged his cracked tongue across his lips, grabbed the bottle, and gulped it down.