The Emperor’s Prey

His hips snapped upward in a single, brutal thrust.

The massive length drove into the reddened, trembling entrance.

With one large hand, he slapped and kneaded her water-soaked buttocks.

Did he truly not realize how ill-matched his size was to Chloe?

No—there was no way he did not know.

Even Hector had let out a strained breath at the suffocating tightness threatening to burst.

A high, broken moan slipped between her lips.

Through alcohol-blurred vision, the Emperor’s bath chamber looked flushed in a peach-red haze.

Her stomach churned.

She could not tell whether it was the liquor turning her insides or the relentless pounding that made her organs lurch.

“You wished that badly to climb into my bed?”

He was too deep.

Trying to take him from behind felt as though her insides were being torn apart.

Where the head battered against her, a dangerous vibration echoed.

He had pushed so far into a place that should not be touched that she feared her body might never recover, even after it ended.

At the very dead end where he pressed deepest, an unfamiliar, shameful heat began to simmer.

“H-Hector… ngh… ah—”

“You should answer.”

The thrust that demanded her response was merciless.

Each time his hand struck her hip, bathwater splashed violently.

Her skin rippled in small waves.

Inside, an unwanted jolt of sensation spread.

Did she want to climb into his bed?

The question—whether she wished to lie with her sworn enemy—was absurd.

“Yes… ah… yes.”

Yet Chloe’s head bobbed up and down like a broken doll.

If she did not agree, something terrible might follow.

Having obtained the answer he desired, he grew more animated.

Clicking his tongue in satisfaction, he drove himself into her with renewed vigor.

Like a rider astride a horse, he gripped her shoulders and bounced her body, visibly exhilarated.

In inverse proportion, Chloe began to collapse.

She clung desperately to the rim of the bath, but eventually her legs gave way.

As she sank into the water and tasted something akin to hell, she could not decide whether it would be better to throw away her life or survive as her enemy’s plaything.

‘What a laughable woman.’

A faint, mocking smile curved Hector’s lips.

They lay tangled together like mating serpents.

Her long silver hair spread across the bed in wild disarray, as though it had endured a natural disaster.

He grasped a fistful of the pale strands.

They slipped through his fingers like liquid.

When he tightened his grip impulsively, several strands snapped without resistance.

It had been a satisfying night.

Worth forfeiting a full night’s sleep.

He had lost track of time, indulging himself freely with this woman.

He flicked away the broken hairs and glanced at her.

She lay utterly motionless, asleep like a corpse.

She did not even seem aware that she had failed to cover herself with the blanket.

Sometime near dawn, Chloe had begun to babble deliriously.

She had muttered about heat, about being saved.

Raving senselessly, she had eventually lost consciousness while he was still inside her.

Once her responses vanished, the flavor dulled slightly.

Even so, he had not felt inclined to stop.

By the time he finally ceased, the moon had tilted and the sky had begun to pale.

Hector grasped her chin and turned her face toward him.

Her small lips were swollen and ruined.

The sight stirred him again, and he drew the inner flesh between his lips.

It was not a kiss.

It was friction for the sake of satisfying raw sensation alone.

Chloe groaned faintly in her sleep, pained by the repeated suction on her torn lips.

Unconcerned, he licked along the tender flesh inside her mouth for a long moment before releasing her.

Still dissatisfied, he bit deeply into her pale cheek.

When playing with her, he clung persistently, biting and sucking.

But when it was time to withdraw, he shoved away her slender limbs without hesitation.

Her sleeping form crumpled like discarded paper.

Hector pushed aside the canopy and stepped out of bed.

Moving with the languid gait of a beast after a full feast, he made his way to the console.

He pulled a stack of documents from the drawer and skimmed through them.

The thick file bore the title: “The Relationship Between the House of Larouge and the Eternal Society.”

‘The Eternal Society…’

While investigating Chloe’s background through separate channels, an unexpected force lurking behind her had come to light.

At first, he had been intrigued simply because she was a wife who had killed her husband.

A noblewoman committing murder was not common.

The blood speckling her delicate face had left a strong impression.

From the beginning, he had suspected she harbored ulterior motives.

Anyone who approached the Emperor always did.

Even as he had placed her on horseback and brought her to the villa, he had wondered how far he would toy with her before discarding her.

He had also paid close attention to the death of Count Larouge.

It was not merely a matter of marital strife.

He had wondered who stood to gain from Chloe receiving imperial favor.

It was common for lesser nobles to push their wives toward the Emperor’s bedchamber for profit.

But in her case, her husband was already dead.

Was the Eternal Society the puppet master?

It was unclear.

Chloe did not appear to be on good terms with Guillaume, the Count’s heir.

There were many intriguing aspects surrounding the murder.

He glanced toward the canopy-draped bed.

Though he could not see inside, he easily imagined Chloe lying there naked, unconscious in sleep.

‘If she continues to defy me so brazenly, she will meet disaster at my hands.’

A woman daring to look at him with open defiance.

It was amusing.

She showed no sign of desiring imperial favor.

Her outward qualifications were perfect for an imperial mistress, yet her behavior was the opposite.

It seemed that if he would only overlook the murder, she would prefer to leave far away.

That both irritated and puzzled him.

‘She does not even know her place.’

Beyond the provocative fact that she had killed her husband, there was another reason Chloe stood out.

She was overwhelmingly base-born.

Women who sought the Emperor’s attention typically came from respectable families.

Hector had received advances from grand duchesses to daughters of minor lords.

At the very least, they were daughters of provincial landholders.

But Chloe did not fit any such category.

He had sensed something different about her, and the investigation confirmed it.

An orphan from the lower classes.

Even a former assassin.

Yet the title of assassin posed no threat.

The evidence he possessed made that clear.

The fingerprints and blood patterns betrayed a novice.

She was physically clumsy.

So inept she could not even properly serve as a willing partner.

If she had opened herself in the bath, the least she could have done was brace herself instead of collapsing headfirst into the water.

Shaking his head in mild disdain, Hector left the inner chamber.

In the antechamber, the chamberlain, several attendants, and knights awaited.

“The information regarding the assassin training grounds is insufficient.”

He handed the completed report to the chamberlain with a dismissive motion.

“It was difficult to gather intelligence, as the facility is located on an island,” the chamberlain replied.

“Infiltrate it.”

“As you command, Your Majesty. I will order a thorough investigation.”

While securing the report, the loyal chamberlain signaled another attendant to begin the Emperor’s morning preparations.

The movements of the palace servants were as quiet as drifting dust, so as not to wake Chloe in the inner chamber.

Only the faint clink of porcelain as tea was served broke the silence.

“What shall be done with Lady Larouge?”

The chamberlain asked cautiously, bowing.

Hector sipped his tea and considered.

There were several possible courses for Chloe’s disposition.

“What is your opinion?”

At the request for counsel, the chamberlain’s expression grew grave.

He clearly understood the weight Chloe now carried in the present situation.

He had also noticed that the Emperor treated her differently.

She was the first woman to sleep in the imperial bedchamber.

The only one upon whom the Emperor had bestowed himself so fully.

“I recommend treating her in accordance with the precedent of the Viscountess of Palomonde.”

The chamberlain concluded calmly, measuring Chloe’s value against history.

The Viscountess of Palomonde had been a favored mistress of a previous Emperor.

As an official consort, she had borne the title Imperatris Secunda and held rank just below the Empress.

She had wielded significant authority, presiding over courtly events and ceremonies.

The Imperatris Secunda had existed throughout generations.

She fulfilled roles unsuitable for the Empress—

lavish expenditures, decadent gatherings,

a scapegoat for public criticism.

The Viscountess’s favor had not lasted long.

She had risen to the height of splendor—

and vanished like a mayfly.

No one knew what became of her in the end.