Evening wrapped the palace in a soft amber glow, the kind that made everything seem suspended in a delicate hush. The ladies were preparing to leave, but I found my gaze anchored, unwilling to leave Mirha's side. She walked gracefully, her smile bright even as Arvin held her hand like a treasure he couldn't bear to let go. The sight tugged at something in me—a warmth that spread from my chest down to my stomach, fluttering like wings, as if her joy lit a fire no one else could see.
We moved toward the courtyard, the cool evening breeze carrying the faint scent of jasmine and roses from the palace gardens. Arvin's eyes never left Mirha, a quiet devotion etched in every glance, every tilt of his head as he leaned slightly toward her. His hand held hers with careful firmness, like she was the most precious thing in the world, and she responded with gentle laughter that made the evening feel softer, warmer, as though the world itself had narrowed to just the two of them.
I barely noticed when Kain took my hand. His touch was grounding, yet it couldn't compete with the vision in front of me. Mirha waved at me, the soft motion and the gentle curl of her fingers making my heart ache with longing and admiration. Arvin kissed her hair as they walked, and in that simple, intimate gesture, my mind spun—he didn't just look at her, he saw her. And in turn, she turned toward him, eyes soft, lips curved in quiet acknowledgment, and he guided her with such ease back toward the palace, hand never leaving hers, as if the world outside had melted away.
I snapped back when Kain squeezed my hand gently, his voice pulling me from the haze. "Goya," he said, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "What are you thinking?"
I blinked, a little embarrassed, realizing how long I had been staring, lost in that private, luminous bubble around them. "I… I was just…" I trailed off, trying to put words to a feeling that was more a flutter in my chest than anything I could truly name.
And in that moment, I knew—Mirha had found a kind of happiness that glowed, and it left me both in awe and strangely, yearning, as if just witnessing it filled me with warmth I couldn't quite place.
Goya looked at Kain, her eyes soft but thoughtful, and said, "Your brother… he has loved Mirha for a long time, hasn't he?"
Kain tilted his head, confusion flickering across his features. "What…?"
"Because the Emperor loves Mirha," Goya replied, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.
Kain chuckled, shaking his head. "You're reading too much into this. Remember, she was pushed into his arms by the Empress. Not like Arvin asked for her specifically."
Goya's smile widened, her gaze drifting for a moment as if she were seeing threads of a story only she could perceive. "Do you… believe in fate?" she asked softly, her voice almost blending with the evening breeze.
Kain looked at her, a flicker of amusement and curiosity dancing in his eyes. "Fate?" he echoed. "I think… sometimes it has a way of working things out, whether we want it or not."
Goya's eyes returned to Mirha and Arvin, their hands entwined, the subtle warmth between them radiating even from afar. "Then maybe some things… are meant to be," she whispered.
Kain just nodded, letting the words hang in the air, a quiet acknowledgment that perhaps some stories were written long before anyone could see them unfold.
In the carriage, Gina's gaze lingered on the window, her thoughts wandering as the scenery blurred past. After a quiet moment, she finally asked, her voice low and hesitant, "Do you think… they've consummated their union?"
Rnzo shot her a look of disbelief, eyebrows raised. "Gina… didn't you see the marks? The hickeys, the bruised lips?"
Gina sighed, a mixture of resignation and awe in her tone. "I suppose it was obvious," she admitted, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of her cloak.
Her eyes softened, then darkened with worry. "I feel bad for Kaisen," she said quietly, almost to herself.
Rnzo's smile faded. He knew too well how Kaisen reacted when disappointed—he retreated into himself, drowning in alcohol, silent tears slipping out when no one was watching. It was maddening how often his instincts and doubts proved to be right.
Gina turned to him, her lips pressing gently to his in reassurance. "He'll heal," she whispered, her voice steady and sure, like a promise.
Rnzo nodded, letting the words settle. Somehow, even amidst the uncertainty, her confidence offered a fragile thread of hope.
Back at the Imperial Palace, Mirha returned from her bath, humming softly. As she passed by the study, she noticed Arvin asleep at the table, the moon light beamed through the windows and catching the edges of his loose curls. Heman was gone. She hesitated, unsure if it was proper to enter, but the thought of him catching a cold nudged her forward.
Gently, she stepped inside and reached out to tap his cheek. Arvin stirred, eyes fluttering open. Mirha instinctively stepped back, but before she could retreat fully, Arvin's hand closed around her wrist.
"You can do whatever you want," he said softly, his gaze steady. "No need to apologize."
Mirha's cheeks flushed as she gave a nervous smile. He released her wrist and began to stretch, and in the motion, his hair slipped free from its tie. Loose, dark curls framed his face, soft and wild. Mirha tilted her head, studying him, and her breath caught at how different he looked—more rugged, more… manly.
Their eyes met. For a moment, the room seemed to shrink around them. Arvin stepped closer, his voice low, almost teasing.
"You can touch it," he said.
Mirha's hands trembled slightly, but she reached out, letting her fingers glide through the silky strands. "Wow… how… what do you use?"
Arvin chuckled, a warm, deep sound. "Nothing. This is just the hair of the former Emperor," he said lightly, though a trace of pride lingered in his voice.
Mirha's eyes widened. "Then you truly are his son," she whispered, awed.
He smiled, stepping back to the table, and gestured for her to help him tie it up again. Mirha glanced down at the silk tie, realizing why it kept slipping. Her gaze fell on her corset laces, and an idea sparked. She carefully removed one, arranging his hair and looping it to secure the curls neatly at his neck.
Arvin watched her silently, letting her work, his attention focused entirely on her. When she moved to the front to adjust the tie, she stepped back, pride softening her features—he looked perfect again.
Arvin closed the distance between them, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before whispering, "Thank you."
Mirha's heart fluttered, a warmth spreading through her chest as she met his gaze. In that quiet study, with moonlight light spilling over them, words weren't necessary—everything was said in the stillness, in the touch, in the shared smiles.
The thank you kiss lingered in the air of the study, a soft press of lips that ignited something deeper between Arvin and his Mirha. He sat perched on the edge of the heavy oak table, his legs spread wide, while she stood nestled between them, her body still humming from the brief contact. As he pulled back, Mirha nibbled her lower lip, her cheeks flushing crimson. She averted her gaze, shy and uncertain, but her feet refused to shift, rooting her in place as if drawn by an invisible tether.
Arvin's dark eyes fixed on her, unblinking, a fierce burn twisting through his veins. He ached to seize her, to crush his mouth against hers in a devouring claim, but restraint held him back—he wouldn't scare her, not when she was still so new to this fire. 'Mirha,' he murmured, his voice low and rough, laced with the strain of his desire.
She lifted her eyes to meet his, and in that instant, the same scorching heat flared within her, pooling low in her belly. Emboldened, she stepped closer, her fingers trembling as she captured his hand and guided it to the laces of her corset. The fabric strained against her heaving breasts, begging for release.
Shock rippled through Arvin, his breath catching, but then he searched her face. There it was—the raw hunger in her gaze, pupils dilated, lips parted in silent plea. To confirm, he whispered her name again, softer this time. Mirha's response was immediate; she surged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent like a lifeline.
He kissed the top of her hair, inhaling the faint floral notes of her skin, as his fingers deftly worked the corset laces free. The ties loosened with a whisper, the garment slackening around her torso. Arvin rose to his full height, towering over her, and Mirha released him, stepping back just enough to let him shrug off his coat. It pooled on the floor, forgotten, as he closed the distance once more. He positioned her in front of the table, his body pressing flush against her back, his cock already straining hard against his trousers, the thick length poking insistently into the soft curve of her ass.
With a firm hand on her shoulder, he bent her forward over the table's surface, the wood cool against her palms. His fingers hiked up her dress, bunching the skirts around her waist to expose the smooth expanse of her thighs and the bare, glistening lips of her pussy. Mirha's heart thundered in her chest, a wild drumbeat echoing her mix of fear and craving.
Arvin yanked his pants open, freeing his long, throbbing cock—veins pulsing along its girth, the head already slick with pre-cum. He gripped the base and notched it at her entrance, rubbing the tip through her wet folds to coat himself in her arousal. Mirha's breath hitched, sharp and shallow; she was scared, the memory of their earlier joining still tender, but the stretch as he began to push in sent a hiss through her lips. It stung, a sharp bite at her core, but gods, it felt so good—the fullness invading her, splitting her open inch by agonizing inch.
He gripped the fabric of her gown at her hips, anchoring himself as her pussy enveloped him. Warm, drenched walls clamped down on his cock, so tight it was pure heaven, milking him with every subtle clench. Arvin groaned, low and guttural, holding still for a moment to let her adjust before he started to move. He fucked her with deliberate patience at first, pulling out halfway and sliding back in, the drag of his shaft against her sensitive inner flesh building a torturous pleasure that made his balls ache.
Mirha moaned, the sound muffled against the table, her body rocking with each thrust. Arvin's control frayed; he ramped up the pace, slamming his hips forward harder, his cock pounding into her pussy with forceful strokes that made her ass jiggle. The wet smack of his pelvis against her filled the room, mingling with her rising whimpers. Then he'd slow, grinding deep and slow, circling his hips to rub the head against her deepest walls, drawing out her gasps until she begged with her body, pushing back for more.
Her moans grew louder, desperate, syncing with his grunts—raw, animalistic sounds that fueled their frenzy. The rhythm drove them mad, the slick glide of his dick stretching her pussy over and over, hitting that spot inside that made stars burst behind her eyes. They could have gone on like this eternally, lost in the heat, but climax barreled toward them. Arvin's thrusts turned erratic, brutal, his cock swelling as he buried himself to the root. Mirha shattered first, her pussy convulsing around him, squeezing his length in rhythmic pulses as she cried out, juices soaking his balls. He followed seconds later, roaring her name as he pumped hot cum deep into her, flooding her core with thick ropes that overflowed, dripping down her thighs.
Panting, Arvin withdrew with a wet pop, spinning her around to face him. He captured her lips in a searing kiss, tongues tangling fiercely, devouring each other as if starved. Mirha kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. Scooping her up effortlessly, Arvin carried her through the adjoining door to the smaller bedchamber within the study. The bed there wasn't as grand as the one in their main quarters, but it was spacious enough, the mattress plush and inviting.
He laid her down gently, but tenderness gave way to hunger as he stripped her fully, peeling away the loosened corset and dress to reveal her naked form—breasts heaving, nipples peaked, pussy still glistening with their combined release. Arvin shed the rest of his clothes, his cock already hardening again, jutting out rigid and demanding. He climbed over her, spreading her legs wide and diving back in without preamble, thrusting his dick into her cum-slick pussy in one deep plunge.
They went round after round, insatiable. First, he fucked her missionary, pinning her wrists above her head as he hammered into her, his cock pistoning relentlessly, balls slapping her ass with each brutal drive. Mirha's legs locked around his waist, urging him deeper, her nails scoring his back as she came again, her walls fluttering wildly around his invading shaft. He pulled out only to flip her onto her stomach, yanking her hips up and slamming back in from behind—hard, punishing back shots that jolted her forward, his hands bruising her hips as he rutted like a man possessed.
Sweat slicked their bodies, the air thick with the scent of sex and the obscene squelch of his cock plunging into her soaked heat. Arvin choked her lightly, his fingers around her throat adding edge to her screams, before bending her over the bed's edge and taking her ass up, pounding until she squirted around him, drenching the sheets. Round after round blurred—her riding him reverse, grinding her pussy down his length until he gripped her ass and thrust up savagely; him on top again, folding her in half to drill deeper, his dick bottoming out with every stroke.
By the fourth release, Mirha was a trembling mess, her pussy swollen and sensitive, clenching greedily on his cock as he filled her once more with his seed. Arvin collapsed beside her, pulling her into his chest, but even in exhaustion, his hand trailed down to cup her mound, fingers teasing her clit lazily. The study echoed with their ragged breaths, the storm outside a distant rumble, as they lay entwined, bodies spent but souls fused in the afterglow.