TTQI 10

One day, while leisurely strolling through the castle grounds, Ade spotted a familiar figure from behind.

“Your Highness, Prince!”

It was none other than the prince’s silhouette. Though they occasionally crossed paths as fellow members of the royal guard, encountering each other by chance without purpose was rare in the vast castle. Moreover, the prince had been difficult to see lately for other reasons, so Ade, filled with excitement, called out cheerfully and ran toward him.

“Prince… oh.”

Zizlon, hearing the call, stopped and turned around. But when Ade saw Zizlon’s face, he was inwardly shocked. The prince’s complexion was ashen, almost corpse-like. While Ade hid his surprise, Zizlon recognized him and offered a faint smile.

“Oh… Sir Villeneuve.”

“Your Highness, I heard you were ill recently, and it seems you were really sick. Your face looks so pale. Are you sure it’s alright to be out already?”

Zizlon looked so unwell that Ade forgot his cheerful greeting and immediately inquired about his health. The prince’s recent absence was due to illness.

Though Ade didn’t know the details, he had heard the prince caught a severe cold and had been confined to his room for days, rarely venturing out. For a workaholic prince to abandon public duties and lie bedridden, he must have suffered greatly.

When Ade first heard the prince was ill, he was deeply worried. It was strange for the usually vigorous prince to suddenly fall sick. The fact that he refused all visitors raised concerns about a contagious disease. This was especially true since Ade had encouraged the prince to visit the queen during his illness. Ade had worried for days that the prince might have caught something from visiting the queen at his urging. If Zizlon hadn’t refused all visitors, Ade would have checked on him countless times.

Frustrated and anxious, Ade was relieved to hear the prince had recovered enough to resume duties two days ago. This was the first time Ade had seen him since.

No one was happier about his recovery than Ade. He was eager to check on his friend. Encountering the prince unexpectedly was thrilling, but that joy vanished upon seeing Zizlon’s face. His friend looked that unwell.

Noticing Ade’s uneasy expression, Zizlon forced a smile.

“I’m fine.”

“Goodness… Your Highness, the picture of health, how did you catch such a bad cold?”

“…I must have overworked myself lately.”

“As expected! I knew it. I always thought you’d get sick from overworking, and it finally happened. Work is important, but take it easy.”

Ade playfully scolded Zizlon. The prince chuckled weakly, his laughter lacking energy. Seeing this, Ade felt uneasy.

“So when will you return to training? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Oh… right.”

“Come back. A good sweat and some exercise will make you feel better.”

As Ade reached out for a friendly arm-around-the-shoulder, a gesture common between close friends, Zizlon reacted unusually. He flinched excessively, pulling away and even pushing Ade back. It wasn’t forceful, but the recoil made Ade stumble a couple of steps. Confused, Ade stood with his arm raised, staring at the prince, who, having pushed him, turned pale and wore a grave expression.

“Oh… Ade, I’m, I’m sorry.”

Zizlon stammered, unusually flustered, forgetting his usual decorum. His overreaction embarrassed Ade, who hadn’t meant anything by it.

“No, it’s fine. Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“Really… I’m really sorry. I’m not feeling well and reacted without thinking.”

Zizlon babbled, glancing around nervously. Eventually, he seemed anxious to stay, stepping back hastily as he spoke.

“I, uh, have urgent business… Sorry, I need to go. Really sorry.”

“Prince…?”

Before Ade could say more, Zizlon apologized hurriedly, turned, and fled. The suddenness left Ade unable to stop him, standing with his hand raised, stunned. When he came to, Zizlon was gone, as if fleeing something. Watching the prince’s cloak flutter as he ran into the distance, Ade stood bewildered for a while.

*

One evening, just after vespers, King Yonaras sat in his study, engrossed in work.

Deeply focused, he held a long parchment, its lower end curled from its length, listing tributes from Gertha, one of Yonaras’s five vassal states. But as he scrutinized the numbers, counting and recounting, his expression seemed troubled. At that moment, the queen entered.

“Your Majesty, what are you looking at so intently?”

“Oh, Queen.”

Hearing Aion’s voice, the king set the parchment down and greeted him. As always, the beautiful Aion approached gracefully, and the king, familiarly, wrapped an arm around his waist.

“It’s nothing much. Just the list of tributes from Gertha this year. Something seems off, so I was checking.”

“What’s troubling you?”

When Aion showed interest in the document, the king chuckled. He found it endearing that the young queen took an interest in state affairs. Without much thought, he explained briefly.

“It’s just that some items seem fewer compared to last year. But with less rain this year, the harvest was likely smaller. We should be understanding.”

The king sat Aion on his lap, stroking his hair. Aion picked up the document and scanned it. Wheat in measures, barrels of wine, sheep and goats in numbers—Gertha’s famous goods were listed. Reading carefully, Aion suddenly asked.

“That’s odd, Your Majesty. Wasn’t there less rain this year?”

“Yes. Not just Yonaras, but Gertha was drier than last year too.”

Aion pointed to the number next to the wine.

“Is the wine quantity lower than last year too?”

The king glanced at the figure.

“Yes.”

“Is the wine sent already aged?”

“Yes, usually ready to drink.”

“Then wouldn’t that be unrelated to this year’s tribute shortage?”

“Hmm… that’s what bothers me, but last year was dry too. I heard they had two consecutive poor harvests.”

Aion, lost in thought, asked more questions. The king, finding his curiosity odd but endearing, answered kindly.

Eventually, Aion spoke with a skeptical tone.

“It’s strange. As far as I know, grapes don’t thrive with heavy rainfall. In fact, too much rain during harvest is bad. If it was dry and sunny this year, the wine’s quality should be better, not its quantity lower.”

“True, but if the drought was severe, wouldn’t the grapes suffer?”

“I heard it was only mildly dry. Even so, Gertha has a large dam. If it was that dry, wouldn’t there be records of opening the dam for the people, not just the grapes? Were there any?”

“Hmm…”

Until then, the king hadn’t thought much of it, but Aion’s words shifted his perspective. Stepping off the king’s lap, Aion bowed apologetically.

“Oh, I’ve overstepped by meddling in state affairs! Please forgive me, Your Majesty.”

“No, no. Your words were helpful. Tell me more. Other liquors here are reduced too—what do you think is the reason?”

The king, now serious, pointed to other items, and Aion answered earnestly. With each response, the king’s expression grew graver. By the time Aion finished, the king was deeply troubled, unable to look away from the document.

“Hmm… thank you. As you say, there are more than a few oddities.”

“Your Majesty, may I say one more thing, if I may?”

“Go ahead.”

“This year, Komnena saw an increase in wine imports from Gertha.”

“Hm?”

The king looked up from the document at Aion.

“How do you know that?”

“I exchange letters regularly with my family in my homeland.”

Aion’s words suggested that Gertha was gradually reducing tributes while increasing exports for profit, possibly for some time. If true, it was highly reprehensible.

“…I see. That’s very helpful. Queen, can you share such insights again?”

“Of course.”

This was a remarkable feat, if witnessed. The king had formally recognized Aion’s advisory capabilities, a role previously reserved for aged vassals and the prince.

Aion bowed, as if honored. The king, absorbed in the list, didn’t notice. What began as a simple suspicion had turned into deep concern. Aion quietly left, leaving the king to his troubled thoughts.

*

Night came, as always.

With a pale face, the prince sat before a candle. He wasn’t reading or writing, just rooted to his desk, as if waiting for someone.

Knock, knock.

A soft knock came. Zizlon inhaled silently, turning toward the door. ‘Knock, knock,’ it sounded again, as if confirming. He rubbed his sweaty palms anxiously, biting his lip to stay silent.

Zizlon quietly pushed his chair back and crept to the door, pressing his ear against it. ‘Knock, knock,’ ‘knock, knock.’ The knocks continued. He checked the lock by touch, trying to sense the presence beyond without revealing his own, holding his breath.

“Your Highness.”

A playful voice mocked him. Zizlon didn’t respond. Cold sweat trickled down his neck. The sly voice spoke again.

“I know you’re in there. You’re listening, aren’t you?”

Zizlon clenched his teeth. He resolved not to answer until the visitor left. ‘This time, for sure,’ he repeated inwardly.

“You really won’t open the door?”

“…”

“Fine, then. I’ll go tell everyone.”

“…”

“Our affair, how you embraced me.”

“…”

He chanted to himself: endure, endure!

“…And how you cried pathetically in my arms. Prince, what will people think? A big, strong man like you, r**ed by someone slight and pretty like me?”

“…”

“They’ll think you went along with it, pretending otherwise. How long before rumors spread across Yonaras that the prince loves being taken by men? Want to bet?”

Zizlon’s sweaty hands, gripping the door, trembled. His face looked ready to cry. The next moment, he moved creakily, as if forcing his body. The ‘clunk’ of the lock sounded unnaturally loud.

The door opened slowly, reflecting his despair. When it opened a crack, revealing Zizlon’s anguished face, his eyes met Aion’s, who smiled cunningly through the gap.

*

The night was wholly the queen’s domain.

Since the day Zizlon fell into the trap, Aion began boldly visiting his room. Every midnight, without fail, Aion knocked, and Zizlon, knowing he’d come, trembled with fear.

At first, Zizlon resisted fiercely. Initially, he refused to open the door. The first time Aion came, a horrified Zizlon barricaded himself, shouting through the locked door, asking if Aion was mad and what he’d do if someone saw. Once, he fled to avoid him entirely. He even lashed out in genuine, fierce anger.

But each time, Aion threatened to reveal their affair. It was undeniably Zizlon’s weakness, a magic spell that nullified all resistance. Eventually, even after resisting, Zizlon opened the door. When he fled, hearing Aion had gone to tell the king brought him running back.

He once dared Aion to tell everyone, but it was futile. Both knew it was empty bravado.

“Ugh… haa… please…”

“It’s gotten soft enough to take one or two fingers easily now.”

“Queen… please…”

“Not Queen—Aion.”

Lying on the bed, Zizlon covered his eyes, helplessly yielding. His entrance had taken three of Aion’s fingers. For days, Aion relentlessly penetrated him, even before his wounds healed, insisting on inserting fingers. Though Zizlon never imagined allowing entry there, the nightly torment gradually lessened the pain. But the disgust and discomfort remained unchanged.

All Zizlon could do was pray for time to pass quickly. Unlike intercourse with g**itals, this offered no pleasure, making time crawl.

Yet today, Aion lingered with his fingers inside, showing no sign of finishing. Zizlon was exhausted and frustrated. If only Aion would do what he wanted and leave. Unable to bear the nausea, Zizlon, forgetting shame, urged him, but Aion was stubborn.

Zizlon, overwhelmed with grief and injustice, buried his tear-streaked face in the pillow. His widely spread pelvis, unable to close, ached. To the struggling Zizlon, Aion spoke gently, as if to a child.

“It’s time you learned to enjoy receiving a man.”

Zizlon inwardly scoffed. He was fed up with Aion’s nonsense. There was no joy in painful intimacy with someone he didn’t love. Half-resigned, Zizlon stayed silent, face buried. All he noticed was the irritating sound of squelching, despite trying to block it out. Then, something odd happened.

“…Ngh, ah!”

Aion’s fingers, probing the inner walls, suddenly pressed a firm spot toward his abdomen. A jolt like electricity shot through Zizlon’s body. Unknowingly, he let out a soft, feminine sound and opened his eyes in shock. Aion, cheeks flushed, smiled with satisfaction.

“Here it is, your sweet spot.”

Aion rubbed the distinct, sensitive spot aggressively within the soft, gripping flesh. Ah! Aah! Zizlon m**ned helplessly, j**king like he’d been shocked.

“Ugh, uah! S-stop! Stop it!”

So startled, the previously limp Zizlon flailed, sitting up abruptly. He grabbed Aion’s hand to pull it out, but Aion yanked his calf, easily subduing him. Zizlon slid back onto the bed, collapsing. Aion aggressively probed between his defenseless legs.

“Ah! Hnng?! Ah! Stop, stop!”

“It’s deeper than I thought. Did you know, Zizlon? A man’s body has such a l**d organ. You’ll end up begging me to rub it.”

Each press on his p**state made Zizlon twitch like a fish out of water. Aion, enjoying himself, teased him. Zizlon, dazed with shame, floundered in shock. Unbeknownst to him, his limp p**is had half-hardened. Fear gripped him—this feeling could break him if it continued.

“Hah… hah… stop… stooop…!”

“Oh, Zizlon, are you crying?”

Seeing his tears, Aion finally stopped. Zizlon sobbed in fear and humiliation. Aion sat him up, and Zizlon, head bowed, wept miserably. Aion, feigning kindness, held and soothed him, brushing hair from his forehead.

“Yonaras’s finest knight, crying over this?”

“Please stop… I feel like I’m going mad. It’s… scary…”

“No, you’re not going mad. It just feels good. Look, Zizlon, I’ll stay still until you’re calm. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Surprisingly, Aion withdrew his fingers and kissed Zizlon’s temple. Though resentful, Zizlon was relieved for the brief respite.

“Haa… ugh…”

“Feeling better? I don’t want to hurt you—I love you.”

Zizlon, trembling, glanced at Aion with his eyes. The queen, eyes closed, looked blissful. The flower-like man, cheeks pink, seemed pure and sincere. It was hard to believe he’d blackmailed and a**aulted Zizlon. In Aion’s white arms, Zizlon lamented his wretched state. Then, it happened.

“Haa… haa… ugh, ngh…?”

Zizlon squirmed, frowning. Aion, seeing his dazed expression, suppressed a laugh.

“What’s wrong?”

“…”

The discomfort, present earlier, wasn’t fading but growing. Unlike the pleasure from pressing a spot, this lingering sensation persisted after the fingers were removed. At first, he thought it was just emptiness. But it intensified unbearably, confirming something was wrong. His body itched, as if burning.

“Ugh…? Uuugh…?”

The faint itch grew, becoming agonizing. Unconsciously, Zizlon rubbed his hips against the bed. His honest eyes filled with tears and confusion.

Aion, watching with satisfaction, produced something. As expected, Aion was the culprit. Holding a small silver bottle, the size of a finger, used for rose oil, Aion smiled darkly at the struggling prince.

“You seemed too resistant to receiving, so I helped a bit.”

“Ah… aah…”

Zizlon realized Aion had tampered with the oil. The fingers that had probed him were soaked in it.

“I said I’d teach you to enjoy this. You can’t just avoid it.”

“Ugh…!”

What a vile act, toying with his body! Zizlon was furious but had no time to lecture. His insides felt itchy, then hot. He needed to relieve it before losing his mind. Anxiously, he glanced between Aion and the room, shifting his hips.

And at the moment he reached for the hole in his urgency, Aion swiftly grabbed his hand to stop him. With his hand restrained, Zizlon looked up at Aion with a contorted face. Aion wore a stern expression, as if not a drop of blood would spill. In his desperation, Zizlon pleaded recklessly.

“Ohhh… ha… Aion… it’s ticklish… I can’t stand it. Please… let go…!”

“You can’t do it yourself. Ask me properly.”

“No, I won’t… that’s… let go…!”

“Then you’ll have to keep suffering like that, won’t you?”

Zizlon struggled several times to free his hand, but the queen held on with brute force. Twisting his body repeatedly, Zizlon, in a fit of frustration, buried his head into the queen’s chest.

Aion’s calm, almost indifferent tone felt cruel. As Zizlon endured the torment, he found himself unconsciously rubbing his head against the queen’s shoulder, as if seeking comfort. His forehead was soon drenched in cold sweat. He tried several times to shake off the grip, but Aion held his wrist so tightly that it turned pale from lack of blood flow. In a rush, he pressed the hole against his heel, but the itch was deep inside his body, making it all the more maddening.

“Ha… no, I can’t… I can’t take it…! Please, just…!”

In his confused state, Zizlon felt an intense temptation. Since he was already being coerced, why not just say what was demanded? Caught between royal pride and the harsh situation, Zizlon finally stammered in a barely audible voice.

“…Please… give it to me.”

“Speak more clearly. I can’t hear you,” the queen snapped in a sharp tone.

Zizlon, his voice rising with irritation, shouted.

“Please… let me scratch it…!”

Unable to bear the humiliation, tears welled up in Zizlon’s eyes. Despite his pitiful appearance, Aion remained unrelenting.

“That won’t do, Zizlon. From now on, unless I allow it, nothing but my c**k is permitted to enter that hole.”

“Then… then just allow it…!”

“No. Not today.”

“…Ugh… hnnn…”

Zizlon thrashed in frustration, and Aion, applying even more force, pinned him to the bed. His desire to relieve the itch was so overwhelming that he could barely see straight. He felt wronged and angry. The unbearable rage made Zizlon’s shoulders tremble as he fought back tears.

In a fit of frustration, Zizlon shouted while sobbing.

“…Then… just put it in, isn’t that enough…!”

“You need to speak properly, prince. Who’s the one in need here?”

“…Put it… put it in… please…”

“Where and what?”

“…Your… your c**k…”

Finally succumbing, Zizlon panted, tears streaming down his face.

Aion let out a chuckle. Unlike the struggling Zizlon, Aion was simply enjoying himself.

“Goodness, such a stiff man. As expected of a noble, you know nothing about seducing a man. Speaking so formally, who would feel the urge to f**k you? Since it’s your first time, I’ll help you. Say it like this.”

His greed knew no bounds. With a playful smile, Aion whispered something into Zizlon’s ear, and Zizlon’s eyes widened in shock. Just hearing the words made his face flush red. Aion watched him with expectant eyes.

Swallowing hard, Zizlon hesitantly opened his mouth.

“…A-Aion’s…”

“And then?”

Zizlon squeezed his eyes shut.

“Your… c**k… put it in my hole and… make it feel good… please.”

“Well done.”

Flushing with satisfaction, Aion kissed Zizlon’s cheek, and Zizlon shuddered, tears falling. Zizlon thought to himself, I’ve finally gone mad with desire, abandoning all dignity and honor.

“Alright, since the prince is in such pain, I’ll use my unworthy body to ease your suffering a little.”

Shamelessly, Aion moved his hand to his front. While still holding Zizlon’s wrists with one hand, he deftly untied his knot with the other. Soon, his c**k was exposed to the air. Already e**ct from watching Zizlon’s desperation, it sprang up and slapped against his lower abdomen as the fabric was pulled down.

Zizlon swallowed hard again upon seeing it. The claim of it being “unworthy” was laughable—his c**k was so menacing it seemed almost out of place on his beautiful body. As thick and long as a child’s forearm, its rigid, crimson shaft was lined with bulging veins.

Zizlon was terrified at the sight. On their first night, he had been too overwhelmed to notice, but every time he faced it afterward, he was struck with renewed shock. The idea that something like that had been inside him was unbelievable. That it had only caused a slight tear felt like a miracle. Naturally, he had no desire to let it inside again. Zizlon vividly recalled the pain of it tearing into him.

Aion rubbed his e**ct c**k a few times before placing it on Zizlon’s stomach.

“This little guy will bring the prince pleasure today. Go on, touch it. Show it some love.”

“Hurry… hurry…!”

The queen’s leisurely attitude, despite knowing his urgency, felt despicable. Zizlon, too desperate to care about shame, grabbed Aion’s c**k as soon as his hands were freed. Aion let out an “ahh” and shyly covered his mouth.

Zizlon, however, felt like he was fighting for survival. Fear meant nothing in the face of his craving. He almost wished it would tear him apart, as the wound might bring relief.

“Hng… hah…”

Zizlon stared wide-eyed as the queen’s g**ns rubbed against his hole. His body tensed with anticipation. He heard Aion’s advice to relax, but it didn’t register. Aion, realizing he wasn’t listening, merely chuckled. But he was pleased. Zizlon’s legs, usually so reserved, were shamelessly spread wide open. Finding the parted thighs endearing, Aion slowly pushed his c**k inside.

“Ugh… hng…!”

As expected, the penetration was painful. Whether to let the d**g fully take effect or to thoroughly ravage him today, Aion took longer than usual to prepare the hole, but the pain was still there. The size was never going to be comfortable. Zizlon clenched his teeth, veins bulging in his neck, as tears streamed down his face.

“Haa… haa…”

“Hmm… you’ve taken this much already. Good boy…”

When it was partially inside, Aion paused and spoke. Hearing his voice, Zizlon opened his eyes and looked down at his lower body. He was shocked. The sight of Aion’s c**k locked inside his hole was starkly visible. The massive organ, more than half buried in his body, looked almost unreal. Aion gently stroked Zizlon’s head as he stared in a daze.

“You can handle a bit more, right?”

“Huh—?!”

Aion resumed thrusting without warning. The skin of his c**k rubbed roughly against Zizlon’s inner walls. The friction, like a clawing motion, brought a sudden wave of relief that hit Zizlon’s brain like a shock. His body shivered with exhilaration as the itch was momentarily soothed. His legs trembled, and his n**ples hardened.

“Hah… ha… haa…”

Zizlon blinked, dazed, savoring the sensation that had just overwhelmed him. Aion paused again, watching him closely. Soon, Zizlon, with tear-filled eyes, urged him to continue. The itch was creeping back the moment the movement stopped.

“Heh…”

With a sly smile, Aion began moving his hips gently. As he thrust shallowly, Zizlon let out soft, cat-like m**ns, his eyes glazed over. His mind was consumed by pleasure. Aion’s c**k grazed his itching walls, delivering a strange sense of liberation.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Aion guided Zizlon’s hands to his shoulders. Zizlon, hesitant but compliant, held on.

“Haa… haa… haa…”

Zizlon’s sobs quieted, replaced by the growing sound of flesh against flesh. His hips swallowed just over half of Aion’s c**k, pushing back with each thrust. Zizlon closed his eyes, focusing on the relief Aion provided. His mind was filled with a bizarre mix of pain, ticklishness, and satisfaction. Occasionally, he glanced at Aion with clouded eyes, his hips twitching. At one point, he curled his shoulders, trembling, as a faint flush spread across his cheeks.

“Hng… hah… ugh, there… ah, ah…”

“How is it, Zizlon? Feels good, doesn’t it? Want me to go deeper?”

“More… more… harder… please…”

Aion’s expression turned dreamy. He wasn’t drunk on pleasure but on love. Zizlon’s broken state was utterly endearing.

Clearly having lost his reason, Zizlon was now shamelessly begging. To Aion, the prince, reduced to a fool, was lovable. When Aion pressed his c**k harder against the tight walls, Zizlon groaned, m**ning in response.

Since his p**state was stimulated, his own c**k had been painfully e**ct. The relief of scratching the itch mixed with the pleasure of his sensitive spots, blurring the line between the two. If this continued, he might instinctively crave being filled.

“Haa… hng…”

“You’re weaker to pleasure than you look, prince… adorable.”

“Hn… Aion…”

Aion chuckled and, taking advantage of Zizlon’s distraction, touched his chest. Slipping through the half-open shirt, he grabbed the large mound of flesh and kneaded it shamelessly. The soft texture filled his palm, with excess spilling between his fingers. Such a l**d chest. That people had only admired it as “manly” was laughable to Aion.

“Do you know how flustered I was every time you bared your chest without a thought?”

“Ahh… hng! There… ugh! Haa, haa…!”

Aion rubbed his c**k quickly and shallowly. Zizlon gasped, throwing his head back. The heated friction against his walls was both burning and relieving. He wanted it faster, rougher. His desire manifested unconsciously, and Zizlon wrapped his legs around Aion’s waist. At that moment, Aion felt a pang in his lower abdomen.

“Really… incorrigible. Seducing a man without even realizing it, it’s practically a habit…”

“Ah, it’s bigger… hng! Ugh! Hah, ah! Eek…!”

Aion gritted his teeth, his expression turning feral, and leaned over, placing his hands on Zizlon’s shoulders. Zizlon blinked dazedly at the shadow falling over him. Then, his eyes widened, and his mouth fell open as Aion pulled his c**k almost all the way out before slamming it back in, pressing against the walls.

“Ugh… hah…!”

Thud. Aion’s hips slammed against Zizlon’s, then pulled back. Zizlon cried out in shock, his toes spreading stiffly. The intensity was on a different level from before, as if everything prior had been child’s play. His entire body felt open for Aion.

“Haa… haa… Zizlon…”

Aion ground his teeth, chewing on Zizlon’s name. Zizlon looked up at him desperately, tears in his eyes. The hot walls gripped Aion’s c**k tightly. The entry was tough near the entrance, but once past a certain point, the suction pulled him in to the root. It was so tight and hot he felt he could c**max any moment. But he couldn’t release yet. He wanted to savor the first time Zizlon fully accepted him.

“Hng…!”

Aion crashed his lips against Zizlon’s. Zizlon, tears streaming, helplessly swallowed Aion’s tongue. His already labored breathing became even more strained as the flesh blocked his throat. W** sounds echoed continuously.

Zizlon whimpered, shaking weakly. The friction where Aion’s p**ic hair rubbed turned red quickly. At some point, he was merely struggling to breathe and keep up.

“Hng, ah, hah! N-no… stop! Hng! Ugh! Hnn…!”

“Haa… haa… Zizlon. Can you feel it? Your hole… it’s gripping my c**k so tight, it won’t let go…”

“Ah, hng! No, no! Hah… ugh, hng!”

“D**n it… relax a little… I’ll fill you up even without you begging…!”

Thud, thud. The c**k relentlessly pounded and crushed his walls. W**, l**d sounds rang out as flesh collided. Zizlon shook his head, hiccupping. It was too much, and he wanted to escape the sensation.

“Hng, hnn, ah, q-queen…! Hng…!”

At that moment, Zizlon sobbed and called out to Aion. Aion’s eyes snapped open, glaring fiercely into his. Zizlon’s vision was filled with Aion’s pale face.

“Call me Aion!”

“Aah…!”

Aion ruthlessly pinched Zizlon’s n**ple, which he’d been rolling in his hand. Zizlon let out a sharp scream, instinctively tightening his hole. The sudden pressure on Aion’s c**k sent an unexpected jolt through him. Aion squeezed his eyes shut and pulled Zizlon into a tight embrace.

“Hah… haa…”

Zizlon’s tearful eyes wavered. The tears pooling at his reddened eyes rolled down his cheeks. He m**ned, crumbling under the hot sensation spreading inside him. As he closed his eyes in resignation, Aion held his neck tightly, as if unwilling to let a single drop escape.

Even after his release, Aion held Zizlon close, savoring the sweet afterglow. When Aion finally sighed and rose, the c**k that had filled the w** hole slid out with a l**d pop. Zizlon m**ned weakly from the unintended friction.

Sitting up, Aion narrowed his eyes, admiring his handiwork. The still-gaping hole leaked white fluid, trickling down the p**ineum and pooling on the bed. The swollen, reddened hole and flushed skin were utterly charming. The prince’s dazed expression was, of course, no exception. Aion smiled sweetly and rubbed Zizlon’s limp c**k.

“Hng… haa, ah…”

Zizlon trembled helplessly under his touch before weakly releasing into Aion’s palm. Aion casually wiped his hand on Zizlon’s stomach, then stood up without lingering, leaving the exhausted Zizlon behind.

“Pym.”

The queen called for his attendant. Pym, who had been guarding the door, poked his head in. Surveying the room, he quickly grasped the situation. With practiced ease, he stepped out briefly and returned with a basin of water and a towel.

By the time Pym returned, the queen, now in a robe, was sitting on the bed, stroking Zizlon’s hair. Zizlon had managed to sit up, wrapped tightly in a blanket, curled up in the corner of the bed. His face was buried between his knees, looking utterly dejected. To Pym, who handled the aftermath daily, this pitiful sight was all too familiar.

Never gets old, does it?

Annoyed at the prince’s daily sulking over giving up his body, Pym approached the bed with the basin. Aion, seeing him, made room and walked to the desk. Pym set the basin down and picked up a w** towel. Zizlon remained motionless, curled up. When Pym glanced at Aion awkwardly, Aion called out for him.

“Zizlon.”

At Aion’s voice, Zizlon shrank further, gripping the blanket tighter. Aion clicked his tongue.

“Stop being stubborn and do as you’re told. Still itchy, aren’t you? If you don’t clean up properly, you’ll just keep suffering.”

Reluctantly, Zizlon lifted his head at Aion’s words. His eyes were red from crying, and the blanket was damp. After their encounters, Zizlon was always far more somber and silent than usual. The once-vibrant man became the gloomiest person in the world after a night with Aion.

But to Pym, it didn’t matter. He yanked the blanket away, revealing Zizlon’s body, ravaged by Aion’s bites and touches. The marks weren’t from a single day—some were fresh, others had turned purple over days. His body was covered in bruises from neck to toe.

Pym moved mechanically, unfazed. As he roughly wiped Zizlon’s body, Zizlon struggled to sit up, curling in pain. Aion watched the entire scene from his chair.

Eager to finish quickly, Pym scrubbed Zizlon’s body harshly, making rough sounds. Since their first night, cleaning up had been Pym’s job. When Pym first appeared in the room, Zizlon had reacted with near-hysteria, horrified at the idea of a third party touching him. It seemed even more repulsive to him than submitting to the queen. But through Aion’s threats and the fear of being touched under the guise of “cleaning,” Zizlon had no choice but to yield to Pym’s hands.

“…”

After roughly cleaning most of his body, Pym paused, looking at Zizlon. The prince’s eyes, which had been avoiding him, were now empty, like those of a dead man. Resigned, Zizlon slowly moved.

Confirming his compliance, Pym pulled a small stool to the bed and placed the basin between his feet. Zizlon, sitting facing Pym, lowered his head and placed a hand on Pym’s shoulder. Pym’s fingers slid into the red, swollen hole, scraping out the thick fluid. It fell into the basin with a plop.

Watching, the queen smirked and propped his chin on the table.

“Once you’re more skilled, you can clean yourself up.”

“…”

Zizlon, with hollow eyes, kept his head bowed.

Ade found the prince in a desolate corner of the empty palace.

It was around noon one day, on the steps of a rarely visited garden. Zizlon sat midway up the staircase, lost in silence. With his head bowed and hands clutching his head, he remained still as a statue, unmoving despite the passing time. His expression was hidden, but he seemed consumed by some terrible turmoil. He didn’t even notice Ade’s approach from the foot of the stairs.

Ade quietly approached, observing his state without making a sound. The gloomy demeanor was unfamiliar compared to Zizlon’s usual cheer, but not entirely new to Ade. He soon guessed.

He must’ve gotten scolded by his father again.

Having known Zizlon for a long time, Ade understood him well. Zizlon was resilient and not easily disheartened, but he was particularly sensitive to his father’s criticism. A single reprimand would weigh heavily on him, and it was always up to Ade and their friends to comfort him.

Ade had often dragged Zizlon away from all-night study sessions or sword practice that left his hands bloodied and blistered. When Zizlon sank into gloom, he was stubbornly unyielding, and Ade would play the nuisance, whining until Zizlon, unable to resist, reluctantly put down his book or sword with an exasperated look.

Ade put on a deliberately playful smile. Stepping forward, he called out, “Zizlon.” Zizlon finally noticed him and raised his head. He smiled upon seeing Ade, but his face was shadowed by unmistakable melancholy.

Ade leaned casually against the wall.

“You skipped history class, huh?”

He asked nonchalantly, tossing the question lightly. Zizlon’s eyebrows drooped.

“How’d you know?”

“Your teacher was storming through the palace, fuming. You should’ve seen his face—red as a beet.”

Zizlon gave an awkward smile instead of answering. Ade, who had climbed the steps, nudged Zizlon aside and sat next to him. After a meaningful pause beside his silent friend, Ade elbowed him and spoke.

“You’ve been acting kinda weird lately, huh?”

“…”

“Slacking off on work, skipping classes…”

Zizlon’s face stiffened slightly, and Ade grinned.

“It’s fine. What’s wrong with having a little fun? Honestly, you seem more human than before.”

Zizlon’s expression brightened a bit. Ade felt a quiet satisfaction in his knack for cheering him up. Under the calm sunlight, their conversation flowed gently.

“So, you skip class just to sit here and do what? Worry about the kingdom?”

“Just… had some things to think about.”