Duke of the Beast and the Vicarious Bride - Chapter 74 - XI.

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※ This work contains depictions of coercive relationships, explicit language, and other graphic content. Reader discretion is advised.

`XI.`

In this manner, one similar day passed into the next.

Fiona’s routine had, without her quite noticing, settled into a certain rhythm.

Most of her daylight hours were spent sequestered in the library. Occasionally, she would take a turn about the keep with Marie, or attempt a little knitting, but the outer cold was too biting, and needlework ill-suited to her temperament.

Letter lessons with Page proved a welcome improvement—perhaps because they stirred some flicker of motivation. These days, Fiona was learning the characters of the Imperial tongue one by one. It was an exercise bordering on rote copying, but she read and wrote the same letters repeatedly, committing their shapes and sounds to memory.

According to Page, the Imperial tongue—the common language of the continent—was not particularly difficult to learn. Many commoners, too busy eking out a living, never mastered it, yet still, half the population could read.

Fiona, however, suspected she was a slow learner. Perhaps she had begun too late. Or perhaps, she thought privately, her mind was simply not built for such things.

She would never be an exemplary student, she reflected. An hour into her studies, and she grew so restless she could scarcely bear it.

“Fiona, your powers of concentration are truly lacking….”

Page would gaze at her with a look of pity, as though regarding someone somewhat deficient. But Fiona could not help it. After a certain amount of reading, her head felt fit to seize. When that happened, she needed to move her body.

Yet physical diversions within the keep were limited. If not for the risk of freezing to death, she would have gladly scaled the snow-clad Kraphelsus itself.

Her daytime existence, consisting of brief walks and letter lessons, grew so tedious that she almost found herself anticipating the hour of Caligo’s arrival. She knew, of course, how mad that sounded.

The “marital duty” continued, night after night, without interruption. Caligo still went about it like a beast ignorant of any emotional exchange, completing only the necessary steps of “copulation” before withdrawing.

Was it simply that humans were creatures of adaptation? As the same act repeated nightly, the initial shock faded, and she found herself growing accustomed to the process.

Moreover, of late, she had begun to question anew whether Caligo truly bore her any ill will.

His method remained brutally straightforward—gripping her fast to prevent escape and proceeding directly to entry—but he never handled her roughly enough to cause injury, nor struck her.

If anything, Caligo seemed to have acquired some cunning of late, deliberately slowing his rhythm, stroking lazily, as though he wished to delay his climax.

Whenever he did so, Fiona’s body would sink into a mire of languid pleasure, heating to an almost unbearable degree. In such a state, barely in her right mind, she would find herself wanting to cling to him.

She wished those great hands would touch her roughly—especially the sensitive spot between her legs, that he would rub it vigorously with those thick-knuckled fingers.

She craved not his shallow, slow thrusts, but deep, rapid pounding against that hidden, sensitive place within. She imagined him grasping her b****t until it might burst, roughly scraping her toward her peak. But she could never bring herself to ask.

And when Fiona, unable to bear it any longer, would twitch her hips and clench around him, Caligo would lose control and spend himself. In those final moments, as his thrusts turned mercilessly swift and powerful, Fiona would crest as well.

“Fiona, you are wool-gathering again….”

Fiona, who had been gazing into space with her chin propped on her hand, wiped a small trickle of saliva from the corner of her mouth.

The spirit’s pure gaze, regarding her with something akin to pity, stirred a faint pang of guilt.

“Shall we stop here for today?”

Evidently judging her beyond redemption, Page brought the day’s lesson to a close.

Suddenly liberated, Fiona found herself once again with nothing to do.

The only item remaining on her daily agenda was her encounter with Caligo. Ridiculously, the thought of the pleasure that inexorably awaited her stirred a flicker of anticipation. In this place, devoid of any other diversion, the act of love had become the greatest amusement, the sole entertainment to be had.

Yet at the same time, she could not deny a certain disillusionment with the creature she was becoming.