Chapter 31
He soothed his exhausted mother, slipping his fingers beneath her undergarments. The stiff, clinging flesh gripping his fingertips made his heart ache. He pushed his middle finger in only to the second knuckle, then slowly stroked her inner walls. A languid sigh escaped her slightly parted lips.
He gently bit her earlobe. Tracing the delicate groove with his lips, he licked into the hollow, and felt her inner walls twitch and clench around his fingers.
As he pressed his tongue deeper, her wet flesh clung to his ear with a wet squelch. In response, her depths grew wetter, and he slid his middle finger all the way in.
“Ah, please… ngh, nngh…!”
Her face crumpled, tears welling as she pressed her thighs together with a sob. Carlos licked her ear again, then bit the lobe and whispered, “Just hold on a little longer. You’ll feel good soon, Mother.”
Even if he hadn’t touched her in a couple of months, he knew Brunhilde’s body intimately. He remembered exactly where to touch, where to stroke, to bring her to her peak.
“Ah! Carlos—ah—nngh!”
Brunhilde trembled, a sharp, high cry escaping as she neared ecstasy. The sight of his mother arching her elegant neck, brow furrowed, was so lovely he could barely stand it. He swallowed her moans with a deep kiss.
“Mmh—ah…”
She clung to his tongue, releasing broken, muffled sounds. Carlos drank them greedily, stirring her mouth with all his pent-up hunger. When he finally broke the fierce kiss, her face, having reached her climax, was slack with exhaustion. He could feel his own arousal dampening the front of his trousers.
“You should be able to sleep comfortably now.”
“My child…”
“Don’t speak. Let me help you lie down.”
He lifted her gently and laid her on the bed. Straightening her clothes, pulling the blanket up to her chest, he whispered tenderly:
“Good night, then, Mother.”
“…What just happened…”
“Nothing at all. Just a measure to help you sleep soundly.”
Carlos kissed her dry cheek and softly brushed her eyelids closed. Exhausted by emotion, tears, and climax, her body quickly surrendered to fatigue. Soon, Brunhilde was fast asleep.
“Haah…”
Carl looked down at his peacefully sleeping mother and let out a heated sigh. He lifted his hand—the one that had been inside her—and brought his fingers to his lips.
Her fluids had long since dried, but the scent and taste of Brunhilde still lingered.
His length, which had been hard since he’d kissed her, throbbed insistently. Without hesitation, he lowered his trousers. Gripping his e******n—more than a handspan long—he began to stroke it.
“Haah… Brunhilde… hngh…!”
He remembered her voice, blaming him for not saving his seed for her. Her tearful plea to bear his child in blessedness. His heart soared almost unbearably.
Yes. The fate ordained by the gods could not be defied by mere mortals. The emotions he’d forcibly suppressed, unable to flow elsewhere, had festered in place until they grew rotten.
“Ah…!”
Slap, slap, slap. His hand moved faster. Finally, as his veined hand twisted and pulled hard at the shaft, thick white fluid erupted from his slit.
Gasping, Carl pressed down his ragged breath, eyes closing then opening. He wiped the still-dripping tip with his fingertip, then looked at his mother and murmured tenderly:
“I love you, Brunhilde.”
When I writhed in despair, forced to let you go, God gave me another chance.
So this time, I won’t let you go. My Brunhilde.
* * *
News that the lady of the house was with child filled Brandt Castle with life.
At last, an heir would be born to inherit Brandt’s divine power, everyone rejoiced. And yet, amid that brightness, Brunhilde stood alone.
Her belly had not begun to swell yet, but Carlos assigned a new maid to attend her—a deaf girl who could neither hear nor speak.
Once her belly grew enough to show, Brunhilde would have to remain inside her chambers, avoiding the outside world to conceal the truth.
“My child…”
Unlike Emily’s child, blessed openly by all in the light, hers had to be hidden—even its existence kept secret. The sorrow of it welled up inside her, and tears gathered in her eyes.
Sitting by the sunlit window, she wept quietly—until she sensed someone’s presence. Quickly wiping her tears, she turned.
It was her son, Carlos.
“Have you been crying again, Mother?”
“Carl…”
Seeing her violet eyes glistening like morning flowers, Carlos hurried to her side and pulled her into an embrace. In his arms, Brunhilde broke down, her grief spilling over.
It was not the first time. It no longer surprised him. After all, it was said that women with child were prone to emotional swings.
Pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, he spoke softly,
“Don’t worry, Mother. The one I love isn’t Emily—it’s you.”
“…Was it truly right to keep this child? This child…”
“If I love you, Mother, do you think I would ever neglect the child you’re carrying?”
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