Even If It’s Depraved - Chapter 5

“Is it because they carry such immense divine power? I’ve heard few of their children ever make it to adulthood.”

“And even those who do don’t live long. Though, that’s true for all four of the great houses.”

Over those whispered rumors, her mother’s quiet secret cast a shadow like an omen. Her chest felt tight, suffocating. Almost instinctively, Brunhilde’s thoughts drifted back a few weeks.

To the unknown man she had met in the Black Forest.

Thighs as thick as her waist. Arms packed with muscle. Sun-bronzed skin and eyes that gleamed black.

The memory of him gripping her legs tightly, driving his hips into her with relentless force made her throat go dry. Without realizing it, Brunhilde pressed her thighs together.

Her experience with him had been as painful as it was intoxicating—and as intoxicating as it was miserable.

In the moment she had been left behind, broken and alone… and in the future where she would have to live in silence as Duke Brant’s plaything.

‘If he finds out I’m no longer a virgin, he won’t let it slide.’

It was a well-known story: the duke’s third wife had failed to show proof of her virginity and had been beaten and cast out.

She was a princess, so she likely wouldn’t be discarded—but being beaten? That much she would have to endure.

‘Father will be furious, too.’

But it was already done and irreversible. Her purity had long since been broken and lost.

The thought of being beaten no longer frightened her.

At the maid’s prompting, Brunhilde rose to her feet.

Her gaze briefly lingered on the golden orb resting before the bronze mirror, then she turned away, leaving it behind as she stepped out the door.

* * *

“Thank you for accepting my proposal, Princess. Or should I call you my wife now?”

After the modest ceremony, Duke Brant grinned, revealing yellowed teeth.

She tried to return the smile, but all she managed was the faintest tremor at the corners of her lips. Whether he took it as a proper response or not, the old man’s eyes curved with satisfaction.

“I had a feeling the moment I first saw you, my wife. That we were destined to be bound together.”

“Is that so, Your Grace.”

“Ah, ‘Your Grace’? You should call me Hintz now. I am your husband, after all.”

He must have meant it as a tender whisper, but to Brunhilde, the breath brushing her ear felt nothing short of repulsive.

The duke’s hand crept onto her shoulder, his fingers slick and lingering, as he pressed his lips to the back of her neck.

“There may be many princesses, but you alone caught my eye.”

“……”

“I have a fondness for violet eyes.”

His wrinkled lips trailed along her neck before he pulled back. His reddish-brown eyes, fixed on hers, glistened with murky desire.

The thought that such desire might carry the original sin embedded in his bloodline turned her stomach. Brunhilde forced down the rising nausea and averted her gaze.

Taking her reaction as the shyness of a young bride, the duke’s expression grew darker and more lewd. His sagging throat bobbed as he swallowed, then he grabbed her arm roughly.

His hand brushed deliberately against her chest as he spoke.

“Well then, my wife.”

Let us fulfill the sacred duties of husband and wife. His whisper was thick with anticipation for the virgin he believed he was about to take.

Everything about him was disgusting. But what crushed her most was the fact that she had no power to refuse him.

In the end, it seemed fate could not be defied. With no other choice, Brunhilde nodded.

The duke pulled her to the bed and seated her there before stripping her himself. His trembling, aged hands wandered over bare skin he had no need to touch, pretending it was by accident.

Each time his hand brushed against her, it felt like insects crawling over her body. More than once, she found herself thinking of death.

Would it have been better if she had thrown herself into that lake instead of the orb? At last, her wedding dress slipped from her body like a discarded shell.

Hintz pulled it down to her feet with eager hands, clicking his tongue in admiration. His wrinkled fingers rubbed over her small, exposed shoulders, and he licked his lips repeatedly.

His lusty voice whispered,

“Now, I will fill my wife’s pure womb with my seed.”

With strength unbefitting his age, he shoved her down. In an instant, Brunhilde found herself lying on the sheets, staring up at him.

The duke grinned, revealing missing teeth, and began to strip off his own clothes. Then, hurriedly, he reached to remove her undergarments—

Bang.

The door burst open without so much as a knock.

The duke, his half-aroused member swaying awkwardly, frowned and turned back.

“Franz?”

“Yes. It’s me, Father.”

From where she lay stiff as a plank, Brunhilde couldn’t see the newcomer’s face. She could only make out the silhouette and the sound of footsteps as two figures entered the room.

‘Franz… then that must be…’

Duke Brant had many children, but most had died young. The only ones left were an illegitimate son born to a foreign mistress and a young boy not yet five years old.

The illegitimate son’s name was Franz.

Realizing that a grown man had just walked in and was now looking at her naked body, shame flooded her.

Brunhilde hurriedly pulled the blanket over herself.

The duke clicked his tongue in irritation at the sight, then asked in a low, displeased voice:

“Where did you learn such rudeness—barging into your father’s bedchamber without knocking?”