Chapter 106
It had been ten years since Theogrim entered the domain alongside Arzeletta. And in that time, she had come of age.
Now, the lustful vermin were beginning to raise their heads. Smacking their lips. Groping their hardened c***s. The time had come when they no longer believed in the rumor that Arzeletta’s scar was a contagious disease.
Not that they had any intention of changing how they treated her—having long regarded her as filth and contagion.
Humans were a species that detested admitting they were wrong. And so, they constantly needed to invent new reasons—new justifications for all the times they had trampled on her, humiliated her, spat at her.
When Arzeletta walked into the slaughterhouse on her own, they devised a new kind of game: making her the bride of the hunchback.
Being the wife of a butcher was, in the village’s eyes, no different from being communal breeding stock. More vile than the hunchback, more contemptible than the butcher himself, was the butcher’s bride.
Now they had declared it openly. That they would no longer hide their lust for Arzeletta. That they no longer felt fear about touching her. The medicine had worn off.
Are they growing desperate?
Perhaps that was also why Exion had awakened—because he sensed the stirrings among the filth. He must have realized, instinctively, that Arzeletta was no longer safe. That was why he had broken through his self-deception.
What to do now?
Should he spread the rumor about Arzeletta’s scar again? Disseminate it like the plague—quickly, effectively, even more provocatively than before?
…No, not anymore.
Theogrim knew it wouldn’t work this time. Besides, now that Arzeletta was of age, if people continued to see her as diseased, there was a real chance she might be sold off somewhere beyond the territory. Quietly—without a sound, without anyone noticing.
Of course, no matter where in the world she was taken, Theogrim would find her. But that didn’t mean he intended to let such a foul scenario come to pass. Nor would he ever allow those vermin to leer at Arzeletta with their rotten eyes, or touch her body.
Arzeletta had to remain within Theogrim’s sight, within the land he ruled. Not even a single day’s exception could be permitted.
She had to survive here, in the Rosenburg territory. In both body and mind, purely, just as she was now—completely devoted to him alone.
Until Ragnar is removed and he becomes the perfect master of this territory, until he can bestow all the glory of the world upon Arzeletta.
Until he can make her stand atop the heads of those who once scorned her.
After that, he planned to dispose of them however she wished.
If she wanted, he would tie weights to their necks and drown them at the washing site. If they begged to have their backs burned like his, then he would make sure there wasn’t a patch of original skin left below their necks.
Arzeletta would watch it all from atop a glass swan bed, wrapped in silk blankets. Those who insulted, molested, and beat her would wet themselves with piss and s**t, begging for their lives.
Only sweet and tender things would be allowed to enter Arzeletta’s mouth. She would wear only clothes woven from silver spider thread and bathe only in water boiled with pearls.
And all the comfort and peace she would enjoy—would exist solely for the moment she opened her body to him, nestled in his arms, responding to his desires with breathless gasps.
Arzeletta, who would no longer watch anyone’s mood, whispering what she wanted into his arms—just the thought of it made every fine hair on Theogrim’s body stand on end.
Click.
Theogrim entered his room and opened a box he had prepared. It was a gift for Daphne.
Opening the box, Theogrim picked up the flower inside. With a simple enchantment, the flower maintained its beautiful appearance.
“What should I do…”
Exion. He might still be useful.
“Hmm…”
As he sighed and mulled it over, Theogrim suddenly clamped his mouth shut.
What ended his brief deliberation wasn’t the foolish look Exion had worn when kissing Arzeletta.
That wasn’t what had angered him.
It was Arzeletta, breathless, with a flushed face, as if she actually liked him.
Tch. As if she liked him.
That moment when she nodded, listening to the clownish passion in that brute’s words—when the hint of a smile had surfaced on Arzeletta’s face.
Even now, Theogrim could see her clearly, writhing seductively in the arms of musclebound, dull-witted Exion, as if witnessing the scene all over again.
He firmly closed the box.
“No matter if it’s Sir Exion, dangerous missions can happen.”
Theogrim muttered quietly to himself. When he sensed Ianes’ presence behind him, he turned around first.
The formal attire Theogrim wore for Daphne gleamed like an angel’s wings.
“Let’s go to the Grand Duchess, Ianes.”
This would be a gift for all of them—Arzeletta, Daphne, Ragnar, and Theogrim himself.
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