From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 169

This work contains scenes of sadistic coercion and hardcore depictions of BDSM. Reader discretion is advised.

“Ah….”

Arzeletta could not even breathe as she looked up at Theogrim, who was supporting her waist.

“…Arzeletta.”

The lips of Theogrim, who had been frozen like a statue, moved. That low voice was gentle and pure—it was without a doubt the voice of the one she had longed for, for so many years.

The moment she heard her name spoken from his tongue, Arzeletta felt the fine hairs all over her body stand on end. It was the sense of intimidation a mortal feels when standing before a great god. That reverence and submissive awe was indistinguishable from fear…

“Rzel. My Rzel.”

…It was chilling.

Theogrim was beautiful.

Like an angel.

Even in such a moment, the first word that came to mind when she saw him was that—angel.

Even in this darkness, he was a being who drew the light to his head like a halo. Every line that shaped Theogrim, the moonlight reflecting in his translucent silver hair, his immaculate, refined features—it was as if they had been created solely to inspire awe.

Like the work of a great artist. …As though God Himself had carved and displayed it to prove the beauty He could manifest.

Theogrim was the most priceless artwork in the possession of Impellias.

And, as with most flawless sculptures, there was no expression on his face now.

“…What did you just say?”

His grip on Arzeletta’s waist tightened. She inhaled sharply in pain. The hand that held her was far larger than she had ever vaguely imagined.

“Why are you here, Rzel?”

“Te… Theogrim…”

“Why are you, at this time, in the lord’s chamber, hm?”

Theogrim tilted his face, his jewel-like violet eyes fixed on her without a flicker.

It was a chilling sight, like a broken machine operating in uneasy fits. And yet, even in this moment, the slightly disheveled strands of Theogrim’s hair framed a profile so breathtaking it made one forget to breathe.

“Why are you speaking like that, Rzel?”

“It… it hurts, Theogrim….”

“Why are you speaking in that voice, Rzel, hm?”

His hand clamped tighter around her waist, pressing harder into her flesh. Arzeletta’s eyes reddened once more from the pain.

It hurt. But more than the pain, it was the fear that overwhelmed her.

“Rzel, come to your senses.”

“It hurts, it hurts… Theo, stop….”

“How can you call the lord’s name so sweetly, hm?”

Arzeletta bit down on her inner lip. It was a desperate emotion he had never once shown before.

“How can you say it so affectionately, like that?”

“Ah….”

“How can you whisper in such a maddeningly beautiful voice, what are you trying to do, exactly? Hm? Arzeletta.”

“Theo, Theo….”

“You came into another man’s chamber and act so prettily like this—what are you trying to do? Rzel, Rzel, Rzel!”

At last, Theogrim’s voice rose. He gnashed his teeth and growled like a beast.

“To anyone watching, it would seem as if you were in love with Ragnar. Hm?”

“Ah, Theo…!”

“But you’re not. That’s a misunderstanding. An absurd misunderstanding.”

“Please….”

“The one you love is me.”

Without giving her a chance to react, her body was pulled forward. The powerful hand gripping her wrist drew her without resistance.

“It has to be me. It must be!”

Her head spun. The suddenness of it all left her unable to immediately grasp what she should say.

Soon, Arzeletta was buried into something soft. The ceiling spun once.

The sensation of the smooth black sheets, the lingering scent of Ragnar on the bed—it was familiar. The sight of the ceiling above her eyes was also familiar.

Arzeletta realized that the place she had been thrown onto was Ragnar’s bed. But before the thought could fully form, the familiar view of the ceiling was blocked. What covered her vision was Theogrim’s face.

Theogrim was crawling over her body. Over her hair, scattered in disarray, he pressed both of Arzeletta’s hands above her head. With the force of his grip, deep shadows stretched across the black sheets.

“Rzel.”

Arzeletta’s lips only opened soundlessly under the severe dizziness. The face of Theogrim filling her vision… was twisted into an expression of despair so unbelievable she could hardly comprehend it.

“Answer me, Rzel.”

“Ah, ugh, Theogrim, sir….”

“You love me, don’t you? Hm?”

Arzeletta nodded.

A fae loves the one to whom they offered prayer for life. They are bound solely to that person, unable to withdraw their prayer by any means except death.