From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 69

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

“L-Lord Ragnar!”

At the startled voices around her, Arzeletta realized she hadn’t been mistaken.

What was now covering her body, which had been laid bare before the crowd like a spectacle, was none other than Ragnar’s cloak.

It carried a luxurious scent unimaginable to Arzeletta. A fragrance that seemed to belong to a completely different world from the stench of the hospital laundry, the sewage containers where filth was dumped, and the smell of death and blood that had become all too familiar at the slaughterhouse.

As her bare body was quickly hidden beneath the fine cloak, what followed into view were her feet.

Ragnar frowned. Noticing this, the townspeople lowered their heads again, stealing cautious glances.

The woman’s white feet were covered in wounds. It looked as though she had been dragged here without even having time to put on proper shoes.

It was an easy scene to imagine. Everything Arzeletta had suffered while living her entire life in this domain. Everything that had happened to the powerless maid within Ragnar’s own castle—things he had turned a blind eye to, and thus had all but permitted.

“Have you never loved someone?”

“Daphne.”

“Have you never felt desire, been shaken or undone, or met someone who exalted you more than even God?”

Daphne’s seductive smile overlapped with Arzeletta’s bare feet. The Grand Princess seemed to lack for nothing.

For a moment, Ragnar imagined the clothes the Grand Princess had worn—her golden hair, her limbs—layered over the woman before him.

…She didn’t seem particularly lacking.

“Ah…!”

Arzeletta gasped as her body was suddenly pulled. In that instant, no one could stop Ragnar.

He lightly pulled Arzeletta up onto his horse, then mounted swiftly after her. His expression showed not a single crack.

“My lord…!”

“I’ll return to the castle. Make sure no more needless disturbances occur while the Grand Princess is visiting.”

Everyone closed their mouths and nodded. Even they could see it—her bloodied, white feet.

The heavy boots of the lord kicked at the horse’s side. The two on horseback quickly rode off into the distance.

“Tch.”

“Of all times…”

“It’s because it’s now that he showed up.”

The men muttered and got to their feet, their plans deflated.

Had everything gone according to plan, they would’ve received cheers from the village the next morning. Not ended up awkwardly silenced before the lord.

“Didn’t you hear? He said not to cause any trouble while the Grand Princess is here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard.”

The grumbling men picked up their dropped torches.

“It’s not like that wench will get far anyway.”

Their hopes for tonight—raising a toast while watching the beasts consummate their marriage in the stronghold—had fizzled out, but there would be plenty of chances to come.

The gathered group picked up the torches discarded on the ground. With a light tap on Yoseph’s hunched shoulder, the night’s matter was concluded.

Left behind, Yoseph remained crouched on the dirt path, covered in grime.

He had been cast aside by everything.

Arzeletta was swaying atop the horse. Her mind was in complete disarray. She couldn’t believe that the thing covering her body was none other than Lord Ragnar’s cloak. Dizzied, Arzeletta grabbed onto something.

She was enclosed in the holy knight’s arms atop the horse, and so the only thing she could hold onto was the man’s shoulder.

The night was still deep. Bathed in moonlight, Arzeletta met the gaze of the lord who was looking down at her—there was no way to avoid it.

Had she ever seen this man so closely before? Just the thought of it made Arzeletta’s heart tremble.

Because she was afraid.

He had always been high above, far away, immense. Just the fact that she was now in this man’s arms made Arzeletta feel as though she might faint from tension.

But at this moment, Arzeletta instinctively understood that she must not express any opinion about his actions. His tightly sealed lips, his unshakable expression—those features of this powerful ruler felt to Arzeletta like an unbreakable wall of ice.

His very existence was an overwhelming pressure upon her. He was the greatest man in the land, while she was the smallest and weakest existence on this earth.

Arzeletta hung her head while clinging to Ragnar’s shoulders. If she didn’t hold on like this, she might not even be allowed to remain in the lord’s arms. Even just imagining that made her feel breathless.

His scent flowed into her nose, inescapably. Though he was a cruel and cold-blooded man, his scent was exquisite. The same scent she had smelled from his cloak—a dignified and masculine fragrance that was impossible to describe. Like a spell, the scent rode her breath and seeped into her.