From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 71

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

Ragnar let out a hollow laugh. It was the very teaching that he himself had followed more than anyone, the one he had emphasized to the devout children of Impellias.

“I… I thought that if I endured hardship like this… I could wash away my sins.”

“……”

“Maybe I could live a life blessed by the gods, here on the lord’s land.”

“Impellias…”

“I wanted to know. So please, my lord…”

I cannot leave you.

“……!”

That final sentence, though whispered, reached Ragnar’s ears clearer than anything else.

In that moment, the maid did not stammer.

“I wanted to be close to the lord, to stay nearby…”

The voice of the woman, which had clung to his thoughts and never left him since that night, stirred once again in his memory.

Ragnar stared at her in silence.

There was no trace of the boldness in that final whisper—only a woman trembling pitifully.

Her skin, bathed in moonlight, was pale enough to look sickly. She hadn’t eaten enough. The base of her neck, fragile enough to snap with the slightest pressure, was covered by none other than Ragnar’s cloak.

Ragnar recalled the beautiful body of the maid, turned into a spectacle before everyone’s eyes just moments ago.

The body adorned with disgraceful lace, the vulgarity of that scrap of cloth more humiliating than nudity itself.

The scorn and contempt woven into that so-called garment, the hatred and lust that had gleamed in the eyes of those who had looked upon her.

Ragnar glanced down at his cloak with reddened eyes.

…If he were to remove this cloak now, he could view the maid’s beautiful body without interruption, right here in this moment.

The pale, lovely skin that had been more elegant and refined than any ancient statue—and yet alive before him—her outstretched limbs, the shyly swelling chest, and that flushed peak rising with tension…

“……!”

Ragnar shook his head roughly. His expression hardened further as he recalled the presence of the god who must surely be looking into his mind.

“Ah…!”

The reins were pulled, and Arzeletta lost her balance before she realized it. Her hand slipped from his shoulder.

As she tumbled toward the lord’s chest, a strong arm caught her around the waist.

“……”

Arzeletta looked up in surprise. The hand that held her steady belonged to none other than Lord Ragnar.

She looked up at his face, now closer than ever, and held her breath.

His eyes were colder, more composed… and burning darker than ever.

The arm wrapped around her waist was as solid as stone, and the strength and firmness of the man pressing against her skin were so immediate that Arzeletta trembled once more in his grasp, her bare shoulders exposed.

…Arzeletta could not leave this man.

“…Please, let me stay by your side, my lord.”

Arzeletta whispered softly. As her cheek rested once more against the man’s chest, it hardened again.

She could hear the beating of his heart. The hot pulse of a man whose very humanity she had once doubted, thinking even his heart must be made of ice.

Arzeletta thought quietly to herself.

Until I stop this heart with my own hands…

…I will never be able to leave your domain.

The silverware sparkled under the sunlight. The tea table set on the terrace looked rich and radiant.

The snowy white fabric of their garments cast faint shadows. Seated across from each other with a clean tablecloth between them, Daphne and Theogrim were both flawless in appearance.

A refined, pure, and beautiful lady, and a young man dressed in a white priest’s robe. The two of them facing one another was like a scene out of a painting.

Behind the terrace stretched the beautiful scenery outside the castle. It was the field that overlooked the lake.

From a distance, the lakeside looked beautiful—vast green fields, white wildflowers blooming as if scattered by hand, and glimmering ripples sparkling over the still blue lake.

Unlike Daphne’s gaze, which lightly observed the view as though it belonged to a world outside her own life, Theogrim’s eyes held a cooler glint as they turned toward the lake—colder than usual, though he concealed it skillfully enough that the attendants wouldn’t notice.