Aurein's POV
Did my father had a relationship with General Voltaire's father?
The question slipped from my lips the moment Elder Henderson brought the topic up, my voice edged with disbelief.
"Ah—well..." Elder Henderson laughed a little too quickly, then coughed into his fist. "Those were only rumors. Nothing more. There was never any proof, so there was no truth to it."
"But how could such rumors even spread?" I pressed, unease stirring in my chest. "Back then—when General Orion was still alive—whenever they were together, I never saw them being... affectionate. They were formal. Proper. Nothing out of the ordinary."
My gaze drifted toward General Voltaire, my brow knitting as if his expression might offer an answer.
"I remember living in the palace as well," Rowan added, clearly intrigued. "When Aurein and I were still children, King Lucen and Queen Crysta were incredibly sweet with each other. Especially whenever I saw them together."
"As I said," Elder Henderson replied calmly, "they were only rumors. They were young at the time, and people simply noticed how unusually close they were."
"Were they ever seen hugging?" I asked.
"Holding hands—like lovers?" Rowan followed.
"Kissing?" Serena added bluntly.
All of us stared at her.
"What?" she said, completely unapologetic. "Without kissing, there wouldn't be rumors like that."
"There was nothing of the sort," Elder Henderson said firmly. "You all know very well that such relationships between two men are forbidden in our kingdom. King Lucen and General Orion strictly followed those rules—even when they were mischievous children."
"Then those rumors must have been fabricated to destroy them," General Voltaire said, his tone sharp and serious.
"Well," Serena drawled, smirking, "when I look at King Lucen, he was very much masculine, commanding, and intimidating. Not like Aurein, who moves like the opposite—"
"Hey," I cut in, irritation flashing. "That's going too far."
"It's true," she continued, unfazed. "I can't imagine King Lucen ever saying, 'Protect me, General Orion,' or 'Carry me, General Orion.' Or being clingy the way Aurein is with General Voltaire."
Her teasing words scraped against my nerves. Annoying—yet, frustratingly, not entirely wrong. Even I couldn't picture it.
"Their romantic relationship was nothing but rumor," Elder Henderson said again, as if to seal the matter. "They were children. There was no certainty. The gossip began when someone claimed to have seen them in a wide, grassy field—running after each other, laughing. According to the story, General Orion caught King Lucen, hugged him, and tickled him. Like true lovers, they said."
He paused, his eyes thoughtful.
"But again, it was only a story. Perhaps someone wished to ruin them. Still... I will admit this—those two were inseparable. Wherever one went, the other followed."
"I believe my father was simply fulfilling his duty as King Lucen's personal guard," General Voltaire said evenly. "That is why they were always together."
"That's true," Elder Henderson agreed. "They bickered constantly—especially when I encountered them in the garden while working. Shouting here, shouting there. Yet they always reconciled in the end. They treated each other as the closest of friends. King Lucen had no siblings, and since he and General Orion were the same age, they called each other brothers."
"Still," Serena said thoughtfully, "rumors like chasing each other like lovers doesn't sit right with me. Unless General Voltaire is correct—and someone was deliberately stirring trouble."
She turned to Elder Henderson.
"Tell me, was there ever an issue back then regarding the throne? Any conflict over succession? Was King Lucen the only heir?"
The moment the words left her mouth, something shifted.
Serena seemed to realize it too. She froze, then glanced at General Voltaire. I followed her gaze.
General Voltaire was staring back at her—silent, unreadable, his expression carved from stone.
When he noticed me looking at him, the tension eased just slightly. He offered me a faint smile, then his hand slid to my right hip, gripping it firmly, possessively. The pressure grounded me—and unsettled me all at once.
Why did Serena react like that? Or was I simply reading too much into it?
Before Elder Henderson could respond, a violent coughing fit seized him instead. His body shook as the sound tore from his chest.
"Are you all right, Elder Henderson?" Rowan asked, concern lacing his voice.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "Perhaps I spoke too much." The coughing worsened, rough and relentless.
"Come, Grandfather," Elric said gently. "Drink your herbal medicine first. It will help."
"That would be best," Elder Henderson said as he stood. "I'll excuse myself for now." His words broke apart between coughs as Elric and Zen supported him, guiding him back into the hut.
I watched them go, a strange heaviness settling in my chest.
The rumors.
Serena's question.
And the way General Voltaire's hand still lingered at my hip—steady, firm, as if silently warning me not to let go of him.
After they had gone, Serena ran a hand through her hair in irritation and leaned back heavily, as if the weight of the conversation had finally caught up with her.
"It's possible," Rowan said suddenly, breaking the silence, "that King Lucen had rivals to the throne—people who wanted to paint him as someone violating the law by loving another man, like General Orion."
"But who could they be?" Serena asked. "Only the King Lucen's royal family exists."
"No," I said slowly. "I don't think so."
The memory surfaced uninvited, sharp and persistent.
"I remember—yes, I was drunk that time, but not senseless—Dante once asked me what if there had been other royalty besides us. What if they were erased from history." I paused, my voice lowering. "What if what he said was true? I've been thinking about it ever since. I just never said it out loud to any of you."
The air fell dead silent.
I glanced at Serena. She was looking at General Voltaire, subtly gesturing something I couldn't understand. The moment she realized I was watching her, she snapped her gaze away and put on an irritated expression, as if offended that I had noticed.
This two are really hiding something from me, I can sense it.
"Aurein," General Voltaire said calmly, "don't dwell on this too much. There's no need to burden yourself with it. You are the only heir I recognize—and the only one the people of all Ardentia will ever recognize."
"But what if..." I hesitated, then looked at them one by one before continuing. "What if this rebellion is tied to that lost—or erased—royalty?"
All of them turned to me at once, visibly startled. As if I had crossed a line. As if I had spoken something I wasn't supposed to say.
"Come to think of it," I continued, my voice steady despite the tension tightening my chest, "I remember the story you told me, General Voltaire. I'm sorry to bring this up, but your father's last order—before he sacrificed himself—was to protect the King, protect the Queen, and most importantly, protect the Crown Prince. I still remember every word."
I swallowed.
"I've been wondering... protect us from whom? From enemies outside the kingdom—or from enemies within our kingdom."
They said nothing.
Their silence felt heavier than any argument.
"You were the one who told me this before, Serena," I went on. "That not everyone close to us can be trusted. Some wear the skin of friends, but are enemies underneath." I looked down briefly, then back at them. "That means General Orion might have been warning us—there were enemies inside the kingdom."
"When did you suddenly become a critical thinker, Aurein?" Serena said, clearly shocked.
Rowan chuckled softly, though his eyes were serious. "You probably don't know this, Serena, because you've always seen Aurein as gentle—too gentle or soft to think this deeply. But when we were kids, he read constantly. He studied and analyzed faithfully everything he could get his hands on. He even taught me what he learned."
He pointed at his own temple.
"That's why I admired him even back then. He might not be physically strong, but this—his mind—is his greatest weapon."
"Thank you, Rowan," I said awkwardly. "That's... too much praise."
"No, it's the truth, and the fact that you arrived at this conclusion means Dante's words might hold weight. General Orion's final order may have carried a meaning we only now understand." He exhaled. "This rebellion could very well be the work of that erased royalty—plotting to seize the throne."
"What still bothers me," I said, "is why the rebellion began in the Southern Region." I frowned. "This region is governed no differently from the others. There has to be something here—something tied directly to all of this."
"Aurein," Serena said, studying me, "are you sure this is really you? I'm not used to seeing you like this. Whenever I look at you, all I see is General Voltaire this, General Voltaire that—like your entire world revolves around him and nothing else."
"I'm sorry if it looks that way," I said quietly. "I think I'm just... overwhelmed by how I feel toward him. But whenever it is the kingdom and my family we are talking about, that's where I get serious."
Without meaning to, I turned to General Voltaire.
"You've been quiet," I said. "What's troubling you?"
He released a slow, controlled breath, as if carefully letting go of everything he had been holding inside.
"Aurein," he said at last, "would you allow me—just this once—to handle this on my own? The rebellion, I mean." His voice hardened. "I brought you here so you wouldn't end up with General Zavier while I was away and I wouldn't worry much about you. And you saw it yourself—we haven't even begun our mission, and already you and Serena were targeted."
"But I told my father before—I want to help too," I said. "You know that."
"I know," he replied. "And I know you'll be angry if I stop you. You'll think I see you as weak. You'll sulk."
I nodded.
"Then here's what I want," he said. "Leave the dangerous parts to me. The fighting. The rebels. You focus on your training—on becoming stronger."
"Training?" I echoed, confused.
"Yes," he said firmly. "Just because I brought you here doesn't mean you're exempt. And don't forget—there's still a competition waiting. Back in the Central Region, my warriors are training relentlessly. Don't tell me you forgot?"
"Ah... right," I said with a sheepish laugh.
"So finish your meal and sleep early," he added. "You have training at dawn."
"That's cruel," I protested.
"I didn't bring you here to help me," he said coolly. "I brought you here to keep an eye on you. So don't defy me—unless you want to be punished."
"But I want to help with the mission," I insisted.
He looked at me sternly.
I surrendered immediately.
Then—without warning—he took an oyster, popped it into his mouth, and smirked.
"Good," he said. "At least you know how to obey."
"Sometimes I think," I said irritably, "what if you're actually the enemy? What if you're just trying to control me?" I huffed. "What if I become king and you turn me into your puppet and rule over not just Ardentia but the whole world?"
"You said that yourself," he replied calmly, swallowing another oyster.
"But..." I muttered, lowering my head, embarrassed. "I guess... even then, I'd still follow what you want."
"Very good," he said brightly. "I'm glad you know that, Aurein."
He lifted my chin with one finger and fed me an oyster himself.
"Can you not flirt right in front of Rowan and me?" Serena snapped. "Have some decency!"
I glanced at Rowan. He was staring down at his plate, poking at his food, clearly trying very hard not to look at us.
"S-sorry," I said softly, my face burning.
Then I looked back at the General—and in my mind, a terrifying realization unfurled.
What if he was the rebel?
What if he had been hiding in plain sight all this time, smiling, protecting me, eating with me, sleeping with me—only to seize control of me and Ardentia when my guard was down?
So that meant—
Oh no.
They had already won.
This secret war was already over.
The rebels had triumphed.
"I hate you, General Voltaire," I blurted out.
He was in the middle of eating, rice stuffed in his mouth, chewing calmly like a man unbothered by coups, conspiracies, or my sudden declaration of hatred. He stared at me, blinking.
"Huh?" he said, genuinely confused.
I pouted.
Well, if he were going to take over Ardentia—and me along with it—I supposed I would have surrendered easily anyway. If there was one person I believed deserved to rule this kingdom, it was him. Even if he turned out to be the true enemy.
Especially if he did.
That thought made me smile at him.
Which only confused him further.
"What is wrong with you?" he asked irritably. "Are you losing your mind? You tell me you hate me, then suddenly you're smiling?" He shook his head, clearly giving up on trying to understand me.
"Mood swings," Serena chimed in smugly. "That's normal for us women, General Voltaire."
"I am not a woman!" I exclaimed.
"Prove it," she smirked.
"I can show you my manhood right now!" I declared bravely.
I stood up and grabbed the waistband of my trousers, ready to undo them.
"Disgusting! No! Not in front of my food!" Serena shouted, gagging as if she were about to vomit.
She jumped to her feet and stormed off.
"You started this!" I yelled after her as she marched away. "Ha! Looks like she gets annoyed too," I added with a smug grin.
"Sit down, Aurein," General Voltaire ordered sternly.
I obeyed immediately.
No questions. No delay.
Instant compliance.
Then he looked at me.
Specifically—at my legs.
He chuckled, shaking his head as he continued eating.
"What?" I snapped.
"Serena's right," he said teasingly. "You really are like a woman."
"No! I am not!" I shouted.
That was when I noticed Rowan beside us, struggling very hard not to laugh.
"What?" I said, pointing at him. "You too, Rowan? Are you going to tease me as well? I thought you were on my team. On my side!"
"Have you seen how you sit," Rowan asked, "and how the General and I sit?"
"What is wrong with the way I sit?" I demanded, irritation flaring. "Why does my sitting position make you think I'm a woman?"
The words came out sharper than I meant them to—born more from embarrassment than offense. The silence that followed only made it worse.
Annoyed, I glanced down.
I was sitting the way I always did.
Both legs pressed neatly together, aligned and proper. My back was straight, shoulders relaxed, hands resting lightly on my lap as if they belonged there by instinct rather than effort. My posture was composed, refined, elegant even—calm and controlled, without a single careless movement.
This was normal.
This was how I had always sat.
I frowned at my knees as if they had personally betrayed me.
Then—unfortunately—my eyes drifted sideways.
General Voltaire sat as if chairs were optional inconveniences rather than furniture. One leg stretched forward, the other angled outward, his arm draped lazily over the backrest like he owned not only the seat but the entire space around it. He looked relaxed in that distinctly warrior-like way—broad, grounded, unapologetically occupying more room than necessary.
Then there was Rowan.
Rowan was worse.
He sat upright yet loose, legs spread just enough to suggest confidence rather than carelessness. His posture screamed readiness, like a man who trusted his body to react faster than his thoughts.
I looked back down at myself.
Then at them.
Then at myself again.
Oh.
I inhaled slowly as realization struck me with the subtlety of a sword tapping my forehead.
I did not sit like I was ready to fight.
I sat like I was trying to be 'proper.
Prim.
Refined.
...Ladylike.
I quickly tried to straighten—then realized that somehow made it worse.
"I refuse to acknowledge this," I muttered, spreading my legs apart and awkwardly copying how they sat.
General Voltaire's mouth twitched.
Rowan did not even attempt to hide his grin.
In that moment, I decided chairs were the true enemy.
"I will change how I sit from now on!" I declared.
"No," General Voltaire said calmly. "I like it when you sit that way."
Before I could react, he reached out and gently pressed my knees back together—returning me to my original posture.
"You're teasing me!" I protested.
"I actually prefer it," he said. "Sorry for teasing you earlier. Don't be mad, Aurein. When you sit like that, you look adorable."
"Really?" I asked, pouting.
Then I immediately frowned, put one foot up on my chair in rebellion, and said, "From now on, I will sit like a barbarian!"
Rowan scratched his head, laughing openly now. General Voltaire merely sighed.
Only then did it truly sink in. I had never realized there was a difference—an actual difference—between how I sat and how they did.
"Aurein," General Voltaire said gently, "just be yourself. You don't need to copy us."
"Yeah," Rowan added. "Just sit comfortably. We won't tease you anymore."
"Fine..." I muttered, calmer but still annoyed.
I returned to my usual posture—legs together, composed, proper—nothing like the unruly sprawl General Voltaire carried so effortlessly, even while sitting like a man born to command.
"Don't be too conscious about how you move," the General said seriously. "Don't change it. I like the way you carry yourself. The way you move—even when it's feminine. I'm not teasing you. If you change it, you lose your true identity."
I wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or just another form of teasing.
"He's right," Rowan said. "I actually like how ladylike you move. It suits you. Most of the time, you act more like a princess than Serena does. And this isn't teasing either. It's just fun to see you that way."
"FUN?" I narrowed my eyes. "So now you're teaming up."
I stood abruptly.
"Fine! I'll leave you two here! Do whatever you want! Kiss each other if you feel like it!"
I stormed off.
But after taking a few steps, a horrible thought struck me.
What if they actually did kiss?
Oh no.
The General had eaten a lot of oysters.
So had Rowan.
And knowing what oysters did—
With their heightened libido...
They might actually do it.
I spun around—and froze.
They were sitting silently, staring at each other.
Seriously.
Intently.
My eyes widened.
They looked like they were about to kiss right there.
I rushed back, boots stomping loudly, startling them both.
I grabbed General Voltaire's hand.
"You're coming with me!" I commanded.
"But we were about to kiss," he said teasingly. "You told us to."
"Stop!" I shouted. "You're both insane!"
I dragged him away.
"You know I wouldn't actually do that," he said lightly. "I was just messing with you."
"I know," I snapped. "But Rowan might!"
He laughed. "Knowing him, he might kiss you instead. Should we all just kiss, the three of us together?"
"You're out of your mind because of the oysters!" I said.
* * *
Night had fully settled by the time we retreated into the hut to rest.
Serena lay on the far side, turned away from us on the folding bed she had brought, her body curled on its side, clearly intent on sleeping and nothing more.
General Voltaire and I shared the other folding bed—also hers, technically—but it was small enough that movement was a luxury neither of us possessed. There was no space for distance, no room for pretense.
We lay on our sides, facing each other.
My hands were clasped together, tucked beneath my cheek as I leaned against the bed, knees pressed neatly together. It was... comfortable. Natural. Apparently, also very 'me'.
Serena had seen my sleeping position earlier, of course, and predictably, I had been teased again. She had said I slept like a lady—again. I had almost adjusted myself out of sheer embarrassment, but the General had stopped me, murmuring that he preferred it this way.
So I stayed like this.
One of his arms rested on the bed, his hand propping his head as he watched me. His other hand lay warm on my knee, thumb slowly caressing the curve there as if memorizing it.
As I straightened my position, one of his feet had drifted close to mine, his toes brushing against mine, nudging and playing with them like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like this was where we were meant to be.
"Do you think," I whispered, "that if our fathers truly had a secret relationship back then... would you have been happy about it?"
"No," he said without hesitation.
I frowned. "Why?"
"If they had stayed together until the end," he said softly, "you wouldn't exist. Neither would I. We wouldn't be here—sleeping beside each other. Facing each other."
Before I could respond—
"For the love of the gods, it's already night!" Serena snapped irritably. "I want to sleep! Save the flirting for tomorrow! Please!"
I bit my lip and forced myself to stay quiet, shoulders shaking as I suppressed laughter.
The General merely smirked, shaking his head slowly.
"Are you sleepy?" I whispered.
"Not yet," he replied.
"Why?"
"Oysters..."
My eyes widened.
I swallowed.
The effects of that meal were clearly still lingering in his body, and my gaze—traitorous as ever—drifted lower.
That was when I saw it.
The unmistakable bulge straining against his trousers.
"You want to say good night to the horse?" he murmured teasingly, his breath warm against my face.
"...Can I?" I asked quietly.
He nodded once.
Permission granted.
I shifted carefully, moving my free hand toward his trousers, fingers brushing the hardened shape beneath the thin fabric. Heat radiated beneath my touch, undeniable and alive. His eyes fluttered shut, lips parting as soon as I touched him, and his hand at my waist tightened, pressing me closer.
I traced slow, teasing strokes over him with my fingers, feeling his sharp exhale ghost against my skin.
Before going any further, I glanced toward Serena.
Her back was still turned.
Still asleep.
I moved carefully then, easing his trousers down just enough—and the moment I did, the beast sprang free, bold and unrestrained, thick and impossibly hard.
It looked powerful enough to shatter stone.
I had to bite back a laugh.
The General watched me with half-lidded eyes, a lazy, indulgent smile on his lips—like he was simply allowing me to play.
"I want to let it rest in my mouth," I whispered.
"No," he said softly. "It'll be too loud. She might wake up."
I pouted, defeated, but my hands didn't stop exploring.
The tip glistened, a bead of fluid already forming at the narrow slit. He reached down, scooping it with his finger before bringing it to my lips.
I opened my mouth obediently.
The taste—salty, familiar—sent a shiver through me. It was intoxicating, like something I had been craving for far too long.
A soft sound escaped me.
Immediately, his hand covered my mouth.
I froze.
He glanced toward Serena, then relaxed when he saw she hadn't stirred. Slowly, he removed his hand, dipping his finger again and letting me taste him once more.
Then he reached for my sleeping garment, undoing the buttons carefully until my bare chest was exposed to the cool night air.
He leaned in.
The moment his lips touched my skin—
"Mmmf—"
He pulled back instantly, eyes wide, hand clamping over my mouth again.
"Control yourself," he whispered firmly. "Or we might wake her up."
I nodded beneath his hand, heart racing, body burning—every nerve screaming as the night pressed in around us, heavy with heat, restraint, and everything we were refusing to finish.
He removed his hand from my mouth.
"Should we take this outside?" I whispered.
"No," he said quietly. "It's too cold—and someone might see us out there. Just stay quiet."
"But what if Serena wakes up?" I asked, anxiety threading through my voice.
"Do you want to sleep now?" he asked.
"No," I answered instantly, refusing the idea before it could even settle.
"Then don't let her wake up," he murmured. "Control your mouth."
"I'll just cover it," I said.
Instead, he covered my mouth himself.
His palm pressed firmly over my lips as he leaned back in, his face lowering to my chest. The moment his mouth closed around my nipple, my body reacted before my mind could catch up.
Pleasure surged—too sudden, too intense.
His mouth was warm, deliberate, drawing sensation from me with slow, practiced movements. It felt intimate in a way that unraveled me completely, like I was his woman and he was playing with my breast without restraint. Just the thought alone made my body spiral, desire sharpening with every second.
I felt helpless—but not in a bad way.
More like I had surrendered control, and he had taken it willingly.
When he pulled away, he opened my upper garment further, exposing more of my chest to the cool air. Then both of his hands came down, pressing and kneading me gently, as if testing the softness there—careful, unhurried, almost reverent.
I felt shy. I didn't have a woman's body, not truly. But the way he touched me—like he missed this, like he craved it—made me feel wanted in a way I didn't know how to resist.
He cupped my right breast, pressing it upward until my nipple stood exposed and sensitive. Slowly, deliberately, he extended his tongue and traced the hardened tip.
That was where I broke.
I panted silently, lungs burning as I fought not to moan. His tongue circled slowly, teasing, unrelenting, until my body felt like it was unraveling from the inside out.
Then he stopped.
His gaze flicked to my chest, narrowing slightly.
"The mark I gave you is gone," he whispered. "I need to put it back."
Instead of lowering his mouth again, he leaned toward my neck.
I stopped him, cupping his cheeks.
"Why my neck?" I whispered urgently. "Someone might see it."
He didn't answer.
He forced his mouth against my skin as his hand covered my mouth again—anticipating the sound he knew I couldn't hold back.
The moment his lips closed around my neck, I felt it—the sharp sting, the pull of his mouth drawing blood just beneath the surface. It hurt, but not enough to stop me. Not enough to make me want him to stop.
This time, the mark was deeper.
Bolder.
As if he wanted the world to know.
And he didn't stop at one.
Another followed, just below my collarbone, deliberate and claiming.
When he finally pulled away, he smiled—slow and satisfied—clearly pleased with the sight of his marks etched into my skin. His fingers traced over them gently, caressing the tender spots he had just made.
"There," he whispered. "Good as new."
His hand lingered at my neck as he eased my upper garment off completely, leaving me half-naked beneath the thin blanket of night. The air was cold, but his warmth pressed close, surrounding me, making it bearable.
He kissed my neck again—this time slower, gentler—then down along my collarbone, his lips lingering at my shoulder. The sensation was ticklish, almost unbearable, especially with the way he held me like I was fragile, like something precious.
The way he touched me always made me feel... different.
Soft.
As if I truly were a maiden in his arms.
"Turn around," he whispered.
I obeyed.
My back settled against him, my neck resting on his arm while the other wrapped around my body. His hand returned to my mouth, covering it firmly as he kissed the nape of my neck, then trailed slowly along my shoulder again.
I tried to stay quiet—desperate not to wake Serena, whose back was still turned to us.
"Aurein," he whispered. "I'm going to do something. Cover your legs with your upper garment."
I did as he asked, pulling the fabric down over myself.
Then I felt it.
His hand tugged my trousers down just enough to expose my back—only for him to see.
My breath caught as his touch lingered—slow, deliberate—tracing the gentle curve of my soft and plump cheeks of my back. His palm moved with unhurried familiarity, warm and grounding, as if memorizing the shape of me in the quiet space between heartbeats.
He still had my mouth covered, but my thoughts raced wildly.
Was he really going to do this here?
I thought he wanted somewhere special.
Was this special to him?
What if Serena turned around?
What if she woke up?
She would scream.
"I'm going to do something that might hurt a little," he whispered close to my ear. "If it does, don't scream. Bite my hand as hard as you can. Do you understand?"
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
I nodded as he gently pulled his hand away from my mouth, the warmth of his palm lingering on my skin even after it was gone.
And then—
I felt him shift behind me.
Closer.
Closer still.
And just before I could grasp what he was about to do, his breath brushed my neck again—slow, deliberate—promising something I wasn't sure I was ready for, but knew I wouldn't stop.
Without thinking, I reached and held his forearm with both hands, as if anchoring myself there, preparing myself for this moment.
End of Chapter 42