Meanwhile, in the Frostvine duchy, night had long since fallen. The castle corridors were silent and cold, the servants asleep, and only the duke's office remained lit by an oil lamp whose dancing flame cast a golden and trembling light on the walls.
Irene was still trembling, the muscles in her thighs and stomach twitching uncontrollably. Her body, limp and heavy, slumped against the desk, the skin of her back and buttocks damp with sweat.
Her gray eyes were half-closed, lashes wet, gaze glassy. Her wheezing, ragged breathing made her prominent ribs quiver. A pearly thread of saliva trickled from the corner of her swollen mouth, stretching into a long strand that trembled before settling on the varnished wood, leaving a dark spot.
Kaiser didn't stop. He straightened up, the muscles in his abdomen and shoulders taut. He gripped her hips, where the thin, pale skin was already mottled with bright red and hints of blue. He immediately resumed his rhythm, more brutal, deeper.
