Volume 3 Chapter 202 Probably Safe, Just Barely Safe♡
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Sleeping in a real bed for the first time in a while felt amazing.
Soft, warm, and smelling faintly of flowers—it was bliss.
”Hyan! L—Lord Kian, no! No—!”
Maybe it was because he’d asked the maid to replace his pillow with a larger one.
When he wrapped his arms around it and tangled his legs, the shape hugged back just right, warm and yielding in all the right places.
He pressed his morning erection against the rounded curve of the pillow, rubbing his cheek against the delicate top. As he squeezed it tighter in both arms, he heard a satisfying pop—one of the buttons had come loose from the pillowcase.
”Hey!? Hey! You’re awake!? Definitely awake!!”
(The pillow’s surface was smooth. The scent—sharp citrus with a floral base and a faint, sweet undertone like female skin—filled his senses.)
Kian burrowed his face into the pillow, nudging aside strands of hair with his nose. It smelled so good. His lips brushed against what felt like ears.
”Hh!? A-Ah…”
He slipped a hand beneath the loosened pillowcase, gliding along a gentle bulge in the seam—possibly just fabric, possibly not. His fingers trailed downward, brushing something like a navel.
”Uh… no… really, no… No, stop it…”
Smooth skin beneath his fingertips. If this pillow were a woman, then that would be just around the uterus, wouldn’t it? The scent in the air turned deeper—more humid, sweeter. He pressed his hips against the soft resistance and locked their legs together, restraining the form with his own.
He licked what he thought might be an ear, kneaded the soft swell of the pillow’s “chest,” and caressed the space below its imaginary navel.
At first, the pillow resisted with surprising force. Then… it stopped.
It exhaled—wet, shallow, human.
His hand slipped lower.
A thick patch of hair. His fingers brushed against something firm, sheathed in delicate skin. As he grazed it with the pads of his fingers—
”Hn… huh… uh… mm, mm… hnn…”
The body beneath him shivered. Its thin shoulders twitched.
It was such a cute reaction. He wanted to tease more, stir up more trouble.
But just as he thought that, the back of the pillow’s head slammed into his face.
Pain exploded behind his eyes, instantly shoving his foggy thoughts to the surface.
A second later, Kian was wide awake.
”Ah… Good morning, Ms. Priscilla.”
”…Good morning?”
A beautiful face with tousled silver hair glared at him, her mouth twitching.
Though Priscilla had a baby-faced charm for her age, her smile now was the kind that could freeze blood.
She shoved Kian’s chest away, protecting herself with her arms.
Kian’s robe had come loose, exposing his collarbone. He sighed and pushed his messy black hair back.
Priscilla took a deep breath, gaze flickering nervously across the disheveled bed.
Kian tilted his head.
”Wait… why is Ms. Priscilla in my room?”
”From there!? You let me stay the night yesterday, remember!? Don’t pretend you don’t know—go back to your usual, irritatingly smug Lord Kian!”
”……………”
He rubbed his temple. Maybe it was because he hadn’t slept in days, but last night’s events felt like a fog. Mild memory loss. But after a few seconds of mental wringing, the memories came flooding back.
”Ms. Priscilla!?”
”Yeah. How many times are you going to act surprised?”
Priscilla sat on the bed, her back turned to him. Her shirt—one of his, oversized—was missing several buttons, gaping loosely around her figure. From beneath its hem peeked light blue panties and the soft curves of her hips.
On the bedside desk: a chessboard, a few magical grimoires, and the monster encyclopedia he’d borrowed from Linca.
Last night, things had started getting awkward, so they distracted themselves with chess.
Then they talked about his adventures, her magic, and other nonsense. Somewhere along the way, Priscilla had collapsed onto the bed and fallen asleep.
He’d thought about taking the floor…
But the bed was huge. And she was delicate.
Surely, it’d be fine to share—
Clearly, it was not fine.
”…Tch.”
Priscilla let her long white hair fall over her face, her cheeks dyed crimson.
Thin shoulders. Slender waist. Feminine, but not like Christy the warrior monk, whose body was built for battle.
Priscilla was more refined—serious, even. The kind of woman who was beautiful because she didn’t try to be.
”…Sorry. I was half asleep. First time in a while.”
”Hmph. You said you were up all night the day before, right?”
”And probably the day before that too? I don’t even remember the last time I slept.”
”You’re ridiculous. I hate people who don’t take care of themselves.”
”My apologies.”
”You’re always reckless! When you saved Lady Sarah, you broke both legs, didn’t you? And you still kept fighting. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”
”Oh yeah… that did happen.”
It had only been a month ago, but it felt like years.
Why did time move so strangely?
”Take better care of yourself,” she said quietly. “There are people who’d be sad if you vanished.”
”…I see.”
Rufna, Sarah, Linca… They’d bounce back.
But Natra, Christy, Robert, Esther… they might cry.
Just thinking of them made him want to eat Robert’s cooking again.
So warm. So satisfying.
(But why the hell did I end up passed out next to Priscilla? With her here, of all people?)
As he stared at her back, now turned toward the tea set, Kian rubbed his temple again.
Priscilla was a powerful witch. More importantly, she was dangerous.
Falling asleep beside her while vulnerable? He should slap himself.
(Was I hit with some kind of sleep suggestion spell? Drugged tea? No… doesn’t feel like that. Body and mind feel fine. Unless she used something that metabolizes cleanly overnight?)
”What’s with that grim look?” she asked, returning with a pot of tea.
Kian looked up, hand still to his forehead.
”Ms. Priscilla… did you poison me?”
”Want me to splash you with this boiling water?”
”I ask because you have a criminal record.”
”No I don’t! I’ve never been caught!”
”Which makes you exactly the kind of criminal who does get away with it. You poisoned Her Excellency Maribel once.”
”I don’t remember that!”
”You sound like a corrupt politician. Technically, since you’re the Head Magician, are you a politician?”
”Enough! Move those books and the chessboard already! I can’t set the pot down!”
Kian obediently gathered the books and board, stacking them neatly on the corner chair. He made sure the corners aligned perfectly before stepping back.
Priscilla gave him a baffled look.
”You’re such a… nervous guy.“
As he took a sip of the floral tea—fruity, complex, from Ramsey’s finest leaves—Priscilla asked casually from beside him, “So… what’s the plan for today?”
That question caught him off guard. Then he remembered—
Starting today, he had to meet with the Mancuso family, the Bishop of Ramsey, Mr. Eros, son of Yalchin Mancuso… with the intent of rejecting their marriage proposal.
”Ah, right, from today onward, you would be receiving slave traders one after another. All day long would be devoted to responding to their negotiations and inquiries.”
”Slave traders?” Kian asked.
”Probably trying to get the Beastmen to sell themselves off in exchange for reparations,” Priscilla replied.
”I see. Then, the main goal is actually to reduce the number of Beastmen stranded in the wetlands,” Kian explained. “Reparations aren’t the priority. Even if some agree to sell themselves, there’s no way the total compensation will ever be paid. The real issue is that they don’t have enough food to return to their home forests. If their numbers are reduced, the burden becomes lighter. They can use the silver from selling comrades to purchase food—just enough to survive long enough to return to their homelands. It’s desperate, but it’s a way to live.”
”If they’re stuck in the wetlands, that affects Ramsey’s safety too. Is Rufna still on watch around the clock?”
Kian nodded. “I told her to take shifts, but she’s the type who’ll work herself into the ground if left unsupervised.”
”Is that some warrior monk thing? Like believing that dying from overwork is honorable?” Priscilla asked, half-joking.
”Not quite, but people from Azrael are raised with a strong work ethic from a very young age. Sarah and Rufna are particularly intense about it. Thankfully, Natra and Linca are more relaxed. A good balance.”
”Mmm… Anyway,” Priscilla trailed off before straightening. “Back to the topic—we’re meeting people, which means I need to change and put on some makeup.”
”I’ll take a bath,” Kian offered casually.
”Good idea!” Priscilla cheered with sudden brightness. “Morning baths are the best!”
There was an innocent glow about her at times—almost enough to forget that she was, in truth, a fearsome witch.
As Kian stirred the last of the tea in his cup, Priscilla leaned in with a mischievous grin and whispered near his ear.
”Shall we go in together?”
Kian looked at her evenly. “That’s more efficient. If you’re comfortable with it, let’s bathe together.”
”Wha—?!” Priscilla sputtered, clearly not expecting the response. “You’re seriously answering me?! Aren’t you supposed to joke back, you lecher?”
Kian gave a half-smile. “Not the reaction I expected from a woman of twenty-five. Though… maybe it makes sense if you’re a bit inexperienced.”
”That’s so rude! You’re the worst, you know that?” Priscilla snapped, flustered. “You’re the one who teased me earlier! You—ugh!”
”Ms. Priscilla,” Kian said, eyes narrowing playfully. “I am, after all, a healthy man. I don’t know what you were aiming for by tempting me, but if you go too far, I just might respond.”
Her eyes widened, catching sight of something through the loose folds of his bathrobe. Her expression flickered rapidly—first red, then pale, then red again—as if she couldn’t settle on one reaction.
”Stop teasing me like that! I’m seriously embarrassed,” she muttered, pulling her knees closer to her chest. “If you curse someone, you’ll end up with twice the trouble. It’ll come back to bite you.”
”…So, does that mean… you’re okay with it?” Kian asked.
Priscilla hesitated, then nodded—barely perceptible. “I mean… yeah. Okay.”
Kian tilted his head. “You’re not joking?”
Fidgeting, Priscilla stared at her clenched fist. Her voice was quieter now, more sincere.
”I want to see you, Lord Kian. We’re not just fooling around—we’re dating with the intention of marriage. So, I want to share things honestly. No jokes.”
She looked up, face flushed. “And I haven’t… you know, done anything recently.”
Her tone was honest, not teasing. “If you’re okay with it, I’ll wash you. Thoroughly.”
Kian found himself quietly captivated. He looked at the woman beside him—white-haired, beautiful, but now vulnerable. She couldn’t meet his gaze and stared downward instead.
Inside his mind, his more rational self tried to argue against it, while his more reckless side—the “glasses” version of him—interrupted the debate with a decisive blow and took over.
Had he fallen under the witch’s spell? Perhaps. But even if he had, he couldn’t deny that the idea of being close with her felt natural now. His thoughts simplified with a heat that silenced logic.
”Sorry,” he said, “I might be a bit reactive after earlier.”
”Me too,” Priscilla admitted, cheeks warm.
”You beast,” she added with mock indignation. “Fine. Let’s play… a grown-up game.”
She smiled then—shy, but unmistakably inviting.
* * *
”Wow… your thing is, um… impressive,” Priscilla murmured curiously.
Kian, now seated on the balcony floor, had let his robe fall away. Priscilla knelt behind him, arms gently wrapped around his torso. She wore nothing but his oversized shirt, which was now unbuttoned and loose, her form pressed against his back.
Her breath brushed his ear, scented with citrus from the soap. She poured warm water from a small bucket and began to wash him with gentle, soapy hands—first his chest, then his abdomen, and lower still. Her movements were slow and focused, her fingertips tracing over tense muscles, easing them with care.
Kian tilted his head back slightly, unable to hide the tension in his jaw. She took note of it and, with a sly grin, pressed a soft kiss to the nape of his neck.
”Sensitive, are you?” she whispered.
Kian chuckled softly. “Surprisingly so. Feels good.”
”I can kind of tell what pleases you just by watching your face,” Priscilla said warmly. “Let’s take care of everything, hmm?”
She dipped her fingers into the water again and continued her methodical cleansing—no rush, no embarrassment now, just quiet intimacy. Occasionally she whispered small reassurances, and Kian found himself relaxing under her touch.
”You know,” she said, “this part here needs special attention.”
”Appreciated,” Kian managed to say, breath a bit uneven.
Priscilla was attentive, almost scientific in her focus, but her touch was personal—not clinical. She worked with care and, occasionally, a quiet little smile.
When she finished, she poured warm water again to rinse him clean, before moving on to his chest and shoulders.
”You really are solid,” she said, leaning her cheek against his back. “This body flew through the skies and fought dragons. And now it’s here, letting me take care of it.”
Kian let out a hum of acknowledgement.
”Lift your arm, please,” she requested. “Let’s clean properly.”
”I’m not that old,” he muttered, complying.
”You’re thirty. That’s ancient,” Priscilla teased with a light laugh.
He rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. Any comeback would be dangerous, given her position behind him.
”Look, look,” she said suddenly. “Clean as a whistle.”
”It is.”
”You’re not reacting much,” she pouted. “You only care when I—well, you know. Still, I’ll treat you well.”
”I do think about things other than that,” Kian muttered.
She brought her feet forward, resting them near him, letting warm water drip slowly across his skin. There was a slow grace in how she moved, as if every gesture was part of a quiet ritual of care.
”It’s not just about size or strength,” she said softly, running a soapy hand along his back. “There’s health in every detail. Fascinating.”
”I hope I’m not becoming some experiment in your head,” he joked weakly.
”You’re not,” she whispered. “I’m touching you because I want to. No curiosity alone would make me feel like this.”
She pressed a little closer, her voice warming. “At the Academy, I learned Necromancy… I had to help wash corpses more than once.”
That statement might have chilled the mood, but her tone remained so gentle that it merely colored her character more vividly.
Where had her embarrassment gone? Priscilla was now confident, focused, and intimate—her voice thick with emotion rather than nerves. Her whole body, covered lightly in soap and warmth, moved with practiced rhythm, as if bathing Kian had become a kind of emotional expression.
And Kian, for once, didn’t analyze it. He simply let himself be cared for.
Priscilla pressed the arch of her foot delicately onto the soft pouch below, applying a careful, intentional pressure. Her movements were precise—more graceful than aggressive—yet the effect was immediate. She smiled quietly into Kian’s ear, a warm breath accompanying her amused expression, as his body gave way to a haze of trembling fatigue.
It was the same innocent laugh that had once irked him in casual settings, but now, it sent a thrill down his spine. There was something electrifying about it. The feeling that someone older, someone familiar, was toying with him—both playfully and intimately—stirred something primal within.
”Oh, I guess it’s breakfast time,” Priscilla said, glancing at the window, then down at him. “If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late.”
”But Ms,” Kian said, still recovering, “I need to wash your body too.”
She chuckled. “One more round before that?”
”The concept of modesty really has wandered off,” he muttered.
”Because that’s just how I am,” she replied with a shrug, her voice light. “Curiosity, desire, whim… they usually win out.”
With another mischievous smile, she leaned into his ear once more, then collapsed slightly, limbs still dusted with foam. After a beat, she stood with an exaggerated sigh and said the word dramatically:
”Here we go.”
She moved in front of him, fluid and unbothered.
”――――”
Priscilla gave a playful grin. “Haha. This is so embarrassing.”
The sunlight filtered in behind her, casting a soft halo around her white hair. She seemed unreal in that moment—her body radiating a strange, elegant charm that felt more mystical than earthly.
Her damp white strands clung to the fabric of her shirt. Between the open buttons of her top, the suggestion of her chest was barely visible. The curve there was subtle, almost an afterthought, but it was enough to hint at femininity. Below, a narrow waist and soft, rounded hips met long, lithe legs that bore little muscle, yet held undeniable shape.
Kian’s eyes were drawn downward again, as if under a spell. He swallowed lightly.
”Not taking off the rest?” he asked, nodding toward the last piece of fabric she still wore.
She replied with a raised eyebrow, “You think I’m just going to give in like that?”
Her voice was playful, but there was a glint of challenge in it.
Despite her words, she raised her long, slender right leg, lifting it deliberately in front of him. The weight of her thigh shifted, gravity pulling it down with slow elegance, casting a faint shadow over her skin. Her fingers moved to the edge of her light-blue undergarment, brushing down along her thigh, passing her knee, calf, ankle—all in one languid motion.
The moment the fabric dipped, a natural patch of dark silver hair was exposed. It wasn’t groomed meticulously like Sarah’s or cleanly removed like Linca’s. Instead, it was trimmed just enough to be concealed under clothing—natural, deliberate, and striking.
Even the slight contrast between her skin and the delicate color of the hair there seemed captivating.
”She has a rare kind of allure,” Kian thought. “Even her modest figure has its own gravitational pull.”
His eyes lingered, appreciating the way her skin gleamed faintly in the light. Her shirt still clung to her chest, slightly transparent now. A delicate hue appeared beneath, the soft circle of an areola just barely showing through the fabric.
”….”
The instinctive pull within him grew stronger.
Priscilla licked her lips slowly, straddled his lap, and then dropped gently to her knees.
”Well, shall we wash each other?” she offered, voice like velvet.
Settling against him, her weight pressed down—not heavy, but grounding. It surprised him, the reality of her presence. Even that, he found comforting.
While she reached for the nearby wooden pail to prepare the soapy water, Kian’s gaze drifted again to her chest. Up close, he could see the shape more clearly. What once seemed small now shimmered with quiet tension.
Unlike Natra or Maribel—whose voluptuous forms spoke of abundance—Priscilla had a form that felt more intimate, more private. Perhaps it was the quiet doom of her body’s fate—no promise of change or growth—that gave her a strange, enduring enchantment.
Soapy water trailed down from her collarbone, dripping gently over her curves.
Her skin shimmered with a pearlescent gloss. The liquid curved around her navel and then trickled lower, weaving through the soft strands below. It streamed over her hips and legs in delicate rivulets.
”Oh no,” she muttered under her breath, feigning exasperation. “I might be genuinely excited. Lord Kian, your body looks far too appetizing.”
Kian shifted slightly. “You’re not even… doing anything.”
”We both have to be patient,” she said gently. “The timing’s not right. And I won’t give myself to someone who has no intent to marry me.”
Then she added with a smirk, “Still, even if something did happen, who would know? These things heal.”
”You sound… very prepared,” he observed.
”Hardly,” she replied, pressing against him more. “Just cautious. You wouldn’t want to be stuck with someone you don’t love, right? I’m not one of those entitled princesses trying to claim your future.”
Her soapy form pressed firmly into his. Kian reached up and peeled her shirt away, exposing more of her damp skin.
Unlike others—Sarah’s firm frame or Christy’s soft fullness—Priscilla felt completely balanced in his arms. She wasn’t too much of anything. She simply… fit.
Her face, youthful and beautiful, had shifted now—her features drawn into an expression of restrained longing. Her lips parted, a glimmer of breath escaping, as her body leaned into his with subtle friction.
The warmth between them became undeniable. Kian felt the heat rising between their hips, and looked down.
She was so close now that her presence was overwhelming. Every detail—her scent, her breath, her warmth—was sharpened by proximity.
”You like natural beauty, don’t you?” she teased softly.
”――――!”
”Christina mentioned it,” she continued, laughing. “She said her boyfriend might be a little… eccentric. I think it’s cute.”
”You let it grow… for me?” he asked.
”Is there a reason not to?” she replied, tilting her head. “It’s just a hassle to manage. Even Elixir makes my skin irritated sometimes.”
”I swear,” Kian murmured, “the way you are now—it’s enough to undo me.”
”Careful,” she warned with a soft laugh. “You’ll form dangerous habits. You still have a long road ahead.”
”Yeah,” he nodded. “Once some things awaken… they don’t go back to sleep.”
”Now then,” she said with a cheerful tone. “Wash my back?”
Her expression—so sweet, so utterly disarming—made him freeze for a second. He moved behind her, his hands large and warm as they traced soap across her spine.
Priscilla, in turn, slipped her hands between them and gently cupped his lower body, her grip careful, reverent.
”Ah, such a helpless face,” she whispered. “The great hero of Ramsey, brought low by a little intimacy.”
”Ugh, don’t—” Kian tried to speak.
She giggled. “Lord Kian, you’re too cute. Don’t fight it. Just let it happen.”
He tried to restrain himself, but the control slipped away.
”Still lingering?” she asked, her voice low. “Need more? Should I try something more persuasive?”
Sitting comfortably on his lap, she lowered her hands again, her fingers working with practiced grace. He felt the softness of her palms explore gently, and the tight knot of tension inside him began to unspool. Her touch wasn’t forceful—just persistent and knowing.
”Say,” she asked, voice full of feigned innocence, “when you’re alone… what do you do? Do you just focus on the top, or…?”
”Why do you even want to know that?” Kian asked, half-laughing.
”Curiosity,” she said honestly.
”And what about you, Ms. Priscilla?” he asked. “What kind of, um… personal time do you have?”
”Me?” she blinked. “I’ve never done that.”
Kian stared at her.
”You’re lying.”
She smiled. “Secret. I’m too embarrassed to explain how I do it.”
”Ugh,” he muttered.
Her grip tightened subtly. Though her frame looked delicate, Kian could sense the power just beneath her surface—something ancient, something not entirely human.
She gave a mischievous grin as her hands moved with renewed precision.
Then, with one final motion, everything within him surged forward.
He let out a long breath, gripping her shoulders, body shaking as he clung to her.
A warm silence followed, broken only by the sound of their shared breath.
Priscilla blinked slowly, then looked down at what had passed between them—her expression somewhere between amusement and awe.
”Well now,” she said, her voice light. “That was… something.”
Despite the unexpected result, she didn’t recoil. Instead, she calmly wiped her cheek with the back of her wrist, her eyes fluttering half-closed, breath catching.
And then—she smiled.
”Ugh, phew…” Kian exhaled softly.
Priscilla stared blankly at the still-pulsing shot of spirit for a few seconds, dazed, before snapping back to her senses. She picked up a pail of hot water nearby and poured it over the soiled area to cleanse the c*ck.
”Wow, that’s amazing,” she said, eyes gleaming. “It can’t stop shooting at all. Feels so good, doesn’t it?”
”Uh… oh… oh, oh…” Kian could barely form a coherent reply, overwhelmed.
”Wait,” Priscilla said, leaning in with a mischievous grin. “Then… I’ll clean it with my mouth.”
”Ugh—p-pu—Ms. Priscilla, wait a minute—!”
But she didn’t wait.
Priscilla’s pale, delicate upper body bent slowly at the waist. She leaned over the still-erupting c*ck, yellowed slightly from the stress of overuse, and let her white hair fall back neatly behind her ears. With deliberate poise, she took him into her mouth—angling herself so that he could see every movement clearly.
”Woooo…”
”Mmm… hmm…”
Her mouth worked gently, rhythmically, sucking in saliva between strokes. Though her teeth occasionally grazed him, she paid careful attention to his reactions—adjusting, reading him—trying her best to serve him politely and earnestly, despite her lack of formal skill.
It was strange.
She was supposed to be a mad witch—someone feared and dangerous. Yet, in these moments, her touch was tender, almost loving. It was hard to believe she was the same person he had been warned about.
Kian felt her tongue slip under the skin, expertly working its way along the sensitive underside. It was so slick, so warm—he couldn’t stop releasing.
”Npaa…” she gasped lightly, lifting her head. “Fine. Take it out. Actually—ever since you forced me to f*ck you before, I’ve been fantasizing about so many things…”
”What?” he blinked, surprised.
”Don’t make me say it—it’s embarrassing!” she huffed.
Priscilla slapped his thigh playfully and then ran her tongue up the shaft once more. She wasn’t trained like a prostitute, but the way she moved was instinctively pleasurable. Sensuality was, after all, rooted in simple things—mucous membranes meeting, skin on skin. That was enough.
”Hey,” she added, glancing up at him. “Wash my body a lot after this, okay?”
”I—I understand,” Kian replied, still dazed.
Just then, they heard the soft click of a door closing somewhere deeper in the house. Footsteps approached—measured, steady, growing louder.
”――Kian? Are you awake? Kian?” a voice called from the hallway.
”――――! Oh, Sarah!?” Kian blurted out, panic rising.
”Kian? Still sleeping? If so, wake up soon. Today, all the slave traders—”
”Hmm, well, that’s bad!” Kian turned to Priscilla in a frantic whisper. “Ms. Priscilla, if you open the door, the smell will give it away! I’ll continue using my residence—”
”No. Get out,” she replied calmly.
”No, but—”
”You have no choice but to come out,” she said with a wicked smile. “Hey, come on. If she finds out, just explain it.”
”Like it’s someone else’s problem…”
”Oh? It is someone else’s problem?” she echoed.
Priscilla smiled like a devil, leaned forward, and kissed Kian full on the lips.
”Situations like this are exciting,” she whispered, eyes gleaming. “I wonder what Lady Sarah would look like if she found out about me. It’s kind of fun… teasing you like this.”
”You’ll be killed, you know,” he hissed under his breath.
”Kian?” Sarah’s voice rang again, closer now. “Are you there? I just want to give you the exchange diary, so I’ll go in, okay?”
”Wait—wait!” Kian called out, scrambling. “I’m taking a bath now!”
He splashed hot water over himself, trying to cover the evidence, voice raised in false casualness.
”I’ll be out soon, so wait a minute!”
Notes:
• Linca – Jibril’s favorite girl. High-ranking warrior monk woman from Shin, with strong abilities like ignoring attacks and poisons.
• Mag – The wolfwoman under Yelmar—the one who was caught by Kian’s group earlier.
• Eros – The bishop’s son is an 18-year-old suitor, described as a cheerful and sincere young man. His courtship of Priscilla adds a layer of intrigue to the narrative.
Please bookmark this series and rate ☆☆☆☆☆ on here!
Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
Leave a Reply