I had lost my grip on Erol somewhere in the chaos. He was fast, weaving effortlessly through the crowd, while I struggled to keep up. Before I knew it, I was alone.
"Huff… huff… huff…" I panted, my breath uneven from walking fast. What a night this was turning out to be. The rush of adrenaline still coursed through my veins, leaving my heart hammering against my ribs.
Despite the chaos caused by the scandalous game, the masquerade had not come to an abrupt end as one might have expected. Normally, such an incident would be enough to send guests fleeing and bring the event to an unceremonious close. However, the purpose of the ball—the fundraising and securing of noble patronage—had not yet been fulfilled. The hosts managed to salvage the night, allowing the festivities to continue, though an undeniable tension now lingered in the air.
Wandering aimlessly, I found myself on the fourth floor, drawn to the promise of fresh air. I stepped onto a secluded balcony, relishing the cool night breeze against my flushed skin. Below, the scene had shifted slightly—several carriages had already been drawn in, and a few guests had taken their leave.
Not wanting to be disturbed, I glanced over my shoulder and tugged the sheer curtains down from inside the ballroom, letting them fall over the doorway. Then, I stepped back out, closing the glass door behind me. Now alone, I walked toward the balustrade and exhaled, shivering slightly as the night air kissed my exposed skin. It was a welcome contrast to the warmth that still clung to me from all the excitement.
The moonlight bathed the balcony in a soft, silvery glow, but its dim illumination wasn't enough to fully banish the darkness. Flanking the balcony on either side were towering glass windows, their panes offering glimpses into the dimly lit hallway beyond. Being on the fourth floor, the corridor wasn't brightly illuminated—only a few magic torches flickered along the walls, casting a faint, golden glow that barely seeped through the glass, creating ghostly reflections against the night.
That was when I noticed it—a lone bottle sitting atop the stone railing.
Curious, I stepped closer. The bottle was still sealed. I hesitated for only a moment before picking it up. The night had been exhausting, and a drink would help me unwind.
It took quite a bit of effort to wrestle the stubborn cork free. When it finally popped with a satisfying sound, I let out a small, triumphant huff.
Glancing around, I searched for a glass—only to find nothing.
I shrugged. Oh well. Not like it mattered.
Without hesitation, I brought the bottle to my lips and took a long, indulgent gulp.
The liquid flowed smoothly over my tongue, rich and velvety. A deep-bodied wine with hints of oak and spice. The initial taste was almost sweet, but as it slid down my throat, a sharp warmth followed—a tingling heat that left a slight burn at the back of my throat. It was intoxicating in more ways than one, a drink that commanded attention with its lingering boldness.
I swallowed another mouthful, letting the warmth seep through my chest.
Then, all at once, my eyes widened.
I abruptly pulled the bottle away from my lips.
Wait… wine?
Oh no.
I stared at the bottle, my mind racing. I had just downed several mouthfuls before it finally clicked.
Erol and Cedric's warning!
My stomach dropped.
I set the bottle down with trembling hands and tried to assess myself. Was I feeling strange? Lightheaded?
I counted under my breath. One, two, three… I reached sixty. Nothing.
A relieved breath escaped me.
"Ah, good… it must not have been one of the spiked bottles," I murmured, shaking my head at my own carelessness. That had been reckless. But it was fine. I felt normal—
Or so I thought.
Because no sooner had I begun to relax than a sudden, creeping sensation spread through my chest.
I sucked in a sharp breath as a slow, consuming warmth bloomed within me. At first, it was subtle—just a pleasant heat curling under my skin. But then it intensified. A feverish burn that started at my core and spread like wildfire.
I gasped, pressing a hand against my chest.
It hurt. But not like pain. It was something else entirely.
The warmth pulsed, coiling tighter and tighter, suffusing my body in an unfamiliar, maddening sensation. My fingertips tingled as they brushed over the heated skin of my neck. Even that light touch sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.
What… was this?
My breath hitched. My knees felt weak, my body betraying me in ways I couldn't comprehend.
And then, realization struck me like a bolt of lightning.
Those crazy bastards.
They had put aphrodisiacs in the wine.
A wave of panic surged through me, cutting through the haziness just enough for me to act. No, I couldn't let this take over—I needed to clear my head. Gritting my teeth, I forced my legs to move, steadying my stance despite the weakness threatening to buckle my knees. I needed to find a room. Somewhere private. Somewhere with cold water. Maybe that would help.
Pushing the balcony doors open, I stepped back into the dimly lit corridor, my breaths coming out in uneven pants. The hallway stretched ahead, silent and deserted, save for the occasional flickering of the magical torches. I moved quickly, trying every door I came across, but they were either locked, empty, or housed nothing but covered furniture and stored goods. Each empty room only heightened my desperation.
At the far end of the hall, I spotted one last door. With a shaky hand, I twisted the handle, and to my immense relief, it opened.
Stepping inside, I found myself in a spacious bedroom. The room was grand yet eerily quiet, illuminated only by a single magic lamp on the bedside table, casting soft golden light across the elegant furnishings. My vision blurred slightly, but I could make out the large bed, a vanity, and a sitting area.
I needed water—cold water.
Forcing myself to move forward, I searched for another door inside the room, and sure enough, I found one. Stumbling toward it, I pushed it open, only to discover a changing room.
Not here.
Frustrated, I turned and spotted yet another door on the opposite side. Praying that it led to a bath, I hurried over and shoved it open.
And froze.
The sight before me was the last thing I expected.
A large, luxurious bathtub sat in the center of the bathing chamber, positioned perfectly in front of a wide-open window where the moonlight spilled in like silver silk. Steam curled lazily above the water's surface, reflecting the faint glow of floating magical orbs.
But that wasn't what made my breath catch in my throat.
It was the man reclining in the tub.
The instant the door swung open, his piercing eyes snapped to mine, sharp and alert despite the lazy way he rested against the bath's edge.
His blonde hair, damp and tousled, clung to his forehead, stray strands trailing down the sharp angles of his face. His toned arms stretched along the rim of the tub, exuding an air of effortless dominance. Water glistened on his broad chest, the faint rise and fall of his breath accentuating the sculpted lines of his torso. The soft glow of the moonlight cascading through the open window traced the hard ridges of his muscles, bathing him in an ethereal, almost otherworldly allure.
And then it hit me.
Through the thick haze clouding my mind, I finally recognized the face staring back at me.
My stomach dropped.
Because the man lounging in the bath, completely bare beneath the crystal-clear water, was none other than His Highness, the Crown Prince.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then, without a thought, I reached up with trembling hands, removing the mask from my face.
His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, but I could see the subtle shift in his expression—the way his brows furrowed slightly, the way his lips parted, as if he wanted to speak but couldn't find the words.
The cool air brushed against my flushed skin, a stark contrast to the burning heat spreading through my body. My fingers fumbled at the ties of my dress, clumsy and impatient. Every brush of fabric against my hypersensitive skin sent waves of unbearable sensation rippling through me.
A low sound slipped past my lips, unbidden.
"Ah… huff… idiot…" I muttered to myself, frustrated at how weak I felt, my fingers fumbling against the fabric still clinging to my body.
I struggled, my movements sluggish, my breath uneven. Time felt distorted—every second stretching endlessly as I fought against my own trembling hands. And then, finally, the dress slipped from my shoulders, sliding down my body before pooling at my feet.
The only thing left was the delicate lace of my undergarments—thin, insubstantial. And yet, even that felt like too much against my fevered skin.
Still, he hadn't moved.
He remained where he was, his hands resting on the rim of the tub, watching in silence.
I lifted my gaze, meeting his.
His expression had changed—not quite shock, not quite restraint. Something deeper. Something unreadable.
And then, without hesitation, I stepped forward and slipped into the water.
The sudden chill made me gasp, but it did nothing to soothe the fever raging within me. If anything, it only heightened the contrast, making every sensation all the more unbearable. The heat pulsed through my veins, coiling, tightening, an ache with no relief.
And so, I acted on instinct.
I moved toward him, straddling his lap, my arms encircling his neck as I pressed my trembling lips to his.
He inhaled sharply against my mouth, but he didn't push me away. His body stiffened beneath me, his fingers twitching against the rim of the tub as if waging an internal war.
"H-help me…" I whispered, breaking the kiss just enough to meet his gaze. "Please…"
His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against the rim of the tub. His sapphire-blue eyes—now darker under the dim glow of the night—once filled with confusion, had shifted, clouded with understanding… and something far more intense.
I could see it in the way his throat bobbed, in the way his grip finally left the tub to rest at my back.
"You've been drugged," he murmured, his voice low and strained.
I let out a shaky breath, nodding.
His brows furrowed, frustration flickering across his face. "Damn it…"
He looked away for a moment, as if trying to regain control of himself. But when he turned back to me, his gaze was steady, piercing.
"Will you not regret this?" he asked, voice laced with restraint.
"No…" I gasped, barely able to form words as the heat consumed me. "Hurry…"
Something in him snapped.
His hand cradled the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulled me in. His lips crashed against mine—no longer hesitant, no longer unsure. I melted into him, into the way his mouth moved against mine, deep and claiming.
His other hand traced a path down my spine, slow, teasing, until his palm pressed against the small of my back, pulling me closer. A whimper escaped me, the intensity overwhelming.
As I sat atop him, I could feel his thick, rigid length pressing against me, the tip nearly reaching my navel. The sheer size of him sent a shiver through me, a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement coiling deep in my core.
He groaned against my lips. A raw, guttural sound that sent another shiver down my spine.
"You… d-don't have to hold back," I managed to say between breathless kisses.
He pulled away just enough to look at me, his gaze searching, testing.
"If you're still in your right mind and are sure about this, say my name," he said, his voice softer now, but firm. "I want to make sure you know who's in front of you."
I blinked at him, dazed, my breaths shallow.
I struggled to focus, to gather my scattered thoughts. "Your Highness… the Crown Prince."
His grip on me tightened, but he didn't move.
"My name, Aerin."
"Prince Rolland…" My voice came out breathy, eager.
His lips twitched, amused despite himself.
"My name," he repeated, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light.
I huffed, my frustration growing. "…Rol-lo."
A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
"Hm?" He tilted his head slightly. "Is that a nickname for me?"
I don't know, I am not sure. I only nodded, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips, urging him to continue.
A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, sending warmth spiraling through me. "I like the sound of it."
"Good…" I whispered, nuzzling into him. "Now… please."
His arms wrapped around me fully then, his warmth enveloping me as he pressed his lips to my temple.
And with that, the night truly began.
Heat coiled in my belly, a fire that refused to be quelled.
The moment his hand finally moved, a shudder coursed through me. His palm, large, calloused and warm, pressed against my stomach, the touch both grounding and electrifying. My breath hitched as his fingers traced slow, deliberate circles around my navel, each movement sending ripples of anticipation through my already fevered body.
And then—lower.
His fingers grazed over the thin lace still clinging to me, teasing at the heat pooling between my thighs. A strangled moan escaped my lips as he pressed his palm there, his fingers exploring, coaxing sensations I had never felt before. My body betrayed me, responding eagerly, shamefully. I felt the wetness, not from the bathwater, but from me—spilling, dripping, aching.
"Aerin…" His voice was hoarse, strained, as if he were fighting himself.
I trembled, pressing against him, seeking more of his touch, more of him. "Please…"
His restraint snapped.
His hands roamed my skin with a new kind of urgency, no longer careful but claiming, possessive. A low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest, raw and full of hunger, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
I wanted this. I wanted him.
And I would never hold him back—I wanted him to take more, to give me more.