"Arthur, put those maps away."
The haughty edge that Beatrice had brandished so proudly at dinner was entirely gone, replaced by a sweet, sugary voice.
"You have been staring at them for hours. The border will not move simply because you glare at the ink. Come to bed. Come to me."
Crouched in the balcony, Adrian crept closer to the glass, peering through the narrow gap in the curtains.
The master bedroom of the East Wing was designed exactly as a commander’s chamber should be: paneled in dark oak, draped in rich fabrics, and anchored by the imposing Ravencrest crest carved above the grand hearth.
Low-burning mana-lamps cast a warm, flickering glow along the stone walls.
His uncle, Arthur, sat rigidly at a large wooden table in the far corner, hunched over sprawling maps of the kingdom’s borders.
The aged parchment was cluttered with tactical marks and wax seals.
He still wore his dark military trousers and tunic, completely absorbed in his work, refusing to lift his eyes.
Across the room, Beatrice sat on the edge of their bed. Adrian narrowed his eyes, the arrogant woman who had humiliated him at the dinner table was unrecognizable.
She was dressed in a black silk nightgown that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
The pale curves of her breasts pressed against the thin cloth, her nipples stiff beneath it. As she spread her legs slightly on the edge of the mattress.
The gown rode high up her thighs, leaving her smoothly shaved pussy for her husband to admire.
She was posing exactly the way a noble wife does when she is desperate for her husband to remember that she exists.
"I told you, Beatrice, I am occupied," Arthur grunted. He did not look up from his scattered maps, "Word has come that the King means to send one of the princes to inspect the Ravencrest forces. I will not have that boy walk our lines and see what he is not meant to see."
"It can wait until morning," Beatrice urged, as she stood up from the mattress and walked toward him, her breasts bouncing with every step.
She stepped behind his chair, laying her delicate hands on his broad shoulders, and leaned down until her deep cleavage pressed against the back of his neck.
"I cannot wait, Arthur," she murmured, sliding a hand daringly down his solid chest, "It has been months. You are my husband."
However as her hand moved down, Arthur abruptly caught her wrist, shoving her hand away.
"Enough." There was irritation in his voice, "I said I am occupied. Do not press me tonight, Beatrice."
Beatrice stumbled backward, her beautiful face twisting into a mask of bitter resentment.
"You are always occupied," she spat, "Outside these walls, you are Commander of the Ravencrest army; the beast the humans tell terrifying stories about."
"Yet within this chamber, you cannot even take your own wife. The kingdom calls you a monster, Arthur, but only I know the truth..." She paused, her voice dropping into a vicious, cutting whisper, "You can’t even get it up. You are a eunuch in a commander’s coat. Impotent bastard."
Outside the room, in the balcony, the curiosity on Adrian’s face melted into an amused smile. Impotent?
Uncle Arthur. A Gold Core Stage Warrior. The man who commanded thousands of soldiers. The man who boasted of burying legions of humans.
Yet, he could not even rise to the occasion? Isn’t that a nice scandal. He could use this information as such a great leverage.
"Hold your tongue!" Arthur roared. He stood up so fast that his chair tipped backward, crashing onto the floor.
His mana instantly filled the room, crashing down on Beatrice The mana-lamps flickered against the walls, and Beatrice’s silk nightgown trembled against her skin.
"If a single word of what you just said leaves this chamber, I will not care that you are my wife. I will put you six feet under the ground myself. Do you understand me?"
Beatrice flinched visibly under the crushing pressure of his aura, but the bitterness in her eyes refused to fade, "Then act like the man you play in the courtyard, and take your wife." The source of this chapter is novelping(.)com.
For a long moment, Arthur simply stood there, staring at a wife. He did not say a word. He could not. He did not know what to say.
Then his hands curled into tight fists, only to helplessly open again.
He glanced at the maps, then at the empty bed, and finally at the floor. The expression on his face was no longer that of a ruthless man who commanded an army; it was the defeated look of a man who had already lost a battle he physically could not fight.
"I am going to the barracks," Arthur said, the booming depth completely gone from his voice, leaving behind only exhaustion and helplessness.
He snatched his military coat from the floor and marched stiffly toward the door, "Do not wait up."
The door slammed shut behind him, the echoing thud vibrating down the cold stone corridors of the East Wing.
"As if I would!" Beatrice shouted after him, her voice cracking.
When the echoes of her anger finally faded, she was left standing entirely alone in the middle of the room. A beautiful noblewoman in a grand commander’s bedchamber, with no commander left to look at her.
From the concealing shadows of the balcony, Adrian watched the fallout in silence.
"Damn you," Beatrice hissed to the empty room. In a sudden fit of rage, she swept her arm across the wooden side table, sending expensive perfume bottles and brushes crashing to the floor.
"Useless. Completely useless."
Tears of frustration pooled in her eyes.
She walked back to the bed and threw herself onto the mattress, staring blankly up at the carved wooden canopy as her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths.
"This is my life now," she whispered to the cold air, "Lady of House Ravencrest. Wife of the great Commander. And I lie here like a pathetic girl no one will touch."
She let out a short, ugly laugh that sounded nothing like the composed, arrogant woman from the dining hall.
"For months, I put on these beautiful dresses. I wait here like a fool. I press myself against him like some cheap whore, and he prefers to look at dry parchment instead of me."
"I have a husband who can bury a thousand men in a trench, yet he cannot put it inside his own wife."
Her voice dropped to a fractured whisper.
She was no longer performing.
There was no audience here, no family politics to play, and no Adrian to sneer at.
"I used to think this prestigious house would keep me warm. That it would give a powerful title to my name, and put a beast in my bed."
"But what do I actually have? An empty cunt and a man who runs away to the barracks just so he does not have to look at me."
She turned her face deeply into the soft pillow, letting out a muffled sob before turning away again, her eyes wild with neglected desire.
"I need a body. I need a cock that works. I need someone to hold me down, finish what he starts, and actually treat me like a woman."
"I would take anyone who looked at me as if I were still desirable, and not just a piece of decorative furniture."
"God help me, I would take a common servant if he came through that door right now."
Her breath shuddered violently. The blinding anger had nowhere left to go. Months of agonizing physical hunger finally devoured the last remnants of her aristocratic pride.
Reaching down with trembling fingers, Beatrice caught the hem of her nightgown and pulled it all the way up to her waist.
From the balcony, Adrian watched intently as his aunt spread her legs wide open on the silk sheets.
Adrian heard the moan and was almost impressed. Even while furious and starving for touch, she still began by crying out her husband’s name.
Her next words, however, nearly made him choke on his own breath.
"Look at me," Beatrice moaned, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as her hips lifted eagerly off the mattress to meet her own hand. "You still won’t get hard while your own brother takes me?"
"Look at Maximus. His cock is claiming your wife right here on your own bed."
The more she spoke, the faster she worked her fingers inside herself.
Her other hand moved up to squeeze her own breast, pinching her stiff nipple as if trying to feel the rough, demanding touch she so desperately craved.
"Arthur, you useless man," she panted, her voice thick with lust. "Don’t blame me for this. You couldn’t give it to me. But your brother was more than willing."
"I need it. I need a real man to tear me apart."
"And he is a real man."
Out on the balcony, Adrian’s smile widened and even the System couldn’t contain its amusement, its voice echoing sharply in his head.
[Well, well, well, Master. The dignified lady of House Ravencrest, who happily poured boiling stew on you at her own dinner table, is currently writhing on her bed with her fingers deep in her cunt.]
[She is so touch-starved that she has actually dragged your father’s name into her fantasies.]
[House honor. Family virtue. Look at all that pretty stonework, and yet this is the absolute degeneracy that lives behind the curtains.]
"Didn’t I tell you to zip it?" Adrian muttered under his breath, pressing his palm flat against the cold glass, "Don’t speak unless I ask you to."
[Everybody hates the one who speaks the truth.]
Adrian, on thge other hand, no longer needed to figure out a way to force his way into her chamber; what he had just witnessed was more than enough leverage.
If word ever reached the royal capital that Commander Arthur of House Ravencrest was completely impotent, the humans would make an absolute feast of the scandal.
The rival vampire houses would smile behind their wine cups as the terrifying Ravencrest name finally cracked.
And if the house’s reputation cracked, Beatrice would undoubtedly fall right alongside it.
Just like that, his haughty aunt was completely trapped in a web of her own making.
Without a moment of hesitation, Adrian slowly pushed the glass doors open without making a sound and stepped into the bedroom.
Beatrice was far too lost in her fantasy to hear his quiet footsteps approach.
He stopped right at the edge of the bed, looking down at her trembling body.
Just hours ago at dinner, she had boldly called him trash in front of the entire family. Now, she lay there moaning over a humiliating secret that could ruin their house forever.
"Need some help with that, Aunt Beatrice?" Adrian asked. His voice was incredibly low and perfectly even, casually conversational as if he were simply offering to pour her a glass of wine.
Beatrice gasped sharply, the sound catching in her throat as her eyes snapped open in absolute terror.
She froze instantly, her fingers still buried deep inside herself, staring up in sheer disbelief at the disgrace of House Ravencrest standing in front of her.
Adrian looked down at his aunt, a sweet, devilish smile curling up the edges of his lips.
"While my father is not here," he said smoothly. "I am entirely at your service."