Kael limped slowly down the dimly lit corridor, one hand pressed against the wall for support.
Every step sent a sharp throb through his lower back where Aurora had kicked him.
His elegant black-and-purple robes were slightly disheveled, and a faint sheen of sweat still glistened on his forehead.
The two identical twin maids standing guard outside the purification chamber simply nodded with cold courtesy as he passed — no words, no questions.
Their porcelain faces remained blank.
Kael kept walking, a faint, satisfied smirk hidden beneath his lowered head.
Damn… acting like a submissive and innocent little shit really drained me, he thought, violet eyes gleaming with dark amusement.
But that look on the hero’s face when Aurora cried…
Haha… what a splendid day today.
And that pussy… it was like a tight divine pathway.
Ohhh, I’ve never felt anything like it… even though I fuck my breeding sow almost every day.
He reached the private wing reserved for the “Void Prince.” Outside the door stood a chubby servant named Dork — a repulsive man with eyes thin as needles, a face dotted with pimples, and an obese body that strained against his servant uniform.
As Kael neared, Dork bowed deeply, almost scraping the floor.
“Open the door,” Kael said softly, voice still carrying that innocent tone.
Dork scrambled to obey, pulling the door open at once.
Kael stepped inside.
The room was “noble” only by the lowest standard — slightly better than servant quarters.
A simple reading chair, a modest bed, a small bookshelf, and a single window overlooking the palace gardens.
No luxury, no status symbols.
Just enough to remind everyone he was still a prince… technically.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the innocent, soft smile on Kael’s face completely disappeared.
He staggered forward and slumped heavily into the reading chair, letting out a long, exhausted breath.
Dork ran over immediately, eyes wide with excitement.
“Prince… did you really do it? Did you really fuck our divine princess?!”
Kael’s face slowly twisted into a cruel, wicked smile.
“Haha… you should have witnessed it, Dork,” he drawled, voice dripping with venom.
“Ohhh… she moaned like a virgin bitch.”
Dork’s pimply face flushed bright red with lust.
He almost lunged forward, hands trembling.
“Oh my Goddess, Prince! Prince! How did you do it? Please tell me the details…!”
Kael’s expression instantly twisted into pure disgust.
“Move away from me, you filthy pig,” he snarled, shoving Dork hard in the chest.
The servant stumbled back with a pained “Ughh!” as Kael’s back arched from the sudden movement.
“Prince, what happened?” Dork asked, eyes wide.
“Did someone beat you?”
Kael leaned back in the chair, breathing through the pain.
“That east-side cunt kicked me…” This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Back in the purification chamber, the heavy doors had barely closed behind Kael when Elarion sent a short message through a magical crystal.
Within moments, the others arrived.
Astrid was the first to burst in, katana already half-drawn.
Her sharp eyes instantly mapped the entire room — the cracked wall where Kael had been thrown, the visibly unsteady Aurora standing with her arms wrapped around herself, Elarion seated with his head bent low, and finally the blood-stained sheets on the bed.
“So… it really happened,” Astrid whispered, voice thick with pity.
She crossed the room in three quick strides, ignoring all rank and protocol, and pulled Aurora into a tight hug.
In private, the two had always treated each other like sisters.
“Are you alright…?” Astrid asked softly, her voice gentle for the first time in hours.
Morgana and Charlotte entered right behind her.
Morgana’s nose twitched immediately, her vampire senses picking up the thick, unmistakable scent in the air — heavy lust, fresh pleasure, spilled seed, and the sharp undercurrent of despair and sadness.
Charlotte’s pointed elven ears twitched as she moved straight to Elarion.
She placed a gentle hand on his armored shoulder, her voice filled with worry and fragile hope.
“Did it really work…?”
Elarion slowly lifted his head.
His sky-blue eyes were blood-red, rimmed with exhaustion and barely contained tears.
Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Charlotte’s waist, burying his face against her voluptuous body like a broken child.
“Master… what should I do?” he whispered, voice cracking.
“I can’t do this anymore…”
The three women froze.
The faint golden glow still shimmering around Elarion’s chest told them everything.
It had worked.
Charlotte felt a wave of weakness she had never experienced in all her long elven years.
She gently patted his back, her mature face softening with sorrow.
What a cursed fate you have, Elarion…
The news spread faster than shadow through the palace corridors.
Within minutes, a discreet crystal message reached the imperial chambers.
Emperor Kraven Vossarian and Empress Valeria were informed that the Hero had recovered even a sliver of his lost mana.
The Goddess’s decree had worked — at least for now.
In the Emperor’s war room, Kraven’s massive frame tensed behind his desk.
His silver-streaked purple hair caught the light as he slammed a fist down, voice low and commanding.
“Seal this matter immediately. Only the High Priestess, the Hero and his party, the Empress, her twin personal maids, Prince Kael, and we are to know. Anyone who speaks of it outside this circle will lose their tongue and their head. Make it law.”
Empress Valeria stood beside him, her expression unreadable, but her regal posture never wavered.
Elarion could not stay inside the palace a moment longer.
The moment the secrecy order was delivered, he stood up, voice hoarse.
No one stopped him.
The hero left the chamber with heavy steps, golden armor clinking, his head bowed low.
Aurora was immediately summoned by the Empress.
A pair of royal guards escorted the still-shaken princess away, her lavender gown now hastily thrown back on, the fabric clinging to her sweat-damp skin.
The remaining three heroines were left in a quiet side pavilion overlooking the palace gardens.
Astrid paced again, unable to sit still.
Even though the solution they had desperately craved had finally appeared, the thought of being touched by a man weaker than a common servant made her skin crawl with invisible ants.
Her proud warrior body trembled with disgust and fury.
That worthless trash… touching us… She clenched her jaw so hard it ached.
Charlotte Blackrose sat at the tea table, her glossy backless white-and-emerald dress shimmering under the lantern light.
She stared into her untouched cup, lost in her own thoughts.
Six months of searching… and this is the only answer the Goddess gives?
Her mature, voluptuous body felt heavy with the weight of responsibility — and the secret fear that she might be next.
Queen Morgana Vesperian leaned back in her chair, her glittering red dress hugging her extreme curves.
Her crimson eyes were narrowed as she stared in the direction Elarion had gone.
She was worried about the hero’s safety more than anything else.
If that boy breaks completely… what will be left of him?
Her pale vampire skin seemed even paler under the moonlight.
The three women sat in heavy silence, each carrying her own storm.
Meanwhile, in the Empress’s private study…
The room was grand yet uniquely personal — a perfect reflection of Valeria herself.
Towering bookshelves of dark oak held ancient tomes and war scrolls.
One entire wall was a massive, enchanted map of the empire that shimmered with live troop movements.
Golden armor stood displayed her personal battle gear, and a single enormous window overlooked the moonlit gardens.
The air smelled of aged parchment, polished steel, and faint lavender incense.
Everything was elegant, powerful, and unmistakably imperial.
Empress Valeria Vossarian stood behind her heavy oak desk like a living statue of authority.
Her long royal purple hair cascaded down her back in perfect waves, framing a face of mature, commanding beauty that held the weight of decades of rule.
Her voluptuous warrior body was wrapped in an elegant white-and-gold imperial dress that combined regal softness with subtle armor accents — golden pauldrons on her shoulders, a corseted bodice that accentuated her full breasts, and high slits that revealed powerful, toned thighs.
A golden circlet rested on her brow, and a long crimson cape trimmed in gold hung from her shoulders.
She looked every inch the Crimson Valkyrie who had once led armies to victory.
Aurora stood before her, head slightly bowed, the faint scent of sex and shame still clinging to her skin despite the hasty cleanup.
The Empress’s voice was cold, calm, and utterly regal.
“Sit, daughter.”