* * *
Zeroth carried the giggling Sylvian firmly in his arms back to the bedroom.
All the way through the corridors, Sylvian’s chest—its blushing climaxs standing out—was repeatedly toyed with, pressing against Zeroth’s palm.
“Ah…”
“Does it hurt?”
Shake shake.
Not painful, but strange.
It was strange.
Sylvian struggled to keep his eyes open as they threatened to close.
The soft feel of a bed beneath him registered faintly.
“You can sleep like this, my dear.”
The gentle voice dissipated near his ear, but a soft moan escaped his lips.
“I planned to take my time with this.”
With what?
Before he could clarify, a sharp cry burst from him.
“Ah!”
“I didn’t expect you to respond so well to your chest.”
Chest?
Chest.
Why.
“For the sake of our child, we’ll need to prepare your chest properly. I’ll make sure it can produce milk.”
“Hng, okay…”
Completely lost in a drunken haze, Sylvian nodded to Zeroth’s words, his body trembling.
“Once your nipples darken, they’ll be even prettier.”
For now, your soft, untouched chest will swell beautifully every time I stimulate it.
Each time Zeroth applied pressure with his thumb and forefinger, Sylvian’s unconscious body responded with quiet moans of pleasure.
“Ah…”
His head ached.
Sylvian blinked, his thoughts sluggish.
‘Where am I?’
Water.
His throat hurt, and his head throbbed like it had been stabbed repeatedly.
Was it because he cried so much yesterday?
“Are you awake?”
“…?”
The man before him smiled as though he’d seen something amusing.
“You look stunning this morning.”
What nonsense is he spouting?
“Ugh.”
“You had your first drink yesterday, so the hangover must be terrible. Stay in bed today.”
“Ah!”
Yesterday!
The wine that the Emperor had gifted was delicious.
So good, in fact…
‘How much did I drink?’
He couldn’t remember anything after starting to drink.
His head pounded like it had been hammered, and oddly, his chest ached.
“Don’t you remember?”
“I’m sorry.”
Sylvian mumbled in a barely audible voice, and Zeroth gently stroked his hair.
“It’s all right. I was there.”
“Did I… make a mistake?”
“Of course not. But since your tolerance is low, I’d suggest drinking just a sip at a time from now on.”
Zeroth remembered Sylvian’s utterly disheveled state from the previous night and smiled indulgently as he gave permission for future drinks.
“No. I won’t drink again.”
It was clear his body couldn’t handle alcohol.
Even though Zeroth allowed it, he had no idea what kind of nonsense he might’ve spouted last night.
Blaming his carelessness, Sylvian buried his face in his pillow.
“Haha. Elgana will bring some hangover food shortly. Eat and rest.”
“…Okay.”
‘Does that mean I don’t have to do training today?’
He peeked outside and realized it was already well past noon.
Since marrying the duke, he hadn’t missed a day of training unless he was sick, so skipping wasn’t something he took lightly.
“You can skip the training today. We’ll do it tonight instead.”
‘So, he’s not saying I can skip it entirely.’
Sylvian nodded reluctantly, his dejection clear.
Zeroth ignored his obvious displeasure and smiled to himself.
Tonight, he planned to resume the chest exercises they’d started yesterday.
While he was at it, maybe he’d work on loosening up Sylvian’s other tight spot.
He didn’t mind how tight and unyielding it was, but he did recall Sylvian complaining about the pain.
Paul’s advice to refrain from overdoing it had long since faded from memory.
“Does anything hurt?”
“My chest hurts a little.”
Sylvian, still unable to recall the events of the previous night, reflexively pulled the blanket up to check his chest but was stopped by Zeroth.
It seemed Zeroth had teased him quite a bit while he was passed out.
“I already got medicine from Paul. I’ll apply it for you.”
“I can do it myself!”
Sylvian clutched the blanket tightly, but his resistance crumbled under Zeroth’s gentle coaxing.
Zeroth rolled up Sylvian’s pajama top, his satisfied smile deepening as he saw the swollen redness of his nipples.
“Hold still.”
Sylvian couldn’t bear to look down and confirm the state of his chest.
He gripped the pajama top Zeroth had handed him, eyes filled with silent fury.
Isn’t it a crime to torment someone while they’re asleep?
He wanted to shout a string of curses but found his lips firmly sealed.
‘Don’t provoke him.’
The memory of yesterday’s daytime events kept Sylvian’s reason in check.
He was well aware that Zeroth could snap his slender neck with a mere flick of his fingers.
“Ugh.”
“Does it hurt?”
The cold ointment on his heated skin sent a sharp jolt through his chest.
Sylvian’s eyebrows twitched, and Zeroth, watching closely, smoothed the ointment with a deliberate slowness.
“Ah!”
“Looks like the injury is worse than I thought.”
‘Why?’
Sylvian couldn’t ask the question aloud.
Caught off guard, his eyes darted around nervously, only fueling Zeroth’s sadistic streak.
“Ah!”
Feigning clumsiness, Zeroth pressed against Sylvian’s nipple.
Pain flashed across Sylvian’s face as he bit his lip to stifle a sound.
“Last night, you said your nipples were itchy, so I scratched them for you. It seems they got injured in the process.”
“M-Me?”
Lies!
This conniving bastard!
Sylvian’s eyes shook with disbelief at Zeroth’s words.
Zeroth, as if pained by the memory, scooped out more ointment with a furrowed brow.
“Yes. I tried to be as gentle as possible… but it seems I failed.”
Sylvian could only gape wordlessly at Zeroth’s feigned regret.
“I’m sorry!”
His flushed face vanished behind the golden curtain of his hair as he pulled the pajama top up to his chin.
But the feverish heat coursing down to his chest couldn’t be hidden.
‘How gullible can I be?’
Zeroth reveled in Sylvian’s mortified reaction, pressing down lightly on the other nipple with smug satisfaction.
“Ah!”
The effort he put in last night had paid off.
Sylvian’s soft gasps and the faint arch of his back were truly a sight to behold.
Damn it!
Sylvian couldn’t believe his body was reacting to just a bit of touching.
He covered his burning face with his pajama top, furious at Zeroth’s shameless lies.
“Does it hurt a lot?”
Sylvian shook his head fervently, refusing to meet Zeroth’s eyes.
When Zeroth finally finished applying the ointment, Sylvian quickly pulled his pajama top down.
“I’ve told Elgana to prepare a hearty hangover soup.”
“Hangover soup?”
“Yes. It’s essential after a night of heavy drinking.”
Sylvian’s wide, curious eyes shimmered like starlight, and Zeroth pressed a light kiss to his forehead.
“Rest up today.”
“What about a walk?”
“Rest first, then you can go out.”
Sylvian, who hadn’t yet been entrusted with the duchy’s internal affairs, had a predictable daily routine.
He’d wake late, eat breakfast, lounge in his room, endure Zeroth’s teasing, and end the day by making love with him, only to wake up exhausted the next morning.
On days he didn’t feel well, he’d take a walk to loosen up.
“But come back if you feel unwell.”
“Whisen will help me.”
Zeroth paused briefly at Sylvian’s cheerful response.
“Do you like Whisen?”
“He seems like a good person.”
Annoyingly so.
He was always saying no to everything, forcing Sylvian to act overly meek to earn sympathy.
Clearly, Whisen was a watchdog sent by Zeroth.
If it came down to it, Whisen would snap his neck before Zeroth even lifted a finger.
“He’s a good person?”
“Yes! You assigned him as my guard, so I’m sure he’s trustworthy.”
“I’m glad you like him.”
Whisen Tarcan, kind? The knights would die laughing if they heard that.
Zeroth ruffled Sylvian’s hair, amused by his oblivious praise.
* * *
