Ruiz remained perfectly still, his breath shallow as the girl settled on his lap.
She didn't speak, she looked far too concentrated on her task and keeping her emotions in check.
Her touch was soft and light but deliberate, her fingers brushing over his shoulders as she worked to slip off his robe, then moved on to the clasps of his armor.
Ruiz's gaze was focused on a flicker of green light that pulsed from the stone charms that hung around her neck. He could feel the heat of her body, the firm weight of her thighs resting over his own, and the subtle shiver that ran through them when his gloved fingers grazed her skin.
He was still weighing the implications of what was unfolding before him, but it wasn't difficult to accept the moment.
Even if she was an orc, she was... beautifully made.
Strong and lean in some places, with just the right fullness in others. A perfect balance—for her kind.
As he breathed in, he could smell a light scent of the herbal oil that was applied to her glistening skin. It wasn't overwhelming— just enough to be perceived, the aroma was gentle but inviting, sweet even, as if it was daring him to taste it.
His eyes met hers for the first time, those almond-shaped eyes that glowed like honey.
What had been meekness in her expression was steadily giving way to something else, that of lust with each passing second. His guess, aphrodisiac, the only way orcs got anything or anyone to make love without restraint, only that it was her who took it instead of him.
Still, he didn't look away.
He held her gaze—those glowing amber eyes, they reflected his face like fine polished gold. Characteristic of the shaman, the unmistakable mark of one who had bound herself to a spirit…
She fumbled slightly with his shirt, tugging at the hem with fingers that trembled more than they should. Ruiz watched her with faint amusement—there was a clumsy charm to her determination.
He reached up, helping her with a swift pull, the fabric slipping free along with the chain collar beneath. He cast both aside with a casual flick and removed his gloves next, but one thing he did not discard was his sword. It remained at his side, and he gave it a light, deliberate tap—just enough to remind her he wasn't completely unguarded.
Then, at last, she spoke.
Her voice was soft, a little husky, pleasantly raspy, yet altogether tender.
"I suppose... you've finally accepted our request."
Ruiz could feel the tension she was feeling, the way she licked her lips to moisten them, her enlarged pupils as if she was facing danger, and the slight quivering of her hands—none of it escaped him.
Ruiz swallowed, his throat dry, yet he tried to lead her to calm down. He spoke with the kindest tone he could produce.
"You haven't even told me your name."
She froze. One hand resting on his shoulder, the other pressed to his chest. Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips brushing close to his ear.
"I am Nahlara," she murmured. "With blood from Clan Bularg."
Nahlara leaned back slightly, still watching him, it seemed she could no longer hold herself back.
The medication she willingly took to help her through this was fogging up her mind; what seemed like a pink haze fogged up her mind, and her actions were now geared to bringing pleasure.
She closed her eyes and began to hum a sweet, inviting melody—a ritual she had been taught to enhance the potency of her charms.
And as the ritual deepened, Nahlara whispered once more:
"Tonight, my chosen one... You will be written into me, soul to soul, by her divine hand. And what is written... cannot be undone."
The sound produced made the hair on his arms rise, made his heartbeat speed up to match its rhythm. Her breath was warm against his throat, her scent stronger now, as if the ritual was pulling all her essences to the surface.
Nahlara's hands slid to his bare chest, fingers tracing symbols that weren't there—at least not yet. She moved like she had done this before, and yet there were moments where he fingers trembled with a first-time hesitance.
The pink haze seemed to have seeped through the iris of her eyes; she now seemed divine, with the power to disarm.
"So... you've been accepted by the blessing of Aphrodiyne," Ruiz murmured, his voice low and edged with reluctant clarity. "This… well, I can't turn back now, huh?"
He hadn't sought the attention of deities. He'd spent most of his life carefully avoiding their gaze, knowing all too well what came of their favor—and worse, their wrath. Refusing a divine ritual once marked was not defiance. It was suicide.
And this time, he was in far too deep; not everyone who used aphrodisiac had this effect, it only happened to those the goddess accepted.
If she faltered now, it wouldn't just doom the ritual.
It would end her.
And as for him? The goddess of love would never offer her hand again. Not in desire, not in union, or that which it produced, as an heir, he could not accept that.
He exhaled, long and steady.
"Fine," he said, running his hands through his hair, speaking more to the one who bestowed the blessing onto the girl than to the lost girl before him.
"At least that settles my doubts. No goddess worth her name rewards cowardice—or traitors."
His gaze found hers again, fierce now and clear with what he should do.
"And those are not names I'll wear."
He lifted his hand and placed it gently on her waist, steadying her trembling form with the calm weight of his decision.
"Come, then. I accept what this brings. All of it."
"I Ruiz, Crown Prince of House Virelion," he said, voice low but resolute. "I accept what this brings. All of it."
His other hand rose, fingers brushing beneath her chin, tilting it up until her gaze met his.
He took a final, lingering look at the girl who would now belong to him, for his pride as a prince does not allow him to leave any of those he had touched behind for others to use.
"You'll be mine, like any I will come to possess," he murmured. "Fight, fair maiden... you'll have many to compete with if you hope to become my most cherished one."
At that, the girl's eyes fluttered shut, and she gave a small, almost reverent nod.
Ruiz chuckled softly at her quiet surrender, amused by how easily she gave in. He let his finger trail slowly across her face, directly on her bottom lip, savoring the feel of it, then brought it to his mouth, licking it with curiosity.
The taste lingered for only a second before it struck.
A powerful heat wave caused him to start sweating and a deep yearning as if he was coming back to a lover he had left long ago.
A sudden, burning surge through his veins like liquid fire. This medicine, blessed by a deity, even in the smallest amount, was potent beyond reason.
His breath became fast, his body tense, and he was trying his best not to hurt the girl before him.
And in that moment, he understood what Nahlara had meant by no retreat.