“Roselia?”
“I’m going to get some fresh air for a moment!”
Roselia grabbed the hem of her skirt and bolted from the banquet hall as if fleeing. She knew that being cornered by that lunatic Crown Prince would bring ruin not just to herself, but to many others. Her only plan was to hide until his interest waned.
Stepping out of the stifling, clamorous hall into the Imperial corridor, she searched for a place to vanish. The corridor was lined with balcony windows. She reasoned that the Crown Prince wouldn’t bother scouring every single one, so she made a beeline for a balcony tucked away in the corner.
Just as her hand reached for the latch, she froze. A deep, mortified heat flooded her face at the sound of unfamiliar moans tickling her ears. Through the thin glass, she caught sight of two silhouettes, hopelessly intertwined.
“Ah, no… stop…!”
“‘No’? If you followed me all the way to the balcony, don’t we both know better?”
At the sound of the man’s ragged breathing and the friction of their bodies, Roselia whipped around, her face burning crimson. Of course. It was an unspoken rule of the nobility: the secluded outer balconies were sanctuaries for illicit pleasures, equipped with partitions to ensure discretion.
She had forgotten in her haste, but perhaps it was a stroke of luck. Even the Crown Prince wouldn’t dare intrude upon such private, scandalous trysts.
Determined, Roselia hurried to find a quieter spot—one devoid of moans and whispered curses. Before long, she spotted a balcony that appeared vacant, with no shadows cast against the glass.
She pushed the door open without hesitation. But as the door swung wide, her eyes locked with someone standing in the shadows against the wall. Her heart sank; she had assumed it was empty because no one stood by the glass.
Her eyes widened in recognition.
“Roselia?”
Duke Baltezar stood there, his expression impossibly calm amidst the discordant symphony of moans echoing from the neighboring alcoves.
As a flustered Roselia turned to flee, the main hall door swung open and the Crown Prince stepped into the corridor. Paralyzed between retreating or charging forward, she was caught off guard when Klaus suddenly reached out, gripped her wrist, and hauled her inside, slamming the door shut.
He pulled her into his embrace and pressed a finger to his lips, glaring through the glass at the hallway beyond.
“Shh.”
Klaus held her tight, his gaze fixed intently on the door, acutely aware of the Crown Prince’s proximity. For Roselia, the world went blank. Klaus was pressed so firmly against her that she could see his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, his tension palpable. Unlike her own slight frame, his presence felt like an immovable, intimidating force, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t bear to look at his body; it was shattering her composure.
*It’s too close. It’s just too close…!*
The Crown Prince’s footsteps drew nearer. Roselia, eyes still shut, risked a peek at Klaus. He was deathly still, his breathing so controlled it was as if he had ceased to exist.
He was watching her. From mere inches away, his dark, navy eyes bore into her. She forgot to breathe. Her heart hammered against her ribs, yet she found herself unable to look away, trapped in his gravity. Klaus seemed equally ensnared; his gaze remained locked on hers, his breath coming in heavy, jagged hitches.
They were so close their breaths mingled on their lips. Dizzy, Roselia fought to anchor her sanity and parted her lips, though they refused to obey.
“I-I think it would be better if you… moved a little…”
At that moment, the Crown Prince’s footsteps—which she had forgotten in her preoccupation with Klaus—stopped right in front of their terrace. Klaus’s reaction was instantaneous; he clamped a large hand over her mouth.
Roselia’s eyes flew wide in surprise. She felt the heavy silence of the corridor as the Prince paused just feet away.
“……”
Realizing the stakes, she surrendered, exhaling shallow, frantic breaths against his palm. Her heat tickled his skin, causing Klaus’s brows to twitch and his jaw to tighten. She could sense the Crown Prince lingering right behind the door.
In a moment of suffocating tension, Klaus shifted, pulling her waist so they stood directly where the moonlight spilled over them. To anyone peering through the terrace glass, they would appear to be locked in a passionate embrace. Roselia stared at him, bewildered, as he pressed his own lips against the back of his fingers, which were still sealed over her mouth. To an outside observer, it would look like a kiss. In truth, his hand stood as a forbidden barrier between their mouths.
As she gazed into his eyes, their breath wafted through his firm fingers, tickling their lips. The sensation was maddening—more provocative and intimate than if their skin had touched directly. It was a tease, cruel and intoxicating.
They were at the mercy of his hand, trapped in a precarious charade while the Crown Prince loomed just outside. Everything about it was dangerously stimulating.
When the Prince still did not depart, Klaus pulled her closer and tilted his head. Even with his hand in the way, the rush of hot air between them made Roselia’s toes curl.
Finally, the Crown Prince seemed to decide against interrupting the heated lovers, and his footsteps faded away. Sensing the reprieve, Roselia cautiously moved her lips against Klaus’s fingers.
“I… I think he’s gone…”
Even as she spoke, the phantom sensation of his fingers against her mouth felt unnervingly like a kiss. Her face flamed. Klaus seemed to feel it too; he kept his hand firmly pressed against her lips, his eyes darkening, refusing to pull away.
Then, his hand finally slid down to cup her cheek. Freed, Roselia exhaled a sharp, shuddering breath.
But the relief was fleeting. Klaus grabbed her shoulder and pulled her in with raw, sudden force. Before she could even gasp, she was enveloped in his scent. A hot, soft pressure claimed her lips, and a sweet, desperate breath flooded her lungs.
She watched, helpless, as his navy eyes drifted shut. His other hand slid behind her back, pulling her flush against him, and her own eyelids fluttered closed.
She had imagined his lips might be cold; they were searing. The air between them was maddeningly hot. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, but it wasn’t a ravage, either. He devoured her lips greedily, as if tasting a rare fruit, yet he stopped short of claiming her entirely. It was as if he were pleading for permission, or perhaps clinging to the last shred of his fraying sanity.
That restraint only fueled her own hunger. Without a thought, Roselia wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, desperate to bridge the distance. She felt his muscles ripple and stiffen.
With her mind completely unspooled, Roselia parted her lips to invite him in. Klaus groaned—a low, guttural sound—and finally yielded, surrendering his last bit of control. He lifted her effortlessly onto the terrace railing, and she clung to him, their lips crushing together.
He held her waist with a grip that threatened to snap it, answering her invitation by delving deep. She was drunk on his scent, his heat, his overwhelming presence.
Then, she shuddered as he pushed deeper, exploring every corner of her mouth with a possessiveness that sent a jolt of panic through her. His massive heat was infectious, and for a fleeting second, her reason flickered back to life.
Barely holding onto her senses, Roselia shoved his shoulders hard, desperate to escape the rising fire. Curiously, his shoulders—which felt like a mountain fortress—gave way at once. He pulled back, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with an unquenched, savage thirst.
*Good heavens… what have I just done with this man?*