Within the gilded, resplendent hall, if one looked up, they would see a magnificent crystal chandelier, and if one looked down, they would be met with a marble floor so polished it shone like a mirror.
Even glancing to the side, the very pillars supporting the room were adorned with carvings so exquisite they could be called works of art—such opulence was truly befitting a nation’s Palace.
If Morris were here as a diplomat, he would surely be marveling at the grandeur and brilliance of the Palace.
But the problem was, Morris had not come as a diplomat, but had been brought here as a captive. Thus, that already somewhat melancholic and handsome face of his bore even more sorrow than usual.
Yes, Morris was not of this country—he was a knight from the Neighboring Nation.
A day ago, under the command of his own Queen Her Majesty, he had led a local squad of the Knight Order to subjugate monsters attacking the nearby populace.
According to the report, the monsters were numerous but mostly small fry, with the strongest being only A-Class at best. There was no need to deploy the Royal Knight Order from the Capital.
As long as the Central Government sent Morris, one of the Queen’s Personal Retainers, to the region, and he led the local Knight Order, the situation could be handled with ease.
The battle did indeed begin smoothly. Under Morris’s command and his own participation, the monsters were on the verge of being wiped out.
However, a powerful Demon not mentioned in the report suddenly appeared. In order to protect the ordinary knights, Morris was forced to go all out in the battle.
The good news: though it cost him stamina and time, Morris succeeded in defeating the near S-Class Demon.
The bad news: the Demon had been Summoned by someone, and hiding in the shadows nearby were four suspicious figures, their identities unknown.
Morris was unable to both protect his fellow knights and take on all four at once. He could only order his men to retreat immediately, while he provoked the four into focusing on him instead.
Even with his confidence in his own skills, when faced with the combined assault of four opponents each with wildly different fighting styles, Morris quickly found himself at a disadvantage and was ultimately captured alive.
Not only did they confiscate his Weapon and Armor, but after sealing his Magic as well, they brought him to the Palace of a foreign nation.
By this point, Morris already understood who his captors were and what they wanted.
His assailants were none other than the personal knights under the Queen Her Majesty of the Neighboring Nation. Their objective from the start had been to capture and kidnap him to the Palace—it had nothing to do with the other knights.
And the reason?
Of course, it was because relations between the two countries were less than cordial, and the personal relationship between the two Queens was absolutely abysmal.
Most importantly, there was a certain grudge between Morris and the Queen of the Neighboring Nation who had orchestrated his abduction.
Back before she became Queen, Morris had dealt her a harsh blow to her pride—thus earning her resentment.
Now, Morris was being escorted to an audience with the Neighboring Nation’s Queen.
Don’t be fooled by his escorts—though they appeared to be merely two young and beautiful Maids walking at his left and right, both possessed the prowess of high-level knights. Even their posture revealed their rigorous training.
In his weakened state, without his Weapon and with his Magic sealed, Morris truly might not be able to defeat the two of them.
Moreover, even if he won, it would be near impossible to escape the enemy’s Palace in the heart of their Capital and return home.
Thus, Morris offered no violent resistance. Instead, resigned, he allowed himself to be led by the Maids to the Queen’s room.
As expected, Morris’s final destination was not the imposing Audience Hall that proclaimed royal authority, but a place far more dangerous.
Yes—the Queen’s Bedroom.
Gazing at this Bedroom, as lavish as the Palace itself, Morris could not help but recall his own Queen Her Majesty’s modest personal quarters.
Truly, the only thing the two Queens had in common was their age; in terms of personality, preferences, and appearance, they were utterly different.
“How does it feel, Morris? I told you you’d regret turning me down.”
Just as Morris’s mind conjured up the beautiful visage of his own Queen Her Majesty, a powerful, confident young woman’s voice suddenly rang out from behind him.
It was exactly as he remembered.
It was the voice of the Queen who had kidnapped him.
“…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Knowing it was pointless, Morris still feigned ignorance as he turned his head toward the source of the voice.
What first met Morris’s eyes was, without question, that eye-catching, silver-white hair—white on the outside, blue within—and a pair of blue eyes as clear as a lake and as sharp as a beast’s.
It was a face so beautiful it was shocking; her features were as if sculpted by the gods, with flawless proportions and form. Yet at that moment, that peerless face wore a faint expression of contempt and mockery.
Beneath her exquisite white dress was a body that bordered on perfection: a slender waist, long straight legs, ample hips, and a proud, majestic chest that needed no artifice to draw the eye. All of it proclaimed her goddess-like beauty.
Typically, white hair and blue eyes evoke an impression of calm and coldness.
But she defied such expectations; her entire being radiated a forceful aura, domineering and willful like an absolute sovereign.
More reminiscent of the impression given by black-haired, red-eyed types.
Yet it was precisely this contradiction that made her so unforgettable.
This was the Queen of this country, the ‘Witch Queen’ Elvira, who, at only twenty-four, ruled the kingdom with absolute authority.
Under her overwhelming presence, even the three subordinates behind her—each wearing bizarre masks and differing in height and hair color, yet clearly not ordinary women by their figures—became nothing more than background scenery.
“Heh, do you think pretending to forget me will make me angry? Even after so long, you’re still so naive. Well, since you claim you’ve forgotten, let me remind you: you once rejected my confession. Yes, with these loathsome lips of yours.”
Elvira was not angered nor did her expression turn cold in the face of Morris’s act.
Accompanied by her subordinates, the young Queen simply walked up to Morris, her lips curled in a mocking smile. She reached out with slender, jade-like fingers to touch Morris’s lips.
Her touch was as gentle as a lover’s, but her gaze held no trace of affection—only the taunting and mockery reserved for the defeated.
Realizing Elvira meant to come closer, Morris tried to step back, but she quickly bound his body with Magic. Whether he liked it or not, he was at her mercy as she touched his lips.
All Morris could do was glare back with eyes full of resistance and disgust—staring at the Witch Queen who refused to face him one-on-one and instead bullied him only after disarming him.
“…Well, I’m not a petty woman. If you’d simply refused me, Morris, I would’ve only hounded you to the grave at most.”
“…But after turning down my love, you pledged yourself to another woman! And it just had to be that woman!”
Yet even Morris’s hostility was something Elvira relished in this moment.
She had waited a long time for this day.
As if simply chatting with an old friend, she continued to speak to the voiceless Morris, all the while letting her hand slide slowly down from his lips, caressing his chin with lover-like tenderness…
…Then, in an instant, that gentle hand became a vengeful claw, clamping tightly around Morris’s throat. Her fingers dug so deeply into his strong neck that her elegant, razor-sharp nails pierced his skin, drawing fresh blood.
At the same time, Elvira’s eyes turned wild with madness—filled with jealousy and resentment—her entire body radiating a terrifying frenzy. Her berserk Magic caused Morris’s clothes to groan as if in pain.
That crazed appearance was suffused with killing intent and hatred, no matter how one looked at it.
Yet neither the three mysterious subordinates behind Elvira nor the two Maids standing guard at the door seemed fazed in the slightest; it was as if they’d grown accustomed to such scenes.
Unable to move and with his throat in Elvira’s grasp, death was inevitable for Morris.
But all he did was glare coldly and disdainfully at the insane Elvira.
As a knight serving a Queen Her Majesty of such noble character, this pain was nothing to him.
As Morris seemed poised to meet his end beneath Elvira’s rampage—
That hand, cold as iron, suddenly released him. In the same moment, the rampaging Magic and visible jealousy vanished as if they’d never existed.
“Heh, hehehe~ But fortunately, that’s all in the past now. After all, I’ve reclaimed what was always mine from that woman’s hands—you. Ah, what a sweet victory, what joy! How truly delightful~!”
As if transformed, Elvira reverted to her original self—confident, elegant, and forceful. She smiled so sweetly, even pressing herself against Morris’s chest, before extending her rosy she to lick the blood—just as sweet to her—from Morris’s wounds.
She licked away all the blood that seeped from where her nails had pierced him.
All that was left was a subtle, indescribable sheen.
Stranger still, after she finished, Morris’s wounds vanished completely, as if they’d never existed.
Were it not for the trace of blood on her lips, one might think it all an illusion.
“Mmm~ Such deliciousness. As expected of the man I’ve chosen. I don’t dislike that cold look in your eyes, you know? To be honest, I’m curious how long you can keep staring at me that way.”
No matter pain or caress, Morris’s expression never changed.
But that only seemed to stir Elvira’s fighting spirit. Far from angered, she swallowed the last trace of his blood from her lips, and gave him a seductive, wicked smile.
Madness and reason coexisted; the Queen’s dominance and the Witch’s allure merged. This was the Witch Queen Elvira—a villain through and through.
“Although I’d love to talk with you a bit longer, I have official business to attend to. So, wait here in my room for me to return tonight. I’ve already lifted your restraints, my dear Morris. Do you have anything you want to say to me now?”
Having vented her feelings, Elvira rejoined her three subordinates, teasing the man before her with a relaxed, provocative tone.
After all, she was the victor. Wouldn’t it be unbecoming not to humiliate the loser? As the winner, she absolutely had to thoroughly shame the defeated!
If only that woman who stole her man was easier to capture, she’d be humiliating that loser right now too!
“…I will never betray Her Majesty. Elvira, you’ll never have my loyalty.”
Finally freed, Morris coldly wiped his neck with the back of his hand as he glared at the Witch Queen who had treated him so brazenly.
“Hehe~ Oh, but who can say? No one escapes my control—just as you, who thought you’d gotten away from me, have ended up back by my side like this.”
Elvira only laughed happily, waving her hand as she turned and strode out of the room, leaving Morris with the dashing, confident, and overpoweringly elegant back of a queenly noblewoman.
Of course, her three mysterious subordinates—those who’d helped capture Morris—and the two Maids who’d escorted him also departed.
…Although, it seemed one of the masked subordinates cast a lingering glance at Morris.
But that was probably just his imagination; Morris didn’t think he recognized any of them.
Once all the women had left, the Queen’s room was once again shrouded in multiple Spell Formations. Whenever Morris approached a door or window, powerful Spell Formations would materialize on them, mocking his helplessness.
Even disregarding his peak condition, the current, weakened version of Morris stood no chance of escaping.
In other words, all Morris could do now was obediently wait in Elvira’s room for her to return and ‘pamper’ him—he had no other options.
He couldn’t win a fight. He couldn’t run away. Truly, in the most literal sense, Morris had been imprisoned by the Queen Her Majesty of the Neighboring Nation.
With Elvira’s possessive jealousy, he would never be allowed to leave. The chances of ever returning to serve his own Queen Her Majesty were almost nil.
Faced with such a predicament, Morris’s melancholy face showed not pain, but rather a look of relief, as if a weight had been lifted. In a voice only he could hear, he muttered:
“Hah, I did it. I finally escaped from Her Majesty! Elvira may be a willful villainess, but at least she’s only one person. No matter what, this situation is a thousand times better than what I had before. Sorry, Elvira, but let me just stay here as a prisoner—I never want to go back to that workplace that’s worse than hell.”
Yes, that’s right. Morris had, in fact, let himself be captured by Elvira’s subordinates on purpose.
After all, compared to his previous workplace, being a captive was far easier!
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