After capturing Morris, the man who had once rejected her, Elvira didn’t rush to humiliate him.
Instead, she tossed Morris aside and returned to her government affairs.
It wasn’t that she loved working—she was deliberately leaving Morris for later that evening.
She wanted Morris to truly feel his predicament in that room he had no hope of escaping.
She had waited three years for this moment; a little more time wouldn’t make a difference now.
But that didn’t mean Elvira wasn’t excited.
Anyone could see it—the Queen, who always exuded a powerful aura, was even more spirited than usual today. It was as if she had just secured a decisive victory; every gesture and word radiated confidence and composure.
Elvira made no effort to hide it. After all, for her, this was indeed the completion of her revenge.
That evening at seven-thirty, having handled most of her affairs, Elvira returned to her room.
On her way back, she felt neither nervous nor especially excited.
She simply returned to her room with the same calmness as always, carrying herself as naturally as ever.
When two maids greeted her respectfully and opened the door, the sight that greeted Elvira was just as she had imagined.
That hateful man who had once rejected her confession was now sitting quietly on her sofa, reading a book.
Even after noticing her return, he pretended not to see her, continuing to read as if he really enjoyed it.
On the table in front of him sat an empty dessert plate and a half-finished cup of coffee.
If one only saw this scene, the man didn’t look like a prisoner at all, but more like the master of the room himself.
Of course, this was within Elvira’s expectations.
So, stepping gracefully and confidently in her high heels, she approached and mocked him with a melodious, self-assured voice:
“So relaxed, aren’t you? Normally, wouldn’t a captured Saint Knight of an enemy nation refuse to eat to show protest and loyalty to his liege? Is this how a Knight of Fastar should behave, my dear Mr. Morris?”
Her words dripped with malice and hostility, clearly mocking Morris for failing to live up to the ideals of a Saint Knight. For a knight who values the Knight’s Code, it was downright provocative—impossible not to feel angered.
But that was just the usual reaction. Morris, being taunted almost face-to-face by the Queen herself, didn’t even raise his head. He replied coldly but politely:
“Thank you for your lofty sarcasm, Your Majesty the Queen of Dratenia. But I’ve always been criticized as a ‘Licentious Knight’ for my unique personality, so you can forget about getting a ‘Ugh, kill me now’ out of me. Sorry to disappoint you.”
Unlike the common image of a noble and upstanding knight, Morris didn’t care much for the Knight’s Code.
He belonged to the pragmatic sort—if following the Code didn’t bring him any real benefit, he’d abandon it and do what he believed was right instead.
While other knights saw self-sacrifice as a virtue, Morris would try to find a way to benefit himself as well as others.
He wasn’t loyal to the Holy Church or any one person; he acted according to his own rules.
It just so happened that, so far, the commands of the Holy Church and his liege had never contradicted those rules.
Both the Holy Church and Her Majesty of Fastar knew this, yet still recognized him as a Saint Knight.
Hunger strikes were the actions of those with Order, not Chaos Good. He, as Chaos Good, would never starve himself and let Elvira tempt him with delicacies when he was famished.
As for escaping—he wouldn’t try. He’d been captured on purpose, so why run?
Besides, he really had no means to escape now, so he might as well read a book and make the best of it.
…Unfortunately, his pleasant reading time seemed to be over, as Elvira had returned.
With a confident smile, Elvira stopped a short distance in front of Morris and bent down to snatch the book from his hands.
When Morris looked up with a sour expression, she beamed and praised:
“As expected of the man I set my sights on—your tongue really is sharp. But unfortunately, I never intended to make you say such boring lines in the first place. Also, in this country, not looking the Queen in the eye is a grave offense. Talking to the Queen while reading? That’s a capital crime, you know?”
“…Very specific. Sounds like a law made up on the spot just for me.”
Morris looked at the willful Queen before him, thoroughly annoyed.
Beyond being irritated by Elvira’s assertiveness, he was also vexed that such a rotten personality was paired with such an outstanding appearance. Couldn’t those proud, majestic peaks belong to a beautiful maiden with a better temperament?
“So what if it is? In this country, I am the law, and the law is me. That’s the Queen. What, you got a problem with that?”
Noticing Morris’s gaze on her chest, Elvira was not at all embarrassed or angry. Instead, she proudly thrust out her magnificent assets.
She tossed the book she had snatched from Morris aside and crossed her arms under her chest, gazing down at the man now enraptured by her flawless figure, her eyes full of satisfied triumph.
“…Hmph. Even if I did have a problem, what could I do? All it does is reinforce your status as the victor. So, I have no objections. Do as you please. I’m just a prisoner, after all.”
Seeing that she wasn’t even pretending anymore and was clearly targeting him, Morris shrugged. Then, with a cold, indifferent look, he leaned back and met Elvira’s lake-blue eyes head-on.
He had to admit, Elvira’s looks were flawless—long, thick white lashes framing those fierce, willful blue eyes.
Even someone like Morris, who’d seen plenty of beauties, had to concede that Elvira’s beauty was nearly inhuman.
If not for her abysmal personality, being confessed to by her would have left him laughing in his sleep. He’d never have run away after refusing her, but gladly accepted and bragged about it.
…What a shame. A real shame.
Morris sighed inwardly at Elvira’s character and lamented how he always seemed to attract troublesome women.
At that very moment, a howling wind suddenly swept past Morris’s ear.
Following the sound, he saw a black-stockinged, high-heeled leg step sideways onto the sofa right next to his head.
The heel dug deep into the soft backrest, as if embedded in flesh.
Morris wanted to retort about what madness this woman was up to, but before he could, a voice very different from her earlier confident and forceful tone—a witch’s voice, full of resentment and jealousy—whispered in his ear.
“…Hey, Morris, you were thinking about another woman just now, weren’t you?”
Looking up along that black-stockinged leg, Morris met those clear, lake-blue eyes, now churning with icy hatred.
Her mood swings were so extreme that even Morris was stunned.
How did she know he was thinking about other women? He shouldn’t have shown it on his face, right?
But Morris quickly realized there was something else to be concerned about.
That’s right—his body suddenly wouldn’t move.
“…Looks like I’ll have to make it clear to you who you belong to. Don’t think this will end so easily, my dear captive🖤~”
Gazing at the man before her who, once again, had lost control of his body and become little more than a puppet, the Queen—now a witch—sneered and began to remove her gown…