When the moment finally arrived, Maurice’s expression barely changed.
He had long been mentally prepared for this.
Even when Elvira slipped off her outer Queen’s Gown, revealing the wicked witch–style black garments beneath, he remained as cold and indifferent as ever.
If the Queen’s Gown she usually wore served to display her dignity and nobility, then this inner outfit embodied Elvira’s true nature as a witch.
From the color to the patterns, every detail exuded darkness and rebellion.
There was barely more fabric than regular underwear, making it easy for Maurice to see the tempting curves of Elvira’s bare midriff and the tops of her thighs—places he’d never glimpsed before.
Her fair, flawless skin looked all the more alluring against the black clothing, and the tight, toned lines of her stomach—without an ounce of excess fat—radiated an undeniable healthy beauty.
Just above her ample chest, her delicate collarbones caught the eye, drawing attention to their slender charm.
Moreover, her waist was even more toned than Maurice had imagined. Clearly, despite becoming queen as a witch, Elvira hadn’t neglected physical training.
Yet, the more Maurice was awed by her beauty, the more he lamented her wretched personality.
Still, he said nothing to Elvira, merely watching as she, in her frenzy, threw off her own coat and then, with rough hands, stripped Maurice of his outer garments as well.
Although Maurice’s body was immobilized by Binding Magic, Elvira still positioned him as if he were tied up with ropes.
She placed his hands behind his head, leaving his chest completely exposed and defenseless.
Looking at that well-built chest, covered with fine scars, Elvira’s gaze flashed with satisfaction—and a tinge of jealousy.
She had no objections to scars; on a man, they only added to his charm.
What displeased her was that these scars weren’t left because of her.
They weren’t her doing, nor were they earned protecting her.
That thought vexed her immensely.
Yet, seeing Maurice so pathetically at her mercy, Elvira benevolently refrained from interrogating him about which women those scars were for.
Instead, she flipped her blue-streaked white hair over her shoulder, and with a mocking, arrogant tone, taunted the man before her.
“So, Maurice, weren’t you the one who subdued a Mad Boar barehanded? How do you explain this humiliating sight? And you still call yourself a Knight of Fastar?”
“…Bold of you to say. If you were confident in beating me, why did you call on three of your subordinates to help? If you have the guts, try going one-on-one with me.”
“Heh, I’m a queen, not a knight. Why should I fight you one-on-one? This stubborn refusal to admit defeat is so pathetic—why don’t you look in a mirror? No matter how tough you act now, you’re in no position to be convincing!”
Faced with Maurice’s retort, Elvira—the Witch Queen, who utterly ignored chivalry—only laughed more delightedly.
She seemed far more stable now than when she’d been tearing off Maurice’s clothes.
It was obvious: as long as things went her way, she was always elegant and noble; but if she was thwarted, she became manic and deranged.
Just like a lake that usually appears serene and beautiful, but once a storm hits, turns wild and dangerous.
So, in theory, as long as she was pleased, Maurice’s suffering would be lessened.
Even if his relationship with Her Majesty the Queen of Fastar was less than pure, Maurice was still single—that much was true. That queen simply used him as a way to relieve her stress, treating him like a plaything.
Therefore, Maurice felt no guilt about what was to come.
Nor was he a masochist; there was no need to deliberately provoke Elvira or drive her back into a fit of madness.
He simply maintained his icy rationality and spoke coldly:
“…No need to say more. Let’s get this over with, Elvira.”
Maurice was so calm, it was as if he had resigned himself to fate, closing his eyes.
He was fully prepared to endure whatever pain was to come, whether it was electric shocks or trampling—he could take it.
…But after waiting for quite some time, the pain Maurice expected never arrived. Instead, he felt a weight—softness—against his legs and chest.
At the same time, a few vaguely familiar, indescribable fragrances drifted into his nose.
…Could it be!?
Realizing what might be happening, Maurice’s eyes shot open.
What greeted him was not pain, but Elvira’s beautiful face, filled with mocking amusement, mere inches away.
“Oh my, what’s the matter? You look so surprised. Did you think I was the kind of violent tyrant who enjoys brutality? Of course, for a man I admire, I’d treat him gently—wouldn’t you agree?”
At such close range, Elvira’s moist, soft lips brushed lightly as she spoke, her voice gentle to the extreme—like a lover’s tender whisper.
Maurice could even see his own startled expression reflected in those clear, lake-blue eyes of hers.
But he could also read the triumph in her gaze—a look that revealed her pleasure in having toyed with his heart. Clearly, she had only acted so out of character to witness Maurice’s shocked reaction.
“…Elvira, even if you suppress your violent urges and try to win me over with tenderness, it won’t work. I won’t accept your confession.”
Seeing through Elvira’s intentions at a glance, Maurice replied with a deep, cold voice to the white-haired queen sitting on his lap, arms draped around his neck like a lover.
He felt not a trace of joy at Elvira’s gentle treatment.
“Is that really so~? Your body seems to be saying otherwise.”
Elvira’s wicked smile widened, and she deliberately shifted her position, further agitating both Maurice’s mind and body.
“…What are you so pleased about? It’s just a natural reaction. Do you think that’ll embarrass me? Hmph, I’ve already said I’m not a proper knight. I admit your beauty attracts me—but only your beauty.”
Even though his lower body was reacting to the queen’s actions, Maurice remained calm and defiant, scoffing at Elvira’s attempts to win him over with affection.
Yet, for some reason, even as Maurice’s resistance became more forceful, Elvira’s face retained that enchanting, confident, and wicked smile.
This expression was entirely different from her earlier frenzy—she exuded a sense of utter control, which made Maurice feel a faint unease.
…What’s going on? What is she plotting? Has she figured out my true purpose for hiding here? Did she realize I let myself be caught on purpose…?
Just the thought that he might have been exposed made Maurice’s heart begin to race.
Perhaps hearing the sudden acceleration of his heartbeat, Elvira’s stunning, wicked face inched closer.
But instead of going for his lips, she moved to his ear, parting her lips to whisper a witch’s enticing tease:
“…I could bite you, you know? What do you say? I bet that woman would never do something like this to you~”
This was the taunt Elvira had just thought of, a way to get back at Maurice with even more mischief instead of the violence she’d first planned.
Even if Maurice had served another queen for three years, in Elvira’s eyes, that was nothing but an ordinary bond of ruler and subject.
The Queen of Fastar, at most, might have let Maurice kiss the back of her hand.
But she—this neighboring queen—was willing to go much further for Maurice.
How could Maurice not be moved by that!
!!?
As her words fell, Maurice’s body jolted in response, making Elvira’s smile all the more confident and wicked.
—Heh! I knew it! But sorry, Maurice~! I’m not doing this to make you feel good—I just want to make you beg!
Given their positions, Maurice couldn’t see Elvira’s face, nor the expression she wore.
But on that breathtaking visage, there was not a trace of gentleness—only the smugness of a hunter about to snare her prey and the sadistic delight of a beast toying with its catch.
Nor could Elvira see the look of shock on Maurice’s face at that moment.
Because, honestly, Elvira’s words had startled Maurice.
Damn that woman—she’d made him recall what Her Majesty had done to him before!
—Yes, though Elvira thought she was the only blonde queen who could do such things for Maurice, in truth, the Queen herself had done it—more than once, in fact.