Kassal always bought them a margin of time during their meetings—just enough so no one would stumble upon them and grow suspicious. A knight with two Male consorts was strange enough, and Cyn knew well that certain people were assigned to watch everyone… yet it was still unreasonable to dedicate surveillance to a mere consort when far more important matters required attention.
Their time ended. Kassal headed back toward the training grounds to oversee the recruits and train himself, while Cyn and Miguel walked to the northern wing, where most of the king's wives lived, along with their own quarters.
At the entrance of their wing, they were met by a high-ranking maid—striking features, tight clothes accentuating every curve. She stared at them boldly. Miguel clearly recognized her; he had likely met her before. He had met almost everyone in the palace before.
Her tone was sharp and commanding.
"Sir Cyn, you are required to accompany me to Her Majesty Astrida's wing."
Cyn shot Miguel a side-glance, a small, amused curl forming at his lips.
The maid sensed insolence.
"What's so funny? Are you defying Her Majesty's orders? Do you wish to lose your head?"
Cyn stared at her—cold, cutting. She stepped back instinctively. There was something dangerous in his calm, something that contradicted his handsome face. She already knew he was the most attractive among the palace consorts.
Not that beauty was a requirement. It all depended on what the wives preferred.
Cyn told Miguel, "Another time. And don't forget to work on it."
He meant their internal information network—so they could stay informed without meeting Kassal every time.
Miguel nodded and entered the wing. Cyn gave the maid another look.
"Lead the way."
On the way, she kept muttering:
"Don't behave like that again."
"You lower your head when you hear Her Majesty's name."
"I'll overlook it… this time."
She talked endlessly. Cyn didn't listen, nor did he show the slightest reaction. It only made her more furious.
Minutes later, they arrived at a huge doorway. It wasn't too different from Xyrene's wing, but the decor inside was drastically so. Each wife had her own taste.
Cyn immediately noticed that Astrida loved expensive things. Her entire wing gleamed—everything sparkled, caught the eye. A classical piano. A golden string instrument. An excess of refinement.
Servants filled the place, all dressed in high-quality garments. Astrida spared no coin when it came to appearances. It gave Cyn an impression of her—refined, regal. Fitting for someone of noble House Fritz.
The servants watched Cyn curiously. He returned their stares with a foolish grin meant to startle them, but they only pitied him.
The maid guided him to an ornate white door. Astrida was inside. She knocked, but didn't wait. She entered. Cyn followed.
She turned to close the door behind him, because he was not supposed to enter yet. But Cyn was already inside.
"What do you think you're doing?! Out! Now! Do you not know the protocol?" she shouted.
But Cyn wasn't looking at her anymore.
He was looking at the room.
Everything gleamed too much. Paintings. Golden cups. It was Astrida's receiving chamber—the outer room before the bedroom. A place for visitors. Another door led deeper inside.
But what Cyn hadn't expected… was the throne-like chair.
Or the woman seated on it.
A woman unlike any other.
Silky black hair, loose and wavy. Black eyes lined in soft black. A mature, perfectly sculpted face, the beauty of a woman in her thirties. Earrings. Soft blush. Full lips painted a faint red.
She wore a white nightgown—silk, clinging, ending mid-thigh. Her thighs were full, pale, enticing. The fabric loose enough to sway, tight enough to reveal the curves beneath. She was voluptuous, every line of her body crafted to tempt.
Her legs were long, toes pink, and her thighs rubbed together subtly as she stared at Cyn, who did not look away.
The maid fumed. He was never meant to enter before permission. Didn't he understand how the palace worked?
Astrida spoke, her tone absolute.
"No need. You may leave."
The maid dropped to her knees.
"As you command, Your Majesty!"
Astrida silenced her sharply.
"Shh. Not another word."
The maid backed out on her knees, exiting and closing the door slowly.
Cyn watched her go, a faint, involuntary smile touching his lips. A voice reached him:
"And who are you?"
Cyn turned back to her.
"The one you summoned. You must be Astrida."
Recognition dawned on her.
"Oh, right. Xyrene's lover? I could tell from your behavior—wild, improper, without discipline."
Cyn just stared.
She continued, sounding almost sympathetic,
"It must be hard for you. Following Xyrene around, taking her orders, enduring her coldness and tyranny."
Cyn remained silent, watching her. She tilted her head, raised her brows, smiled.
"What is it?"
He asked,
"Is that why you called me?"
She rose from her throne, grabbing the hem of her nightgown as if to deny him a clearer view.
Cyn scoffed.
"You're awfully modest for someone about to be bedded."
She smiled.
"How insolent."
Her steps were steady, hips swaying, her backside shifting with every movement. Her large breasts pressed against the silk, her nipples faint beneath the thin fabric. She stopped in front of him. She was tall—though still only reaching his chest. Cyn stood at least six-foot-five.
Her hand rose. Fingers brushed his eyes, slid through his hair, down his cheek, across his lips and jaw, then down his throat. They moved to his half-open shirt, gliding down his chest… then wrapped firmly around the heavy length beneath his clothes.
She murmured, praising him,
"You're packed."
But Cyn felt none of her admiration.
She was inspecting him like a noblewoman inspecting produce—checking if the potatoes or tomatoes were fresh enough.
He disliked it intensely.
He moved—pulling her by the waist, dragging her close.
She resisted violently, as if she shouldn't, as if it was not proper for her to want this.
Cyn's hands gripped her from behind, squeezing her curves, locking her in place like clamps refusing to open. His fingers violated every line of her body. He leaned into her ear, voice low, rough:
"Why resist? Isn't this what you wanted? Let's enjoy each other."
He began lifting her nightgown, staring directly into her eyes.
Only then did he see it—
No desire.
Nothing.
Her interest had vanished entirely.
Cyn let go immediately.
She retreated as well, sharp-eyed, returning to her throne and sitting.
His own desire died out completely.
He still didn't understand why he had been summoned.
Astrida smiled again, as if erasing the previous minute.
She cleared her throat lightly.
"Ahem."
The door opened behind him. The maid entered, bowing deeply.
"What are your orders, Your Majesty?"
Astrida answered calmly:
"Bring him."