The bedroom was a sanctuary of gold and crimson, lit by the low, flickering glow of scented candles. Priscilla stood in the center of the room, her silhouette regal against the silk-draped bed. She turned to Emilia, her expression one of cold, supreme satisfaction.
"You should feel honored to sleep upon the floor of this chamber," Priscilla drawled, her voice echoing in the quiet room. "It is a privilege to breathe the same air as the sun, not a punishment. Do you understand, half-devil?"
Emilia looked around at the suffocating luxury and swallowed the remains of her pride. The floor was cold, but the weight of Priscilla's gaze was heavier. "Thank you, Mistress," Emilia whispered, the title coming easier now, though it felt like a scar on her heart.
Priscilla's eyes narrowed into crimson slits. "And do not forget: every time that tongue slips and fails to address me properly, there will be consequences. I have no patience for a student who forgets her place."
Emilia nodded quickly, her face burning. "Yes, Mistress. I will remember."
Priscilla's tone softened, though it remained sharp as a blade. "Good. I expect you to abide by the rules. It is the only way you will ever survive the fire I've started in you."
With a dismissive wave, Priscilla prepared for the night. Emilia settled onto the hard floor, her mind a chaotic jumble. She was a Royal Candidate, a girl Subaru called an angel, yet here she was, huddled on a rug like a stray animal.
"Come here," Priscilla said suddenly, her voice cracking like a whip through the silence.
Emilia scrambled to her knees and crawled toward the edge of the bed where Priscilla sat. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She knelt before the Sun Princess, waiting.
"Put your head down," Priscilla commanded.
Emilia lowered her head until her forehead pressed against the cold, polished wood of the floor. Suddenly, she felt a weight. Priscilla placed her bare feet directly onto the back of Emilia's head, pressing down with a firm, crushing pressure that pinned her to the floor.
"You are a Royal Candidate," Priscilla hissed, her voice dripping with a scorn so thick it felt physical. "Yet you are behaving like a pathetic, horny dog. Seeking pleasure behind your friends' backs, crawling to your enemy to beg for the secrets of the flesh... you are truly disgraceful."
Priscilla's feet pushed harder, grinding Emilia's face into the floor. Emilia tried to gasp, to protest that she only wanted to understand herself, but the pressure silenced her.
"You are nothing but a servant to your rival, groveling for a lesson on pleasure while your 'knight' thinks you are a saint," Priscilla continued, her laughter low and cruel. "It is disgusting. You should be above this, yet you are so weak that a few touches and a sharp word have reduced you to a footstool."
Emilia's eyes filled with tears of pure mortification. Every word Priscilla spoke was a needle of truth that popped the bubble of her innocence. She was lying to Subaru. She was betraying her camp.
"I am going to fix you," Priscilla said, her voice turning ice-cold. "I will make you a woman of pride, one who does not bow to her enemies. But for now, you deserve no rewards. You deserve only the discipline of the floor."
With a final, forceful push, Priscilla removed her feet. Emilia lay there for a moment, gasping for air, her forehead bruised and her spirit shattered.
Priscilla gestured toward the far side of the massive bed—not to sleep in it as an equal, but to lie upon it like a captured prize. "Lie there," Priscilla instructed. "And remember this: if I ever find you acting submissively to anyone else—if you ever bow that head to a man like that merchant or your pathetic knight—I will make you regret you were ever born. You are a woman of the Barielle house. Act like it."
Emilia moved slowly, her body and spirit drained. She climbed onto the edge of the bed, feeling the silk beneath her skin. She felt small and humiliated, but as she looked at the woman beside her, she realized the truth: Priscilla was the only one who didn't look at her with pity or worship. Priscilla saw her as she was—flawed, hungry, and desperate.
The moonlight bled through the tall windows, casting silver streaks across the crimson bedsheets. Emilia lay there, her mind a jagged wreck of shame and a dark, terrifying respect. Priscilla's scolding had been a blade, cutting away the "angelic" image Subaru had built for her, leaving only the raw, hungry truth of her own skin.
Suddenly, a warmth slid between her thighs. Emilia's breath hitched as Priscilla's hand returned, moving with a possessive familiarity.
"Do you like this, bitch?" Priscilla whispered against Emilia's ear, her breath hot and smelling of faint wine. "I told you I would teach you your place. It seems your body has already learned it, even if your mind is still playing at being a saint."
Priscilla's fingers began to toy with her, a sharp, rhythmic friction that made Emilia's head light. The "heat" that had been a dull ache all night exploded into a roaring fire.
"Yes, Mistress..." Emilia gasped, her hips instinctively bucking against the touch. She didn't even try to fight it anymore; the humiliation was the fuel for the pleasure.
Priscilla's lips curved into a smirk of pure contempt. "Listen to you. Breathless for the woman who just ground your face into the floor. You truly are a pathetic creature." Her voice turned sharp and serious, vibrating with command. "But listen well: do not you dare climax without my permission. If you spill over before I say, I will make you sleep in the stables."
Emilia's vision blurred. The pleasure was a tidal wave, pushing her closer and closer to a shattering peak. She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper, her body shaking with the effort to hold back, to remain obedient to the hand that dominated her. Priscilla was relentless, driving her right to the agonizing edge of ecstasy, then slowing down just enough to keep her screaming for more.
Just as Emilia felt the first spark of release, Priscilla snatched her hand away and grabbed Emilia's ear, yanking her head down with a snarl.
"I told you, witch—do not you dare!" Priscilla hissed, her crimson eyes burning. Then, she shifted her weight, opening herself to the moonlight. "I have no interest in a servant who only thinks of herself. Lick it. Show me you know how to serve the one who owns you."
Emilia didn't hesitate. The "Mistress" command was her entire world now. She pressed her face against Priscilla's pussy, her tongue moving eagerly across the damp, velvet slit. Priscilla let out a low, predatory moan, her fingers digging deep into Emilia's silver hair, pulling and steering her like a rider with a horse.
"Yes... just like that, half-devil," Priscilla hissed, her breath ragged. "Keep going. Let the taste of your better remind you of where you belong."
Priscilla's hips bucked as Emilia's tongue found the sensitive bud of her clitoris. The Sun Princess was a creature of fire, and as she approached her own peak, her grip on Emilia's scalp became bruising.
"Yes! Yes!" Priscilla cried out, her thighs clamping tightly around Emilia's head as she reached her peak. Her body trembled with the force of her release, a loud, triumphant cry echoing through the grand chamber.
After a moment of heavy breathing, Priscilla released her grip. She looked down at Emilia, her face flushed and radiant. "You did well. It seems even a broken doll has some uses. Now... for your reward."
Priscilla moved with a dancer's grace, lowering herself between Emilia's shaking legs. Emilia's body reacted instantly, her back arching as Priscilla's tongue—sharp and masterful—found her center. It was a level of skill Emilia couldn't have imagined, a focused storm of sensation that made her want to weep.
"Oh, yes... please! Mistress, please don't stop!" Emilia gasped, her fingers tangling in the silk sheets as she squirmed under the onslaught.
Priscilla looked up for a fleeting second, a smirk of pure power on her lips. "Beg for it, little elf. Show me how much you want the sun to burn you."
"Please, Mistress!" Emilia cried, her voice echoing Priscilla's earlier triumph. "Please, let me... let me cum!"
Priscilla gave a brief, mocking nod. "Very well. For tonight, you have earned it. Cum for me, little bitch. Let the whole mansion hear you break."
The world disappeared. Emilia's body tensed into a bow as the climax washed over her in violent, crashing waves. She screamed into the empty air of the room, her release leaving her shaking, spent, and utterly defeated.
Priscilla stood up from the bed, her naked body glowing like gold in the moonlight. She looked down at the shivering, broken girl she had just mastered. "You did well," she said, her voice returning to its usual tone of casual, dismissive authority. "Now, clean yourself and find your spot on the floor. Tomorrow, the lessons continue."
Emilia lay trembling, the ghost of her climax still shivering through her nerves. She felt hollowed out, her hands instinctively rising to cover her flushed face.
The sound of a sharp crack filled the air. Priscilla's hand caught Emilia's cheek in a stinging slap.
"Do not you dare hide from me," Priscilla commanded, her voice like a cold blade. "If the 'Saint of the Frozen Forest' wishes to drown in her own filth, she will do so with her eyes open. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mistress," Emilia whispered, her cheek burning with a strange, dark heat.
"Clean yourself. There is a second bath adjoining my chambers. Join me there within the minute, or you will find the rest of the night far less hospitable."
Emilia scrambled to obey. In the steaming water of the inner bath, the intimacy was absolute. Priscilla sat like a queen in her grotto, her crimson eyes tracking Emilia's every move.
"Faster, bitch," Priscilla sneered, though there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Cleanse the sweat of your weakness from my skin. You are a seeker, are you not? Learn the curves of your betters."
Emilia took the sponge, her hands working over Priscilla's radiant form. As the heat of the water soaked into her skin, the "fever" she had come here to cure felt different—it was no longer an ache, but a submission.
"You learn quickly for a half-devil," Priscilla mused, tilting her head. "Perhaps you should abandon this farce of a selection. Become my permanent slave. You would serve the world far better as my shadow than as a failed ruler."
"No," Emilia said, her voice small but firm.
Priscilla's smile widened; she had expected the spark of defiance. "A refusal? Bold. I shall enjoy carving that pride out of you later." She extended a foot, pressing it against Emilia's chest. "Clean it. And consider every stroke an apology for your arrogance."
"Yes, Mistress."
After the bath, the air in the bedroom grew heavy with a new kind of tension. Priscilla moved toward her ornate, gold-leafed nightstand, her movements slow and deliberate. Emilia watched, her heart hammering against her ribs, as Priscilla reached into a hidden drawer.
When Priscilla turned back, she was holding something Emilia had never seen before. It was a long, curved object made of a deep, midnight-blue material that shimmered like polished stone. It looked both elegant and terrifyingly large. Emilia's eyes widened, her breath catching. In her sheltered life, such an instrument was a complete mystery—she didn't understand its purpose, only that the way Priscilla gripped it suggested a new level of dominance.
"On the bed, elf girl," Priscilla ordered, her voice dropping into a low, predatory register. "You refused my generosity. Now you shall receive my discipline."
"Mistress, please," Emilia pleaded, her voice shaking as she backed toward the silk sheets, her eyes fixed on the strange, dark object in Priscilla's hand. "What is that? What are you going to do?"
"You came here to experience the world you were too 'pure' to touch, did you not?" Priscilla countered, a sadistic smirk playing on her lips. "I am merely fulfilling the contract. You wanted to know what lies beyond your innocence? This is the answer."
Priscilla moved with a dancer's grace, pinning Emilia to the bed. She forced Emilia's legs wide, the moonlight catching the dark sheen of the dildo. Emilia whimpered, her mind racing to comprehend the invasion that was about to occur.
Without a word of comfort, Priscilla drove the dildo home.
"Ahh!" Emilia's cry was a mix of sharp shock and a terrifying, electric thrill. The sensation was overwhelming, stretching her and filling her in a way that made her vision swim. It was far more intense than fingers; it was a cold, unyielding reality that claimed her inner spaces.
"Does the truth of your own nature sting?" Priscilla sneered, beginning a relentless, punishing rhythm with the dildo. "You are not a queen. You are a creature of hunger, groveling beneath your rival because you are too weak to master your own desires."
"No... Ah! It... Mistress!" Emilia's body betrayed her, her hips arching to meet the rhythmic thrusts. The sensation was grounding, clearing the fog of her mind and replacing it with a singular, crushing focus on the woman controlling the tool inside her.
Priscilla watched Emilia's face—the way her eyes rolled back, the way her pride flickered and then died. "You are a disgusting, worthless little whore," Priscilla hissed, her breath ragged as she increased the speed. "But I find I am starting to like the fire in you. Now... show me how pathetic you truly are. Cum for the woman who broke you."
"Yes, Mistress!"
With the help of Priscilla's skillful, magic-enhanced movements, the world shattered. Emilia's body tensed into a bow, her screams muffled against the silk pillows as the dildo brought her to a violent, crashing peak. It was a release born of total submission, leaving her soul feeling spent and raw.
When the storm finally passed, Priscilla withdrew the dildo and tossed it onto the nightstand. She looked down at Emilia—limp, spent, and shivering.
To Emilia's shock, Priscilla did not push her away. Instead, she lay down beside her, pulling Emilia's silver head onto her own bare, warm breast.
"You did great," Priscilla murmured, her voice losing its edge for the briefest of moments.
Emilia, lost in a daze of lingering pleasure and exhaustion, turned and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to Priscilla's lips. Under the moonlight, the "Sun Princess" didn't pull away. She returned the kiss, her fingers tangling gently in Emilia's hair.
For tonight, the rivalry was dead. In the silence of the Barielle mansion, two queens lay together—one conquered, and one finally satisfied.
""I don't know how to thank you, Mistress," Emilia murmured, her voice still vibrating from the lingering echoes of the night.
Priscilla's eyes twinkled with a dark, satisfied amusement. "Oh, don't worry, little elf. You can show your gratitude by serving me. After all, your body has already surrendered; it is only a matter of time before your spirit follows."
Emilia took a shaky breath, her violet eyes clearing as she looked at the woman holding her. "I will not serve you permanently. I... I had fun, and I've learned things I never knew, but I won't resign from the Selection. Too many people have put their hopes in me. I can't betray them."
Priscilla's expression shifted. For a moment, her brow knit with irritation, but it quickly smoothed into a sharp, regal smirk. She stood up, her naked form radiant in the fading candlelight, and walked to her nightstand. When she returned, she was holding a slender, ornate wand carved from rare wood, humming with a faint, golden light.
"Is that so, witch?" Priscilla mused, her voice carrying a hint of genuine respect. "I expected you to break and beg to stay. Your stubbornness is almost as impressive as your ignorance." She held up the wand, the Yang Magic shimmering along its length. "Normally, I use this instrument only upon myself, for no one else is worthy of the pleasure it provides. But tonight, I am in a generous mood."
"What are you going to do?" Emilia asked, her heart thumping against her ribs.
"I am going to show you the difference between a girl and a woman," Priscilla drawled. "I admire your resolve, Emilia. If you had agreed to be my slave so easily, I would have found you boring and discarded you. But since you wish to be my rival, I offer an alliance instead. If I win the throne, I will protect your people. In exchange, you will be my concubine—my lover. You will belong to no one else. No man, and certainly not that pathetic knight of yours."
Emilia's mind flashed to Subaru. She felt a pang of guilt, but the physical reality of Priscilla's presence was overwhelming. "I... I need to think," she whispered.
"Then let us make sure you have something worth thinking about," Priscilla grinned. She touched the tip of the wand to Emilia's core, channeling a surge of pure Yang Magic.
"AHHH!" Emilia's scream was one of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. The magic was a focused storm, far more intense than any physical touch. Priscilla leaned down, capturing Emilia's lips in a deep, possessive kiss as their bodies rubbed together.
Priscilla was masterful, using the wand and her tongue in a dual assault that pushed Emilia beyond the limits of her senses. When the final climax came, it was so powerful that Emilia's body went limp, her mind a blank white void as she spilled over onto the silk.
"Goodnight, little elf," Priscilla whispered, pulling Emilia's head onto her breast as the candles finally flickered out.
The morning light did not crash into the room; it filtered in softly, warming the crimson silks of the massive bed. There was no sharp slap or cold command to wake the sleeping elf. Instead, Emilia drifted into consciousness feeling a profound, radiating warmth.
She found herself tucked deeply into Priscilla's embrace. Throughout the night, her body had instinctively sought the heat of the woman beside her, and now her face was buried in the soft, ivory curve of Priscilla's chest. The scent of jasmine and the musk of their shared passion filled the air. Priscilla was still naked, her skin glowing like polished amber in the dawn, her arms draped possessively around Emilia as if she were a treasure finally claimed.
Emilia stirred, her silver hair a chaotic silk web across them both. She felt a slender finger trail lazily from her shoulder down to her hip, tracing the sensitive lines of her body with a playful, lingering touch.
"Priscilla..." Emilia murmured, the name slipping out of her mouth with a soft, groggy familiarity.
Emilia's eyes widened slightly as she fully woke, her mind racing back to the previous night's discipline. She waited for the sharp correction, the demand to be called "Mistress," or a sneer at her lack of formality. But Priscilla simply watched her with a look of predatory admiration, her fingers continuing to toy with a lock of Emilia's silver hair. Having thoroughly conquered the half-elf's body and pride, the title mattered less to Priscilla than the undeniable intimacy they now shared.
"Finally, my little lover awakens," Priscilla's voice purred, low and rich with a satisfaction that lacked its usual bite.
Emilia looked up, meeting those golden eyes. "You're... not going to punish me for that?"
Priscilla leaned down, her lips ghosting over Emilia's cheek. "The sun does not need a title to know it is being worshipped, Emilia. You look far more radiant when you aren't trying to hide behind that wall of frozen ice. My bed suits you. It makes you look like the woman you were always meant to be—mine."
Emilia felt her face heat up, but she didn't pull away. The crushing weight of the previous night's humiliation had transformed into a strange, heavy comfort. She found herself leaning further into the Sun Princess, relishing the physical closeness. "You're being... very different this morning."
"I am merely admiring my new acquisition," Priscilla countered, her smirk widening as she pulled Emilia flush against her naked body. "You are quite the greedy thing in your sleep, did you know that? You clung to me as if I were the only light in the world. Perhaps you've finally realized that your 'knight' could never provide the fire you truly crave."
She ran a hand over Emilia's waist, her gaze playful yet intense. "You are a beautiful creature, Emilia. It would be a waste to let that fire go cold in a frozen forest. Tell me... have you accepted your place as my concubine? Or do I need to keep you here another day to remind you how well our bodies fit together?"
Emilia looked up at her, feeling a spark of that dark, forbidden thrill. She knew she still had her duties, but in this room, under Priscilla's gaze, those duties felt miles away. "I think... I might be able to get used to this," Emilia murmured, a shy, flirting smile touching her lips. "If you promise to keep being this 'kind'."
Priscilla's laugh was melodic and triumphant. "I promise nothing but brilliance, my sweet little elf. But as long as you remain submissive to the sun, you shall never lack for warmth."
She leaned in, capturing Emilia's lips in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of the night's secrets and the morning's promise
The heavy, gold-leafed doors to the chamber swung open with a rhythmic thud. A line of maids entered in perfect synchronization, their movements silent and efficient. Emilia bolted upright in the massive bed, her heart hammering against her ribs as she clutched the crimson sheets to her chest.
"W-wait! What are they doing here?!" Emilia gasped, her eyes darting between the stone-faced servants.
Emilia felt a wave of acute, burning shame wash over her. She was still completely naked under the sheets, her skin still sensitive and marked from the night's passion, and now two maids were standing at the foot of the bed, waiting to attend to them. She shrank back, trying to hide against Priscilla's side, but the Sun Princess didn't move. She merely tilted her head, a smirk of exaggerated amusement playing on her lips.
"Oh? Are you truly so modest after the performance you gave last night?" Priscilla mused, showing no concern for her own nudity as she sat up. "You should feel honored. I will not have anyone associated with me looking like a stray dog. They shall prepare us both properly."
Emilia's cheeks burned. She wanted to protest, to beg for a moment of privacy, but Priscilla was already standing, stepping out of the bed with casual, supreme confidence. The maids immediately moved to assist her, and Emilia was forced to watch as her rival was draped in fine silks, acting as if being naked in front of others was her birthright.
"This is how things are done in the House of Barielle," Priscilla said smoothly, her eyes locked onto Emilia's trembling form. "Now, get out of that bed. Or do you intend to sully my image by hiding like a frightened rabbit?"
With a stiff, embarrassed nod, Emilia finally emerged from the sheets. She felt exposed and vulnerable as the maids' hands moved over her, but the real shock came when she saw the garment they were holding. It was a deep, sunset-crimson gown, heavy with gold thread—one of Priscilla's own.
"W-wait—!" Emilia's breath hitched. The dress was tight, hugging her curves with a possessive grip that left no room for comfort. It smelled overwhelmingly of jasmine and heady spices—the unmistakable, intoxicating scent of Priscilla.
"Why am I wearing this? Where are my clothes?" Emilia's fingers trembled as she touched the silk.
Priscilla barely spared her a glance, admiring her own reflection. "Ah, those rags?" She flicked her wrist toward the lead maid. "Burn them."
"What?! No!" Emilia whirled around, panic seizing her chest. "You promised! You said you'd keep last night a secret!"
Priscilla exhaled a soft, mocking laugh. "And I am. Do you see me shouting your 'disgrace' from the balcony? You are my concubine now, little elf. Your appearance must reflect the status of the sun. Or would you prefer to walk through my halls looking like a misplaced peasant?"
"I'm not—! You can't just—!"
Priscilla finally turned, her eyes half-lidded and dangerous. "And what will you do? Run out in your undergarments? Face it, girl—there is no escaping me now. This dress is worth more than the pitiful dignity you're clinging to."
Emilia clenched her fists, her knuckles white. This wasn't just a dress. It was a brand.
"At least let me wash," Emilia pleaded, feeling the sweat and the musk of the night still clinging to her skin. "I feel... I smell of you."
"Precisely." Priscilla's voice cut through the room like a guillotine.
"What?"
"You will not wash," Priscilla said, a satisfied, predatory smile curling her lips. "You will wear my scent. Every person you pass today will know exactly whose bed you crawled out of. It is a mark of my favor. Consider it a badge of honor that you carry the scent of your Mistress into the light of day."
Emilia felt as though she were suffocating. The scent of Priscilla was everywhere—on the fabric, in her hair, lingering on her skin. She looked back at the mirror. She didn't see the candidate for the Dragon Throne anymore. She saw a woman dressed in Priscilla's colors, wearing Priscilla's scent, branded by Priscilla's whims.
Priscilla rose from her chaise and walked over, resting her chin on Emilia's shoulder as they both looked into the glass. "You look divine," she mused. "Almost as if you were always meant to belong to me."
Emilia swallowed hard, her reflection looking back at her with wide, haunted eyes.
"Stop fidgeting, my love," Priscilla purred, watching from her chaise as Emilia struggled with the heavy gold embroidery of the gown. "You look as though you're fighting the fabric, when you should be thanking it for gracing your skin."
Emilia stiffened, her hands clutching the thick crimson silk. "Priscilla... this is one of your favorite dresses. I shouldn't be wearing it. People will know the moment I step out of this room."
Priscilla rose, her silk robe fluttering like wings as she crossed the floor. She stepped behind Emilia, looking at their joined reflection in the tall mirror. She placed her hands on Emilia's shoulders, her rings cold against the half-elf's warm skin.
"That is precisely the point, honey," Priscilla whispered into her ear. "I want them to know. I want every servant, every guard, and every noble who dares look at you to see my colors and smell my scent. You are no longer some wandering girl; you are an extension of me."
Emilia's face burned a deep, incandescent red. The dress was tight—tailored for Priscilla's curves—and it forced Emilia to stand with a regal posture she wasn't used to. "You're talking as if... as if we're actually together. You even called me 'honey' just now."
"Because you are mine, are you not?" Priscilla's smirk was sharp and triumphant in the glass. She leaned down, resting her chin on Emilia's shoulder. "Last night, you weren't a candidate or a rival. You were a woman who couldn't get enough of my touch. If you can act the part of a devoted lover in the dark, you can certainly wear the title in the light."
"But Subaru... the election..."
At the mention of the name, Priscilla's hands tightened on Emilia's shoulders, her nails digging slightly into the rich fabric. Her expression darkened, a flash of genuine, cold jealousy flickering in her golden eyes.
"Silence." Priscilla's voice was like a whip. "Do not let that name crawl out of your mouth again while you are in my presence. You do not belong to that pathetic, bumbling commoner, nor do you belong to the 'Selection' right now. You belong to me."
She turned Emilia around, forcing her to look directly into her eyes. "I expect total faithfulness, Emilia. I do not share what is mine, and I certainly don't allow my 'wife' to look toward lesser men—especially a dog who doesn't know his place. While you wear my silk, you think only of me, you look only at me, and you desire only me. Is that understood?"
"Wife?!" Emilia gasped, her heart leaping at the intensity in Priscilla's voice. "You... you're serious?"
"I am always serious when it comes to my property," Priscilla chuckled, her anger melting back into a smug, possessive warmth. She reached up, smoothing a stray silver hair behind Emilia's ear. "You wanted to learn about the world, little elf? This is how it works. I have claimed you. Now, stop trembling. It ruins the line of the dress."
Priscilla's smile softened into something dangerously beautiful. "You will walk at my side today. You will eat at my table. And you will act as if that boy never existed. Do you understand, my dear?"
Emilia looked into those golden eyes, feeling the sheer weight of Priscilla's will. The scent of jasmine from the dress was intoxicating, making it hard to think of anyone else.
"Yes... Priscilla," she whispered.
Emilia's breath hitched, her mind spinning in a dizzying circle. Every time she tried to find her footing, Priscilla was there, advancing with an unwavering confidence that felt like a physical weight. But the transformation wasn't finished with just the dress.
"One final touch, my love," Priscilla purred, gesturing to a pair of towering, crimson high heels. They were lacquered to a mirror-shine, with heels so thin and high they looked more like weapons than footwear.
"Priscilla, I... I can't," Emilia whispered, looking at them in alarm. "I've worn heels before, but those are far too high. And they aren't even my size—they're yours!"
"A minor detail," Priscilla dismissed with a flick of her hand. "If they are a tight fit, consider it a constant reminder of whose steps you are following. Put them on. Now."
Emilia had no choice. She slid her feet into the narrow, stiff leather. They were painfully tight, forcing her toes forward and arching her feet into an extreme, delicate curve. When she tried to stand, she wobbled, her knees shaking as she struggled to maintain her balance. She was taller now, but far more fragile.
"Now then," Priscilla continued smoothly, "I believe a small correction is in order. You will learn to address me with the devotion a wife owes her better, and you will wear my colors—and my shoes—with pride." Her fingers flicked at the golden ribbon around Emilia's wrist. "By my side, I shall mold you into perfection. Does that not sound wonderful, my dear?"
Emilia clenched her fists, but the pain in her feet and the weight of Priscilla's will pressed down on her, drowning her in a tide she couldn't resist.
The dining hall was a cavern of gold and marble, the high vaulted ceilings echoing with the rhythmic, efficient clinking of silver against china as the maids finished the preparations. Emilia stood near the head of the long mahogany table, her breath coming in shallow, uneven hitches. The crimson gown—an exact replica of the one Priscilla wore—clung to her with a weight that felt like a brand. It was tailored for a woman of Priscilla's confidence, and on Emilia, it felt like a costume of surrender.
Beneath the table, Emilia's feet throbbed with a dull, insistent ache. The red high heels were towering, forcing her to arch her back and lean slightly forward just to stay upright. Every minor adjustment of her weight sent a spike of discomfort through her toes, keeping her in a state of constant, fragile tension.
Priscilla sat at the head of the table, lounging with a regal grace that made the rigid chair look like a throne. She watched Emilia's struggle with the cold, dark satisfaction of a collector who had finally polished a rough gem.
"You seem troubled, Emilia," Priscilla mused, her voice cutting through the silence. She flicked her wrist toward a lead maid, signaling for the tea to be poured. "Is the silk too heavy for you? Or are you still fretting over our 'secret'?"
Emilia looked away, her voice a tiny, shaky whisper. "You said you wouldn't tell anyone... about what happened last night. Or what I... what I asked of you."
Priscilla sighed dramatically, a sound of mock-exasperation that didn't reach her sharp, golden eyes. "And I have kept my word, have I not? I promised not to tell a soul about your shameful urges for a touch you didn't think you deserved. I am a woman of my word, Emilia. However..." She leaned closer, her scent of jasmine and spices surrounding the half-elf. "I cannot control the minds of others. If they see you dressed in my likeness, wearing my scent like a second skin, and they draw their own conclusions... well, that is simply the world acknowledging the truth. I have no need to speak when your appearance shouts the reality for me."
Before Emilia could find the words to protest, the heavy double doors at the far end of the hall creaked open. Al led the way, his single arm crossed over his chest, his helmet tilting as he took in the sight. Behind him followed the disgraced knight Heinkel, the quiet and observant Yae, and finally the young, wide-eyed Schult.
The group came to a dead halt. The sight was jarring: two identical visions in Barielle crimson, silver and orange hair the only immediate distinction.
"Whoa, Princess," Al muttered, his voice echoing hollowly in his helmet. "That's... quite the statement you're making this morning."
Schult looked back and forth between them, his small face reddening with confusion. "Mistress Priscilla? Why is Lady Emilia dressed exactly like you?"
"Sit," Priscilla's voice cut through the air, sharp and final. She didn't offer a word of explanation to her camp; she didn't owe them one. "Since a fellow Royal Candidate has deigned to visit my home, I felt obligated to have my camp eat together for a formal breakfast. It is a matter of protocol and hospitality."
They obeyed instantly, dropping into chairs further down the table. The meal proceeded in a heavy, stifling silence. Priscilla did not humiliate Emilia in front of them; she didn't need to. Every time she reached out to delicately adjust Emilia's collar or placed a possessive hand over Emilia's on the table, the message was clear. She treated Emilia not as a guest, but as a part of her own inner circle—a favorite to be tended to.
Finally, Priscilla set down her tea cup with a decisive click. "The meal is concluded. Al, Heinkel, take Schult and see to the day's preparations. I wish to speak with my guest in private."
The men rose, bowing low before filing out of the room. As soon as the doors closed, the atmosphere shifted. Priscilla turned to Emilia, her golden eyes flashing with the intensity she had suppressed during the meal.
"There," Priscilla said, her voice dropping to that velvety, dangerous purr. "The audience is gone. Now, Emilia... look at me. Our little 'roleplay' from last night may be over, but do not think for a moment that your status has changed. In the eyes of this house, you have been refined. You have been made into something worthy of my table."
She reached out, her fan snapping shut as she used the tip to lift Emilia's chin. "Now that we are alone, tell me... how did it feel? To sit at my side and have them see you as mine? Did it satisfy that shameful little heart of yours?"
Priscilla let out a soft, breathy laugh that sent a tremor down Emilia's spine. "Or is it simply that you are so hopelessly shameless, Emilia? Do you truly wish for more men to witness your state, to satisfy those depraved needs you discovered last night? How unsightly, yet... how very like you."
Emilia's eyes widened in horror, a muffled protest dying in her throat as Priscilla stepped closer, her silk robe rustling like a warning. The Sun Princess didn't just stand near her; she crowded her, one hand moving to curve possessively around Emilia's waist, pulling her flush against her.
"Hmph. Well, I shall be reasonable with you, as your Mistress." Priscilla leaned down, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Emilia's neck, lingering there just long enough to feel the half-elf's frantic pulse. She pulled back just an inch, her golden eyes smoldering. "I will grant you a single freedom. You may call me 'Mistress' as is proper for my station, or, if your little heart cannot bear such formality... I shall permit 'wife.' It is a title you earned with every cry you let out in my bed."
Emilia shuddered, her stomach twisting. She felt trapped by the scent of jasmine and the heat radiating from Priscilla's body. "Wife? Priscilla, we can't—"
"But," Priscilla interrupted, her hand sliding up to cup Emilia's cheek, her thumb tracing the line of her lower lip. "Know this—your companions will serve me as well. That is how the world functions. The weak do not merely 'exist'; they kneel. And you..." She leaned in, her lips ghosting over Emilia's in a teasing, agonizingly slow half-kiss. "You have already learned how to kneel quite beautifully for me, haven't you?"
Emilia opened her mouth to object, but Priscilla didn't use her fan this time. Instead, she captured Emilia's lips in a deep, hungry kiss that tasted of power and sweet wine. It was a claim, a physical seal on their "contract." Emilia's hands flew up to Priscilla's shoulders, intended to push her away, but her fingers ended up bunching in the silk of Priscilla's robe, her body betraying her yet again.
When Priscilla finally pulled back, she left Emilia breathless and trembling, her lips swollen and her face a deep, incandescent red.
"Ah-ah. Do be mindful of what you say, my dear," Priscilla whispered, her thumb wiping a stray bit of moisture from Emilia's lip. "I simply detest the sound of foolishness. Especially when your lips have much better uses."
Emilia hesitated, her head spinning. The weight of the crimson silk, the ache in her feet from the high heels, and the lingering heat of the kiss made it impossible to think. Priscilla used the edge of her fan to tilt Emilia's chin upward, forcing her to meet that arrogant, golden stare.
"Now, let us be clear regarding your so-called companions. Subaru? The merchant? They will serve me now, just as you do. They are part of your dowry, Emilia. I do not permit my wife to keep secrets or 'friends' that do not acknowledge my sun."
"They are my friends!" Emilia managed to gasp out, her voice cracking with desperation. "I won't let you treat them like—"
Priscilla sighed, a sound of mock-disappointment, before leaning in again, her nose brushing against Emilia's. "Oh, hush. You agreed to belong to me, did you not? Or have you forgotten your own pleas so quickly? How dull."
She let her hand slide down to Emilia's hip, squeezing firmly. Priscilla's voice dropped to a sultry, dangerous whisper that made Emilia's skin crawl with a mix of fear and unwanted heat.
"Oh? And yet, here you are, draped in my colors, bound by the very promises your body made last night. You will come to see, Emilia—submission to a higher power is simply another path to true grace. And I am the highest power you will ever know."
Priscilla pulled back, giving Emilia one last satisfied, predatory look. She turned to the lead maid standing by the door. "Go. Inform the 'knight' and the merchant that their lady is ready to be collected. Tell them to meet us in the courtyard immediately."
She turned back to Emilia, reaching out to straighten the collar of the crimson dress one last time. "Come, my love. Let us go greet your little friends. You are going to tell them exactly whose side you stand on now. No objections, no delays."
Emilia swallowed hard. The manor halls felt like the throat of a great beast, swallowing her whole. Every step in those agonizingly tight heels was a reminder of her mistake. She had come here thinking she could handle a rival, but she hadn't been prepared for a conqueror.
She looked at Priscilla's back—the perfect posture, the sun-bright hair. Emilia's mind raced. If she walked out there and let Subaru see her like this, the lie would become the truth. The world would see a broken princess in a borrowed dress.
Priscilla, as if sensing the gears of rebellion turning, paused at the threshold of the grand hall. She turned her head slightly, her golden eyes gleaming with a predatory amusement. "Oh? You look troubled, Emilia. I do hope you're not having second thoughts now that the audience has arrived."
"This... This is too fast," Emilia forced out, her voice trembling. "I never agreed to be—"
Snap.
Priscilla's fan flicked up, pressing firmly against Emilia's lips. "Ah-ah," Priscilla chided softly. "I do hate when people waste their breath on nonsense. We both know there is no turning back. The servants have seen you. You carry my scent. Whether you embrace it or resist, the result is the same. Submission is simply the only path left that doesn't lead to your ruin."
Emilia's breath caught. The cold logic was a trap as suffocating as the corset she wore.
The heavy double doors swung open. Subaru and Otto were already there, standing in the center of the hall, flanked by Al and the other members of the Barielle camp.
Subaru's jaw dropped. His eyes traveled from the towering red heels to the tight, crimson silk, finally landing on Emilia's flushed, humiliated face. "Emilia...? Why are you wearing... that?"
Priscilla didn't let him finish. She stepped beside Emilia, placing a possessive hand on the small of her back. "Ah, the commoners have arrived to collect what is left," Priscilla mused, her voice dripping with bored superiority.
Subaru stepped forward, his fists clenched. "What did you do to her, Priscilla? Why is she dressed like you?"
Priscilla let out a melodic, mocking laugh. "We were deep in negotiations regarding an alliance, were we not, Emilia? I simply felt she needed to be dressed in a manner that reflected the gravity of her situation. And I must say..." Her eyes flicked to Emilia with a sharp, triumphant glint. "We reached a most reasonable agreement. She has learned exactly where she fits in the hierarchy of this world."
She leaned in, whispering just loud enough for Subaru to see the movement. "Tell them, Emilia. Tell them how 'reasonable' I was with you last night."
Emilia looked at Subaru—at the hurt and confusion in his eyes. She felt the "agreement" Priscilla spoke of—the way her body had betrayed her, the way she had let this woman claim her. Something inside Emilia finally snapped. She realized that as long as she wore this dress, she was confirming Priscilla's victory.
"No," Emilia whispered.
"What was that?" Priscilla's grip tightened, her nails digging into the silk.
"I said... NO!"
In one swift, violent motion, Emilia grabbed the neckline of the crimson dress. With a scream of pure, cathartic rage, she tore the fine silk down the middle. The sound of ripping fabric echoed through the silent hall like a gunshot.
Priscilla's smirk faded, replaced by a cold, calculating stare.
The crimson silk fell away, but the shock in the room only intensified. Beneath the dress, Emilia wasn't wearing her own modest clothes. She was wearing Priscilla's black garter panties, the delicate lace and dark silk standing out sharply against her pale skin. It was an intimate, unmistakable brand that proved she had been stripped and redressed by Priscilla's own hand.
Subaru's face went pale, then a dark, furious red. Otto quickly looked away, coughing into his hand in sheer embarrassment.
Emilia stood there, breathing hard, her silver hair wild. She looked far more like a Queen now than she ever had in the dress, despite the scandalous lace she was forced to wear.
"I wanted to be your friend," Emilia said, her voice shaking with anger. "I was willing to try and understand you. But if this is how you treat people—if you think I'll just sit here and let you use me to look powerful—then I don't care about our 'agreements'!"
She stepped over the ruined dress, moving toward Subaru.
"I'm leaving, Priscilla. You can tell them whatever you want. I don't care about your rules anymore."
Subaru immediately stepped forward, moving with a protective heat. He tore off his track jacket and threw it around her, frantically zipping it up to hide the black lace from the eyes of the Barielle camp. He glared at Priscilla, his eyes burning with a hatred that could kill.
Priscilla watched the ruined fabric on the floor, then looked at Emilia in the oversized jacket. She didn't reveal the details of the night; she didn't need to. The black garters had said everything for her. She slowly closed her fan, her expression returning to one of icy, regal boredom.
"A pity," Priscilla said, her voice low and hauntingly calm. "The dress was worth more than the girl inside it. But no matter. She has been educated. Al, see them out. Their presence has become... tedious."
As they reached the door, Priscilla's eyes remained fixed on Emilia's back.