As the fear of an immutable death powered her desperation and hysteria, for the sake of her survival, Ilkaalt chose the extreme road.
"My body! Please take my body and make me your woman!"
She beseeched while pressing Konrad's thigh harder against her breasts. However, her supplicant eyes and the delightful elasticity of her breasts did nothing to soften Konrad, who eyed her with the scornful amusement of a lord before an unskilled but hard-working jester.
"Who said anything about wanting you as a woman? Allow me to be blunt, in you, I don't need a woman."
Konrad began while raising Ilkaalt's chin with his right thumb and index.
"I need a slave."
Konrad stated in a mild but irrevocable tone. And as his words echoed, for an instant, Ilkaalt wavered. As a dignified crown princess and sole daughter of a God-level existence, never in her life did she suffer such disgrace.
