On the way back to the capital, Margaret and Douglas shared a carriage in silence, neither showing an inclination to speak. Douglas immersed himself in a book—a theoretical study on the mechanization of magic. The content was obscure and abstract, with most of the text belonging to unrealistic fantasies.
In poems and legends, magic possessed formidable power. However, in reality, spells could only serve the purposes of healing and amplifying effects, often linked to the field of medicine. The nation still needed a powerful military, nobles skilled in leading troops into battle, and a large number of inexpensive orc soldiers. On the battlefield, magicians always stood at the rear, waving wands and chanting lengthy incantations to unleash the full potential of the soldiers within.
During breaks, they would bring out potions to treat the severely wounded. Thinking about this, Douglas glanced at Margaret.
He remembered that she was also a student at the Gelta Academy of Magic, specializing in white magic and economics.
Margaret would likely never have the chance to set foot on the battlefield. Like every woman from the White family, Miss Margaret's appearance was gentle and beautiful. Her demeanor was always elegant and flawless, as she sat in the carriage with her back straight, hands folded neatly on her lap, showing no signs of complaining or relaxation despite the bumpy journey.
A woman like her was most suitable to marry into the royal family. Moreover, her father, Duke Russell, served as the Minister of Finance for the Eastern Holy Land, holding enough connections and influence.
Douglas rubbed his tired forehead. Over the past few days, he had been trying to convince himself to forget everything that happened in the underground interrogation room. Raised strictly in accordance with royal education, he believed he could maintain composure, analyze pros and cons, and not let himself be swayed by emotions.
However, the scene of Dermat violating Margaret remained hauntingly vivid in his mind. Douglas recalled how the golden-haired man arrogantly inserted his substantial member into his fiancée's body, causing her to convulse. He also remembered the squelching sound as the phallus thrust in and out, accompanied by a cacophony of mixed moans and cries.
Avoidance is the behavior of the coward, so he kept his eyes open throughout, enduring the humiliation from Dermat. Due to severe cleanliness issues and the anger from the subsequent retaliation, Douglas vomited upon returning to Seagate City. After cleansing himself, he remained the Crown Prince of the Eastern Holy Land. He was Douglas Brandt, restrained and rational.
Taking a slow breath, Douglas, with hands crossed wearing white gloves, assumed a negotiating posture. "Miss White," he addressed Margaret by her family name, "the incident is in the past. I assure you, with the honor of the royal family, that the events in the interrogation room will remain a permanent secret."
Douglas spoke with a calm tone, a calmness tinged with detachment. "Even if you have lost your purity, our engagement will not be affected. Three months from now, after your graduation from Grants Academy, our wedding will take place." He stared at Margaret seated across from him, his pitch-black eyes displaying a cold hue. "Miss White, do you understand my meaning?"
Margaret's lips curved into a wry smile. "I understand." She understood all too well.
Douglas felt there was something peculiar about Margaret's expression. Trying to ignore the odd sensation creeping up within him, he continued speaking. "I should be more explicit. Miss White, what I mean is, please don't display sadness or sorrow in public, attracting suspicion. You can still become my wife, there's nothing to be upset about."
It was an arrogant statement. Margaret, her lips carrying a tired smile, closed her eyes as if fatigued. "Yes, I have nothing to be upset about."
Douglas still felt that something was amiss. His gaze shifted downward, noticing the absence of any adornments on her chest. The silver necklace with the black diamond pendant had disappeared, and before he could inquire further, the carriage jolted, leaving Douglas with no desire to continue questioning.
He continued to peruse the tedious books, the faint sound of flipping pages accompanying his efforts. The bright sunlight streamed into the carriage, casting its glow upon him, but it couldn't thaw the icy indifference in his eyes.
The journey from Seagate City back to the capital took ten days, thanks to the magical enhancement scroll used by the accompanying mages to speed up the horses.
Upon arriving at the capital, they faced lengthy and tedious social engagements and greetings. Margaret had to summon her energy, first joining the queen for afternoon tea in the palace, chatting with various noblewomen about the interesting aspects of the journey, and then returning to her family mansion to endure her mother's reprimands and inquiries.
After finally dealing with everyone, she hastily took a shower and fell asleep on the soft bed.
In her dreams, Margaret found herself back in the damp underground interrogation room. Dermat held her waist, moving up and down, her two snowy breasts swaying irregularly. The terrifying and ferocious flesh rod thrust in and out beneath her, leaving white liquid staining her legs.
It hurt.
Her stomach felt swollen.
Amidst the pain, a strange tingling sensation mixed in, forcing her to moan and cry out. "Don't..."
In the midst of chaos, it seemed like someone was wiping her face. The movements were gentle and careful, carrying a soothing touch.
Margaret choked back sobs, struggling to open her eyelids. She saw a burly man kneeling by the bedside. He wasn't wearing the guard uniform, only a shirt with a few buttons undone, revealing the muscular chest beneath and faint blue scales.
His neck was covered in numerous tiny blue scales. But his face was clean, almost devoid of inhuman features, with deep and rugged contours. His narrow, elongated eyes were the only exception, colored a blood-like red.
Margaret recognized this person.
Or perhaps he shouldn't be called a person.
Damon was a hybrid of a snow wolf, a snake, and a human, rumored to have a hint of giant lizard blood. He was her personal guard, but due to Douglas's dislike for beastfolk, he didn't accompany them on the journey. In fact, Damon's abilities far exceeded those of an ordinary guard. If he had been there, perhaps the unexpected wouldn't have happened.
Margaret was absent-minded for a moment, turning her head to avoid Damon's actions.
"Don't touch me," she said.
Damon was holding a handkerchief, carefully wiping the sweat off her. At her words, he stopped breathing for a moment, somewhat at a loss, retracting his right hand. The sharp fingers, covered in the deep blue scales, had almost turned the handkerchief into tatters.