Chapter 12 - Prince Red Riding Hood

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Having made his way back through the northern forest, Lil returned to the castle—but the resolve he had nurtured along the journey faltered, and instead, he drifted unsteadily toward his chambers. He was so thoroughly exhausted—body and soul—that he felt he could not take another step.

 

Perhaps it was the string of shocks that made the distance feel so impossibly long.

 

He could hardly walk in a straight line. All he wanted was to bathe and sink into sleep.

 

"Your Highness, are you truly going to retire now? The banquet for your birthday is this evening."

 

"If you're feeling unwell, you must at least take in some nourishment, or your health may suffer. His Majesty will worry, and guests have already arrived. Please—at least join them long enough to sip some soup."

 

Though the maids pleaded gently, Lil could not even manage a "yes." He simply collapsed to the bottom of the tub.

 

The dizziness and nausea were unbearable. He barely managed to endure them in silence.

 

"I'm sorry… Please let me sleep," he whispered, scrubbing soap harshly against his skin. He took particular care to wash the parts of his body that had been touched by the men who had abducted him—yet not by Klaus.

 

The fatigue had brought his condition to a breaking point, and as he began to unravel, Lil vividly recalled that Klaus had not been the only one to touch his body. The memory sent a shudder of revulsion through him. He had felt sympathy for those persecuted men, and he had bitterly regretted his ignorance as a prince—but that was an entirely separate matter.

 

He had been kidnapped, nearly violated. The terror and shame of that experience could not be erased.

 

"Your Highness, you mustn't scrub so hard. You'll damage your skin."

 

"You look so pale… Perhaps it would be best if you rested early tonight."

 

Grateful for the maids' understanding, Lil also began to feel a growing sense of unease. No one must discover what had happened in the forest. He couldn't let them think something had occurred beyond what he had explained.

 

"I fell while playing in a flower field… I ruined the butter and the wine. That's why I feel so terribly sad… and ashamed."

 

He fabricated the reason behind his tears and played the role of a child who hadn't yet grown up.

 

In truth, he had grown—if only a little—and he didn't want anyone to notice. So he wept, quietly and carefully.

 

One of the maids, though exasperated by his childishness, knelt and comforted him: "Everyone makes mistakes, Your Highness. You don't need to dwell on it so much."

 

Her gentle face blurred and overlapped with the others as Lil looked at them, his vision swimming.

 

In such a state, it was impossible to consider attending the formal banquet.

 

It might have been a modest gathering with only a few noble guests in attendance, but for the guest of honor to be absent—that was unthinkable.

 

He hadn't forgotten the chefs, who had poured their hearts into preparing tonight's feast.

 

He knew full well that what he was choosing was wrong—and still, he could do nothing else. His body simply couldn't move. The only thing he could do now… was sleep.

 

Under the gilded canopy jutting from the gold-plastered wall, veiled in flowing crimson velvet and sheer white lace, Lil stirred from a shallow sleep in his bed.

 

Beyond the lace, the room was dim. Three candles burned quietly in their holders.

 

He couldn't quite see the window from his bed, but he could tell—night had deepened, or perhaps it was already past midnight.

 

Earlier, he'd felt so sick he thought he might vomit unless he kept his hand over his mouth. Now, however, he felt no discomfort. His breathing was smooth, his head clear. Even the movement of his limbs caused no pain.

 

Even though the banquet was small in scale, I didn't attend… and I never even got the chance to propose making the sacrificial lot a volunteer system. How disgraceful. I'll apologize to Grandmother in the morning, and we'll talk about the future. There isn't much time left until the next full moon…

 

Lil slowly sat up, checking once again that his body had recovered.

 

Wary of moving too quickly, he eased each foot down onto the rug one at a time.

 

Sliding his toes into a pair of lustrous satin slippers, he crossed the room in his long nightrobe and stood by the window.

 

When he lifted his gaze to the moon—just shy of fullness—the memories of the forest came rushing back.

 

How he had been ambushed in the flower meadow, a sack thrown over his head.

 

How he had been stripped, humiliated, and left to fear death. The more he thought about why it had happened to him, the more he realized that responsibility ultimately fell on his own shoulders.

 

He should have taken an interest in the sacrificial system much sooner.

 

Until just yesterday, when he was still fifteen, the Queen—his grandmother—and everyone else around him had hidden the danger of death from him. They hadn't wanted to frighten him.

 

And he, spoiled by their kindness, had never questioned it. That, he now saw, was just as sinful as the desire he'd felt for someone of the same gender.

 

Unworthy of a prince.

 

If I'd learned the truth earlier, maybe I could have saved someone from suffering.

 

The sting of regret clutched at his heart. The moment he thought of the woodcutter brothers, dizziness overtook him again.

 

Nausea swelled in his throat, and he decided to return to bed.

 

As he turned, the red cloak draped over a torso mannequin caught his eye.

 

Bathed in candlelight, the gold embroidery and rubies glittered.

 

Drawn to the long-hemmed cloak, Lil traced its satin surface with his fingertips.

 

The maids had brushed it clean of the dust from the flower field and the lookout hut. Still, something about the cloak's interior gnawed at him with unease.

 

He slid a hand into the slit made for the sleeve, feeling the smooth lining.

 

This was the cloak that had lain beneath him on the lookout hut's bed, the one stained when he released in response to Klaus's touch. The lining had been face-up, meaning there was a high chance it had been soiled.

 

Before falling asleep, I couldn't think straight… But what if the maids noticed? What if they told Grandmother? If she thought my sudden illness that kept me from the banquet was connected… what if she suspects I was assaulted? If that leads her to the woodsmen brothers, if the lookout hut gets searched…

 

That would mean breaking the promise he made—to them, and to Klaus.

 

Fearful of becoming a traitor, Lil spread the red cloak and inspected its lining.

 

The room was too dim to see clearly, so he ran his hand along the fabric, searching for anything that felt off.

 

It took time, as the cloak was made of generous, sumptuous material, but from edge to edge, no stain, no oddity was found. Which meant that everything Lil had released had landed on himself—and had been cleaned away by Klaus's tongue.

 

"—Ah…"

 

Still touching the tall torso form, Lil felt a tingle near his waist.

 

He could no longer stand up straight, though the sensation was different from the dizziness he'd felt earlier.

 

He recalled Klaus's lips—so full, so real—his uniquely bronzed skin, his silver hair, and above all, those piercing blue eyes that saw straight through the guilt blooming inside him.

 

No… I mustn't think about it. Not the terrible parts… nor the parts that weren't terrible at all.

 

Wishing desperately for morning to come, Lil hurried back to the bed.

 

Along the way, one of his slippers slipped off, but he had no energy to pick it up or put it back on.

 

He burrowed under the summer blanket, pulling it up over his head.

 

He didn't know exactly what he was running from—but hiding made him feel a little safer.

 

His body warmth still lingering in the bed made him feel as if he were wrapped in something gentle.

 

But comfort did not last long. What followed the relief was what Klaus had once called a lewd response. The warmth stirred raw memories of the pleasure Klaus had given him.

 

So warm… it feels good… But Klaus's hands were even warmer. His tongue, almost hot… If this bed had been used by him before, maybe it would feel even warmer now. The heat trapped between the feathers and sheets could melt butter…

 

That desire—of wanting to become the butter scooped up by Klaus's fingers—returned so vividly, he could no longer suppress it.

 

Even though he told himself not to think about Klaus—even though he now knew it had been a sinful craving—Lil couldn't stop the warmth growing between his legs.

 

"Ah... mm, nnh..."

 

The nectar of his lust, like melted butter, began to soak his underwear.

 

Before he realized it, a part of his body had swelled, becoming firm and hot.

 

Even though he told himself to behave, his hips moved on their own. Lil rolled onto his stomach, pressing his groin against the silk sheets. The friction made soft rustling sounds and only deepened the heat.

 

"Haa... aah..."

 

He couldn't forget the way Klaus's hands—slick with white butter—had glided over his chest.

 

Trying to recreate that feeling, Lil rubbed his nipples over his sleepwear.

 

Already firm, they responded sharply. He pinched them, teased them.

 

It feels good… but it's not the same. I want to be touched by larger, warmer hands. Not just big or hot… but hands like Klaus's, whose next move you couldn't predict—hands that toy with your whole body.

 

There was no butter in this room. No matter how he touched himself, it wasn't enough.

 

Even if there had been butter, without Klaus, that same pleasure would never return.

 

Desperate to recall Klaus's kiss, Lil touched his own lips with one hand.

 

He tried to imitate the way they'd parted—but it wasn't right.

 

That heat, that softness—fingers couldn't replicate it.

 

To lie with another man—no, even a kiss—is forbidden… Then why did Klaus kiss me? Was it because he believed in a different god? Or because he truly is a devil? Maybe to him it wasn't sin, just a meaningless tease. But to me, it was a terrible transgression… something I must repent. He's a wicked man. He cursed my body with something indecent…

 

He had to stop. He had to repent. And yet, Lil couldn't stop. He rolled onto his back, poking his head out from under the covers.

 

"Ah… mm… fuh…"

 

Staring up at the canopy with half-lidded eyes, his breath came in heated, ragged waves.

 

Even as he exposed himself to the cooler air beyond the stifling sheets, the fever in his body did not abate.

 

He pushed his long nightshirt up to his chest, grasped his member with his right hand, and moved his hand as his body craved.

 

That something so soft could become so hard—it no longer felt like a sign of growth, but a curse.

 

"Haa… ah… nn… ngh…"

 

Forming a ring with his hand, he stroked up and down, from base to tip, carefully and thoroughly. Sometimes he gripped harder, or teased the sensitive slit at the top with the edge of his nail—all while picturing Klaus's lips.

 

His other hand found his nipple again, pinching, circling it gently with his fingertip over and over.

 

What am I going to do…? I can't stop… If I go any further, I'll become a bad boy again.

 

 

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