The Queen and the Lion - Chapter 11
His body, unburdened and idle, gave way to wandering thoughts that spiraled endlessly. Thoughts of Heiban, the battlefield, and Lysian.
Suddenly, Aslan’s face flushed hot. The image of Lysian, held in his arms that night, kept replaying in his mind.
Becoming Lysian’s companion for the night had been something he never could have anticipated. No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he must have died in the prison transport and was now living out some surreal dream.
After all, how could the sole queen of the great kingdom of Florea choose someone like him—a foreign prisoner—as her first partner? He couldn’t wrap his head around it, no matter how hard he tried.
Of course, Aslan was confident in his appeal as a man. In Heiban, his bold and defined features, along with his muscular physique, had garnered admiration from men and women alike. If someone asked whether he thought he was handsome, he’d confidently answer yes. But that confidence was limited to Heiban. Here in Florea, things were entirely different.
Everyone in Florea was stunningly beautiful, men and women alike. They resembled gods straight out of myths, and when together, they created a scene as picturesque as a painting. Among them, Aslan felt like a discordant note. Compared to the marble-carved musculature of the Floreans, his own physique felt excessive, almost grotesque.
During his transport to the Florean palace, he had endured countless whispers and pointed fingers. People had called him unsightly, a beast. Their gazes had made him feel like a spectacle, something less than human.
Yet, despite all that, Lysian, whom all Floreans revered, had chosen him. Surely, it was because he was foreign, something unusual, rather than any deeper reason.
The memory of Lysian’s displeased expression after the bed collapsed flashed through his mind. The way she’d been lost in pleasure, only to return to her cold, regal demeanor, played like a cruel joke. Since then, she hadn’t sought him out, leaving him in this state of neglect.
Having experienced him once, she likely wouldn’t come to him again. Aslan told himself this repeatedly, not wanting to set himself up for disappointment. Yet, a lingering sense of regret and yearning remained. He wanted to see Lysian again, even if just once more.
“Her Majesty the Queen approaches.”
“…What!?”
At the sudden announcement from an attendant, Aslan leaped up from the bed in surprise. Unfamiliar with Florean etiquette, he scrambled awkwardly, prompting several guards stationed in the room to grab him and force him onto his knees.
Though their rough handling made a vein twitch on his forehead, Aslan chose not to resist. He didn’t want to create a commotion in front of Lysian.
The door opened, and the sound of elegant footsteps echoed. Lysian entered, her every movement immaculate, her skirt swaying gracefully as she approached. A faint floral fragrance trailed behind her, perhaps from perfume.
“Release him,” she commanded.
Lysian waved her hand dismissively, signaling for the guards to release Aslan. Reluctantly, they let go and stepped back.
Aslan stared blankly at Lysian. She looked just as he remembered, just as he had wanted to see her. He was happy, of course, but also bewildered, unable to understand why Lysian had come to see him.
Lysian sat gracefully on the edge of the bed where Aslan had just been lying and issued a command.
“Leave us.”
“But, Your Majesty…!”
The guards exchanged worried glances between Lysian and Aslan. However, Lysian’s stern expression left them with no choice but to obey.
As they left, they cast anxious looks at Aslan. Though his arms were shackled, the Black Lion of Heiban wasn’t a man anyone could feel at ease around with just that precaution. Yet, Lysian, appearing completely unbothered, calmly dismissed them with an air of confidence.
Once everyone was gone, the room was left to just Aslan and Lysian. Despite the room being spacious, Lysian’s presence seemed to fill every corner.
