The Queen and the Lion - Chapter 5
Aslan remained shackled, with restraints fastened tightly around his wrists and ankles. His hands were bound so closely that they barely moved, and his ankles could only manage a restricted shuffle. It wasn’t just escape that was impossible in this state—he wouldn’t even be able to comply with what the queen expected of him.
At that moment, one of the attendants approached, carrying a silver tray. On the tray rested a small cup, so tiny that it could only be lifted with two fingers. Aslan eyed the cup suspiciously.
“What is this?”
“It is a medicine for copulation. You must drink it.”
The attendant replied matter-of-factly. Aslan picked up the cup. The liquid inside swirled slightly from his careless handling, spilling over and wetting his fingers. Gazing down at the contents with amber-colored eyes, he let out a quiet scoff.
An aphrodisiac, is it?
Well, considering this involved the queen’s safety, it made sense that they would be cautious. Smirking, Aslan spoke mockingly.
“You must be very worried that I might harm your queen.”
He tilted the cup back and forth in his hand, causing the liquid to splash and eliciting a frown from the attendant. Catching sight of the attendant’s irritation, Aslan glanced at them with a smirk. What would they do if I outright refused to drink it? They’d probably try to force it down my throat somehow.
Resigned to his fate, Aslan decided that he might as well make the best of the situation. Without hesitation, he tipped the cup back and gulped down its contents. The liquid burned as it slid down his throat, as though he’d swallowed a strong spirit, leaving a fiery trail in his esophagus.
“Is that enough for you?”
“…Follow me.”
The attendant’s eyes narrowed at Aslan’s sudden compliance, suspicious of his shift in attitude after his earlier defiance. Aslan, for his part, merely shrugged, further irritating the attendant, whose expression darkened in frustration.
The attendant led the way, and Aslan followed. By now, the substance should have reached his stomach, but his body remained unaffected. Either the aphrodisiac wasn’t as potent as expected, or it was taking its time.
Before long, they arrived at the queen’s bedchamber.
“Your Majesty, I have brought the captive.”
“Let him in.”
At the sound of the queen’s voice, Aslan’s neck stiffened involuntarily. The head attendant pushed him forward into the room.
The queen’s chamber was filled with luxuries Aslan had never encountered before. Elaborately woven fabrics adorned the space, and every piece of furniture was encrusted with gold and jewels. Intricate carvings displayed craftsmanship that was nothing short of exquisite.
At the center of the vast room was an enormous bed draped in red curtains. Large enough to fit five grown men, it resembled a grand ship.
The majesty of the room was a stark contrast to the stone walls of the Heiban palace, but none of it registered in Aslan’s mind. Every nerve in his body was on edge, his attention solely fixated on the presence of the queen, standing regally amidst it all.
The queen’s attire was markedly different from what she had worn earlier. It was simpler yet scandalously revealing, causing Aslan’s face to flush a deep red. Her outfit, made of the same light, smooth fabric as Aslan’s, left her shoulders and neckline entirely exposed, held up by a single, thin strap resting delicately on her shoulders. Aslan clenched his jaw, struggling to calm his racing thoughts.
A faint smile played at the corners of the queen’s lips as she looked at Aslan.
“Cleaned up, you’re passable.”
Every gesture and word of the queen carried an air of natural authority and elegance, as if she had been born to rule.
When she smiled, her lavender eyes curved subtly, only to return to their regal composure. It was then that Aslan realized he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. His heart pounded violently. She was the queen of the enemy nation, a woman they had mocked as the harlot of Florea. Yet here he was, utterly bewitched by her beauty, his title as the Black Lion of Heiban ringing hollow in his ears.
“Sit on the bed,” she commanded.
But Aslan didn’t move, rooted to the spot as though his feet were nailed to the ground.
Seeing his defiance, the queen smiled. Step by step, she approached him. Aslan’s back hit the wall, and only then did he realize that he had instinctively retreated. He was the one called the lion, yet he felt like the prey being hunted.
Despite the imposing presence she exuded on her throne, the queen was a delicate figure who barely came up to Aslan’s chest. Her arms were so slender that, with slight exaggeration, they could have been compared to his fingers. She looked as though a single blow from him could break her—but that only heightened the unsettling feeling of vulnerability she managed to wield as power.
The queen’s fingertips brushed against Aslan’s chest, trailing across the solid muscles beneath his skin. Her pale hand stood out starkly against his dark complexion, like a flower against earth.
Her palm slid down and pressed against his n****e, her touch insistent and deliberate.
“Haah…”
A heated breath escaped Aslan’s lips. The thin Florean garments he wore felt like moth wings against his skin, transmitting every nuance of her touch. He realized with mortification that her clothing must be just as insubstantial, and the thought caused his face to burn hotter.
“Khh, stop this, Your Majesty!”
“Call me Lysian. You’re such a bore in bed.”
