Chapter 117

An entire floor of the annex was cleared, all differentiator servants and soldiers relocated.

Everyone was on edge, anticipating Adrian’s unrestricted rut, his Alpha pheromones no longer suppressed.

News arrived that the High Priest had scolded the Emperor for allowing Adrian to spend his rut in the gloomy Lindbergh, instead of Heineken, surrounded by experienced attendants.

While Daniel’s concern for Carl Lindbergh was appreciated, the description of Lindbergh as ‘gloomy’ stung.

Carl Lindbergh, however, found their excessive concern more irritating than reassuring.

Adrian, seemingly unaffected by the approaching rut, focused on his duties. While the war raged on, the Lindbergh Kingdom was being rebuilt, reshaped under Heineken’s influence, and every document, every decree, required Adrian’s approval. His days were much the same, just his workspace shifted from the office on the second floor of the annex to their bedroom on the third.

Carl Lindbergh hovered around Adrian, anxiously monitoring his pheromones, but there were no noticeable changes yet.

Unable to contain his anxiety any longer, he slipped out of the bedroom and sought out Lulu.

She was the only one he could talk to.

“Jae-young.”

“Call me Lulu. Someone might hear you.”

“Lulu, then. Do people die from imprinting?”

They huddled together in a secluded corner of the hallway, far from Adrian’s bedroom and the drawing room.

“That’s absurd, Oppa.”

Since Leia’s return, Lulu had been using polite speech in public.

The current Leia Lindbergh was vastly different from the one in the novel, a mere plot device designed to highlight Carl Lindbergh’s villainy. This new Leia inspired awe and a healthy dose of fear.

And while they were siblings in their past lives, announcing her transmigration to the entire castle wasn’t on Lulu’s to-do list.

Carl, watching servants busily carrying fresh linens and pillows into the room next to the bedroom, asked again:

“Then… what are the chances of me dying during Adrian’s rut?”

“That’s also highly unlikely.”

“Right?”

“Are you scared?”

Lulu secretly hoped he’d run away, just to see Adrian lose his mind.

Of course, even if he ran, he wouldn’t get far. Adrian would find him.

“Well, yes. A little.”

Carl Lindbergh fidgeted, his usually confident demeanor replaced with nervous energy. He’d become a bumbling mess. He lowered his head, and the wildflowers he’d been clutching trembled, a few petals drifting to the floor.

“May I ask why you’re holding those?”

“Oh, these? I picked them from the garden. They survived the winter.”

They smelled pleasant enough, but she was more curious about why he’d picked them now.

“To commemorate our historic day.”

Seriously? He needed his parent-in-laws’ and Leia Lindbergh’s permission for the imprinting, but he was treating the impending rut like some sort of romantic event.

“That’s not how it works.”

Who celebrates a rut?

Lulu narrowed her eyes, giving him a sidelong glance.

Carl Lindbergh, misinterpreting her expression, rambled, “Are wildflowers not romantic enough? Should I have gotten him a hundred roses? But they’re not in season…”

He was clearly looking forward to it, despite his feigned anxiety about dying.

It was ridiculous.

She’d handled her own transmigration rather smoothly, considering her less-than-ideal past life, but this… discussing her brother’s upcoming rut with his fiancé… this was a new level of weird.

Lulu decided to skip the details.

It wasn’t like she had any experience in this area either.

Carl Lindbergh, feeling Lulu patting his shoulder, looked up at her.

“Just… man up, Oppa. It’s supposed to be amazing.”

She grinned, giving him a thumbs-up, and he was about to respond when a servant approached them.

“Your Highness, it’s… time.”

“Eek!”

Carl’s face paled, and the servant, seeing Lulu blush, clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

 

❖ ❖ ❖

 

That’s right. We’ve done it a lot of times already. A rut… it can’t be that bad, right?

Carl Lindbergh, clenching his fists, walked towards the bedroom, trying to project an air of confidence.

“Ah!”

The scent of Adrian’s pheromones, a clean, woodsy fragrance, filled the room. Like that cologne that used to be popular, the one considered the epitome of masculinity. Cool Water.

Carl Lindbergh realized that even taking a walk in the forest had become difficult.

The scent alone was enough to make him flush.

Adrian, lying on the bed, one arm covering his eyes, took slow, deep breaths, deliberately avoiding Carl Lindbergh’s gaze.

Carl, placing the wildflowers he’d picked in a vase, then meticulously washing his hands, took a deep breath, savoring the scent of Adrian’s pheromones.

Adrian’s ears perked up at the rustle of Carl’s clothes.

He wanted to pull him close, to kiss him, to lick every inch of his skin, starting from his toes, but the last vestiges of his self-control urged him to wait, to give Carl time.

“Hmm…”

Carl Lindbergh, standing naked before the mirror, examining Adrian’s marks on his body, then wrapping a robe around himself, looked strangely resolute.

Tonight, he’d let Adrian have his way, no matter how rough he got.

He’d already showered and prepared himself. He was ready for anything.

“Are you okay?”

Carl Lindbergh, sitting on the edge of the bed, smelled divine.

Adrian’s senses heightened, his entire being drawn towards him, yearning for his touch.

Control. He had to maintain control.

“No.”

He dug his nails into his palms, forcing himself to stay still.

“You’re sweating. How do you endure this? Your rut… it comes every few months, right? I didn’t know.”

He should have let go sooner.

Carl Lindbergh, feeling a pang of sympathy, wiped the sweat from Adrian’s forehead, then, instinctively, leaned in and kissed him.

His arms… so strong, the tendons clearly visible beneath his skin.

He kissed him again, a soft, lingering kiss on his closed lips, one hand fumbling with Adrian’s belt.

“You have to take these off.”

Adrian was still wearing his dark blue silk shirt and stiff trousers.

“Don’t… don’t…”

Adrian’s hand shot out, gripping Carl Lindbergh’s as he was unbuttoning his shirt.

Carl Lindbergh, finally meeting Adrian’s gaze, smiled softly.

He gently pulled his hand free.

Adrian’s grip loosened, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“What’s wrong?”

Carl Lindbergh stopped unbuttoning his shirt, startled by Adrian’s expression.

His eyebrows were furrowed, his jaw clenched, his eyes filled with anguish. He let out a shaky breath.

“What is it? You were looking forward to this, weren’t you?”

Carl cupped Adrian’s face in his hands, his thumb gently stroking his cheek, and Adrian, his gaze drawn to Carl’s smooth neck, his bare chest, swallowed nervously.

“In a few moments, what you see before you… might not resemble a human. I’m… afraid. Afraid you won’t love me anymore.”

Adrian, facing the one person who could make him feel vulnerable, was struggling to maintain control, to keep his Alpha instincts in check.

“Ahh, really.”

Carl Lindbergh chuckled, his fear dissipating.

Adrian’s vulnerable expression, a stark contrast to his muscular physique and intimidating aura, and the tightly clasped belt, the last barrier between his reason and his instincts… it was endearing.

“I’m… truly scared.”

Adrian, annoyed by Carl Lindbergh’s teasing smile, reached out and grabbed his robe.

He could see the marks he’d left on Carl’s flawless skin, and a wave of possessiveness washed over him. He wanted to mark him again, to leave his scent on every inch of his body, to claim him completely.

Carl Lindbergh let him pull him closer, their naked bodies touching. He reached out and gently caressed Adrian’s waist.

Objectively, Carl Lindbergh knew he was the beautiful one. But in his eyes, Adrian was breathtaking.

His sharp, angular features, his strong body, his lips, which seemed to be silently pleading ‘Don’t hate me’…

He was utterly adorable.

The sound of Adrian’s belt buckle unclasping echoed in the silence, and Carl Lindbergh settled onto Adrian’s lap.

Adrian’s eyes opened, his gaze fixed on the man above him, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Carl Lindbergh whispered in his ear, “Don’t be afraid. Don’t hesitate. I’m yours.”

“Even if you regret it…”

Adrian muttered, then flipped them over, pinning Carl Lindbergh beneath him.

He used his belt to tie Carl Lindbergh’s wrists together. Carl immediately put his arms around Adrian’s neck.

Adrian, with the tied wrist around his neck, lost his sanity.

“I won’t let you go, even if you beg me to.”

“Don’t let me go. I’m not leaving.”

Carl Lindbergh kissed him, and Adrian’s hands tightened around his waist, his grip almost painful.

Everywhere he touched, Carl’s skin burned.

Carl Lindbergh, having dared to provoke an Alpha on the verge of his rut, was now at his mercy, crying and moaning, his voice hoarse, yet refusing to pull away.

‘He smells so good. Such a sweet scent.’

‘Mine. All mine.’

They thought the same, their bodies intertwined, their teeth nipping and scratching.

Adrian, his movements frantic, kept seeking Carl Lindbergh’s lips, and Carl Lindbergh, his body on fire, eagerly responded.

Adrian’s love was insatiable, a bottomless pit, demanding more and more.

He was both a beast, ravaging Carl’s body, and a child, clinging to him, seeking comfort.

He would grip Carl’s ankles, his touch almost bruising, pushing him to the limit, then, hearing Carl’s cries, he’d soften his touch, licking his wounds with a tenderness that belied his earlier brutality.

‘I’m yours. Do as you please.’

Carl Lindbergh’s mind was filled with a single thought: Adrian was perfect.

Where had this passion been hiding?

He wrapped his arms around Adrian’s neck, marveling at his intensity.

He was so lucky to have met Adrian Heineken in this world, to have fallen in love with him.

He was grateful that Adrian had chosen him, that he’d chosen Adrian.

The thought, one he’d repeated countless times since his arrival, echoed in his mind.

Adrian, however, couldn’t accept it.

Rut… scary… but… so good…

Carl Lindbergh, gasping for breath, suddenly cried out, an unfamiliar sensation coursing through him.

Adrian’s arms tightened around him, holding him captive.

He was burning up.

His body trembled uncontrollably, and Adrian, his grip tightening, held him close, refusing to let him go.

And then, his tongue tracing the scent gland on Carl’s neck, his teeth grazed his skin, then sank in.

“…..!”

This time, Carl couldn’t even scream.

It hurt.

A searing pain, radiating from his neck, spreading through his body, shattering him.

He dug his toes into the mattress, fighting to maintain consciousness.

“It’s okay… it’s okay…”

He repeated the words, a mantra, both for himself and for Adrian Heineken.

He raised a trembling hand, his fingers tangling in Adrian’s hair, stroking him gently.

A drop of liquid, sweat or tears, he wasn’t sure, landed on his shoulder.