Chapter 12: 12

Medea’s eyes grew wide with shock when he also started to loosen her dress. For her union night, she had been dressed in a thin, simple dress without a corset.

Her breasts and shoulders were gradually getting more and more exposed.

Medea tried to open her mouth wider to protest, but Lyle took it as an invitation to kiss her deeper, his tongue licking her further in.

“Huh uhh huu … …”

Lyle looked at Medea, who was panting with her eyes closed.

Puzzled, he said, “Empress, you have to breathe.”

Medea’s eyes opened on her glowing face, and she gasped loudly.

“Hah, haah… …” Her harsh breaths filled the air.

‘It’s her first kiss.’

Lyle stared at her, his eyes shaking, shocked. All her memories really had disappeared. Including all ‘first memories’ that they had together were gone.

Even so, Medea’s attitude was too strange.

Lyle remembered his first relationship with Medea. They married when she was sixteen, and he was nineteen, but he did not touch her until she was twenty.

Lyle was molested and sexually abused since childhood by the Emperor’s concubines.

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They had thought since Lyle had the same coloring as the Emperor that they could bear his child and pass it off as the Emperor’s direct child.

He feared telling the Emperor and earning his wrath, so Lyle had suffered in silence. Eventually, the First Empress, enraged upon finding out the truth, called them all and ordered them to drink poison.

Thanks to her, he was able to escape their clutches, but the scars on his heart remained long after.

Even as he grew up, his repulsion and fear of women had persisted. So Lyle refused to have sexual relations with Medea, with the excuse that she was too young.

As a young couple, at first, they had slept in the same bed with nothing more than a light hug.

Until the day she turned 20. That night she had lightly drugged him and forced him. That was the first night they had.

Lyle clearly remembered Medea’s face, looking triumphantly from above him. Her face overlapping with the former Emperor’s concubines, Lyle couldn’t bear to be affectionate. Her eyes were so distorted.

“Haaa… .”

Medea’s panting lips were soaked in Lyle’s saliva, shining bewitchingly. ‘I want to kiss her again,’ Lyle, who inadvertently had that thought, was baffled and ashamed by his bizarre impulse.

He started to loath himself for these sentiments. It was dangerous. He would get hurt. And Medea was dangerous. And wasn’t she Medea?

 

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