CHAPTER 42: PROMISES AND THE JOURNEY HOME [R-18 CONTENTS!]

"Are you done already, Hal?" Rumia asked as she approached, her own arms laden with small parcels wrapped in delicate tissue paper.

"Yeah, I am," I nodded.

Rumia’s blue eyes sparkled with curiosity as she craned her neck, attempting to peer into my purchases. "You seem to have bought quite a lot of things." Her tone was playful, but I could detect the underlying inquisitiveness that was so characteristic of her.

I quickly shifted the bag further away. I couldn’t let her see the delicate lace bra and underwear I bought for my own mom. "I bought some things for Lisa as well, that’s why," I said.

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. Rumia’s expression shifted, her eyes narrowing.

"You’re always favoring Lisa over me," she said, sulking.

"Well," I replied, perhaps more sharply than necessary, "she doesn’t have a father who tries to kick me out of my own house every time I speak with his daughter."

Rumia’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, and for a moment she looked like she might argue. Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again before she finally looked away. She couldn’t deny the truth of it.

"Whatever," she said finally, her voice smaller than before. "Next we should—"

"Next, I’m leaving, Rumia." I cut her off.

"W...what? Already?" She asked.

"I shouldn’t be spending this much time with three noble ladies. People talk, and reputations matter."

In a world where class distinctions could mean the difference between prosperity and ruin, I couldn’t afford to be careless.

Rumia opened her mouth as if to protest, but then closed it again. Understanding dawned in her eyes—she knew as well as I did how precarious my position was. A commoner spending extensive time with nobility, especially young unmarried women, was asking for trouble.

"Okay..." She nodded. "But when are we going to see each other again?"

"We’ll probably see each other when you next visit the village," I replied, trying to inject some warmth into my voice to soften the blow.

"It won’t be anytime soon then." Rumia’s shoulders sagged, and she looked down at her feet.

I smiled and without thinking, I reached out and gently lifted her chin with my hand, tilting her face up until our eyes met. "I’ll be waiting for you until then."

Rumia’s breath caught, her eyes growing wide and dreamy, pupils dilating slightly as a soft blush painted her cheeks. Even Lucy and Regina, who had been pretending not to eavesdrop, turned away quickly, their own faces flushed with embarrassment at witnessing such an intimate moment.

"Well then," I said and stepped back, "see you later, Lucy, Regina."

Both girls turned back, offering shy waves.

As I walked away, I could feel their gazes following me until I turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

"It was such a long day," Noah complained as we made our way back toward the hotel.

I glanced at him. "But a fruitful one, I’d say. You seemed quite enamored with that young clerk, Noah. Did you manage to make any progress?"

"I... I wasn’t!" Noah sputtered, his face turning an impressive shade of red. "That’s not—I mean—she was just being professional!"

He was at least my age of my previous life and was still acting like a teenager. He has to grow up.

Before heading back to the hotel, I made one final stop at a small, cramped bookshop tucked between a bakery and a tailor’s shop. The elderly proprietor, a man with wire-rimmed spectacles and ink-stained fingers, helped me select several volumes: historical texts about the kingdom’s past, treatises on magical theory, practical guides for improving spellcasting techniques and also other peculiar books...

At least I’d have something to occupy my mind during the long, boring evenings ahead.

°°°

Dawn broke gray and misty on our sixth day, bringing with it unexpected news. Queen Emma had concluded her business ahead of schedule, and our departure was set for that very morning.

The Kingdom of Briaran lay further west, in the same general direction as my village, so the royal party had graciously agreed to drop me near my home. I was grateful for the escort—traveling alone would have been both dangerous even for me and I was too lazy to do it anyway.

I settled into the comfortable rhythm of travel, pulling out one of my newly purchased books. The historical text detailed the founding of the kingdom, filled with tales of ancient heroes and long-forgotten battles. It was fascinating material, but I found myself occasionally distracted by Princess Judith’s presence across from me.

She seemed different since the engagement announcement—more contemplative, her usual sharp wit tempered by something deeper. Sometimes I’d catch her staring thoughtfully out the carriage window at the passing landscape, other times her gaze would drift to the book in my hands, and occasionally, I’d feel her eyes on me directly.

Unlike Prince William, who had barely concealed his reluctance about the arranged marriage, Judith appeared to be processing the situation with a kind of resigned acceptance. Perhaps it was easier for her—she didn’t have a secret love to complicate matters, no heart already given elsewhere. Royal duty was something she’d been prepared for since birth.

Behind us, in a reinforced prison wagon, Arlos sat shackled and silent. The former kidnapper’s fate awaited him in Briaran’s dungeons, and I found myself offering a silent prayer for whatever Queen Emma had prepared for him.

"You conducted yourself admirably during this past week, Harold." Queen Emma’ spoke just when I thought of her.

I looked up from my book, meeting her gaze. "As anyone should while under a Queen’s protection, Your Majesty."

"You’re quite an intriguing boy," she said with a soft chuckle.

The comment prompted me to address not just her, but everyone within earshot. "I want you to know that I truly enjoyed spending time with Your Majesty, Her Highness, Oliver, Olivia, Noah, and all the knights. I’ve learned so much from everyone, and for that, I am deeply grateful."

My words carried across the procession, and I saw Olivia’s typically stern expression soften into something approaching a smile. Even Oliver, riding his destrier with military precision, allowed a small smile to cross his features. The tension that had existed between us seemed to have evaporated entirely—if we met again, I was confident he would be useful to me.

"You seemed quite animated in the capital," Queen Emma observed. "Does village life bore you so much?"

"Very much so, yes," I replied honestly.

Queen Emma’s smile widened at my bluntness. Then she said something that made the entire world seem to stop: "If you ever decide you want to leave that village behind, you’re welcome to come to Briaran’s capital. I’m sure Oliver could find a position suited to your talents."

Everyone fell speechless.

Such an offer was unprecedented—a Queen personally extending an invitation to a common village boy to join the royal court. It was the kind of opportunity that could change not just my life, but my entire family’s future.

Princess Judith’s eyes widened in shock, her gaze snapping from her mother to me and back again.

I watched her for a moment—really watched her.

Queen Emma wasn’t foolish. Quite the opposite. There was an unsettling intelligence in her eyes, sharp as a hawk’s and just as unblinking. I had the impression that she saw things in people others missed—cracks, strengths, hidden ambitions. And what she saw in me, I believe, was potential. S

She hadn’t made her offer out of kindness or flattery. She wanted me bound to her cause, woven into the fabric of her kingdom. It was a golden offer—one anyone in their right mind would have taken without a second thought. But I wasn’t anyone. I had no desire to be tethered to a single throne, no matter how gilded it was.

My sights were higher.

I wasn’t chasing a crown—I was chasing crowns. Not one land, but many. Not one court, but influence stretching across continents. I wanted to conquer Kingdoms.

If I said yes to her, I would be giving up all of that.

So I smiled, measured and polite, and said, "Thank you. I will gladly think about it."

Queen Emma smiled too—knowing, unsurprised. She had expected hesitation. But the others around her were visibly shocked that I hadn’t answered with a quick and grateful "yes."

A few hours later, as the sun drowned beneath the edge of the world, we reached Greenwood Forest. The night of the seventh day had arrived. Just as planned, this was where they would leave me. My journey with them was at its end.

I stepped down from the carriage and collected my belongings, the gifts bought in the capital, along the books.

"Will we meet again?" I asked as I adjusted the straps of my bags.

Queen Emma did not hesitate. "Likely not," she said. "Unless you accept my offer."

I gave her a small confident smile. "I am certain we will see each other again, Your Majesty."

And with that, I turned and walked into the forest, without another word, the trees swallowing me in silence.

It took exactly a week for me to return home on foot, just as I had suspected it would. My boots were worn, my shoulders sore, and my mind... strangely at peace. There was something nostalgic in the air as I stepped into the familiar wilds again.

I missed hunting with Lisa.

I missed Isabella’s and Rosaluna’s warmth.

I walked slowly beneath the silvered moonlight, the cool glow tracing the edge of every leaf. But then I stopped.

There, at the edge of the path, half-swallowed by vines and mist, stood the crooked hut of Isadora.

It was here that Rosaluna came almost daily to learn magic from Isadora.

For a moment, I hesitated. Then I walked forward, up the creaking steps, to the crooked door.

Before I could knock, a voice came from behind.

"What are you doing here, young man?"

I turned, already knowing it would be her.

Isadora stood in the moonlight, clad in a dark, flowing gown, her face hidden as always behind a simple mask.

"I’ve made my decision," I said.

She tilted her head, amused. "Which decision?"

"I want to learn magic from you, Isadora."

Even through the mask, I could feel her surprise—though it quickly melted into curiosity.

"And what brings this sudden change of heart after all these years of running from me like I was plague-touched?"

I smiled at that. "I want to join the Royal Academy of Erestia," I told her. "But I can’t do it on my own. Can you make me strong enough to enter it?"

Isadora was silent for a long time. Then she let out a soft, dry giggle.

"If that is truly what you want," she said, her voice lower now, more serious, "then yes. You might have the potential. But I will demand your obedience. You will listen to me—not just when it’s convenient, but always. You will follow my teachings without question. No half-efforts. No arrogance."

"I understand," I said. "But I have one request."

"Speak."

"I don’t want to study at the same time as Rosaluna. It would be a distraction for us both. I need this to be between just you and me. Serious. Harsh. I’m not weak—I can take it all."

Isadora didn’t speak right away.

But then, slowly, she nodded.

"As you wish, Harold," she said. And though her mask hid her expression, I could hear the smile in her voice—one of satisfaction, maybe even excitement.

With that said, I left to the village.

By the time I reached the village, dusk had passed into velvet-black silence. Most lights were out, the sleepy hush of midnight blanketing every rooftop like a comforter. I moved through the house quietly, ghostlike. No one stirred as I slipped in.

I headed straight to my room and set down the bags—gifts, books, small tokens from my absence—but I didn’t linger. A quick shower rinsed the road from my skin, steam softening the weariness tugging at my limbs. I was ready to collapse, to let my head fall into sleep’s pull, until I stepped into the living room—and saw her.

Rosaluna.

She stood barefoot by the curtained window, her white nightgown a pale shimmer in the dark, the soft moonlight trailing silver lines over her bare shoulders. Her eyes—frosted with that glacial calm she always wore when her emotions burned too deep—locked onto mine.

I opened my mouth. "Big sister, I’m sorry for leaving without—"

"Don’t," she breathed.

Then, she was in my arms. Her body folded into mine like she’d been waiting the entire week just to bury herself in my warmth again. Her arms clutched me tight, like if she let go for even a second I’d disappear all over again.

"I’m sorry," I whispered again.

"Don’t ever do that again," she said coldly, almost monotone—but I felt the blade beneath. Her voice didn’t waver, but it carved through me.

I felt in fact a chill ran down my spine.

"I won’t," I said quickly, my fingers brushing the small of her back. The promise wasn’t empty. I’d seen something in her just then—a crack, maybe, or the edge of something darker, something trembling under control. If I left her like that again, without a word, without grounding her... I wasn’t sure what she’d become.

She was still pressing her cheek to my shoulder when I heard another footstep. Our mother, Isabella, stood just beyond the hallway.

"Welcome back."

I smiled faintly. "Yeah. I’m back."

There wasn’t much else to say. Everything unsaid was louder.

Rosaluna refused to let go, and truthfully, I didn’t want her to. So I brought her to bed with me, letting her body mold to mine under the covers. She curled herself up tightly, one leg thrown possessively over my thigh, arms wrapped around my torso like vines. Her face was inches from mine, so close I could feel every exhale warm my lips. There was always something fragile and dangerous about her in these moments—innocent face, glacial gaze, clinging like a girl who’d seen too much.

I held her gently. My hand stroked the curve of her back through the thin silk of her nightdress. Her breath was slow, her eyelids heavy but not asleep.

Something deep stirred in me—something sweet and low and possessive. Reincarnation hadn’t prepared me for this, for this specific kind of connection. This thread that pulled tight between souls with every heartbeat.

Then I heard it. A soft noise—barely audible over Rosaluna’s breathing. A sound too delicate to be anything ordinary.

A moan.

It came again, muffled, pained.

I gently extricated myself from her limbs. Rosaluna murmured a protest, brows twitching in her sleep, but I pressed a kiss to her temple and slid away. I padded across the hallway.

Isabella’s bedroom door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open without a sound.

What I saw made me stop.

She was sprawled on the bed, half twisted in the sheets, the hem of her nightgown pushed high over her hips. Her thighs were spread, trembling, her fingers buried between her legs. I could hear the slick sound of her movements—wet, steady, desperate.

I was speechless.

She was masturbating herself.

"Mmh—hhhnnn...!" She whimpered, her voice strained, choked like she was trying not to wake the house.

Her face was contorted. Not in ecstasy. In something else.

Pain.

She was dreaming. No—nightmaring. Her eyes were shut tight, her breath ragged. She was trying to fuck the nightmare away, as if her fingers were her only lifeline.

I froze for a moment. That face... that desperation... she wasn’t even fully awake. Her hips arched, chasing something lost.

Was it because I hadn’t been here for a whole week unable to treat her?

Her body trembled like a taut string just before it snaps. The more I watched, the more I realized how far gone she was—how much damage a single week’s absence had done. I hadn’t soothed her. I hadn’t visited her dreams. I hadn’t given her what she needed.

And so, here she was... grinding into her own fingers in the dark, chasing peace the only way she could—by losing herself in pleasure.

It wasn’t working.

Her hips rocked restlessly, her breath caught in a stutter of whimpers and gasps. Each movement of her fingers made a squelching noise, wet and sharp, echoing off the silence of the room like a cry for help. She was soaking through the white sheets beneath her, thighs spread wide, helpless. I could see every tremor of frustration in her brows, every helpless twitch of her legs.

God, she looked beautiful like this.

The way her body gleamed with sweat, nightgown bunched above her waist, her pale skin streaked with moonlight. Her thick, curly bush was glowing with arousal, and the sight of her fingers plunging into herself—again and again—was enough to make my own breath catch.

But it wasn’t working. Her body needed more. She needed me.

I stepped onto the mattress without a sound, crawling toward her like a shadow. Her eyes fluttered, unfocused, fingers still moving.

Her scent hit me full then—thick, heady, unmistakably hers. It curled into my nostrils like heat and memory.

I caught her wrist gently, halting the desperate rhythm of her hand, and then I dipped my head between her thighs and replaced her fingers with my mouth.

"Mnnnhh—haaaan!!" Her entire body jolted under me, her back arching violently, the cry ripped straight from her throat. One hand flew to my head, tangling into my hair with a clutch that bordered on violent. She pressed me down, grinding her hips forward, needy, greedy.

My lips curled against her wetness, and I moaned low into her folds, sending a shiver up her spine.

"Taste just the same," I murmured, voice muffled against her slick skin. "Missed this so much, mom."

"Ahhnn—haaahh yes...!" Her breath hitched, breaking into desperate cries.

I licked slowly at first, reacquainting myself with her flavor—the sweet tang, the familiar slick heat of her lips, the dense curls of her untrimmed bush brushing against my nose. I didn’t mind. Her naturalness, her scent, the warmth of her thighs wrapped around my face—it was maddening. I wanted to bury myself here for hours, days.

I lapped along her folds with purpose, letting my tongue trace every pink ripple. My hands pressed against her thighs, spreading her wide, tilting her hips upward so I could get in deeper. My mouth sealed over her clit, and she cried out again, this time her voice rising, peaking.

"Ha...Harold—nooo~! I’m gonna—haaahn!!"

My tongue darted inside her, thrusting slowly, fucking her with the same rhythm she’d been trying to mimic with her fingers. Her walls clenched around me even now, pulsing with frustration and relief all at once. She was soaking, so deliciously wet it dripped from her pussy to the sheets.

"You’re so sexy when you’re like this, mom," I whispered between licks, sliding my tongue over her swollen clit again before diving back into her, harder now, deeper. Her fingers fisted in my hair, holding me tight against her like she’d die if I stopped.

"Hoooh! Haaaahn—aaahn—I’m—cu-cumming!!"

She convulsed under me, legs tightening around my head, her entire body shaking as the orgasm tore through her. Her cry rose into a helpless scream muffled into the mattress, and I felt her cum gush against my mouth, spilling in hot pulses that I didn’t waste a single drop of. I sucked her clit gently as her body twitched, her juices smearing across my lips and chin.

I drank her down like nectar, tongue greedy, until there was nothing left to take.

When it was over, Isabella collapsed back into the bed, utterly spent. Her legs were still parted, her chest rising and falling in slow, deep waves. Her pussy glistened, freshly cleaned by my tongue, her thick bush matted with sweat and arousal. She looked at peace now—no tension in her face, no pain creasing her brow. Just the soft smile of a woman who’d been touched exactly the way she needed.

I sat up slowly, licking her from my lips, savoring her taste one last time before pressing a soft kiss to her hip.

Then I stood, quietly pulling the sheets up over her, and left the room as silently as I had entered.

Rosaluna was still curled in bed when I returned, her sleep undisturbed. I slipped back under the covers, fitting my body against hers once more, feeling her stir just slightly—enough to press her ass into me before sighing into sleep again.

I wrapped my arm around her waist and closed my eyes.

God, I loved my new life.

May the future be even better.