CHAPTER 230: CHAPTER 231: BITCH!

After the king’s meeting, Claire saw the pile of documents on her table, like never before. She looked at the pile of work, her fingers twitching, the weight of responsibility pressing against her chest. "...Haaa... where is Atlas? At least he could help me with this," she voiced, her tone a mix of exhaustion and longing, her breath misting in the cool air.

She saw him again, his broad silhouette slipping down the stone corridor toward the dungeon, his golden eyes guarded, his voice a lie as he called it "just checking if the prisoner was imprisoned."

’He’s hiding something,’ she thought, a memory flashing—his hand brushing hers in a quiet moment, his smile a star in her dark world. The contradiction clawed at her: the Atlas she loved, who shone brighter than any, versus the Atlas who slipped away, leaving her alone with her burdens.

"...I’m not that naïve, Atlas. When will you tell me...?" she voiced, her words a whisper, a plea lost in the study’s silence. Her eyes pulsed, its violet light casting jagged shadows, a fractured crown that mirrored her heart.

She shook her head, forcing focus. "No... need to focus at work..." she told herself, her voice firm, a mantra to anchor her.

She sat, her silk gown rustling, and passed through every single paper, agreeing and disagreeing with a precision honed by years of blood-soaked experience.

The king himself faltered under such chaos, but for Claire, with her die-hard resilience, it was a breeze, her pen slicing through decrees like a blade through flesh. What should have taken days, she finished within hours, the candelabrum’s wax pooling like tears on the desk. And after signature after signature,

Talking with her ministers, clawing the plans for a better tomorrow for berkimhum. As they also concurred losses in the war. Those need to mended. Deals fixed, writing letters to specially the merchant queen.

It was finally....done.

Crack!

She cracked her knuckles, the sound sharp, echoing in the quiet. Then it came—the urges, surfacing like a tide, a side effect of her transformation. Her heartbeat laid bare, pumping non-stop, a drumbeat that shook her ribs, her face gradually turning red, flushed with a heat she couldn’t name.

The power she was blessed with—higher insight, elevated mana, the ability to sense others’ life forces—came with a curse, a hunger that burned within, relentless, unyielding. ’It’s too much....this time’ she thought, her breath hitching, a doubt creeping in—could she control this, or would it consume her?

She waved her hand, mana sparking, locking the door with a faint click, the sound a barrier against the world. She pulled her long skirt all the way up, her thighs visible, clear, her dark stockings lacing them tight, the fabric cool against her heated skin.

She slid them down, ever so lightly, her fingers trembling, brushing the sensitive skin above her wet valley, a spark that ignited her pulse. She touched it, with her two fingers.

She started gently, but...it was not enough ...her heart grew wilder, her fingers moving faster, a rhythm that matched the chaos within. Her thoughts were on him—Atlas, the prince, the young lad who took her heart like a storm. ’He’s not like the others,’ she thought, a memory flashing—his golden eyes meeting hers in a quiet hall, his touch gentle, not grasping for her body or wealth, but seeing her, truly seeing her.

He knew, he knew she only wanted wealth, power, name, all for herself but he accepted it, accepted her. Like it wasn’t her flaw, wasn’t her fault.

She thought all men were after power, but he was different—no, not different, special, chosen by the world, a star shining so bright it blinded her, slipping from her grasp with every secret he kept.

"Aaaa..." she voiced, her head laid on the table, her chest plastered against the wood, the cool surface grounding her against the fire within.

"Shit... ohhhh... more... more... Atlas..." she moaned, her voice a raw plea, her fingers a vibrating storm, driving her higher, her halo coming visible , its violet light bathing the room in a divine glow. When finally— "Ahhhh!!!" she bellowed, her cry echoing off the stone walls, her body trembling, her thighs slick with release, the stockings stained, her valley dripping. The candelabrum sputtered, its flames nearly dying, a mirror to her spent breath.

"...Ohh... fuck..." she voiced, breathing heavily, her head still on the table, her breath misting the polished wood. It wasn’t her first time—not since her transformation.

She’d done it many times, abnormally more, more than she could count, each time driven by this cursed hunger, this need for Atlas that her fingers couldn’t sate. ’...It’s ....its not enough,’ she thought, a contradiction tearing at her—she was reborn now, yet a slave to this desire.

She breathed, her halo dimming, her hands shaking as she stood. She tore off her stockings, throwing them away, the wet fabric slapping the floor, a discarded piece of her shame.

She called the maids, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest, ordering them to tidy the room for the hundredth time. As she thought of Atlas, the urge returned, a curse crawling within, a fire her fingers could no longer quench.

"I need you, Atlas... where are you?" she voiced, desperation luring her, a hook in her heart. The midday sun filtered through the window, its light harsh, accusing, but she hoped he’d be back in his room, done with his so-called prisoner.

As she walked out of her room, her gown swishing, Qin saw Claire from afar, her green eyes burning bright, sensing the unease that radiated from her. Qin, a healer of wounds and darkness, felt it again—that same disquiet she’d sensed near Claire before, a shadow beneath her divine light.

’She’s breaking,’ Qin thought, her gift revealing the turmoil within Claire, a need for salvation that even demons might receive. She knew Claire needed help, and in her teachings, all deserved redemption, even those touched by unholy fire.

After meters of walking, Claire reached Atlas’s room, her breath uneven, her thighs still trembling, a faint dampness lingering.

Knock knock!*

No answer.

Knock knock!

Still nothing....

Frustration piled up, a tower ready to collapse, and she pushed the door, hard enough to splinter the wood, the hinges groaning. "...Atlas..." she called, leaving the door ajar, her voice a mix of hope and rage.

No answer.

She searched the room—bare, its furniture gone, as Atlas had said, broken in some accident, still in repair. She looked around, if he would be somewhere, anywhere.

But near the bed, a scent hit her, faint but unmistakable, a trace of him that made her heart lurch. She moved closer, her senses sharpened by her divine hunger, sniffing as hard as she could, the smell addictive, intoxicating, Atlas’s essence woven into the air.

’It’s him,’ she thought, her pulse racing, her body responding, a fire she couldn’t douse.

She clutched the pillow, her fingers trembling, like his scent was enough Medicine for her...for now. But, as her hand plucked his pillow...she found it—a strand of silver-white hair, glinting in the dim light.

Her expression darkened, her halo flaring, a violet storm that lit the room. The confusing scent with Atlas now made sense, the unease she’d felt, the shadow that clung to him.

"...That fucking... BITCH!" she bellowed, her voice a raw wound, her hands crushing the pillow, the strand of hair a blade in her heart.