Chapter 3

Southern Parts of the Faerson Land, the Kingdom of Wuthia, 1126

Bridget Laenas (Sesa Faerson)

The air was sharp with autumn’s bite, and every breath I drew filled my lungs with the mingled scents of fallen leaves and damp earth. My mare’s hooves drummed steadily against the half-wild trail, scattering bronze and gold across the path as if the forest itself wished to announce my passing. I leaned low over her neck, urging her on, though there was no destination—only distance from the thoughts and whispers that gnawed at me.

The southern stretches of our land lay before me, quiet and untamed. We had never pressed this far, not ever since we inherited this land and leased the northern part to the Tamsari. The manor fields and the Tamsari’s land to the north felt like another world entirely. Here, the trees grew older, their limbs gnarled and heavy with moss, as though they stood guard over secrets best left undisturbed.

I squirmed. Not because my butt ached nor my back was sore, but because my pussy was aching. Longing for something to ram repeatedly, over and over again. I shook my head, trying to push these urges out of my head. Ever since the festival of the Crimson Moon, my lustful urges have been stronger than usual, wanting me to fuck anything all the time. Hopefully, this stroll in these quiet parts of my family land will clear my head and help me assert more control over these urges.

I didn’t want to be the person I was that night. A monster in heat. Fucking everything to complete exhaustion. I could still see Delore’s exhausted face as I devoured her pussy, along the face of the strange man whom I humped excessively until he collapsed on top of me. Still, I continued to fuck him, being pumped with his cum. I was an animal. A beast. I never want to be that ... thing ever in my life.

Even though the unimaginable pleasure and euphoria I felt that night was really quite tempting. It was constantly whispering to me all the time, slowly drawing me back to becoming that monster. I shook my head again, trying to get those thoughts and longings out of me, and continued on my stroll.

As I continued onward, I started wondering how Mabel was doing on her diplomatic mission. A part of me wanted to go with her, but a more logical part of me knew I was in no good condition to visit another lord. My urges might ruin such a mission and ruin our family in the eyes of neighboring nobles. It was best for Mabel to take this mission, after all, she was the family diplomat. I know she is doing quite well. I just wish I could say the same for me.

I kept a good distance away from Richard. I know if I see him, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from fucking him. My own brother. But it’s not like we haven’t fucked before. We used to fuck all the time around the manor and fields. It was just now; we had to be cautious. That night at the festival had taught us that our Lustilian nature is something we still don’t know anything about. Hopefully, Solomon might find something on the Lustilleans in town.

The further I rode, the more the world seemed to hold its breath. The birds had quieted, the undergrowth lay still, and even my horse grew uneasy, her ears twitching at sounds I could not catch. I slowed her to a walk, letting the reins slack in my hands, and for the first time since setting out, I wondered whether solitude was truly what I sought—or if I had ridden into something else entirely.

The leaves whispered as though they carried secrets, brittle voices crackling under the weight of the wind. My mare shifted beneath me, her ears flicking back, then forward again, her stride slowing though I had not pulled the reins. I let her, though unease began to prickle at the back of my neck.

The southern lands felt different from the rest of our estate. Wilder. As if no hand had ever sought to tame them. The trees leaned inward over the path, their boughs woven so thick that the light slanted in dim ribbons, setting the undergrowth aglow in patches of copper and shadow. Now and again, I swore I heard movement—something larger than a fox—but when I glanced into the thickets, there was nothing but the sway of branches.

I pressed on, telling myself it was only the strangeness of being here alone that my own thoughts had made me skittish. Yet the silence was unnatural. No birdsong. No rustle of squirrels. Even the wind seemed to hesitate, leaving only the muffled thud of hooves on damp earth.

My mare stopped altogether. She snorted, breath clouding in the cool air, and refused to take another step forward. I tightened my grip on the reins, peering into the tangle of trees ahead. A darker shadow stretched between two oaks, too solid, too still to be only nightfall gathering early.

My mare’s muscles bunched beneath me, taut as a bowstring. She pawed the ground once, twice, then flared her nostrils with a low, warning sound. I swallowed hard, every part of me urging me to turn back, yet my eyes stayed fastened to that patch of darkness between the trees.