A Butterfly Through the Mist - Side Story 6

After confirming that Tilia had safely returned to the dormitory, Ilex stepped into his room and sank into the chair in front of the table.

His mind kept replaying the expression on her face as she looked toward the research building.

Must be nice. Her quiet murmur had been soaked with unmistakable envy.

“Must be nice…”

The moment he repeated her words under his breath, Ilex felt like all the inferiority and jealousy she must have harbored throughout her time at the academy washed over him as if they were his own.

So that was it.

Only then did he understand why she had fled the classroom when Raus had suggested graduate school to him.

She was envious. That I could go to graduate school. That I could continue studying.

Even though she tried to hide it, it showed—she had been deeply envious.

Ilex’s wandering gaze settled on a rhetoric textbook carelessly left open.

As far as he knew, no one studied rhetoric as diligently as she did. No one studied it as sincerely or with as much joy. If he had to guess, even Anthony Raus himself probably hadn’t studied as desperately as she did in his student days.

With that thought, Ilex let out a stifled sigh.

Because he recalled all those nights he had opened books just to impress Tilia Ambrose.

‘Graduate school…’

Only then did Ilex begin to seriously consider the professor’s suggestion.

Of course, he had no intention of staying at the Royal Academy to study rhetoric. He found rhetoric revolting—and Anthony Raus, the rhetoric professor, even more so.

The reason he disliked Raus was clear. Ilex knew well that the rumors surrounding the professor were not false.

He really had summoned certain female students to his office and made subtle advances, and those girls were mostly from struggling families or had circumstances that made failing a course unthinkable.

But that wasn’t the only reason Ilex loathed him. Just like mold doesn’t grow in only one spot, the rot in Anthony Raus went far beyond his attitude toward women.

Ilex also knew exactly why the professor had urged him to enter graduate school.

He probably wanted to form a connection with House Davenport. With that, he’d believe ascending to the dean’s position would be easy.

It wasn’t hard to guess what had inspired Raus to target House Davenport. The current dean of Arkansis Royal Academy had risen to that position with the support of the Myers family.

If the Myers family held that much influence, then surely the Davenports would make even better allies—or so Raus must have reasoned.

One could tell just by looking at his eyes. Raus was wary of men younger and better-looking than himself.

And yet he still praised Ilex and pushed him toward graduate school. There could only be one reason: he saw Ilex as a tool to further his own career.

Upon reaching that conclusion, Ilex stood up from his seat.

A short deduction had led to another answer.

If Anthony Raus truly aspired to become dean, then there was no way he would ever recommend graduate school to a powerless girl from the impoverished Ambrose family.

Entering the bathroom, Ilex turned the faucet all the way and let the cold water soak his body. But even the chill couldn’t stop his thoughts from spinning.

So Tilia Ambrose, despite her talent and aptitude, won’t be able to continue her studies?

How could something so unfair exist? Even knowing the world wasn’t fair, Ilex couldn’t suppress the sorrow he felt for Tilia.

More than anyone else on the continent, she seemed the most pitiable. He had never once cared about someone’s unfortunate circumstances—but with Tilia, it felt like her burdens were his own, and he couldn’t ignore them.

Then what could he possibly do to get Tilia Ambrose into graduate school?

Ilex gave up on clearing his mind and focused solely on that question.

First, the dean would have to be replaced. Getting rid of Raus wouldn’t be a fundamental solution.

To replace the dean, they’d first have to take down the Myers family. But what could provoke the royal court, which provided their greatest backing, to turn against them…?

Ilex’s thoughts continued deep into the night.

But when he finally finished his calculations and even selected a suitable new dean candidate, then stepped out of the bathroom, all he felt was futility.

What good is planning all of this? Tilia Ambrose wouldn’t believe me if I said the sun rises by day and the moon rises by night.

He collapsed onto the bed like a crumbling wall. A chill seeped into his body, soaked from the cold water, and Ilex rubbed his face into the wide, empty sheet like it was his fate.

Will there ever come a day in my life when I get to hold Tilia Ambrose’s hand even once?

Even just once in my lifetime—will I ever get the chance to kiss her?

He couldn’t even fathom it. It felt like the kind of thing that would never happen, even if he were to live his life all over again.

The Dream You Dream of Me (2)

Third floor of the Essentine Mansion. The Duchess’s bedroom window was tightly shut, as if to forbid any intrusion.

“Ah, hng, w-wait…”

But the radiant curtains, fitting for a newlywed couple’s room, couldn’t fully block the heat swirling beyond them.

“Wait, slowly…”

On her knees, Tilia squirmed as she pushed at the thighs behind her.

Just like always. What had begun as a gentle kiss quickly turned rougher, no longer tender but more like a sailboat tossed by a violent storm.

And as always, the one left gasping for breath was Tilia. She trembled faintly, feeling the man pulsing deep within her belly.

“…Is it too much?”

The only consolation was that, compared to a year ago, Ilex was at least attempting to restrain himself. Even as his voice dripped with lust, he asked after her well-being, his hand gliding to caress her stomach.

“It’s… not even that deep yet. Ha, I haven’t really put it in.”

“Ah—don’t press so hard…”

Of course, that only meant he was marginally more rational than before. He was still utterly obsessed with his wife’s body.

“Stop, stop…”

Tilia shook her head, her hips twitching in protest against Ilex’s subtle inner stimulation.

The peak of her breasts, which he had tormented persistently, was swollen and red. The same went for the engorged nub between her legs—bitten, sucked, and thoroughly marked, now twitching upright at the slightest touch.

Squish. Squish. Knowing exactly what he was doing, Ilex didn’t stop his slow, smooth thrusts.

“Ah, ngh, haah…”

As his thick tip and veined shaft scraped teasingly along her inner walls, Tilia let out a gasp, the sound spilling from her lips.

By now, she couldn’t even protest. All she could do was clutch the wrinkled bedsheet in her fists.

But even that, he took from her. Leaning forward to press his chest against her back, Ilex interlaced their fingers.

At that moment, Tilia knew instinctively.

It’s coming. Everything up until now had only been foreplay. Now he was really going to take her to the edge.

Intuition felt on bare skin was never wrong. Securing her upper body firmly, Ilex began pounding his hips with swift, hard thrusts.

“Ah, hnng, ngh, hnn…!”

His thick tip never missed its mark. Ilex pounded into the exact spot she felt the most, drilling into her without mercy.

Lights flashed before her eyes. Animalistic moans escaped her throat, and the obscene slap of wet flesh echoed in her ears.

She felt pushed to the brink, as though teetering on a cliff with nowhere to plant her feet.

On the verge of sinking into a pitch-black mire of pleasure—that was always what it felt like for Tilia.

There was no point in resisting, no use in struggling not to fall. The moment his tip crushed the sensitive spot nestled deep in her inner walls—

“Aaah—!”

With a cry that bordered on a scream, hot liquid burst from within. Tilia trembled violently, releasing her fluids.

Every drop of her climax was taken in by Ilex’s mouth.

Slurp, slurp. Hearing him swallow like it was something precious, his face buried in her core, Tilia shuddered.

But despite wanting to flee, her body below responded only with intensified arousal, further ignited by the sound.