Chapter 33

Kosha ultimately blamed his own pathetic weakness for giving in.

The prince possessed a bewitching logic that bypassed every rational defense. Standing so close to the magnificent royal, Kosha had folded beneath the sheer weight of his desire to please him.

He craves this outcome so deeply. Why should I deny him such a simple wish?

Truthfully, a lonely, socially inept goose herder had never stood even the faintest chance against an apex predator who had never tasted failure.

Lucien had kept his word and designed a slow, methodical curriculum. They began with microscopic burdens, levitating down feathers and identifying concealed colors through sensory magic. Gradually, the density of their targets increased.

The recent transition to heavy books had initially terrified Kosha. He had suffered nightmares in which he successfully teleported a volume only to obliterate every word inside it. Those fears vanished after his first flawless attempt.

“I merely need to map the object’s precise volume, structural weight, and geometric shape in my mind,” Kosha had proudly declared after transporting a massive encyclopedia.

Rather than praise the technical explanation, Lucien had simply leaned down and claimed his lips.

That intoxicating reward system soon became part of their daily routine.

At first, the prince used kisses whenever Kosha faltered or began hyperventilating under pressure. The gesture functioned as a bizarre psychological anchor, filling Kosha with an addictive and terrifying sense of dread. He desperately wanted to escape the overwhelming sensation, and the need to avoid such intimacy drove his concentration to unprecedented heights.

As a result, his magical proficiency soared.

Once flawless victories began to outweigh his failures, Lucien transformed affection into a potent reward.

Returning fully to the present, Kosha felt Lucien catch his lower lip between his teeth and tug gently before releasing him. The prince stacked a second heavy tome atop the first in Kosha’s waiting hands.

“Care to attempt a dual transition?” he whispered, framing the technical challenge as an intimate plea.

Kosha physically lacked the will to refuse.

The requested burden multiplied rapidly. Two heavy volumes became three, then four. Their lips collided with increasing frequency and desperation after every successful jump.

Disaster struck with the fifth addition.

The towering stack lost spatial cohesion midway through the transition and spilled out of empty air, slamming into the floorboards in a thunderous, uncoordinated heap.

“Ah.” Panic surged through Kosha as he stared at the scattered books. “The combined density… it proved too severe.”

He scrambled to assemble an academic excuse, but Lucien closed the distance and swallowed the frantic apology with his mouth. The boundary between corrective encouragement and victorious reward had dissolved hours ago.

“Breathe,” Lucien murmured against his lips after finally breaking the seal. “You performed admirably.”

The prince knelt with effortless grace and gathered the scattered books into his arms. “A five-book capacity threshold.”

He lifted the stack thoughtfully, as though physically calculating its exact density.

Lucien projected absolute tranquility, openly dismissing the failure as insignificant. Nevertheless, an invisible, prickling anxiety crawled beneath Kosha’s skin. After feeding the prince a steady succession of miraculous victories for days, the sudden appearance of a limitation felt dangerously disappointing.

“Your Highness.” Kosha hesitated.

He had sworn to perfect this particular technique before unveiling it, but the urge to erase any trace of disappointment overwhelmed his better judgment. “I developed an alternative application.”

Is this the foolish desperation of a lovestruck adolescent trying to impress someone?

Deprived of a normal childhood, Kosha lacked the emotional framework required to diagnose his own pathetic eagerness. He pushed the doubt aside and cupped his trembling hands together as though preparing to catch rainwater.

Lucien arched one immaculately groomed eyebrow. He appeared entirely untroubled, though his interest was unmistakable.

A violent ripple tore through the surrounding air.

A vibrant red apple snapped into existence and dropped neatly into Kosha’s waiting palms. He released a shuddering breath of triumph.

“Fruit?” Lucien examined the display with mild confusion.

“It materialized directly from my quarters,” Kosha explained, unable to conceal the fierce pride threaded through his voice. “It came from the gift basket you sent earlier. I memorized its exact position on my nightstand.”

He had completely reversed the arcane polarity. Rather than banishing an object into the void, he had established a tether and forcibly dragged a distant item toward his own coordinates.

Kosha continued explaining with breathless eagerness, desperate for validation. Carving an inbound spatial tunnel required exponentially more raw mana than simply discarding an object. The geometry was violently complex. He needed Lucien to understand the grueling, secret hours he had sacrificed to secure this single spectacular moment.

Lucien’s reaction, however, completely derailed the fantasy.

The prince offered neither a seductive smile nor a shower of praise. His striking features hardened into a mask of rigid calculation. Kosha’s joyful explanation faltered, then died altogether in the sudden, suffocating silence.

Did I overwhelm him with magical theory?

“I explicitly omitted any instructions regarding object retrieval.”

The cold, flat statement struck Kosha like a physical blow.

“I… did I overstep?” A sickening wave of embarrassment burned through his throat. “Forgive me.”

Panic took hold. He began crushing the apple between his palms, intending to collapse it into a black singularity and erase the mistake permanently, but Lucien intercepted the motion.

The prince snatched the fruit from his hands and rotated it slowly, his eyes tracing the flawless skin while dark calculations turned visibly behind them.

After a heavy eternity, he gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head. “Do not apologize. Your initiative is highly impressive. Astounding, frankly.”

Kosha swallowed the lump lodged in his throat, too paralyzed to answer.

“Fascinating.”

A tranquil, familiar smile blossomed across Lucien’s face. It was the same disarming warmth he projected so effortlessly, yet a chilling discord vibrated beneath its surface.

“Hypothetically, could you retrieve any physical object?”

“Any object?” Kosha echoed, completely thrown off balance.

“Let us imagine Prince Bastian’s royal signet ring.” Lucien offered the suggestion with deceptive casualness. “I am merely a layman attempting to understand the ultimate boundaries of your craft.”

Kosha blinked rapidly.

His deeply ingrained arcane instincts seized control of his mind, immediately calculating geometric pathways and distance vectors to test the theory. Raw mana churned in his gut in response to the aggressive mental simulation.

Defeat washed over him several seconds later. Unable to construct a stable pathway, he shook his head. “That presents an insurmountable challenge.”

“Insurmountable?”

“I do not possess the spatial coordinates of his private study.” Kosha’s brow furrowed with intense concentration. “Furthermore, my mind contains no physical blueprint of the ring itself.”

Lucien stepped closer and lowered his voice to a resonant hum. “Assuming I provided the exact geographical coordinates and a flawless physical description, could you overcome those limitations?”

“Perhaps, though a verbal description alone would invite catastrophic error. I would require direct visual contact, or at least a masterfully rendered illustration.” Kosha rubbed his temples as he analyzed the variables with complete sincerity. “Distance would remain a punishing factor. Extreme ranges destabilize the tether.”

“Understood.” Lucien gave a sharp, approving nod. “Your insight has been highly educational.”

The suffocating pressure vanished from the chamber, instantly replaced by the prince’s customary generosity and warmth.

Profound relief swept through Kosha. He was about to return the smile when Lucien struck again, his own pleasant expression never wavering.

“Does your curiosity not demand an explanation for why I might require my brother’s signet?”

A subtle, probing edge returned to his voice, testing the waters.

Kosha froze. “I… beg your pardon?”

“Retrieving it without his consent would constitute theft and high treason.”

The blunt reality required several agonizing seconds to penetrate Kosha’s naive mind. His eyes widened, and his jaw worked uselessly as he struggled to process the implication.

“You intend… to steal it?”

He had blindly assumed that the prince possessed some noble, legitimate purpose. The idea of the immaculate royal orchestrating a petty heist shattered his entire worldview.

At the sight of the raw panic spreading across Kosha’s face, Lucien released a soft, melodic laugh.

“Stop worrying. I harbor no genuine ambitions of thievery. It was merely a hypothetical exercise to test your theoretical limits.”

The prince raised one hand and buried his long fingers in Kosha’s dark, unruly curls, gently massaging his scalp.

It was yet another intimate conditioning tactic to which Kosha had completely surrendered. Beneath the soothing pressure of Lucien’s hand, the terrifying implications melted away, leaving him blissfully unaware of the snare tightening around his neck.