Chapter 33: Two Sword Style

Ren woke up because something was poking her.

Hard.

In her half-asleep state, she assumed it was her frying pan handle digging into her hip. She groaned, trying to shift her leg to kick it away.

It moved with her.

“Mmm,” a deep voice rumbled directly into her ear. “You wiggle. It is… stimulating.”

Ren froze.

Her eyes snapped open to the darkness of the King’s Nest. The memories flooded back. The kidnapping. The pancakes. The honey. The… Knot.

She looked down.

She was still encased in the massive black coils of the Python King. Syris was wrapped around her like a living sleeping bag. His human torso was pressed against her back, his chin resting on her shoulder.

And the “frying pan handle” poking her hip?

It definitely wasn’t cast iron.

“Syris,” Ren whispered, her voice tight. “Tell me that is a weapon in your pocket.”

“I have no pockets,” Syris murmured sleepily, nuzzling her neck. “And I have no weapons. Only… enthusiasm.”

He shifted his hips.

Ren felt a second pressure point against her other thigh.

Her brain short-circuited.

One on the left. One on the right.

“Oh my god,” Ren gasped. “It’s true. It’s actually true. You really do have spares.”

Syris chuckled. It was a low, vibrating sound that traveled through his chest and into her back.

“I told you,” he purred, nipping at her earlobe. “The King is prepared for all contingencies. If one tires, the other takes over. Efficiency.”

“It’s not efficiency! It’s biological overkill!” Ren tried to squirm away, but the coils tightened instinctively. “Let me go! I need to pee!”

“Hold it,” Syris commanded. “The morning heat is the best heat.”

He rubbed his cheek against hers. His skin was incredibly hot—the residual effect of the [Fire Fruit] and the body heat he had leeched from her all night.

“You are soft,” Syris marveled, running a hand down her arm. “And you smell like Sweet-Gold. I want to bite you.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Just a taste,” he whispered. “A morning snack.”

He opened his mouth and gently clamped his teeth over the curve of her shoulder. He didn’t break the skin; he just held her there, tasting her scent, his tongue flicking out to tease the skin.

It was possessive. It was primal. And despite herself, Ren felt a shiver of arousal zip down her spine.

[System Notification: Relationship Status Updated.][Syris: ’Obsessed’.][Warning: Target is experiencing ’Morning Wood (x2)’. Recommended Action: Do not make sudden movements.]

Ren lay there, trapped in the grip of a horny, two-sword-wielding snake man.

“Okay,” Ren said, trying to be rational. “Syris. King. Your Majesty. If you don’t let me up, I’m going to ruin your furs. And I really, really need a shower. I’m covered in honey residue and sweat. I’m sticky.”

Syris paused. He lifted his head.

“Sticky?” He sniffed her neck. “Yes. You are tacky. It is… textured.”

“It’s gross. I need water. Hot water. Soap.”

Syris considered this. He unwound the top coil slowly, allowing Ren to breathe.

“Bathing,” Syris mused. “Yes. We should wash the Sweet-Gold off.”

He uncoiled the rest of the way. The heavy weight vanished, leaving Ren feeling strangely light.

She scrambled off the bed, clutching her red puffer coat closed.

“Where is the bathroom? And don’t say ’the corner’.”

Syris sat up. He stretched, his spine cracking audibly. He stood up—completely unashamed by his nudity or his… situation—and walked toward a hidden door in the stone wall.

“Follow,” he ordered.

The Royal Springs

Ren expected a bucket. Or a hole in the ground.

What she got was a spa.

The hidden door revealed a natural cavern illuminated by glowing blue crystals. In the center was a massive pool carved directly into the black rock. Steam rose from the surface.

“Hot springs?” Ren gasped. “Under the swamp?”

“Volcanic vents,” Syris explained. “The only natural heat in the Palace. I spend much time here.”

He walked to the edge of the water and stepped in. He didn’t test the temperature. He just sank into the steaming water until it reached his waist.

He looked back at her.

“Well?” Syris raised an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for an invitation? Or do you need me to peel your shell?”

Ren looked at the water. It looked heavenly.

She looked at Syris. He looked… like a predator waiting for a gazelle to take a sip.

“Turn around,” Ren ordered.

“No.”

“Syris!”

“I have seen you,” Syris waved a hand dismissively. “You are small. Pink. Soft. There are no secrets. Get in.”

Ren sighed. ’Well, I guess we’re basically roommates at this point.’

She took off the puffer coat. Then the boots. Then the sticky, torn tank top and cargo pants.

She walked to the edge of the pool, trying to cover herself with her hands, and slid into the water as fast as physically possible.

“Ohhh,” Ren moaned as the hot water hit her sore muscles. “Okay. This I can get used to.”

She grabbed her bar of [Rose Scented Soap] from her inventory. She began to scrub.

Syris watched her. He didn’t swim over immediately. He stayed on his side of the pool, his arms spread along the rim, observing her like she was a fascinating science experiment.

“You make bubbles,” Syris noted, watching the white suds float on the water.

“It’s cleaning,” Ren explained, scrubbing her arm. “It removes dirt and oil.”

Syris pushed off the wall. He glided through the water toward her.

“I will help,” he announced.

“I don’t need help.”

“The back is hard to reach.”

He was behind her in a second. His chest pressed against her back. He reached around, taking the soap from her hands.

“Relax,” Syris whispered into her ear. “You are tense.”

He began to wash her.

It wasn’t like Kael’s washing. Kael washed her like he was scrubbing a muddy dog—vigorous and rough.

Syris washed her like she was made of glass.

His long, cool fingers slid over her skin with agonizing slowness. He traced the curve of her shoulder, the line of her spine, the slope of her waist. He lathered the soap until she was slippery, then used the slickness to explore.

“Your skin,” Syris murmured, his hand sliding over her stomach. “It is so thin. I can feel your blood moving.”

He moved his hand higher.

“And here… softness.” He cupped her breast gently. “No muscle. Just soft tissue.”

“It is pleasing,” Syris added. He caressed her nipple with his thumb, watching it harden. “It reacts to cold. Interesting.”

“Syris,” Ren warned, her breath hitching. “You are crossing the line.”

“There are no lines in the water,” Syris whispered.

He pulled her back against him. His “enthusiasm” from earlier was still very much present, pressing against her lower back.

“Ren,” he said, his voice dropping the playful tone. “Stay here.”

“I am here.”

“No. Stay here. In the Palace.”

He stopped washing her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.

“I have lived in the cold for three hundred moons. I forgot what heat felt like. Until you.”

He rested his chin on her wet shoulder.

“Kael has fire, yes. But he does not appreciate it. He takes it for granted. I… I would hoard it. I would worship it.”

He turned her around in the water so she was facing him. His amethyst eyes were vulnerable.

“If you leave… the cold will be worse than before. Because now I know what I am missing.”

Ren looked at him.

He wasn’t acting like a King. He was acting like a lonely, touch-starved creature who had finally found a source of comfort.

It broke her heart a little bit.

She reached up, cupping his wet, pale cheek.

“Syris,” she said softly. “I can’t stay forever. I’m not a heater. I’m a person.”

“You can be both,” Syris argued, leaning into her touch. “Be my Queen. Be my Heater. Be my Chef. I do not care about the title. Just be here.”

He leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, desperate kiss. He tasted of mineral water.

Ren didn’t push him away. She kissed him back, letting herself sink into the strange, cool comfort of his embrace.

’Maybe,’ she thought dangerously, ’maybe I can stay a little longer. Just until the molting is done.’

[System Notification: Warning. Stockholm Syndrome detected. Would you like to play a puzzle game to distract yourself?]

Ren ignored the system.

She wrapped her legs around Syris’ waist to keep from floating away.

“Okay,” she whispered against his lips. “I’ll stay. For breakfast.”

Syris smiled.

“Good,” he purred. “Because for breakfast… I want eggs.”

“We ate the eggs, Syris.”

“Not those eggs.”

He lifted her up, pressing her down onto the edge of the pool.

“I mean… my eggs.”

Ren’s eyes went wide. “Wait. What? Is that a euphemism? Or are you actually laying—”

Syris laughed, kissing her neck. “It is a joke, Little Chef. You taught me jokes.”

“That wasn’t funny!” Ren shrieked, splashing him. “That was terrifying!”

“Fear warms the blood,” Syris grinned, diving underwater to bite her thigh.

“SYRIS!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep