Faechan

[Mature content, R18, no rape] "Who has done this to you?" Azel asked softly, his jaw tightly clenched as he stared into her teary, bright amber eyes, his fingers itching to caress her cheek.

"Tell me," he whispered, "and I will sever his head and present it to you upon a platter of gold..."

***

Her birth alone left her mother in a terribly weakened state...

Adelia, the only daughter and child of the Veldon house, was… strange. Neither her birth mother nor her beloved father, nor even the witches posing as servants in the castle knew what she truly was. Adelia herself was clueless.

She blamed herself for her mother's illness, and with each passing day, both grew worse—the affliction and her guilt.

For her mother's sake and for hers as well, Adelia willingly enters into a ruthless deal, a path to salvation that was bound to lead to her demise, one that would deny her the experience of love. Still, she didn't care for the consequences and sacrifices, for the need to cure her mother was far greater…

But fate, ever mocking her resolve, throws her onto the path of an insolent stranger, a man with the power to alter her desires...

***

Obsidian armor. Strong. Ruthless.

These three words defined a single knight, striking fear into the hearts of all who heard of him. Countless tales spoke of his exploits, yet his identity remained shrouded in mystery.

Azel Latham, the embodiment of this figure, was known by none, for his face had never been seen in battle. With a single stroke, he could fell twenty warriors in an instant.

Azel had many secrets. His presence was strange, his appearance even more peculiar. A mischievous and playful look on the outside but a shattered and enclosed heart within.

…It would not remain frozen for long, however, for an amusing encounter with a captivating woman would leave him wanting more…



**Cover art does not belong to me, credit to the artist!

The Witch's Devious Attraction

In a grand temple in Dalniar's capital, a plump man of average height adorned in rich priestly attire stood on a slightly elevated dais.

His dirty blonde hair was neatly combed back atop his round head, and his countenance was the very epitome of serene.

Right behind him stood a scrawny boy of about sixteen years, the robe he wore looked about to devour him whole as he stood behind the high priest with a timid expression.

Before them on lower ground, a line of people had gathered, seeking blessings and healing for the day. They had already attended to a significant number of them, with only a few, at least to them, remaining.

A faint wrinkle appeared at the top of Nicolas's, the high priest's, nose as he regarded the people before him—peasants who came for blessings only to give little in return.

High Priest Nicolas [1]