Prologue

Felix's back arched as he was pinned on the winged sofa, hands cuffed with wet silk and eyes blinded by a black ribbon. His breath slowly catching up after being kissed longer than he could take. Obviously tired, the man on top of him refused to give him any mercy.

"P-Please w-wait..." He begged as his captor brushed his hand trailing his thigh, deeper where he could feel his member twitching with excitement.

"Oh...Adorable~" His rough raspy voice made sent shivers throughout Felix's wet body. While he teased moving from Felix's thighs to his chest, the man bit every sensitive part of him. Felix squirmed, it was a weak attempt for escape but it only fueled greater lasciviousness. Felix could feel a shaft in between his hips, a frightening yet thrilling sentiment. He felt it moving up and down, and he knew what was about to happen sooner or later but desperate for salvation, he made one last attempt to flee—trying to move back...though in a weak almost exhausted manner.

"Felix...Let...me...love you..." He felt the blindfold loosen, yet he was still touched.

"I...T-This...is wrong Ah~" Felix moaned.

Soft long fingers rubbed Felix's chest. While religiously doing so, the gentleman looked at Felix's eyes with deep wonder. There was love in it and the amour he felt while Felix made beautiful noises to his touch gave him a sense of excitement mixed with a faint feeling of somber.

Though he knew that this lust shared in moonlight is fleeting, he desired nothing more than its permanence. For Felix to be his alone, unfortunately he was prince. He was the only chance this kingdom has.

Well...No...truthfully, there are ways—

(Months Before)

Long before Leon—Well his true name is Felix Cecille La Sofia—quite a mouthful to be honest. Well, before he had humored the world with his consciousness, there was bitter the war between nobilities of the kingdom—one may consider it the most brutal civil war between the factions of Cynthia, Stanton, Lockhart and Hallvadur. Felix in particular was never a member of these factions but rather above it all. Since his parents died, all that was left of them—the throne was him and Oh...nearly every noble family wanted him off the picture.

Well the death of one was the opportunity of another—they did not wish for his death due to hatred rather they all believed the kingdom would be far stable if it was a faction leading the nation.

As the last individual of the monarchy dies without an heir, a representative from the five factions can and will inherit the crown. The factions, though very cunning would never be impetuous as to destroy the pure line of monarchs—but there was the Cynthias.

The Cynthias were the commonfolk's most beloved as the faction harnessed their fortune to the kingdom's fertility and agriculture. Oh dearest reader—not even I would dare cross the line with one of their brood. Such family of false moral fiber are simply impenetrable. Furthermore, the lot pf them are astonishingly influential.

The kind of politics they play is a steadfast yet cruel game of chess. From a perspective of a veteran aristocrat, one can say with certainty that the Cynthias often draw their pawns—the commoners and gentry in unpredictable and often agressive means of negotiations making them utterly invulnerable.

One can admire their wits and movements but others, mostly the commonfolk, pay great respect to them as they harbor wealth nearly tantamount to the royal family and some even call them the right hand of court, but that was never really the case. They did pay great attention to the singularity of the crown—Felix. Like most nobilities, they saw the prince as a means of "opportunity".

Felix's infancy was never easy for those religiously protecting him. The kind of protection he had rook form of opulent looking palace castrated from all of its glamour and turned into a senile fortress with a guard stationed at every corner. Ah yes...truly a lavish experience. The excessive effort to guard the crown was not unreasonable though. He was merely a child with no more than the dependence of the country's finest caretakers, doctors as well as knights to keep him adrift from the imminences that might wound him and due to the political climate of the kingdom, he could never be safe exposed to the factions—especially to the Cynthias.

The state of the kingdom was—how should I put this...delicate. Toppled maybe by a feather? Considering that the competition for the throne was still in debate discussed in the offices of the nobilities, everyone was still on the edge.

That was until the Mistwheel palace (The Countryside Estate) was raided by some ambiguous occult. Well—they were not mysterious enough for them to be left unknown. Their palms were scarred in a particularly odd pattern—it was a rose. It looked burnt into their skin. It glowed as they pranced—waltzing around the castle setting everything and everyone ablaze.

There was no telling who sent them, certainly the factions could look at the Cynthias and easily margin them as the masterminds—but no, even they do not possess such force to storm the most heavily guarded edifice in the nation and certainly not in a flashy manner. They were possibly rogues, and they came to get something. If not to get then they must be here to kill someone—the prince.

It was fortunate that a knight, by the skin of ones teeth, managed to evacuate the prince. The nation owes the young knight, one William Radcliffe, a great deal of service. William was not merely a knight but a patrician, the knight knew his family had an estate around here but what of his family think? A pretentious return with the prince would certainly outrage the entirety of the Kingdom's politics. The last thing he wanted was chaos amongst the noblemen and he believed his majesty's safety would not be guaranteed even in the thick walls of the capital's palace.

The rogues were powerful enough to storm a fortress, severing the kingdom's finest line of defense so he had to think of something. He didn't know what to do other than ran. To where? He didn't know but as long as he could get far away from the scene—from the occult, he believed they would be safe.

Many believed the prince by now was dead. They certainly did not expect him to be the opposite after such a perilous evening. The factions wept for the death of their monarch—well not really, most of them just kept a facade in order to avoid the other factions' narrowed eyes of suspicion. There was certainly proof for that when most of the peerage sneered at the Cynthias.

Fortunately, they were never persecuted, how could they? When there was little (mostly hearsay) if no evidence that charts back to them initiating the raid.

Although the whole nation threw a funeral, the young prince was alive. The nation did not know that—It was better for them not to. There was no telling who the members of that occult were and judging from their number, the genius behind them is most likely someone of power and affluence. Not to mention witnesses were scarce with the entirety of them absolutely horrified to the point where they migrated to another kingdom. William though...was never heard from ever again.

Well not certainly in the ordinary parts of the kingdom rather—

"OH MY—Come back here LEON!"

—Goodness, and there goes our young monarch.