This shall be an Alternate Universe in which Nakamoto Yuta is a pursued lycanthrope, and you are the first born princess in the sovereignity of Ambrosiah.
Elliana Conradina [Name] Ahava shall be your name in this
"Have you heard of this newfangled technology our juvenile siblings have bellyached about like mad banshees?" Your elder brother, Lucas, sat beside you at the top of the staircase that led to the pallid fuchsia waters.
You chuckled at his perfectly discombobulated visage. It's frightening how you both resemble each other's fraternal twin. Luke had elongated limbs, brilliant sombre hair, a compact pair of eyebrows, extravagant lips, and a bone structure among the angels.
"Quite tenaciously, the border of Ambrosiah avowed the mundane chieftains from beyond the colossal gates to hand us their gifts, finally. It has been a century, claimed father, that the peace treaty between the mammals and us, monarchies have found understanding within each other." You stood up and ran down the porcelain staircase, the sheer material of your sun dress flowing through the air like dancing feathers.
You weren't quite the uncanny imitation of your own brother, your skin was fair, you had luscious cinnamon hair, your lips were the ones of a young little darling, a round face, plump cheeks, and a button nose, unlike your brother, who had a formidable nose, and fulgent cheekbones.
You gave your little siblings their own towels and the maids proceeded to deliver them to the castle. You told your brother that you needed to leave elsewhere, and so you did.
The place you visited was a spellbinding museum of modern technology and holograms of various human paintings. The edifice took years to ameliorate, and it clasped your exhilaration by storm.
A kingdom two countries from yours had bestowed the depository as a largesse for the future beneficiary of both the Asian principality, Ambrosiah, and Europe's very own, Carnallia. As the future Queen of Ambrosiah, you are to be vowed in an espousal with Europe's Prince Silvius, the first son of King Aphelione and Queen Consort, Mingxia.
Enthrallingly, the aristocratic family has birthed an equivalent of sextuplets with three minutes, four minutes, six minutes, eight minutes, ten minutes, and eleven minutes apart from the first up to the last.
The first prince born was Prince Silvius Mathios Renjun West Arrhenius.
The second birthed successor of Cardinallia was named Prince Lozano Sapphirus Jeno Kami Arrhenius.
The third Prince of Europe's very own was born Prince Alessandro Moreaux Donghyuck Lync Arrhenius.
The fourth son of the royal family is addressed as Kuhlikov Inokin Jaemin Arez Arrhenius.
The fifth inheritor of the tenacious King Aphelione is none other than Prince Devereaux Costner YangYang Cyyl Arrhenius, and Prince Zedillo Wexler Shotaro Dahl Arrhenius was born last.
Notwithstanding the outrage of delivering sextuplets to the threshold of absolutism, the maternal and paternal wellsprings of both monarchism have unequivocally resolved the matter of the Princess Elliana and the Prince Silvius to perpetuate the blood kindred of both kingdoms, and to efficiently accomplish their duties as the contemporaneous lineage of Cardenallia and Ambrosiah respectively.
Foreseeably, you do not oppose to the provision. Your late ancestors, current ancestors and living genealogy has and have acknowledged the outlined future of weddings as consequential, and you, another strikingly noteworthy woman of the family, has no entitlement to repudiate the tradition.
"Her Royal Highness, The Princess of Ambrosiah." A noble equestrian has positioned himself on one knee, his large metal buckler purposefully aligned on his chest, his delicate mop of umber hair pointed downwards. He stood right up once your laced feet faced his metal gear. You bent a knee while bowing your head to greet the young lad, his crescent eyes welcoming your own.
"Greetings, Sir Minhyung. How may I be of service? Have you ran out of wild livestocks to kill?" You cheekily embarked when his beautiful face smiled at the sight of you, knowing well of the respect he sincerely holds for you. "I'm glad they have not, Your Highness. I arrived to directly address the matter to you. We have captured the kingdom's greatest fear."
As an honorable woman who studies the health and discomfort of animals, you immediately left the museum and ran gracefully towards the castle cells, (which took you ten circular staircases, mind you) and found an anomalous brute sheathed in ghastly plentiful fur, but, what stupefied you was the fading arrangement of wooly canine limbs forming into wounded human skin.
You hastily aided the bleeding arm of the male mammal and, for the first occurrence in your life, demandingly screamed at the cavaliers to answer your question. "What did you do? What did you do to him?!" You disintegrated various tears from your dress and chained them around every bleeding injury you could foresee on his body, fleecy or bare skin.
To your impatience not a single male answered your inquiry, only a multiple of them handing you supplies of bandages, humectants, a bowl of water and a cloth, and a shirt and a pair of trousers from someone within the crowd.
You were thankful they had worked with you from the countless times you've stubbornly voyaged with them through business arrangements and metropolis visits.
They were knowledgeable of your love for the unfortunate and animals through the intervals you've ventured with them. Unsurprisingly, you aided another feral living creature despite the likelihood of your skin getting scathed. "Bring a bed, a table, food, and drinking water. No wounded being shall be confined with chains!"
You refused to abandon the lycanthrope alone and stay vulnerable to excessive injury, knowing an agitated individual would more likely start a riot if they felt bedeviled.
Your peepers gawked at him, as if he were extravagantly, the most beddable- err, bewitching male on the planet. In the entirety of your life as a beauty yourself, many desirable men have allured your eyes, but never in your life have you seen a human so physically perfect.
Unconsciously, or rather willfully, your organs of sight drifted towards the delicious expanse of his lips, the delightful color, spectacular form, they looked quite smooth, if only, you could kiss him dearly. "You're reveling in quite the time there, lady. Tell me, do my lips manipulate you?" A row of plush eyelashes peeked open, a lopsided smile adorned his lips while you were flabbergasted, eyes gratefully agape.
"No, but your arrogance does. The ones that imprisoned you here has brought you food to digest and water to aid your thirst." You bespeeched offhandedly, in contrary to your girlish heart, you never dispensed your emotions to demoralize your decisions. Your knees puckered the air from the elongated amount of time kneeling beside this gorgeous male, your eyes passive as he sits up on his bum.
Consigning your thoughts to oblivion, you overlooked the previous form of his body before you stayed and gawked at him. He was in dishabille.
You trailed your eyes elsewhere, but the lingering beauty of his smirking lips consumed the air around you with such murky intent, your knuckles tightened in fists. "Do I see roseate on your cheeks, lady?" The sardonic intent within his wondrous tenor melodically irritated and embarrassed you.
"A fine, delicious young woman, and yet, her eyes are yet to behold a handsome whippersnapper in his unclothed plight." You could almost feel the glistening diamonds of arrogance on moxie piled like ten layers of cake with thick blueberry jam and creamcheese frosting.
You umbiguously turned your vision to him, that ever so provoking smile. "Well, Signor, some women have respectable taste in men. Undoubtedly, it's your first encounter with such a lady. Good night, Signor. I'll see you tomorrow before sunrise."
You immediately paddled your feet to close the shielded room and took labored breaths within every step up the stairwell, your blushing, steaming cheeks responding verbatim towards the fresh memory of the male's placidly lengthened, thickset cock twitching like mad whenever he took a whiff of the sweet, sweet aroma in between your covered legs like dribbling nectar from the flower of life, as a lycanthrope, you were certain, certain that his sense of smell fashioned superlatively, more than monarchies.
And you were also certain you deeply effectuated his rut.
