Desires & Heresy

The week passed in sinful indulgence.

Zane took his pleasures where he wished, his touch no longer something to be feared but craved. Celeste and Beatrice both melted under him, each in their own way—one innocent and eager, the other mature and aching for something long denied.

Celeste met him in darkened corridors, behind confessionals, in the quiet corners of the chapel where whispered prayers tangled with breathless sighs.

She no longer hesitated, no longer looked over her shoulder in fear of being caught. Instead, she sought him out, her touch lingering—brushing against his wrist, fingers trailing just long enough to make him notice before pulling him into the shadows.

Her hands, once folded in reverence, now clung to him, grasping at his robes with a quiet desperation. Her body fit against his as if she had always belonged there—soft curves molding into him, her full breasts pressing into his chest, her hips shifting slightly, seeking more than just closeness.

And when she spoke, her lips barely grazed his ear, her voice nothing but a breath. "I'll visit tonight."

To an onlooker, it looked like nothing—a devoted sister murmuring quiet words of faith. But Zane felt the way her breath hitched, heard the quiet plea hidden beneath the words, the longing woven into each syllable.

Her lips parted in helpless surrender—not in prayer, but in need.

Beatrice was different. More controlled, more aware—but only at first.

Zane knew exactly how to unravel her. A lingering touch during evening prayers, a low whisper in her ear as she passed, a hand on her thigh beneath the dinner table.

At first, she would shake her head, feign disinterest, smirk at his audacity. But she never stopped him.

And then, her walls began to crack.

She let herself be taken in the study hall, where she once sat in silent devotion. Against the stone pillars, where no one would dare to look. In the quiet of the library, where her gasps were muffled by his lips.

She liked the risk. The thrill. The feeling of being utterly desired after years of solitude.

Zane noticed the way she changed—the way her hands lingered longer, the way she leaned into him, letting her full, heavy breasts press against his chest. She no longer pulled away when he let his fingers graze over them, feeling their warmth through the thin fabric of her robes.

She breathed differently now—not in protest, but in anticipation. And when his hands brushed lower, his fingers teasing the stiff peaks hidden beneath her robes, she shivered, exhaling softly, pressing closer instead of retreating.

She no longer hesitated when his touch became bolder.

He had turned her restraint into hunger, her composure into quiet, trembling surrender.

By the end of the week, neither of them questioned or hesitated anymore.

They had been thoroughly corrupted—and loving every second of it.

Happiness, however, was not meant for everyone.

Far beyond the holy grounds, Aldric wandered the wilderness, a man shattered. His robes were torn, his hair unkempt, his once-piercing eyes dull with sleepless nights.

He prayed, but no answer came.

He sought solace, but all he found was sin.

Visions of Celeste in Zane's arms tormented him, her voice whispering in his head—not in reverence, but in desire. He raged. He wept. He clawed at the dirt like a madman.

But nothing changed.

He had lost.

His faith, his purpose, his reason for being.

And now, sin was all he had left.

The priest who had testified against Zane was also not faring well; he was found in disgrace.

Rumors spread first, quiet whispers in the halls. Then, undeniable proof—caught in acts of depravity, exposed for what he truly was.

It had been Zane's hand, of course, that set the pieces in motion.

He had arranged everything, planted temptation, and simply watched as the man walked willingly into his own ruin.

When the scandal reached Father Lucian, the decision was swift. The priest was cast out. His position was stripped.

And in his place?

Lucian was named High Priest.

The moment Zane had waited for.

Lucian was grateful, of course. It was Zane who had brought the corruption to light, Zane who had helped him ascend.

And with that, Zane secured his place in the highest inner circle.

If he had more time, he could have gone even further. Controlled more. Taken more.

But his time here was ending.

Final Night.

The chamber was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of candle wax and lingering warmth.

Celeste lay beside him, her body curled against his, her breath soft, steady.

Zane knew.

This would be the last time.

But she didn't.

She sighed, shifting against him, pressing closer. Warm. Soft. His.

Then, her lips brushed his jaw—a slow, deliberate kiss.

Zane smirked, but before he could tease her, she moved again—capturing his lips fully, deep, eager. Messy. Wet.

No hesitation. No restraint.

Her hands slid up his chest, pressing against his bare skin. Soft palms, trembling slightly, yet firm with intent. She arched into him, her full breasts pressing against his chest, the warmth of her body making his own pulse quicken.

She moaned softly, a sound of pure indulgence, of someone who no longer questioned what she wanted.

Zane pulled back just enough to speak. "So eager tonight."

Celeste gave him a look—half-lidded, flushed, utterly unashamed.

"Now don't say things like that."

Then she kissed him again—harder, hungrier.

Her fingers slid lower, tracing the defined lines of his abdomen before settling at his waist. Her touch wasn't hesitant—it was possessive.

Zane let his own hands wander, tracing the curve of her back, the dip of her waist, then lower—gripping the soft swell of her thighs, spreading his fingers to feel every inch of her.

She shivered, pressing closer. Her thighs parted slightly, inviting more.

Zane chuckled against her lips. "You don't even hesitate anymore."

Celeste exhaled shakily. "Why would I?"

He smirked, letting his hand drift upward, palms cupping the fullness of her chest, fingers teasing the soft flesh.

She gasped, her breath catching as she instinctively arched into his touch, her grip on his waist tightening.

The innocent girl he had once teased was gone.

Now, she was someone who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.

And he let her.

For the last time.

The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across the room.

Celeste lay against his chest, her breathing slow, satisfied.

Zane watched her, fingers tracing slow patterns along the bare curve of her back. The way her skin felt beneath his fingertips, the way her body fit against him—he memorized it all.

She stirred slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone before sighing in contentment.

She didn't know.

Didn't know that when she woke, he would be gone.

Zane shouldn't have cared.

He had won. He had taken everything he came for.

And yet, for the first time, he lingered.

He exhaled slowly.

Then, a flicker of blue light appeared before his eyes.

[Please Make Your Choice]

He leaned back against the pillows.

It was time.

He made his choice.

[New Target: High Priestess Eleanor]