Forbidden Desires: Conquering Kingdoms And Women In a Fantasy World!

The first rays of dawn crept through the winndow as I stirred from sleep.

I then headed back of the house for my morning routine as always. When I finished, my muscles hummed with that pleasant ache of exertion. Then I washed myself.

After drying myself and changing into clean clothes, I made my way back inside. The house still held the quiet stillness of early morning, but something felt different today—heavier, more charged with unspoken tension.

I found Rosaluna in the living room. She sat motionless at our wooden table, her pink eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the window. She was already dressed in her training attire—practical leather boots, fitted dark pants, and a tunic that allowed for easy movement during her sessions with Isadora.

But despite being ready for training, she seemed lost in a world of her own thoughts.

If she continued sitting there like this, she would definitely be late for her training session with Isadora.

"Big sister," I called her.

Her head turned toward me, and those beautiful eyes focused on my face. There was something vulnerable in her expression. "Harold…"

I knew we needed to address what had happened yesterday. "About yesterday…"

"It's my fault," she interrupted quickly. Her hands clenched into small fists on the table, and I could see the tension in her shoulders.

"No, it's my fault," I said, shaking my head. "I should have stopped helping mom maybe… and none of that would have happened."

The moment the words left my mouth, I saw Rosaluna's face transform. Her eyes widened with something approaching panic, and she shot to her feet so quickly that the chair scraped against the floor.

"H…Harold! Don't say that…" She exclaimed, crossing the small distance between us in three quick steps. When she stood before me, I could see the fierce determination blazing in her eyes. "You did nothing wrong. You just tried to help mom and you did help me. Since you've been helping me these past two years, I have never slept this good, you know?"

"But mom said it's wrong to help this way…"

"M…mom is wrong!" Rosaluna's voice cracked, but her conviction remained strong. Color flushed her cheeks as she continued, "I…maybe it's wrong for her or the others but…"

She reached out then, her small hands grasping my shoulders with surprising strength. "It's not wrong for me. I love you and you love me, don't you?" There was desperation in her voice and I could see tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

If I told her no, even as a joke, I knew instinctively that it might destroy something inside her. She had became this attached toward me. I could say without doubts that Rosaluna loved me more than anyone else had ever loved me in both lives.

"Yes, I love you…" I replied, showing a timid look.

The transformation was immediate and breathtaking. Rosaluna's face lit up with a radiant smile. She was overjoyed.

"And… you don't think it was wrong what we did, right?"

"No… I was really happy to help you and I was happy… when you helped me…" I said.

"Then…" She began, hope blooming in her expression.

"But mom told us to stop doing that and said it wasn't healthy…" I interrupted once again pushing her further back.

The change in Rosaluna was visible. Her bright smile faltered, replaced by an expression of bitter disappointment. Her gaze drifted toward Isabella's closed bedroom door.

"She is still sleeping?" I asked, following her gaze to the wooden door that remained firmly shut.

Rosaluna nodded. "I… I will speak to her when I get back. Don't worry… just remember, it's not your fault and you did nothing wrong, Harold."

Before I could respond, she pressed her lips to mine in a soft, lingering kiss.

I watched from the window as she walked away, her figure growing smaller as she disappeared into the forest path that led to Isadora's hut.

What a masterpiece of a woman she was. Truly someone deserving to be by my side when I stood at the top of whatever destiny awaited me.

But thoughts of destiny brought me back to more immediate concerns. The moment to leave Millbrook was rapidly approaching, and with it, the next chapter of my life would begin.

The Royal Academy of Erestia—just thinking the name sent a mixture of excitement and apprehension through me. It was the most prestigious magical institution in the kingdom, perhaps in the entire continent. Every year, it opened its doors to select a new class of students, but the entrance process was notoriously rigorous and exclusive.

The academy was primarily designed for nobility—the sons and daughters of dukes, counts, and other high-ranking families who could afford the substantial fees and navigate the complex social hierarchy within its walls. Even minor nobles often thought twice before enrolling their children, knowing that the academy could be a breeding ground for political machinations and social cruelty.

Money alone wasn't enough to guarantee admission. You needed talent, connections, and most importantly, the right bloodline. For commoners, acceptance was virtually impossible. The few who had managed it over the years had possessed extraordinary abilities that couldn't be ignored—and even then, their time at the academy was often marked by discrimination and hardship.

When I had first approached Isadora with my plan to gain entry to the academy, her reaction had been swift and discouraging. She had listened to my proposal with that calculating look she got when assessing magical theory, then promptly doused my enthusiasm with a harsh dose of reality.

"Harold. Even with the talent you've shown and whatever money you've managed to save, your common birth makes academy admission nearly impossible. The entrance board doesn't just look at magical aptitude—they consider family lineage, political connections, and social standing."

But…

"However. I happen to have certain… connections… within the academy's administration. People who owe me favors from years past. I might be able to arrange a spot for you."

So here I was now.

Now, after two and a half years of intensive instruction, Isadora had finally declared me ready. Just last week, she had put me through a final series of tests—complex magical theory, practical spellcasting under pressure, combat scenarios, and academic examinations that would have challenged seasoned scholars.

The entrance examinations were scheduled for next week in the capital city, which meant I needed to leave Millbrook within the next few days. The journey to Erestia would take at least a couple days by carriage, and I wanted to arrive with time to spare at Erestia.

But before I could leave with a clear conscience, there were several loose ends I needed to address and I also needed to be fully ready.

The leather satchel felt comfortable against my hip as I stepped out of our modest home. I had also taken my new bow gifted by Lisa and the quiver Riley had gifted me along the arrows just in case.

Instead of taking my usual path toward the forest and Isadora's domain, I turned in the opposite direction, following a worn trail that meandered away from Millbrook's clustered houses.

My destination lay about half a mile from the village—a place I had discovered years ago. The river here carved a gentle curve through the landscape, its waters moving with an unhurried grace.

The riverbank was a study in natural artistry. Smooth stones, worn round by countless years of flowing water, created a mosaic of grays, browns, and whites along the shore. Some were no larger than coins, while others rose like ancient monuments from the sandy earth. Between them, patches of fine sand caught the morning light, creating patterns that shifted with each gentle breeze.

I made my way to my usual spot—a massive boulder that jutted from the bank like a natural throne. Its surface had been smoothed by weather and time, creating a comfortable seat that offered a perfect view of the water's lazy dance. The rock was warm from the early sun, and I settled onto it with a contented sigh, placing my satchel carefully beside me.

Reaching into the leather bag, my fingers found the object I had come here to work on—a project that had consumed my spare time for the past month. I lifted it carefully, examining it in the clear morning light with the critical eye of a craftsman nearing completion.

The mask was a work of art, though not the kind that would grace any noble's collection or adorn a ballroom wall. This was art with purpose, beauty married to function in a way that would serve my ambitions in the capital city. The base was crafted from lightweight but durable materials I had carefully selected—thin layers of treated leather reinforced with strips of flexible wood, all shaped and molded with painstaking precision.

The design was deliberately intimidating. I had fashioned it to resemble the face of some primordial sea serpent, complete with subtle ridges that suggested scales and curved protrusions that could pass for horns or fins. The eye holes were cut with mathematical precision, allowing for perfect vision while casting the wearer's actual eyes in shadow. Most striking of all was the color—a deep, oceanic blue that seemed to shift and change like water itself depending on the angle of the light.

I wasn't planning to spend my time at the academy playing the role of a typical student. While others would be focused on academic rivalries, social hierarchies, and the petty concerns of youth, I had my sights set on something far more substantial. The academy was merely a stepping stone—a place to gain knowledge, make connections, and establish a foundation for the real work that lay ahead.

Building an organization, accumulating real power, positioning myself for the kind of influence that could reshape kingdoms—these goals required operating beyond the confines of any institution. And for such work, anonymity would be essential. My distinctive features, which had drawn attention since childhood, would need to be hidden when I conducted business in the shadows of the capital.

I retrieved a fine brush from my satchel, along with a small vial of paint that perfectly matched the mask's primary color. With steady hands born of countless hours of practice, I began applying the finishing touches—subtle highlights that would catch light in exactly the right way, tiny details that would make the mask appear almost alive in certain conditions.

The work required absolute concentration. Each stroke had to be perfect, each shade carefully blended to create the desired effect. I had always possessed steady hands and an eye for detail, but this project had pushed those skills to new heights. The result was something that transcended mere disguise—it was a work of artistry that happened to serve a practical purpose.

"Aren't you bored?"

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, resonating not through my ears but seeming to originate from within my very thoughts. I didn't flinch or startle.

A shimmer in the air above the river's surface announced her arrival before she fully materialized. The phenomenon never failed to captivate me, even as it had become routine. Reality seemed to bend and twist, like looking through water, before suddenly snapping into focus to reveal her ethereal form floating effortlessly above the gentle current.

To call her beautiful would be an understatement that bordered on insult. She was a vision that belonged in the realm of legends and ancient tales—the kind of being that inspired poets to madness and drove men to abandon kingdoms. Her skin held an otherworldly luminescence, as if moonlight had been given substance and shaped into feminine perfection. The blue tint to her ethereal glow suggested some connection to water or sky, though I had never been able to determine which.

Her hair was a cascade of liquid silver that moved with its own current, flowing around her shoulders and down her back like captured starlight. It seemed to respond to breezes that touched nothing else, dancing and shimmering with each subtle movement. Her eyes were the color of the deepest ocean—not the shallow blue-green of coastal waters, but the profound aqua of unexplored depths where ancient secrets lay hidden.

The gown she wore defied both physics and fashion. It appeared to be woven from mist and dreams, flowing around her form in ways that suggested rather than revealed. The fabric—if it could be called that—shifted between translucent and opaque depending on the angle and light, creating an effect that was both modest and alluring. Sometimes it seemed like silk, other times like captured fog, and occasionally like the surface of disturbed water reflecting moonlight.

She was the being I had inadvertently released from that cursed chest a week ago.

Since that day, she had been my constant, if intermittent, companion. She couldn't stray far from my presence—some magical compulsion bound her to remain within a certain radius of wherever I happened to be. In return, her very existence seemed to depend on some form of energy she drew from our connection. It wasn't painful or draining for me, but I could sense the invisible tether that connected us.

"What do you want, Viviane?" I asked, not bothering to look up from my delicate work. My brush continued its careful movement across the mask's surface, adding depth to what would become a particularly menacing shadow around the left eye.

"I told you my name isn't Viviane," she replied, and I could hear the pout in her voice without needing to see her expression.

"Well, I asked for your real name and you didn't tell it to me, so I chose to pick one," I said matter-of-factly.

"What a strange human you are," she whispered.

I finally looked up from my work, meeting those mesmerizing aqua eyes with a slight smile. "You find me strange? What I find strange is a devastatingly hot woman who bursts out of nowhere from a chest buried inside a pond that had magically appeared in a forest I thought I knew like the back of my hand, and who now follows me around like some ethereal shadow."

She drifted closer to the riverbank, her form casting no reflection in the water below. "I have no choice, unfortunately for both you and me," she said.

I set down my brush for a moment, giving her my full attention. "How about you tell me your backstory? I might be able to help you figure out a solution to whatever binds us together."

A knowing smile played across her lips, transforming her features from merely beautiful to absolutely radiant. "You are too cunning, so no."

I shrugged and returned to my painting. "Fine then. Go ahead and enjoy the flowing river. There are plenty of fish there if you're feeling hungry."

"I am not a fish nor do I eat fishes!" She retorted indignantly.

"Then what do you want?" I asked, applying a delicate stroke that would create the illusion of a scar running across the mask's forehead.

She fell silent, floating motionless above the water like a statue carved from living light. The quiet stretched between us, broken only by the gentle murmur of the river and the distant calls of birds in the surrounding trees.

"You see, that silence makes me even less inclined to trust you," I said eventually. "If you're preparing some revenge story where you use me as your instrument, forget about it immediately. I'm not interested in petty vengeance schemes, and I have far greater goals to pursue."

She laughed at that.

"And what goal could this human possibly have that would be greater than the machinations of immortal beings?"

I looked up at her again, this time with a smile that carried all the confidence and ambition that burned within my chest. "Becoming a king would be a very good start."

Viviane was rendered completely speechless.

I returned my attention to the mask, adding the final touches with steady hands while she processed my declaration.