Supreme Spouse System.

Morning of Fifteen Shadows

The world awakened in color.

Dawn swept across Blackthorn City in the brushstrokes of a painter, coating rooftops with golden light and rousing the scent of the night-blooming flowers still holding to the dawn. The sky was a canvas of pale blue with silver streaks of rose and gold, clouds drifting across the horizon. The calls of birds from faraway gardens plucked their song through the rustle of leaves against the wind.

The Blackthorn Duchy, seat of secret power in Moonstone Kingdom, glimmered in that light. And in its noble Nova Mansion—an estate spreading whitewashed walls and crimson rooftops—life pulsed. Guards relieved guards along the gates. Servants cleaned dew-wet paths.

But farther within the mansion, in a walled wing where silence reigned supreme, one room pulsed with the vibrations of another sort of life.

The room was large, fashioned in whites and reds. Crimson velvet curtains flowed down from tall windows, their folds heavy and stately, but tempered by the morning light that filtered through. White marble pillars shone pale, veined with silver threads. Against this stately background lay the evidence of disorder—a passion storm that had stormed across the night.

Clothing littered the carpet: silken garments ripped half-apart, stockings knotted with ribbons, lace discarded carelessly. The heady smell of roses, mogra, and lavender incense clung tenaciously to the air, but it was blended now with something rawer. The pungent, heady smell of sweat. The smell of bodies joined in madness. The unmistakable scent of sex still clung, weighing heavy in the room like an enchantment that could not be dispelled.

And at the center of the tempest was the bed.

It was huge, made of darkwood and covered with sheets of ivory silk now rumpled and besmirched by the friction of endless sex. The scene upon it was surreal, as if some ancient debauched painting had bled over into real life.

Leon rested at the center, his head on a pillow of white, wisps of his dark hair strewn over the fabric. His golden eyes remained closed, lashes dark against his face, his face serene in the wake of violence. His chest rose and fell with even breath, though each inch of his body carried the unspoken pain of what had transpired.

But he was not alone.

They surrounded him, wrapped around him like a living star map of loveliness.

Lying on one arm was Rias, the red-haired sorceress, her face against him, her red eyes slitted even in sleep, lips softly parted as if dreaming of his kiss. Her hair flowed down his arm like molten fire.

Opposite him was Lira, silver-haired and calm, her cold blue eyes concealed beneath fluttering lashes, her cheek buried against his chest as if holding fast to his pulse.

Over his body lay sprawled Syra, bright green hair disheveled, her form strewn over him unashamed, one hand loose on his jaw even in sleep, as if she would not release him even in dreams.

Aria had staked out one of his legs, her regal purple hair sprawled across his thigh, lips lightly touching his skin with each slow exhalation. Nova sprawled at his other leg, her black hair and green eyes identifying her as separate, her thin fingers still fast around his calf as if in remembrance of last night's wildness.

It didn't stop there.

Surrounding him, curled and twisted, were Cynthia with her poised black hair loose at last, Kyra with her frigid reserve broken into helpless sleep, Fey, Rui, Lena, Mira, and Mona—the five maids whose piety had turned to naked surrender. Lilyn, the sweet head maid, her honey-colored eyes gentle even in sleep, was lying by the foot of the bed, her hand tangling with Chloe's—Ronan's daughter—she was an innocent-looking doll amidst the wreckage, dark hair spilling like black ink over the bedding.

And Tsubaki, the proper knight, armor and restraint shed, was lying half on top of the rest, one arm draped protectively over Leon's waist as though marking her territory.

Fifteen women. Naked, entwined, bodies bruised with pale red from teeth, from fingers, from the frenzied rhythm of last night. The sheets were clinging to them damply, evidence of hours—no, a whole night—of unrelenting passion.

It had been madness last night.

Leon had been through each of them, not once, not twice, but repeatedly until their voices broke, until their bodies shook, until they collapsed around him in exhaustion. His new body, his endless energy, had taken him through where any other man would have collapsed. He had pounded into them until they cried, until they had lost track of their own orgasms. Fifteen women, to the point of saturation, departed shuddering even now in their fantasies.

And yet—he survived.

The sunbeams seeped over the bed sheets, stroking his flesh. Leon's eyelashes fluttered. He opened his eyes gradually, slowly, heavily. Gold flashed into the morning, biting into the filtered light until they glowed like molten fire.

A dull throb tugged at his lower half, the first honest reminder of his evening's plunder. He smiled weakly at it.

Even for him, this was no minor victory.

Memories had run through his head—the manner in which one woman after another had thrown herself upon him, their moans pleading, their hands pulling him further, their mouths demanding his. He had laughed then too, overwhelmed by their passion, powerless and unwilling to do anything but give in.

Now, he breathed out and moved slightly.

"Darling…"

The voice was a soft, sultry whisper, running along the edge of his ear like a touch. He shifted his head, his golden eyes meeting crimson ones. Rias had woken, her smile slow, her lips curving in satisfaction.

"Why are you laughing in the morning?" she whispered, tracing her fingers over his chest.

Leon smirked lazily, leaning forward to kiss her lips. Her cherry sweetness still clung to them.

"Nothing, sweetheart," he whispered. "Just recalling last night."

Noah's cheeks flushed, but her smile grew. "It was pretty much chaos… but chaos that I'd never give up."

He kissed her once more, gently this time. "Good morning."

"Good morning, love."