Red Shadow in the Night

Seduction

The night was as cool as water, a gentle breeze stirring the air and lightly lifting the hem of Isabella's dress.

She stood outside the Regent’s Manor, her gaze fixed on the tightly shut doors not far ahead, lost in thought.

Pulling her white fox fur cloak tighter around her, she heard Beatrice’s deliberately hushed voice in her ear. “My lady, why have you come to the Regent’s Manor so late?” Beatrice was perplexed. Her lady had never had much dealings with the Lord Regent, yet here she was, standing before his chambers under the faint moonlight. It was utterly bewildering.

Isabella paused, exhaling a cloudy breath. “You may return.”

Beatrice frowned slightly, her confusion deepening. How could she leave her lady alone here? “My lady…” she started, but Isabella turned her head just enough for her beautiful, emotionless eyes to meet Beatrice’s—intimidating in their calm. Beatrice faltered, not daring to press further. She bowed with a curtsey and replied, “Yes.”

Straightening her posture, Isabella approached the closed doors step by step, her figure soft yet resolute, like a female general marching into battle.

A nearby guard spotted her and instantly recognized her as the queen. He dropped to one knee in salute. “Greetings, Your Majesty.”

With a slight raise of her hand, Isabella signaled him to stand. “I have urgent matters to discuss with the Lord Regent. Please announce my arrival.”

The guard hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his eyes, but he quickly regained composure. “Please wait a moment, Your Majesty.” Moments later, the guard, clad in dark robes, returned and stepped aside. “Your Majesty, the Lord Regent will see you.”

Isabella entered. The hall was spacious yet understated compared to the Royal Chambers—its furnishings elegant and simple, exuding a cold serenity. She looked up to see a long desk piled high with petitions, barely revealing the man seated behind it, his head lowered. The stack of documents loomed like a mountain—work meant for the king’s desk. Yet, ironically, the king who should have been reviewing them was lost in the harem, indulging in pleasure with his women.

Steadying her mind, Isabella slipped off her luxurious embroidered shoes, revealing the anklet bells hidden beneath her socks. She took a few barefoot steps, her movements graceful, the bells chiming crisply with each stride. The man behind the desk paused his writing at the sound, then resumed as if undisturbed, not lifting his gaze.

She stopped, her red lips parting slightly, her soft, warm voice filling the hall with a rising lilt that carried a trace of allure. “Good evening, Lord Regent.” Her tone was naturally gentle, and with that subtle lift at the end, it resembled the call of a mythical bird—unintentionally enchanting, capable of softening even the sternest resolve.

Yet the man behind the desk remained unmoved. He raised his head calmly, his eyes cold and devoid of emotion. Clad in dark robes, his handsome features were framed by an aura of aloofness, unapproachable and distant.

Under the moonlight, his ink-black hair was tied high with a jade crown, his posture noble, his beauty unmatched. He arched an eyebrow slightly as he regarded her. “Your Majesty, what brings you here so late at night?”

Isabella took two more steps forward, the clear chime of her anklet bells ringing in his ears again—though he didn’t seem to mind. The desk stood between them. She covered her lips with a light laugh, every smile and glance brimming with captivating charm, subtly seductive. “I thought the Lord Regent would know why I’ve come tonight.”

They were like chess players, probing one another while guarding their own intentions. A man in the Lord Regent’s position could easily deduce why she had come alone at night. By granting her entry, he had already acknowledged something in her worth negotiating, though he kept it unspoken.

With a flick of her fingertips, her fox fur cloak slid to the floor, revealing the red gauze dress beneath. The fabric was sheer, her fair skin half-hidden, half-exposed—her full bosom, slender waist, long legs, and the delicate ankles faintly visible under the hem, all crafting a stunning silhouette.

Her beauty was mesmerizing.

A faint fragrance drifted through the air.

It was her sweet scent, reminiscent of bright acacia flowers—charming yet refined, subtle yet undeniable.

She approached Lord Reginald, her fingertips catching a strand of hair that had fallen over his shoulder. With a languid sweep of her eyes, she resembled a seductive spirit, captivating and soul-stealing. But he seemed unaffected, calmly grasping her wrist, his voice cold as an emotionless immortal. “What is the meaning of this, Your Majesty?”

“What do you think, Lord Regent?” His grip was light. Isabella’s fingers, still tangled in his hair, tapped his shoulder lightly before sliding down slowly. “Haven’t I made it clear enough?”

Gracefully, she settled onto Lord Reginald’s lap, her soft, pliant body pressing closer. Her peach-blossom eyes, brimming with allure, lifted slightly, their autumn-water gaze rippling with emotion as they met his unflinching stare. “Do you understand now, Lord Regent?”

He gazed at her, her exposed skin snow-white with a faint blush. His eyes inadvertently dipped to her half-revealed, rounded bosom. They were so close that the acacia flower scent he’d noticed earlier grew stronger—not overpowering, but enough to stir worldly desires. He spoke lightly, “Your Majesty, please behave.”

Though he urged restraint, he neither loosened his hold on her wrist nor pushed her away. Emboldened, she draped her arms around his neck, her naturally red lips brushing his ear, her warm breath teasing him. “Do you not like me like this, Lord Regent?”

Lord Reginald’s lips twitched faintly, almost a smile but not quite. “If Your Majesty used such tactics on the king, I’m certain even he would eagerly yield to your charms.” He looked up, his eyes still clear, as if untouched by her efforts. “You’ve come to the wrong person.”

At the mention of the king, a flicker of disgust flashed through Isabella’s bright eyes, quickly suppressed. Her red lips curved into a slight smile, like a cherry blossom in bloom—irresistibly charming. “But… I only wish to use these tactics on you, Lord Regent.” Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. “I hope you’ll take pity on me.”

His large hand suddenly settled on her slender waist, fingers tightening as he pulled her closer into his embrace.

Her faint fragrance filled his senses. “Do you know how much risk I’d take for what you ask?” His lips curved slightly, but his eyes held no warmth. “What do you offer that makes it worth such a risk?”

To Lord Reginald, Isabella was a rare beauty—stunning enough to rob any man of reason with a single gesture. She was bold and radiant, like a ruby; even if dusted over, her brilliance couldn’t be dimmed.

But the more beautiful a woman, the more dangerous she became. Lust was a double-edged sword. If Lord Reginald were swayed by fleeting pleasures, he’d have lost his regency long ago. He avoided women because he knew desire, once ignited, was inescapable. Yielding repeatedly would reduce him to the king’s level.

Isabella stiffened, her grip on his soft robes tightening, then loosening. Suddenly, her soft red lips pressed against his cool, thin ones.

The scent of acacia flowers lingered between them, her sweet, tender kiss catching Lord Reginald off guard. A dark glint flickered in his eyes, his heart stirring inexplicably.

Seeing no response, Isabella’s heart sank. She pressed her soft body closer, her full bosom tight against his chest. Her attire was light, and even through his robes, she felt his warmth.

A virgin with only vague notions of intimacy—gleaned from fleeting glances at books—Isabella knew kissing could rouse a man’s emotions, but not how to do it. Her movements were clumsy; her soft lips pressed tentatively against his, sometimes brushing lightly. When he remained impassive, she closed her eyes, parted her red lips slightly, and let her small, pink tongue dart out to lick his thin lips.

Lord Reginald tensed, his senses igniting. The air seemed saturated with her acacia flower scent—a potent aphrodisiac numbing his reason, unleashing buried desires, stripping his control.

He lifted a hand to cradle her head, the other encircling her pliant waist. Hoisting her onto the desk amid the petitions, he pinned her in that confined space, offering no retreat. He captured her tongue, and in their fervent kiss—lips parting briefly—one could glimpse their tongues entwined like serpents, rubbing together, exchanging saliva.

Isabella didn’t recoil; she teased his slick tongue playfully. Unwilling to be outdone, Lord Reginald sucked her impish tongue until it tingled, then released it to claim every corner of her mouth, marking her with his presence.

Their bodies pressed close, the faint rustle of fabric the only sound in their ears—ambiguous in the night’s stillness. Isabella’s clothes had loosened in their tangle, her gauze dress riding up to reveal half her smooth, white shoulder.

Her hand clutched his robes, tightening and releasing. Both their garments were disheveled, the sound of their entwined tongues filling the chamber with sensuality—so potent that even the bright moon hid behind clouds, leaving the sky dark.