I stepped into the huge bathing pool, the water's edge lapping at my ankles before I descended the marble steps fully nude, last robes discarded in a silken heap.
Steam curled upward like ghostly fingers, carrying the heady perfume of rose petals—dozens floating on the surface, their crimson edges unfurling in the heat.
The pool was vast, easily ten feet across, fed by hidden hot springs that turned the water milky with minerals, soothing my aching jaw and raw throat from Darius's cock like a balm. Why do I have to be so indecent? Even if it's a dream, I shouldn't give blowjobs to hot men.
I sank in up to my neck, sighing as ripples caressed my porcelain skin, bubbling gently against my flat chest, slim waist, and the dainty curve of my thighs.
Back in my previous life, I made do with a cramped tub—professor's salary was meagre, baths were quick and utilitarian, lukewarm water sloshing in porcelain chipped from overuse. Look, I like bathing but because of the small tub... I could never enjoy a bath.
Right now, I'm Caspian. In the story, Caspian turns tyrant after spotting Jenne kissing Duke Darius—heartbreak city. He was a bit of a tyrant before, too, backed by Darius's armies and his own royal blood. But that jealousy spiral? Not on my watch.
Liking girls isn't my forte.
I bathed leisurely, dipping a silver ladle into a crystal decanter of jasmine-scented oil—thick, golden liquid that gleamed under the chandelier's glow.
Starting at my shoulders, I poured it slowly, massaging it into my golden long hair first, fingers combing through the wet waves until they shone like molten sunlight, then down my neck where the faint hickey pulsed.
Over my arms, slender and unscarred; across my flat chest, nipples pebbling in the humid air; circling my narrow waist and the subtle dip of my hips.
Lower, I spread it along my smooth thighs, inner skin silky, then cupped my pink cock and dainty balls, the oil slicking them warm and slick—still weird, no folds, just this sensitive length twitching faintly at the touch.
Caspian's memories guided me—how to lather without drowning, imperial protocols kicking in like muscle memory—rinse with petal-infused water, avoid the eyes, let the steam open pores for that ethereal glow.
Still feels weird seeing this chest so flat, my pussy just... gone.
No more periods? Isn't that the best thing?
Yay! Hands-down the best perk of transmigration. I grinned, splashing water triumphantly, sending petals scattering. I'm actually happy about this fact.
But why attack Darius over Jenne? I'm not that desperate for hot men!
Maybe a little.
I stepped out, steam rising around me like a lover's breath, body glistening with oil and droplets tracing rivulets down my back, ass, legs.
Plush towels—woven from rare cloud-silk, softer than sin—awaited on a heated rack; I patted dry methodically, from hair—squeezing excess water into a basin—to toes, leaving my skin flushed and fragrant.
A group of maids waited, blushing furiously at my naked form—golden hair dripping in heavy coils, porcelain skin glistening, every lithe inch on display.
They approached with practiced deference, first wrapping a thin linen sheet around my hips before layering the emperor's robes—an under-robe of sheer white silk that whispered against my oiled skin, clinging to curves; then the main crimson over-robe, heavy brocade embroidered with snarling gold dragons that coiled from hem to collar, sleeves wide and flowing.
A gold sash cinched my slim waist, accentuating the feminine taper; finally, a mantle of ermine fur draped my shoulders for the throne's chill. Intricate gold clasps shaped like phoenixes secured it all, weighing heavy but regal—heavy enough to remind me of this fragile body's limits.
"You may go," I dismissed them softly, their eyes lingering on my chignon-twisted hair before they fled. Alone, I gathered my damp golden locks, twisting them into a sleek chignon high on my nape, securing with pearl pins that caught the light.
The diamond-encrusted crown followed—heavy mithril band studded with fist-sized gems, nestling perfectly.
Finally, I gripped the sceptre—jewelled rod pulsing faintly with latent magic—in one hand, sheathed sword at my hip—symbols of power this fragile body barely earned.
I strode to my study, where my secretary awaited. Merol—competent, loyal, with sharp eyes and a ledger always at hand. The guards swung open the carved doors; he bowed deeply. "Your Majesty."
I nodded curtly, sinking into the throne-like chair behind the obsidian desk carved with imperial crests.
Caspian was a powerful mage—subtle telekinesis to lift documents mid-air, illusion weaves that could cloak a room in shadows—and a skilled swordsman from royal training, blade work precise as a dancer's. No OP powers like the others, just finesse.
This made it a bit difficult—others were big powerhouses hurling firestorms or summoning beasts, while Caspian's only standout edge was his too-beautiful face. Nothing wrong with being beautiful, but compared to the other male leads, he's substantially weaker. My ethereal looks might charm allies or distract foes, but in a real showdown? I'd need power, not pretty.
Merol straightened from his bow, sharp eyes flicking up—then lingering on my face, a faint blush creeping under his composed facade.
"Your Majesty, what's with this hairstyle?" he ventured, voice respectful but curious, gesturing vaguely at my sleek chignon.
"Oh, this is new," I replied lightly, twirling a loose golden strand around my finger with a subtle telekinetic nudge for effect. Gotta test these memories—float a quill his way? Nah, ease in. "Trying something regal. But give me the reports, I need to see them."
A huge stack of documents appeared on the table, summoned by Merol's subtle wave—parchments, ledgers, and sealed missives towering like a paper fortress, inked with noble sigils and urgent stamps.
This much?! I blurted, eyes widening at the avalanche.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Merol replied evenly, unfazed, adjusting his spectacles.
"But I will die!" I will die from this much paperwork!
"No, Your Majesty—you're thinking too much." He stifled a rare smile, sliding the top report forward.