I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

Shayla chuckled softly, one hand slipping from her breast to rest gently on Aryl’s back.

Just then, the Marquis’s voice rang out sharp and commanding.

“Vigg… Go on. Join them. Give His Grace a nice show.”

Vigg flinched in shock. His eyes widened, but then—slowly—a smile began to form. One of relief. Finally, he was no longer a spectator.

He took a deep breath, tension leaving his shoulders instantly.

“Yes, Father,” he said, bowing deeply, hiding the excitement in his voice with obedience.

He took a step forward—toward the bed, toward Shayla and Aryl, whose naked bodies still glowed in the torchlight. His fingers twitched with anticipation, feet carrying him closer to that forbidden warmth—

Until Julian’s laugh split the silence.

“Oh, Marquis…” Julian teased, lounging deeper into his seat. “Like I said—I want everything for myself.”

The words hung in the air, heavy as stone.

Vigg froze mid-step, eyes snapping toward Julian, the smile dying on his lips. His posture stiffened. Betrayal, disbelief, and fury flickered behind his eyes—but he didn’t speak.

He couldn’t.

The Marquis gave a soft chuckle, sipping his wine without protest, as if this too had been expected.

“You do you, Your Grace,” he said, lips curling into a smirk. “I simply thought you would enjoy a show rather than being a part of it.”

Julian rose from the throne, slow and relaxed, stretching his limbs. He rolled his shoulders, his grin sharp. “I wasn’t born a cuck, dear Marquis,” he teased, giving the marquis a final smirk before looking away.

Meanwhile, Shayla and Aryl exchanged a glance—one of surprise and sudden uncertainty.

This wasn’t what they had prepared for. They had expected to perform… to tease, to play their part for the Archduke’s amusement. Not this. Not him—joining.

Aryl’s lips parted in a soft gasp, her eyes darting to her mother’s. Shayla, too, hesitated—but only for a heartbeat.

Julian’s eyes drank them in as he approached the bed, his voice dropping into something lower—something darker. “It’s getting interesting….”

Vigg turned towards the Marquis, his eyes wide, desperation cracking through his voice.

“Father… please. No,” he barked. “Let me do it. I’ll please the Archduke,” he continued, stepping closer to the Marquis. “Why should a man of such importance… lower himself like this?”

Julian paused mid-step, his brow lifting in amusement. The Marquis, however, regarded his son with indifference, as if his crashing out didn’t even matter to him.

Shayla and Aryl stood frozen, their surprise slowly morphing into stunned silence.

Vigg looked to them now, his voice softening. “Please… Mother… Aryl…”

Shayla and Aryl looked at Vigg, and for a moment, the silence was awkward and heavy. There was pity in their eyes… But also something else—something behind the discomfort, behind the weight of Vigg’s humiliation—they just couldn’t ignore the heat coursing through them.

After all, the man standing before them was no ordinary noble.

Julian was the archduke—undeniably handsome, carved from power and charm. The kind of man women whispered about behind closed doors. The kind they dreamed of pleasing… even as guilt ate at their being.

Their breaths deepened.

Their bodies didn’t lie.

And Vigg saw it.

He saw the shift in their eyes—not just sorrow… but longing.

And it crushed him.

Shayla sighed softly and shook her head, the weight of the moment pressing down on her shoulders. Her gaze shifted to Vigg, and though her lips never moved, her voice slipped into his mind, telepathically.

“Dear Vigg… He’s an archduke. We have to please him. Even your father wants this… so we must.”

Vigg blinked, startled by the sudden voice in his head. His initial panic faded as a faint ache filled his mind, and he whispered back:

“But Mother… How can I watch you…and Aryl…do such things with someone other than me? I can’t.”

Shayla quickly responded, her voice bittersweet. “No… remember, we’re not doing this because we want to. We’re doing this because we have to. We just want it over with. That’s all.”

Her words softened.

“After all… we’re yours, right?”

Those last words melted Vigg’s heart—even in the middle of his humiliation, even with his pride bleeding from a thousand silent wounds.

He wanted to argue further.

But he didn’t.

Because in that moment… he understood.

His mother had no choice. His sister had no voice. And now… she had told him she belonged to him.

What more could he hope for?

Vigg’s head lowered, eyes falling to the floor. “Okay, Mother… Make it fast.” The words barely left his lips, heavy with defeat.

Shayla exhaled slowly, relief washing over her face. A faint smirk curled at the corner of her lips. He really is gullible.

Even now, even in this twisted setting… he still clung to the illusion of possession. But behind her calm, another truth stirred.

The thought of being intimate with the Archduke, of feeling his hands, his power, his hunger unleashed upon her—it sent a shiver racing down her spine.

Meanwhile, Julian continued his steps, his presence flaring in the dim room. The torchlight fell on the sharp features of his face and the hard muscles beneath his shirt, promising what is to come next.

He came close to Shayla and Aryl, the scent of their warmth wrapping around him like a trap.

Julian’s gaze raked over them before he reached out, fingers caressing along Shayla’s collarbone, his touch light.

“Mmhh,” Shayla moaned softly, her skin tingling beneath his touch.

Aryl’s eyes fluttered closed as Julian’s hand continued its slow journey down Shayla before curling lightly at Aryl’s waist. The two women shivered, their soft moans mingling in the charged air.

Julian’s voice was a seductive whisper, his breath hot on their face. “Tonight, you both belong to me,” he murmured, his fingers lowering until they paused around Shayla’s breast.

He cupped it slowly, feeling the weight of it under his palm. Her skin was silky soft, the heat of her pulse quickening under his touch.

“Mmmh…” A soft, breathy moan escaped Shayla’s lips, his warmth drowning her whole.