Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

Ba-dump!

Nero’s heartbeat quickened for a brief instant, uncertainty flashing across his crimson eyes as he wondered what kind of command the Ice Queen would demand from him this, he had lost the game.

Khione, sitting elegantly on the edge of the couch, crossed one leg over the other. Her expression grew colder—icy and composed, like the unapproachable CEOs in stories who ruled their worlds with precision and authority. Her crystal-blue gaze fixed on him, and then, in her usual imperious tone, she gave her order.

”Massage me. Start from my feet.”

Her words carried no hesitation—only quiet command. She was like a commander on the battlefield, her orders absolute.

For a second, Nero blinked, caught off guard. Of all things she could have said, this was the last he expected. A faint, amused smile tugged at his lips. So that’s the kind of queen she is.

It wasn’t the request itself—it was her tone. There was no room for negotiation. She wasn’t asking; she was declaring. He was certain her type was the sadist type just like him.

He sighed lightly through his nose, suppressing a chuckle. ”Roger, my queen.”

He stood up, scanning the luxurious VIP suite until his eyes landed on a small drawer near the minibar. Inside was a bottle of scented massage oil—luxurious, infused with faint notes of vanilla and lotus. The sort of thing only found in five-star hotels.

When he turned back, Khione was watching him, arms folded, her gaze calm yet sharp, her composure that of someone testing another’s obedience.

Nero shook his head still wearing a smile, he then poured a small amount of oil into his hands, rubbing them together until the faint warmth spread across his palms. Then he knelt at the edge of the couch where Khione sat, her bare feet resting lightly on the plush carpet.

For a moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant city lights beyond the glass walls.

Then Nero began.

His touch was deliberate—gentle yet firm. He started at her heel, working his way slowly upward, tracing the contours of her feet with practiced precision. He wasn’t just guessing where to press. His eyes—those strange, analytical eyes of his—seemed to see through muscle and bone, pinpointing every tension, every knot hidden beneath her cool skin.

’’!”

Khione’s breath caught faintly.

It wasn’t from pain or discomfort, but surprise. She had expected something clumsy, perhaps rough. Instead, what she felt was controlled, rhythmic—almost professional. His hands moved in slow, even circles, kneading with just enough pressure to release the tension without hurting.

Her ice-blue eyes widened a fraction. He’s... good at this.

She bit down gently on her lower lip, fighting the odd flutter in her chest. His concentration was absolute; he wasn’t teasing or joking. Nero’s focus, sharp as ever, was entirely on his task.

The way he worked—the quiet precision, the subtle confidence—it drew her in. The warm glow of the suite reflected off his face, highlighting his strong jawline and the faint furrow of his brow as he concentrated. His dark lashes cast long shadows across his cheeks, and the faint scent of the oil mingled with his natural warmth.

He looked peaceful—serious. Almost... gentle.

And that surprised her most of all.

Khione, who had faced countless people without fear, found herself strangely unsettled by this side of him. It was a different kind of intensity—one that melted through her defenses not with fire, but with quiet warmth.

She tried to stay composed, but her voice faltered slightly when she finally spoke. Something compelled her to raise this question, the thought maybe he had done this to another woman unsettled her.

”You’ve... done this before?”

Without looking up, Nero gave a small grin feeling her tone was weird as if suppressing something, as if she had misunderstood something which was almost cute.

”No. First time.”

Her fingers curled over her knee. Liar, she thought silently, though she knew he wasn’t. He was just that good at adapting—reading her reactions, adjusting his pressure, refining his movements like he’d done this all his life.

Minutes passed in silence.

The tension in her legs slowly dissipated. Her shoulders relaxed. The hard edge in her expression softened ever so slightly. She let her head fall back against the couch, her ponytail brushing over her neck as she exhaled quietly.

Outside, the night lights of Angel’s City shimmered through the glass walls like constellations come alive. Inside, time seemed to slow—the air warm, the mood serene.

Nero shifted, moving to her ankles, massaging upward with careful rhythm. His touch was steady, his movements confident but respectful.

Khione glanced down at him again, her heart unsteady for reasons she didn’t quite understand. Watching him like this—focused, calm, unwavering—did something to her. It felt intimate, not because of the act itself, but because of the care behind it.

This wasn’t about dominance or pride. It was trust—quiet, wordless trust shared in a simple, human gesture.

After a while, Nero leaned back slightly, wiping his hands with a nearby towel.

”Done,” he said softly.

Khione opened her eyes, not realizing when she had closed them. She hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded slowly. ”...That was... good.”

Her tone was composed, but the faint pink at the tip of her ears betrayed her calm façade.

Nero chuckled quietly, standing. ”High praise from the Ice Queen herself. I’ll take it.”

For a brief second, their eyes met—his glowing faintly crimson, hers the pale blue of winter’s edge. And in that gaze, the faintest warmth bloomed again—silent, unspoken, but real.

The night continued quietly, the sound of the city fading beneath the hum of distant stars.

After a moment of silence, Nero looked into those ice-crystal-blue eyes and declared, ”Let’s play another game.”

He was eager for revenge—his competitive spirit ignited. He wouldn’t be the only one to lose and carry out a command; this time, he would issue one as well. His ominous red eyes gleamed, and Khione chuckled, amused. She understood him perfectly and would accompany him—she had no intention of losing, either.

”Pick the game,” she declared confidently. She would crush him and issue another command. Just imagining it thrilled her so much that her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.