The moonlight, silver and sharp, cut through the ornate glass of the balcony doors, spilling across the silken sheets of a bed that felt more like a gilded cage than a place of rest. Felt tossed and turned, the fine-spun linen a constant, irritating reminder of a life she had never asked for. Back in the slums, a pile of straw was a luxury, and sleep came easily, born of exhaustion. Here, in the heart of the Astrea estate, surrounded by opulence, sleep was a fickle ghost. Her mind, a whirlwind of stolen insignia, royal selections, and the suffocating weight of destiny, refused to be still. This wasn't her world. It was a borrowed dream, a story someone else was trying to write with her as the unwilling ink. She was Felt, the swift-footed thief, not some long-lost princess from the world of Re Zero Starting Life In Another World.

Frustration prickled at her skin. With a growl, she threw back the covers, the cool night air a welcome shock against her bare legs. The chemise she wore was ridiculously soft, another unwanted gift in a long line of them. Her bare feet padded silently across the plush carpet, a surface so forgiving it felt like walking on a cloud. She missed the grit of cobblestones, the solid, honest feel of the ground beneath her. She slid open the balcony doors, the click of the latch unnaturally loud in the profound silence of the manor. Stepping outside, Felt leaned against the cold stone balustrade, the vast, manicured gardens stretching out below her like a dark, sleeping sea under the twin moons.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient trees, carrying the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine. It was peaceful. Too peaceful. The quiet only amplified the turmoil inside her. She was a bird trapped in a beautiful cage, and the keeper of that cage was the most perfect, frustrating, and undeniably handsome man she had ever met. Reinhard van Astrea. The Sword Saint. Her knight. He was everything she wasn't: noble, poised, endlessly patient, and unfailingly good. And he drove her absolutely mad.

“You should not be out in the chill, Lady Felt.”

The voice, deep and calm as a forest spring, came from the shadows of the garden below. Felt didn't startle; some part of her had known he would be there. Reinhard was always there, a silent, watchful guardian. She peered over the edge, her blonde hair catching the moonlight. He stood near a rosebush, his pristine white and red uniform seeming to glow in the darkness. His posture was perfect, his gaze directed up at her, filled with a familiar, gentle concern that always made her insides twist into a knot.

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, her voice harsher than she intended. “My name is Felt. Just Felt.”

A faint, sad smile touched his lips. “As you wish, Felt.” He made no move to leave, his presence a steady, unwavering anchor in the night. “Is something troubling you? A nightmare, perhaps?”

“The only nightmare I’m having is this one,” she gestured vaguely at the lavish manor, the expensive nightgown, the whole ridiculous situation. “This isn’t me, Reinhard. I don’t belong here. I’m a rat from the gutter, not some… some prize to be polished and put on a throne.”

Reinhard was silent for a long moment, simply watching her. The intensity of his sapphire eyes made Felt feel exposed, as if he could see right through her tough exterior to the scared, lonely girl hiding beneath. It was a feeling she loathed, yet a part of her, a part she viciously suppressed, craved it. To be truly seen.

“What you are,” he finally said, his voice soft but firm, “is a person of immense strength and spirit. Your origins do not define your worth. I have never met anyone with a fire as bright as yours, Felt.”

His words, so sincere and devoid of flattery, struck a chord deep within her. Her breath hitched. She hated it when he did this, when he looked past the dirt and the attitude and spoke to the core of her being. It disarmed her completely. She gripped the cold stone, her knuckles turning white. “You’re just saying that because it’s your job. You’re my knight. You have to be nice to me.”

“My duty is to protect you,” he corrected gently. “My admiration for you is entirely my own.” He took a step forward, out of the shadows and into the full moonlight. The light caught the brilliant red of his hair, making it look like spun flame. “May I come up?”

Felt’s heart gave a traitorous leap. Every instinct screamed at her to say no, to send him away and retreat back into her shell. But she didn't. The loneliness of the night was a heavy cloak, and his presence was a spark of warmth she found herself desperately needing. She gave a curt, jerky nod. It was all the invitation he needed. With a grace that defied gravity, Reinhard leaped, landing on the balcony as softly as a falling leaf. He was suddenly there, close enough for her to smell the clean, crisp scent of his uniform and the faint, masculine scent that was uniquely his.

The proximity was overwhelming. He was so tall, a pillar of strength and perfect chivalry standing before her. Her gaze flickered over his handsome face, the sharp line of his jaw, the kindness in his eyes. This was the hero of Lugunica, a man from a world so far removed from hers it might as well have been a different planet. The kind of man who should be with a proper lady, not a scrappy orphan. Yet here he was, on her balcony, his entire focus solely on her. On Felt.

“You’re shivering,” he observed, his voice a low murmur. Before she could protest, he was shrugging out of his formal white coat, the fabric whispering as he moved. He draped it carefully over her shoulders. The coat was heavy, imbued with his body heat, and it enveloped her in his scent. It felt like an embrace. Felt felt her cheeks flush, a warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the thick fabric. She pulled the coat tighter around herself, burying her nose in the collar to hide her expression.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, her usual bravado deserting her. They stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of the night filling the void between them. The air was charged with an unspoken tension, a current that had been building between them for weeks, ever since this crazy new chapter of her life began. It was a tension Felt had tried to ignore, to fight against, but in the intimacy of the moonlit night, it was impossible to deny.

“Felt,” Reinhard began, his voice barely a whisper. He reached out, his gloved hand hesitating for a second before gently cupping her cheek. His touch was electric. Felt froze, her crimson eyes wide as she stared up at him. His thumb stroked her skin, a slow, tender caress that sent a shiver down her spine. “You are not a rat from the gutter. You are a treasure that was hidden in the shadows. And it is the greatest honor of my life to be the one to stand by your side as you shine.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the quiet night. No one had ever spoken to her like that. No one had ever looked at her with such raw, undisguised adoration. The carefully constructed walls around her heart began to crumble, brick by painful brick. She had always believed that to survive, she had to be hard, to be untouchable. But what Felt felt right now, under Reinhard's gentle touch and earnest gaze, was a profound and terrifying vulnerability that was more thrilling than any heist she had ever pulled.

“Reinhard…” she breathed, his name a soft puff of air. The sound of it on her own lips felt foreign, intimate. She had always used his name with a certain level of defiance, but now it was a plea. A question. He seemed to understand. His eyes darkened with an emotion she couldn't quite name, a deep, smoldering heat that made her insides clench. He leaned down, his movements slow, deliberate, giving her every opportunity to pull away. But she was rooted to the spot, mesmerized.

His lips met hers. It wasn't a demanding kiss, but a soft, questioning touch. It was tentative, gentle, as if he were tasting a rare and delicate wine for the first time. The leather of his glove was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the searing heat of his mouth. A small, helpless sound escaped her throat, and she leaned into him, her small hands coming up to grip the lapels of his uniform. The kiss deepened at her unspoken permission. His other arm circled her waist, pulling her flush against his hard, muscular body. Felt felt small and delicate in his arms, a sensation that was both frightening and exhilarating.

He tasted of mint and something uniquely Reinhard, a clean, noble flavor that was utterly intoxicating. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, a polite request for entry that she granted without a second thought. Her mouth opened for him, and their tongues met in a slow, sensual dance. It was a kiss that spoke of weeks of repressed longing, of duty warring with desire. For Felt, it was a revelation. Kisses in the slums were rough, fleeting, and transactional. This was something else entirely. This was worship. She felt cherished, adored, desired. Every fiber of her being sang with a pleasure so intense it was almost painful.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless. Reinhard rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. His breathing was ragged, the first crack she had ever witnessed in his perfect composure. “Felt,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Forgive me. My conduct is unbecoming of a knight.”

“Shut up,” she whispered back, her voice trembling slightly. She reached up with a shaky hand, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Don’t you dare apologize.” Her crimson eyes bored into his, filled with a newfound fire. This was her choice. For the first time since being dragged into this mess, she was making a decision for herself. And she chose this. She chose him. “Do it again.”

A look of pure, unadulterated joy transformed his handsome features. Without another word, he swept her up into his arms, her light weight no more than a trifle for him. Felt gave a small yelp of surprise, her arms instinctively wrapping around his strong neck. He carried her from the balcony back into the opulent bedroom, kicking the doors shut behind him. The moonlight streamed through the glass, painting them in ethereal silver stripes as he carried her to the massive bed.

He laid her down on the silken sheets with a reverence that made her ache. He didn’t release her immediately, instead hovering over her, his strong arms bracketing her body. His gaze was intense, searching, as if memorizing every detail of her face. He slowly pulled the glove from his hand, his eyes never leaving hers, before reaching out to tenderly brush a stray strand of blonde hair from her forehead. The touch of his bare skin against hers was a jolt, warm and real. What Felt felt was a wave of pure, unadulterated want, so powerful it stole her breath.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky. He lowered his head again, but this time his lips didn't seek hers. Instead, he placed a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses along her jawline, down the sensitive column of her throat. Felt arched into his touch, her fingers tangling in his fiery red hair, holding him closer. Each kiss sent shivers of pleasure through her, igniting a fire low in her belly. Her chemise felt like an unbearable restriction, a barrier between her and the incredible sensations he was awakening in her.

Reinhard seemed to sense her desire. His hands moved from the mattress to the hem of her simple nightgown. He paused, his sapphire eyes asking a silent question. Felt answered with a small, eager nod. With infinite care, he gathered the soft fabric in his hands and slowly drew it up and over her head, casting it aside. She was left bare before him, bathed in the pale light of the moons, her small, firm breasts rising and falling with her ragged breaths. She felt a flash of insecurity, her street-rat body so different from the noble ladies she imagined he was used to. But the look in Reinhard’s eyes banished all doubt. It was a look of pure reverence, of awe. He saw her not as imperfect, but as perfect.

“Incredible,” he breathed, his gaze sweeping over her. His hands, large and warm, came to rest on her waist, his thumbs stroking her hip bones. The contrast of his calloused warrior’s hands on her soft skin was electrifying. He leaned down and captured the peak of one breast with his mouth. Felt cried out, a sharp, breathless gasp of pleasure as his tongue swirled around her nipple, his lips suckling gently. The sensation was exquisite, a lightning bolt that shot straight from her breast to the core of her being, where the fire he’d ignited now blazed into an inferno. She writhed beneath him, her back arching off the bed as she chased the feeling.

While his mouth worked its magic on one breast, his hand drifted lower, his fingers dancing over the flat plane of her stomach before dipping down into the soft thatch of blonde hair between her thighs. Felt gasped, her legs falling open instinctively. She was slick with need, her body ready for him in a way she had never known was possible. He found her slick entrance, his fingers gliding through her wetness, and she whimpered at the intimate contact. He explored her gently, his touch both curious and confident. He found her clit, a tiny, sensitive pearl of flesh, and began to circle it with his thumb. Felt’s world dissolved into pure sensation. The dual assault of his mouth on her breast and his hand between her legs was almost too much to bear. Her hips began to move of their own accord, rocking against his hand, silently begging for more.

“Reinhard, please,” she begged, not even sure what she was asking for. She just knew she needed more of him, all of him. The sound of his name on her lips, so full of desperate longing, seemed to break his control. He lifted his head, his lips wet from her breast, his eyes burning with a passion that mirrored her own. He moved off the bed just long enough to divest himself of his own clothes, his movements economical and swift. Felt watched, her eyes wide, as he was revealed to her. His body was a masterpiece of lean, powerful muscle, honed by a lifetime of training. Scars, faint and silver, crisscrossed his torso, testaments to battles fought and won. And between his legs, his erection stood thick and proud, a clear and potent declaration of his desire for her. For Felt.

He came back to the bed, settling himself between her open legs. He took her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her flushed cheeks. “I will be gentle,” he promised, his voice a low, reassuring rumble. He positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance, and Felt gasped at the blunt pressure, the feeling of fullness. She was tight, a virgin to this kind of profound intimacy, and a flicker of fear mixed with her excitement. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, his tongue plunging into her mouth as, with one slow, powerful thrust, he entered her. Felt cried out against his mouth, a sound of pain and overwhelming pleasure. She was being stretched, filled, possessed by him. He held himself still inside her, allowing her body to adjust to his size.

“Are you alright?” he murmured against her lips, his concern for her paramount even in the throes of his own passion. Felt could only nod, her eyes squeezed shut as she reveled in the incredible feeling of being joined with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her body’s instinctive demand for more. A low groan rumbled in his chest, and he began to move. His thrusts were slow and deep at first, each one a deliberate act of lovemaking. He watched her face, his expression one of intense concentration and adoration, as he learned the rhythm that pleased her most. Felt met his every thrust, her hips rising from the bed in a desperate, frantic dance. The initial sting of his entry had faded, replaced by a pleasure so profound it was almost spiritual. Every nerve ending was on fire. The silken sheets were tangled around them, her small hands were clenched in his hair, and the room was filled with the slick sound of their bodies moving together and their ragged, gasping breaths.

“Reinhard,” she panted, her head tossing back and forth on the pillow. The pleasure was building, coiling tighter and tighter in her belly like a spring. “I can’t… I’m going to…” He seemed to understand. He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, driving her closer and closer to the edge. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “Let go, Felt,” he whispered, his voice a raw command. “Come apart for me.”

His words, his touch, the incredible friction of his body moving inside hers—it was too much. With a strangled cry, her climax ripped through her. Her back arched, her inner muscles clenched violently around his cock, and waves of pure, ecstatic pleasure washed over her, making her toes curl and her vision go white. Her release triggered his own. With a final, deep thrust, Reinhard stiffened, his own guttural groan of release vibrating through her body as he poured his warmth deep inside her. For a long moment, they stayed like that, joined together, their hearts hammering in unison, their bodies slick with sweat.

Slowly, reality began to filter back in. Reinhard collapsed onto her, his weight a comforting pressure, his head buried in the crook of her neck. His breathing was still harsh, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Felt stroked his fiery hair, her own body feeling boneless and utterly sated. A sense of peace, of rightness, settled over her. In the arms of this perfect knight, in this gilded cage, the former street rat Felt had finally found a place that felt like home. She had been terrified of the changes in her life, of this feeling that she was a character in a story not of her own making, like a strange tale of starting life in another world. But now, she realized this new world held treasures she could never have imagined. Reinhard was her treasure.

He stirred, pushing himself up on his elbows to look down at her. His face was softened by love and fulfillment, his sapphire eyes glowing with a deep affection that made her heart melt. He leaned down and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. It was a kiss of promises made and sealed, a kiss that spoke of a future together.

“I love you, Felt,” he whispered against her lips, the words flowing from him as naturally as breathing. Felt’s eyes widened, and a warmth bloomed in her chest, chasing away the last of the shadows. A genuine, unrestrained smile spread across her face. She reached up, cupping his jaw, her crimson eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy.

“Took you long enough, you idiot knight,” she said, her voice full of affection. She pulled his head down for another kiss, a kiss that was no longer questioning or desperate, but full of the certainty of a love that was just beginning. In the moonlit room, surrounded by the trappings of a life she hadn't chosen, Felt had finally found her own destiny, not as a queen or a princess, but as the woman loved by Reinhard van Astrea.