Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 648: A Kingdom of Knees and Candlelight

A Kingdom of Knees and Candlelight

Another followed.

Then another.

Not together. Not in unison

Each surrender unfolding at its own fragile pace.

Soon, soft sounds filled the chamber.

The rustle of cloth.

The whisper of silk sliding over skin.

The faint hitch of nervous breaths that tried—and failed—to remain steady.

No one spoke.

No one dared.

Gowns slipped from shoulders.

From arms.

From waists.

One by one.

Not rushed.

Not theatrical.

Natural.

A practiced ritual stripped of ceremony, reduced to its rawest truth.

The silver-haired girl lifted her gown carefully over her head, as though afraid of tearing something precious. Pale skin caught the candlelight like moonlight on still water, luminous and almost unreal. Her bare shoulders tensed, her posture straightening by instinct, training holding her upright even as vulnerability crept into her eyes.

The crimson-haired woman let her dress fall in one smooth motion.

No hesitation.

No flinch.

Fabric pooled at her feet as she remained standing, spine straight, chin level, unashamed.

Firelight traced the confident lines of her body.

Curves defined not for display—but simply because they existed.

Her gaze never left William’s face.

Black-haired girls followed.

Glossy hair spilled down bare backs.

Dark eyes flickered with nerves, with resignation, with quiet resolve.

Soft stomachs rose and fell.

Full hips shifted unconsciously, weight redistributing as instinct searched for comfort that did not exist.

Thighs pressed faintly together.

Breasts freed from silk, rising and falling with shallow breaths that betrayed everything their faces tried to hide.

Some folded their hands before themselves.

Some let their arms hang at their sides.

One clenched her fingers so tightly her knuckles blanched.

No vulgarity. No exaggeration.

Some hugged their arms lightly across themselves.

Others let their hands rest at their sides.

One girl swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the floor.

Another stole a glance at William, then quickly looked away.

William watched.

He said nothing.

Their unease filled the room like a held breath—soft, fragile, ready to shatter at the smallest sound. The faint rustle of fabric was the only noise as trembling fingers reached for laces, buttons, clasps. No one rushed. No one dared to.

One by one, dresses slid downward.

Silk whispered against skin.

Cotton sighed as it fell.

When the last dress pooled at pale feet, he gestured toward the couch.

"Sit."

They obeyed.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Seven women lowering themselves onto velvet cushions, skin brushing skin, warmth gathering between them. Knees touched. Thighs pressed. A collective stiffness lingered in their posture, backs straight, shoulders tight, as though any relaxation might be mistaken for invitation—or weakness.

William removed his coat.

The movement was unhurried.

He laid it across a nearby chair.

Then sat opposite them.

Elbows resting loosely on his knees.

Not rushing.

Not touching.

Simply observing.

His gaze moved over them in measured passes. Not devouring. Not kind. Not cruel.

Assessing.

The silence thickened.

It wrapped around their throats. Settled into their chests. Each second stretched longer than the last.

A black-haired girl finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

"Lord William..."

"Yes."

The single word landed softly. Somehow that made it heavier.

Her throat worked.

"We... we belong to you tonight."

It wasn’t a question.

It was an offering.

A surrender shaped like a sentence.

William studied her.

Not just her face—her rigid spine, the faint tremor in her hands, the way her breath hitched as she waited.

Then he nodded once.

"I know."

Another girl spoke softly, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it.

"Our families... were protected by your house."

William’s gaze shifted.

"Your loyalty is noted."

The words were calm.

But something in them carried weight.

Finality.

The girl’s shoulders dipped before she realized she was bowing.

She lowered her head instinctively.

A third girl gathered courage.

"My lord..."

Her fingers twisted together, knuckles whitening.

"We will not betray you."

William’s eyes lifted.

Met hers.

Held.

The moment stretched until her breath grew shallow.

"Why?"

She swallowed. "Because... you don’t break what you own."

A faint smile touched his lips.

Not warm.

Not cruel.

Simply... precise.

"Good answer."

William leaned back a fraction, the movement unhurried, effortless—like a king settling deeper into a throne no one else could see.

"Come closer."

They obeyed.

Not crawling.

Not scrambling.

No panic, no haste.

Just the soft slide of knees across carpet. The quiet closing of space.

Seven women kneeling at his feet.

Seven bowed heads.

Seven bodies offered without being asked again.

The air felt heavier for it.

William reached forward and lifted one girl’s chin with two fingers.

Black hair spilled over her shoulders.

Black eyes, wide but steady.

Fear coiled tightly around resolve, neither winning, neither yielding.

"You understand what you are," he said.

"Yes," she whispered.

"What?"

Her throat bobbed. "Tools," she said. "Comfort. Obedience."

William released her chin.

"Correct." A pause. Then, softly, "But also..."

Her breath caught despite herself.

"You are silence."

Seven pairs of eyes lifted, just slightly.

"You are nights no one remembers."

He reclined further, gaze drifting across them like a slow blade.

"You are rewards I control."

The words settled into the room.

Not kind.

Not gentle.

But stabilizing.

Something in their expressions shifted. Not hope. Not happiness.

Acceptance.

William closed his eyes.

Hands reached for him.

One woman pressed close, fingers trembling as they worked at his clothing.

Another leaned in, lips brushing his, then claiming him with growing hunger.

A third and fourth settled along his thighs, their bodies warm, pliant, devoted.

More hands, more mouths, more heat.

Seven women moving in quiet coordination, driven not by passion alone, but by purpose.

William did not speak.

He allowed.

He indulged.

Breath thickened.

Soft moans filled the chamber.

The hush of silk and skin blended with low, broken sounds of pleasure.

Outside this room—

Somewhere beyond stone and silk, armies marched.

Kings plotted.

Children cried.

The land burned.

Inside this room...

Control existed.

William opened his eyes.

"Stay," he said quietly.

The women remained kneeling.

No one questioned.

No one rose.

Candlelight flickered.

Curtains swayed.

Outside, Leon’s boots echoed faintly through stone.

William did not look back at the window.

Not anymore.

His gaze stayed forward.

The trap was set.

The board was arranged.

And tomorrow...

Tomorrow the first piece would fall.