My Professor Is My Alpha Mate

In the lush and enchanting Southland, a place that has long captivated the hearts of poets and the elite alike, the newly crowned Duke Ronan, the second son of Emperor Sky, couldnt resist its allure. Ronan was infamous for his debauchery, engaging in scandalous affairs with palace maids and concubines before his ascension to the title of Duke. Despite the Emperors repeated admonishments, the fruitless efforts to curb his lascivious ways led to the decision to grant him the title and select a duchess who could tame his heart. However, Ronan insisted on choosing his own bride, a request indulged by the Emperor who doted on his son, born late in life after years of warfare.

April in Southland still carried a hint of chill, but it couldnt deter the restless from venturing out. The streets were alive with cheerful pedestrians, and the taverns along the way were filled with song and dance. The river was bustling with ships coming and going, a testament to the regions prosperity. Ronan strolled down the rain-freshened streets, inhaling the crisp air, his expression one of contentment.

"Sir... Sir..., look," called out Walter, Ronans sole attendant on this incognito journey. Though not particularly skilled or pleasing to the eye, Walter was well-versed in his masters penchant for beauty and often procured many a fair maiden for Ronans pleasure, earning his favor.

Following Walters gesture, Ronans gaze fell upon a distant flower-adorned boat gliding down the river. Two women stood at the bow, deep in conversation, their attire suggesting a mistress and her servant, yet their camaraderie suggested a bond closer to sisters. Ronans eyes were drawn to the woman he assumed to be the mistress, her ethereal presence captivating him. Dressed in a white gauzy gown, her raven hair cascading down her back, she seemed a vision on the emerald waves, a picture of purity and grace. As the boat drew nearer, Ronan beheld her face, a visage as delicate as a peach blossom, her lips red and skin fair, serene as a maiden in repose, yet radiant as a blooming flower when she smiled.

"Miss... Miss...," Ronan called out, bewitched.

At that moment, the flower boat sailed right before Ronan, and the woman, hearing his call, turned her head. Engrossed in some delightful conversation with her maid, her smile was a constant. She merely glanced at Ronan, offered a light chuckle, and then turned back to her maid.

Yet that single glance, that brief smile, etched itself into Ronans heart. Having known countless women, adorned in heavy makeup, even the fairest were but common mortals compared to the woman before him, a vision of natural elegance he had never encountered, stirring his very soul.

The flower boat did not linger, and the beautiful figure gradually vanished from Ronans sight.

"Sir... Sir, shes gone!" Walter, observing his masters infatuation, asked with a sly grin, "Has your grace taken a liking?"

"What good is liking when I dont even know her name?" Ronan replied, still gazing wistfully at the spot where the boat had disappeared.

"If your grace is smitten, Id risk my life to bring her to you," Walter, sensing an opportunity to ingratiate himself, spoke eagerly.

"Do you truly have a way?" Ronan turned to him, his urgency palpable, devoid of the composure expected of a duke.

"Your grace, trust in me. Would you like to partake in some merriment first?" Walters eyes shifted cunningly as he made his suggestion.

"You know a place? But dont take me to some common establishment," the young duke, known for his indulgence, was particular about his vices.

"Your grace, this place is different; it houses many a delightful companion!"

Indeed, this was Southland, the most affluent region of the Central Plains, where every woman on the street was a picture of loveliness, and surely the ladies within would not disappoint. Ronan paused in his departure, his desire for debauchery awakened by Walters words.