Even without a single light in the room, he could see Elizabeth clearly as she lay in bed.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to approach, only circling the bed at a distance.

If not for Geraldine having met Elizabeth late that afternoon, Burkhardt would never have crept in like a thief in the middle of the night to see her.

[That woman still believes she holds Your Majesty in the palm of her hand. She changes according to her own advantage, so expect neither affection nor loyalty. It would be far easier on you to treat her however you please.]

The moment he returned, Geraldine had poured out his complaints.
Burkhardt already knew Geraldine disliked Elizabeth, but his assessment of her was harsher than expected.

And Burkhardt found himself oddly pleased by it—because it gave her at least some excuse to use him.

If she would stay by his side for that reason alone, he would not refuse her.

He already knew what time she rose, what foods she preferred, how much she left uneaten, when she went to sleep…
But beyond the reports Marianne gave him, he wanted to know her true thoughts.

Did she, who had once been ready to die following the Count, now have the will to live at his side?

That was why he had sent Geraldine—and unexpectedly, he had gained something.
Even if she didn’t feel the same way, Elizabeth still needed him.
That fact alone was enough for Burkhardt to feel relieved.

It didn’t mean she wanted to see him, or that she loved him.
But the more he turned it over in his mind, the more he found himself both resenting her and missing her.

And so, he had slipped into Elizabeth’s room.

urkhardt, who had once commanded the battlefield and ruled the world with authority, became infinitely small before Elizabeth.
When had he turned into such a coward?

Suddenly, he recalled the first time he had sent a Clemens informant to investigate her.

[Forgive me for reporting this, but the woman you ordered me to look into has remarried. I heard she even claimed her marriage had been annulled.]

Even while hovering at death’s door, he had endured his injuries with the single-minded determination to find Elizabeth.
But she was already another man’s wife—
And not just any man, but the very one who had driven Burkhardt into the jaws of death.

Of all people, she was the one he believed would never betray him, the one who had promised to wait for him no matter what…

Burkhardt had raged, denying the information he had painstakingly gathered.

On the day he risked his life to infiltrate the County of Orte, he saw her from afar, walking alongside the Count.
He couldn’t bring himself to approach.
She was smiling—a radiant, beautiful smile that belonged to her new life.

And yet, Burkhardt could not let her go.
His longing was so desperate that even visions of Elizabeth began to appear before him, wearing down his sanity.

“How could you not change your heart? You’re already a dead man.”

Shut up. You’re nothing but an illusion.

 “Am I supposed to wait for the soul of a dead man? A person should have some shame.”

Right now, she must be trapped against her will. That smile must be a lie.

“Don’t try to deny it. You saw it yourself, not just in rumors.”

Burkhardt continued sending informants to the County of Orte.
And to ensure nothing interfered with gathering news of Elizabeth, he purged certain members of the Clemens aristocratic faction who had endangered him in his youth.
All to become an emperor with absolute power.

[She appeared at a banquet in a splendid gown. Her closeness with the Count is so well‑known that it’s famous even within the Sirentium Empire.]
[I managed to uncover a well‑kept secret—the Countess has lost a child. She cherished the child so deeply that she withdrew from society, making it difficult to gather information.]
[The Count’s devotion is remarkable. The Countess has regained her spirits, and they take tea together every day. There are even rumors she may soon have another child.]

There was no one to stop Burkhardt from going mad under the weight of so much information.

In the midst of it all, the Elizabeth in his visions continued to provoke him, constantly comparing him to the Count.

“Buy me dresses, give me things—what can you offer me?”

He refused to lose to the Count.
Burkhardt began collecting dresses to give to Elizabeth.
If only she would return, he would treat her so well that she would forget the Count entirely.

“Is that all? Do you think a few scraps of fabric will win my favor?”

The mocking laughter of the vision would not leave him.
Ha… by now, he could no longer tell what was real and what was an illusion.

Perhaps out of pity for Burkhardt’s growing madness, Geraldine finally clicked his tongue and voiced his support.

[Can you not accept the information that so many informants risked their lives to bring you? If it pains you so much, then simply take her back.]

Those words pulled Burkhardt out of his fevered delirium.

A long war that had never truly ended—no matter how many emperors rose and fell, no matter how many brief truces there were.

He had decided to end that long war for one reason alone—to take Elizabeth back into his hands.

[Your Majesty, you’ve only just secured Sirentium’s surrender. There’s much to settle—why not take your time? The Count of Orte is dead anyway, so there’s no need to rush.]

But Burkhardt wanted to hear her reason as soon as possible.
Leaving his knights behind, he rode hard for the County of Orte.
He believed that once he reached her, everything would be resolved.
There would be no more obstacles between them.

“Do you really think so?”

No more being swayed by you. Soon, he would see her face to face.

Yet the vision of her continued to unsettle him to the very end.
Because of it, distrust had taken root—but Burkhardt still clung to a small hope.
He prayed the vision’s words were not the truth, repeating his resolve again.

ut that steadfast belief crumbled the moment he met Elizabeth.

When Burkhardt arrived at the Count’s estate, she was standing with a serene expression, ready to leave the world.
Seeing her before the Count’s coffin, he wondered if she had intended to follow him in death—
Leaving Burkhardt behind in this hellish world.

Overcome with rage, he nearly lost his mind, but managed to steady himself long enough to pull Elizabeth down and keep her alive.

[Burkhardt?]               

In that moment, the sound of her voice calling his name, the touch of her hand—it all felt like a dream.
The Beth he had seen only in hazy visions was real before him.
Or perhaps it was still a dream, given how cold her touch felt.

At the same time, the Count’s coffin came into view, and everything inside him went cold.

What is your true heart?
Hadn’t you lived happily as the Count’s wife?
You were ready to die following him—so why do you look at me now as if you’ve longed for me?

What am I supposed to believe about you now?
No—what must I do to have you completely?

Unspoken questions piled up inside him.

Burkhardt became fixated on proving that he held a higher position and greater power than the Count.

So, he had led his army to find her—only for Elizabeth to avoid him by leaping from a terrace.
She had gone so far as to throw a fit to avoid dining with him, and after their time together, she had wept bitterly, thinking of the Count.

On top of that, Elizabeth schemed lies, searching only for ways to survive.
Had she begged for her life in the same way with the Count?

The thought made him want to drag the already dead man from his grave and cut him to pieces.

“What must I do to turn your heart back to me?”

Even in this moment, it felt so unreal that he wondered if it might all be a dream.
If she were awake, she would be spouting nonsense—but now, breathing softly in deep sleep, she was as beautiful as any angel.

Was he to be content with simply watching her?
Burkhardt did not dare to reach out to Elizabeth; he only watched her as she slept.

He still could not define his feelings for her.
He feared that the emotions shifting again and again between hatred and love might end up harming her.

He clenched and unclenched his calloused hands, trying to suppress the self that might break free without warning.

“Mmm…”

Had she somehow sensed his presence?
Still deep in sleep, Elizabeth suddenly turned toward him.
In that instant, Burkhardt felt his heart drop heavily in his chest.

He had been inching backward, ready to slip out of the room, when Elizabeth’s hand caught hold of his robe.

“Don’t go…”

He couldn’t tell for whom she was pleading with such a pained expression.
Elizabeth’s eyelids trembled, and a single tear traced a curve down her cheek.

Even if it was only a delusion, he desperately wished that the person she was calling for was him.

Burkhardt slowly reached out to wipe away her tear.
Even as he brushed it away with the back of his hand, the softness of her skin made his fingers flinch.

As her breath touched and dispersed against his hand again and again, he trembled like a boy in the throes of his first crush, unsure what to do.
She was an opponent he could never defeat.

Burkhardt slowly brought the hand that had felt her breath to his lips and closed his eyes.

Instead of stealing a kiss from someone asleep, he let that indirect kiss carry all the longing he felt—and even that was enough to make his heart race.

He was just about to smooth the rumpled blankets when a sudden, splitting pain struck his head.
He didn’t want to be trapped in darkness again, but as always, this was only the beginning.

A vision of Elizabeth—identical to her—clung to him, unleashing a torrent of words that gnawed at his mind.

“Do you think you still have a place here, coming so late? I forgot you and lived well enough to bear a child.”

“How long do you plan to torment me?”

“I hate you.”
“Fine. Hate me all you want. If it means you can forget the Count, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”

Burkhardt answered the vision one line at a time, wishing for the pain to end.
But the Elizabeth in his mind pushed him into hell until the very last.

“The one I love isn’t you—it’s the Count.”

To escape her apparition, Burkhardt quickened his steps toward his own chambers.
On nights like this, he needed strong drink.

Even after pouring himself glass after glass of the liquor always kept in his room, she didn’t vanish—she kept whispering in his ear.

“I love you.”

That single sweet phrase, tossed out as if it cost her nothing, was enough for Burkhardt to harbor a faint hope—despite knowing it would always be followed by cruel words.

“So what if you were born noble? You lived a life steeped in poverty… No matter what you do, you’ll never surpass the Count.”

Before he knew it, his eyes were damp.
Feeling as though Elizabeth might slip away from him at any moment, Burkhardt flailed, trying to hold on to her.

But she only mocked his efforts.

“Do you believe that?”

“…”

“Poor Burkhardt. You’ll never escape me. Ever.”

Burkhardt passed the night without sleep, his mind clouded, still unable to discern the gap between reality and illusion.