He grabbed her waist as if kidnapping her and ran to where the horses were tied. Jeanne was dragged along in a daze. He placed the woman on the saddle and grabbed the reins.

‘Why are you being mischievous on a day like this of all days?’

Jeanne asked on the way out of the palace toward the imperial botanical garden. He didn’t answer her sharp question. He didn’t know either. Since morning, he had been in a bad mood after hearing that the concubines were being gathered and the Empress Dowager was presiding over preparations for the carnival.

Whether it was compulsion or something else. He hadn’t intended to commit such a deviation, but he felt he wouldn’t be able to focus on the rest of his schedule unless he snatched his wife like this and had relations with her.

‘This is….’

Upon arriving at the botanical garden, he silently lifted his wife, who had contorted her eyes, down from the horse. Grabbing her slender wrist, he led her aimlessly, and she followed silently, perhaps tired.

‘Jeanne.’

‘Your Majesty.’

‘You didn’t hate this sort of thing.’

‘I….’

‘We made Joshua here too, didn’t we?’

He smiled. He thought of the place where he had impregnated her with their second son. Her expression suggested that uttering such words aloud was shameful. But what did it matter? He was her husband and the father of two children. It was strange that she would avoid him in this way and be so shy.

‘Pl-please consider propriety. I….’

He lifted the hem of her light green dress that covered her smooth calves. Gently caressing her snow-white thighs, he pushed her down. That’s how Maxim was created. Just like Joshua. In a glass garden entwined with blue plants….

“You agreed to return to the main palace for Enoch’s sake.”

His wife recited coldly. That coolness was like a blade. Today especially, he traced his wife’s unusually pale neck. His wife didn’t remove his touch, which could turn rough at any moment. She only looked down to check if the child was alright.

He felt wronged. He knew he wasn’t a good father. He also knew he wasn’t qualified to be a father. But it wasn’t that he disliked the children entirely. Crying, throwing tantrums, needing to be fed and put to sleep at certain times…. Children required endless affection, yet he found his children quite lovely. However….

“I came to check on your and my prince. If he’s not improving, we must do something.”

He parted his lips, feigning indifference. In any case, he needed to check on the child. He had refined his energy as much as possible. He had lowered his energy almost to the level of an ordinary person. He had repeatedly contained himself so that the child wouldn’t react sensitively, and then visited the room.

“…Are you sincere?”

“Don’t insult me. Have you forgotten that I am the father of the imperial children?”

He asked coldly. Jeanne stared at him intently, then looked at her son who was breathing steadily. Fortunately, Enoch showed little reaction. Rather, he seemed pleased to hear his father’s voice, even smiling faintly.

Jeanne tried to get up unsteadily. But due to unrelieved fatigue, her strength failed in the hand she was using for support. Cesare caught her as she tilted.

Jeanne looked up at him, cradled against his firm chest. Her heart pounded. Just like when she first met him in her childhood. The excitement was the same as then, and so was the warmth.

She knew. That he loved her. That there had never been a moment when he didn’t want her. But just as this marriage wasn’t made of love alone, divorce wasn’t solely about love either.

“…How could I forget? You’ve been impregnating me without rest.”

Jeanne whispered, looking at him with sunken eyes. She adjusted her br*ast, which had been exposed to soothe Enoch. He stared at her fair chest. The br*ast, wet with milk, had an enticing scent of rose oil mixed with the sweet smell of milk. Perhaps because the smell of br*ast milk, which one might expect to be fishy, was surprisingly fragrant. The body scent mixed with elegant rose fragrance wasn’t unpleasant.

It was similar to the scent from the crown of his son’s head, whom she held and fed every day. He looked at his wife as she tidied the br*ast that had been in the child’s mouth just moments ago. His wife cleaned her fair br*ast with a dry towel she had placed at the bedside, then arranged her décolletage. The beautiful eyes set in her white, oval face seemed to shine more sensitively than usual today.

“Shall I prepare your bed?”

She asked carefully after tidying herself. Cesare, who had been staring at her blankly, stood up and lifted her chin. Her soft, delicate chin was always malleable as if it could be crushed at any moment. He was always careful with his wife, feeling that if he applied just a little force, she might crumble in his hands.

No. Beyond being careful, he was afraid and anxious. Afraid that she might be hurt by his uncontrolled strength. But at some point….

“…Divorce is not an option.”

“……”

“If that is what you want, I cannot grant it.”

The eyes looking up at him as he stood seemed precarious, as if they might collapse at any moment. He stared at the morning light trapped in his wife’s pupils. He chewed on the despair that rippled like water currents, then furrowed his brow. He wanted to twist and break that despair. As desperately as he felt, he wanted to trample it mercilessly and nail it down so it would never sprout again.

“You are my wife. Your duty has no end. Just as mine doesn’t…. We are husband and wife, and you are forever my woman. Don’t forget that is your essence.”

A voice like a blade scattered from his lips. Jeanne turned her gaze and traced the floor where the morning sunlight had pooled in a circle. Moisture welled up and wet her eyes. Cesare grabbed the cheeks of the woman who had bitten her lip. Then he wiped away her flowing tears by rubbing them.

“I want to know the reason, Jeanne.”

He parted his lips toward his wife with a pained face. Even trying to guess, he couldn’t find a clear reason. Jeanne disliked showing emotion just as much as she restrained desire. What she disliked and what she liked.

The only time she was honest was when talking about the children. As if existing solely as a mother was everything. Even when she was in his arms, she was like that. She had a solemn face, as if fulfilling her duty to bear imperial children. But he….

“Jeanne.”

“I’m tired. That’s all there is.”

She shook her head to brush him off, then rose from her seat. Cesare watched the woman turning away, then grabbed her round, drooping shoulders as if snatching them and pushed her against the wall.

“Ack!”

The slender female body hit the wall. Cesare glared at the small, cold woman who seemed like she would melt in his heat, with his chin tucked.

Her fallen hair shone beautifully in the morning light. She was terribly beautiful. Small and sparkling like the crystals of morning snow in light snowfall. He had thought she would always be by his side. He believed she would be smiling faintly in a place where he could reach her if he extended his hand.

Because Jeanne was a woman born for that purpose. She was a woman born to be his wife. So it was natural that she couldn’t live any other life. Wasn’t she the one with a mother too lowly to share the same bed?

The reason Count Spetunia took that woman as his wife was none other than his birth. If it weren’t for him, that woman could never have stood before the count as a woman. But…. You, of all people.

“Your existence stems from me from birth. If it weren’t for me, your parents would never have even faced each other as man and woman.”

He recited coldly to the trembling woman. It was a fact that left no room for rebuttal. There wasn’t a single wrong word.

Jeanne was a woman who couldn’t have seen the light of day if it weren’t for him. So how could she say she would live without him? How dare she utter words about divorcing him?

“No matter how twisted your mind becomes, you shouldn’t mention ‘divorce’ to your husband. From your very existence….”

“I know. That’s why it’s terrible, Your Majesty.”

Jeanne parted her lips. The woman who had clenched her fists to avoid sobbing shed tears with a distorted face. He looked down at the white face of his suffering wife. He couldn’t understand what was tormenting his wife so much. She was at the end of all his political actions. Not for a single moment had he intended to let her go. And yet….

“There hasn’t been a single moment when I didn’t act for your sake.”

He whispered lowly, contorting as if swallowing bitter medicine. He cupped her two reddened cheeks to comfort the crying woman. Jeanne didn’t shake him off but looked at him. Cesare tried to read her emotions while maintaining eye contact.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“Then….”

“But I don’t believe it. Your Majesty’s love….”

Jeanne smoothed her contorted face and held her breath. The light returned to her unfocused pupils, as if she had been in a trance. Cesare looked at her, enduring the sensation of the ground collapsing beneath his feet. Her white face was cool, as if numb to pain.

“I no longer rely on Your Majesty’s love.”

Jeanne, who had been trapped by him, whispered each syllable neatly with wet lips. The strength drained from his hands that had been holding her round shoulders. But Jeanne didn’t leave and looked at him. Her eyes, retracing love, were moist.