Everything on the outside had been bad – countless men, even the gardener whose name she couldn’t remember. Her breath caught at the thought. Ilion leaned closer and cupped her cheek gently.

“Cyrene.”

“There’s nothing good out there.”

The only ‘good’ she could think of was the man before her. She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer. As Ilion leaned closer, she extended her tongue to brush against his lips.

“Ah!”

Startled, he drew back quickly and covered his mouth. Areos had always enjoyed that gesture, so why didn’t Ilion? Cyrene cocked her head in confusion. She thought his face looked slightly flushed, but she couldn’t be sure.

A strange man. She tugged hard at his collar again, but Ilion didn’t move. Her face twisted into a slight frown.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“But everyone likes it.”

At her words, Ilion smiled bitterly and stroked her cheek gently.

“Not me. I didn’t like it.”

“Why not?”

She tilted her head in confusion. He wasn’t just any man – he was someone His Highness had allowed. That alone should have made him acceptable. He was truly incomprehensible.

“I made a promise to His Highness.”

Cyrene rolled her eyes in frustration. He had come to the party and yet refused even a kiss? It made no sense at all.

“But you came to the party.”

At her insistent words, Ilion’s expression became conflicted. His hand, still on her cheek, moved slowly through her hair. 

The gesture vaguely reminded her of Areos’, but it felt softer, gentler. Cyrene pressed her cheek against Ilion’s palm. It was a little rough, but she didn’t mind in the least. 

His long fingers brushed her ear before sliding down along her jaw. His thumb, calloused but firm, traced the area just below her lips. She felt the slight pressure of his touch and her slightly parted lips revealed a glimpse of the pink of her tongue.

“Ah…”

A small sound escaped her lips. Ilion’s dark eyes drew closer, and Cyrene stared blankly at her reflection in them. As the distance between them closed, her blue eyes widened.

“…”

Their mingled breaths filled the silence. Her lips tingled and her heart pounded loudly in her chest. Cyrene waited in silence, hoping he would close the remaining gap.

“Haah…”

He exhaled softly.

A heated sigh escaped into the air, so heavy it was hard to tell who it belonged to. At that moment, Ilion seemed to regain his composure, straightening abruptly. The intimacy they had shared only seconds before was gone, as if it had been a mistake. He shook his head roughly.

“Forgive me.”

His fingers, which had lingered reluctantly, slowly withdrew. Ilion clenched his fists tightly, then opened them with a shuddering breath.

“Haah…”

He covered his eyes with his hand and let out a strained sigh, as if chastising himself. Cyrene reached out and took his hand, noticing that his nails had dug deep into his palm. Carefully, she pried his hand open, revealing the faint red marks left behind.

Why was he acting like this over something as simple as a kiss? She couldn’t understand. Her fingers traced the marks on his palm, smoothing them gently. Ilion made a sound that was almost a moan before pulling his hand away.

“It’s all right.”

Cyrene blinked at him.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

At her question, Ilion let out a dry laugh, a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

“No man would refuse, right?”

And yet the man who had rejected her was standing right in front of her. Cyrene blinked in confusion as he hesitated and stepped back slightly.

“It would be better if we met another time.”

“Another time? When? When are you coming back?”

She jumped up from the bench and stepped towards him, but Ilion retreated further. When Cyrene stopped abruptly, he paused as well, watching her warily.

“Next time. Until then, take care of yourself.”

With that, he turned and walked away, as if fleeing from her. Cyrene clutched at her dress, her fingers clenched tightly in the fabric.

As she looked back, her eyes fell on the handkerchief left on the bench. She picked it up and clutched it tightly in her hand.

Was leaving something behind his way of avoiding touching her?

The faint scent of Ilion lingered on the handkerchief, crumpled in her grasp.

Does he dislike me?

She thought it couldn’t be, but the memory of being rejected made her feel uneasy. As she walked absentmindedly back to the palace, Cyrene noticed one of the guards stealing glances at her.

As she approached, the man straightened stiffly and inhaled sharply. Cyrene looked up at him in silence. His eyes, forced to look straight ahead, slowly drifted back to her, as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

The guard’s face turned a deep shade of red at her question.

“I-I can’t.”

Cyrene nodded and started to walk past him. But as she moved away, the guard’s hand suddenly grabbed the back of her head roughly.

Their lips collided.

Cyrene tried to push him away with all her strength.

“Mm—!”

The kiss was hard and forceful. It wasn’t until another guard rushed in and pulled him off her that their lips finally parted.

Panting, Cyrene ran back to her room. She furiously wiped her lips with her sleeve, trying to erase the sensation.

Everyone, literally everyone, wanted to touch her. Even a guard who had said ‘no’ couldn’t resist.

Strange man.

Cyrene clutched her handkerchief tightly as she thought about Ilion. She couldn’t understand him at all. Earlier in the day, the Crown Prince had seemed slightly irritated, but his mood had improved when she had initiated a kiss. It was almost magical – such a simple act could change everything. But why wouldn’t Ilion allow it? Once again she found herself thinking of him.

The next day, the guard at the entrance had been replaced by someone she didn’t recognise.

***

“Ilion.”

Cyrene called Ilion as she ran towards him. He shifted subtly to avoid her, but his reaction remained calm. 

“Cyrene. Have you been well?” 

She was starting to get used to him asking how she was. The way he spread out a handkerchief for her to sit on or gently guided her – it had taken her a while to realise that these were thoughtful gestures. For someone like Cyrene, who had never been accompanied or treated with such care, it felt completely new and refreshing. 

As usual, Ilion spread out his handkerchief. Cyrene sat lightly on it before suddenly asking, “Why don’t we go into a room?”

Cyrene thought about how many times she’d had s*x in the garden, but most people still preferred a bed. Even if she didn’t want to be intimate with Ilion, wouldn’t it be more comfortable in a room?

If there was a bed, she might at least be able to hold on to him a little longer.

When she reached out and tried to pull his hand, Ilion pushed it away gently but firmly.

“It’s probably because we didn’t grow up the same way.”

A strange remark that made Cyrene tilt her head in confusion.

“My patience isn’t up to it,” he added.

He sat down beside her. The two-handed distance between them felt uncomfortable, so Cyrene moved closer to him. Ilion chuckled softly at her persistence, but gently pushed her back again.

“Do you dislike me?”

“Do you know you ask that every time?”

“Because you always avoid answering.”

“That’s because you’re too beautiful, Cyrene.”

Beautiful. The word felt ticklish, as if someone were stroking her heart with a soft feather. She had been called beautiful countless times, but this was the first time it felt so pleasant.

When Cyrene smiled shyly, Ilion smiled in return. Hesitantly, he reached out and gently stroked her cheek with his hand. That was as far as he would ever touch her. Resting her head against his large hand, she heard him chuckle softly.

“Didn’t you grow up with His Highness the Crown Prince?”

“Grown up together?”

That had never happened. When Cyrene asked again, confused, Ilion shrugged.

“I see.”

She had been shaped entirely by the Crown Prince’s hand. Though her life had been intertwined with Areos, it had never really been the same as his. Though they had long shared the same space, their existences were worlds apart – master and servant, or perhaps God and creation. The distance between them was insurmountable.

“If it had been me, I would have cherished you.”

Ilion murmured almost to himself, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Cyrene leaned against him again.

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

When she pouted, Ilion’s face twisted into another complicated expression.

“By giving you delicious things, beautiful clothes and other good things…”

Cyrene tilted her head in confusion. Wasn’t this exactly what Areos had already done for her? His words didn’t seem all that different. 

“Does His Highness cherish me?”

Ilion hesitated at her question, clearly confused. His hand that had been running through her hair stopped. A harsh voice escaped his barely parted lips. 

“Yes.”

It was a stiff, almost mechanical response. Twirling a strand of her platinum hair between his fingers, Ilion planted a light kiss on it. Cyrene couldn’t help but wish he’d kissed her lips instead.