She lowered her gaze and carefully scanned the area around her. If things were the same as before, she might be able to kill him. But Areos seemed to have left his weapons outside, for there was nothing within reach.

“I’ll arrange a match for you.”

“…”

“I cannot make you crown princess, but I will recognise you as my mistress.”

Recognise? She didn’t need that kind of acknowledgement. She glared at him. Perhaps it was the sudden defiance in the usually docile ‘doll’ that caught his attention, for Areos brow furrowed slightly.

“I refuse.”

“Refuse, you say.”

His reaction wasn’t anger but amusement as he let out a laugh, seemingly amused by her rebellion.

“Why? Do you want to be crown princess?”

“No!”

“Haha. I see. Then you want to be the Empress? If so, it’ll take a little more time.”

“I don’t need it. I’ve never wanted it.”

Cyrene struggled to free herself from his grip. Areo’s once smiling expression slowly hardened into something cold.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I don’t need it. I don’t want to be your mistress, your crown princess or your emp-ugh!”

Her head snapped violently to the side. Sparks danced before her eyes. The fleeting tenderness she’d experienced in her dream now seemed like a distant, unattainable fantasy, leaving her momentarily speechless.

“Say that again.”

“I don’t want this.”

“Are you angry because I proposed to make you my mistress?”

“I just don’t want to be by your side.”

‘I don’t want it. I don’t want it. I don’t want it.’

Cyrene screamed, as if trying to exorcise the words from her soul. She braced herself, expecting another slap across her cheek, but instead a gentle hand reached out and caressed her face. Areos spoke in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

“Cyrene.”

A shiver ran through her entire body. Her fingers grew cold with fear. When Ilion was kind, it brought warmth and comfort. When Areos was kind, it froze her to the bone.

“What are you thinking?”

‘Send me back to Ilion.’

The words were on the tip of her tongue. Perhaps it was the vividness of the dream she’d had, but the only thought in her mind was that her rightful place was beside Ilion. Even though she knew it had been a dream, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been real.

She parted her lips, but no words came out. Even to say Ilion’s name felt like inviting some unspeakable catastrophe. Yet she couldn’t remain silent.

He was alive. The man she thought was dead was alive, smiling at her, whispering kind words.

“He’s alive.”

Areos blinked slowly, then let out a laugh.

“Ah, so you’re talking about the Marquis of Laska.”

“He’s alive.”

Cyrene repeated, her voice shaking with conviction. The more she said it, the more she felt as if Ilion might actually reappear before her, like a lone ray of light cutting through the darkness.

Areos chuckled softly before his hand shot out and gripped her arm tightly.

“Ahh!”

Still undressed, she staggered as she was half dragged away. She tried to cover herself with whatever she could grab, but it was no use.

“No! Stop!”

The idea of exposing herself to others felt strange and humiliating. Though it hadn’t been unusual during her time with Areos, the confusion of dream and reality made it all seem unbearable. She knew what was real, but her heart refused to accept it.

Areos confidently pushed aside the curtain and stepped outside. She lowered her head. The prying eyes that always seemed to linger near the tent now roamed over her exposed body, scrutinising her like insects crawling over her skin.

“Ugh…”

She stumbled forward, no comforting hand to steady her. The grip on her arm was painful, so tight that a soft moan escaped her lips.

“Ugh…”

Areos threw her unceremoniously to the ground, crossing his arms as he looked down at her with an arrogant expression.

“Look, Cyrene.”

She could already guess why she had been brought here, and fear gripped her. Proof of death – something undeniable that would force her to accept Ilion’s demise – must lie before her.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. She curled her body inward, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. The murmurs of the onlookers reached her ears, stinging like barbs.

“Open your eyes.”

“Your Highness, I was wrong.”

Her voice trembled. She crawled awkwardly in the direction of his voice, her hands reaching out to touch the smooth leather of his boots. Clinging to his legs, she looked up at him through tear-filled eyes.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong… I… I was…”

Why had she allowed herself to forget what he was capable of? Even she couldn’t understand. No matter how sweet the dream had been, it was still just a dream. Why had she allowed herself to believe it was real? Tears trickled down her cheeks and onto the hem of Areo’s trousers.

He smiled tenderly, a deceptive kindness, as his hand gently stroked her head.

“There’s something you wanted to see. Won’t you look?”

“I’m sorry… I-ah.”

Cyrene whimpered, cut off as Areos’ hand cupped her cheek and forcibly turned her face.

“Open your eyes.”

It was an order she couldn’t refuse. Trembling, she slowly and painfully opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was hair matted with dark red blood.

“Ahh…”

She wanted to turn away, but Areos’ firm grip left her no escape. Shaky breaths escaped her lips as her gaze traced the bloodied features before her.

Her eyes followed the contours of the face, the black eyes now dull and clouded. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stared at the man who had brought her joy in her dream – the one she had longed to see again. He was there in front of her.

But his face, pale as death, bore no trace of the smile she had cherished. Only agony remained, frozen in time.

“Ah… ahh…”

She struggled violently. The grotesquely mutilated chest revealed things never meant to be seen. Her nails raked the back of Areos’ hand, but he only tightened his grip, pulling her closer as if he wanted her to see every detail.

Unable to stand it any longer, she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Isn’t this the proof you wanted, Cyrene?”

“Ah… ahh…”

It had only been a dream. A sweet, cruelly vivid dream in which Ilion had been alive. A dream in which she had been so blissfully happy that it had been unbearable to wake up from.

Tears streamed down her face as her mind spun in chaos. She had no strength left to face this reality. All she wanted was to escape – to retreat into that dream once more.

***

Princess Ariel was officially recorded as having been killed in battle during the Civil War. Whether she was truly killed in battle, or met a more unfortunate end at the hands of Areos, no one could say for certain. However, the royal family seemed determined to preserve her dignity, as the word ‘treason’ was conspicuously absent from the proceedings, and her funeral was conducted with the full honours befitting her status.

Instead, the charge of treason was laid entirely at Ilion’s door. The once prosperous house of the Marquis of Laska was utterly ruined, and its last heir, Ilion, was dead.

Cyrene stared out of the window. Areos, who had killed his sister, wore a strangely relieved expression, as if he had only done what had always been inevitable.

“Your Highness.”

The hurried sounds of maids rising to their feet came from behind her. She didn’t turn. Like the lifeless puppet she had become, she simply continued to stare out of the window in a daze.

“What are you looking at so intently?”

Areos slowly ran his fingers through her hair before grasping it lightly. He tilted her head up and planted a deep kiss on her lips.

“Mm…”

She neither pushed him away nor pulled him closer. It all felt meaningless. His tongue entered her mouth, curling around her shy one and biting gently. A faint mixture of pain and pleasure began to stir inside her.

His hand slipped under her clothes, kneading her soft br*ast as his fingers brushed over her half-hardened n*pple. Cyrene exhaled shallowly, her breath shaking.

“Ugh. Ah… …”

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Areos lifted the hem of her dress and slid his hand between her legs. Noticing the moisture seeping through her thin underwear, he hastily tore the fabric away.

Thick fingers slipped between the now exposed thighs, plunging in and stirring recklessly. Areos brought his slick, wet hand up, his fingers soaked. As he stuck out his tongue to lick off the fluid, a low chuckle escaped him.

“I’ve already found a man who would suit you well.”

“Ugh!”

Areos spread Cyrene’s thighs and in one swift motion, whether he wanted to or not, thrust his p*nis all the way in. A wave of intense pleasure shot up to the top of her head in an instant, causing her head to tilt back. As her delicate neck was exposed before him, Areos sank his teeth firmly into the trembling, slender throat.

“Ugh, ah… … ugh!”

Her body shook violently. On the narrow sofa, he towered over her, almost covering her entire body. Her legs, flailing aimlessly, finally found a perch on the backrest.

“Huh, ah, uh… …!”