Reina slowly regained consciousness, the throbbing pain in her leg jolting her back to reality. Through the lingering fog in her mind, fragments of what had happened before she lost consciousness began to return.

She remembered the boy’s wide, golden eyes, filled with shock — he hadn’t expected to stab her, either.

The hot, spreading sensation of her own blood. Yuta’s frantic voice. Kaelid’s seething rage. She remembered the desperate plan she had thrown together in the heat of the moment, which had been so all-consuming that it had dulled the pain.

Finally, she remembered the last words she had forced from her lips before everything went dark.

“War trophy.”

She had requested the Marquess of Baltgar as her war trophy.

She wondered whether Kaelid had actually granted her request. Knowing him — a man who never left a threat alive — she had probably had him killed. The thought made her let out a dry, bitter laugh.

It had seemed like a good plan — one she’d come up with in a moment of clarity. But perhaps it had all fallen apart before it even began.

She let out a quiet sigh.

‘I should’ve stayed conscious. If I had… I could’ve taken the child myself.’

Reina pushed her heavy body upright, expending a great deal of effort in the process. A dull ache pulsed through her leg. After gazing at her bandaged leg in silence for a moment, she called for a maid.

As if she had been waiting for her, Rose rushed into the room.

“My lady! How are you feeling? Are you okay? Do you remember how much blood you lost? It was dangerous!”

“My head’s throbbing. Could you please keep it down a bit?”

“Yes, of course. Let’s start with some medicine. You must be in a lot of pain. You should eat something, too. Is there anything you feel like having?”

Despite Reina asking for quiet, Rose continued chattering away without missing a beat. Reina forced herself to swallow the bitter medicine.

“Rose, did Kaelid bring the child here?”

“Oh, the child.”

Cutting in with her question, Reina saw the maid blink in surprise as her eyes widened.

“Lord Kaelid didn’t say much. He only mentioned that the child was your war trophy. The child doesn’t appear to be able to speak, though. He hasn’t said a word since he arrived.

“Did he bring the child?”

“Yes, the little boy with black hair?”

“That’s right. If possible, I’d like to see him now.”

“Please eat something first. Do you realise how many days you’ve been unconscious?”

“Just for a moment.”

Although she grumbled that she should at least eat first, Rose obediently left to fetch the boy. Reina found this surprising.

‘Did she really not suspect what I plan to do with the last Marquess of Baltgar? Not even a hint?’

‘She must know it’s dangerous.’

Even if Kaelid had killed the entire family himself, the boy would still be the last surviving heir of a formerly powerful noble house. Rose must have sensed some risk.

And yet he had spared the child. This was uncharacteristic of Kaelid.

However, Reina decided not to dwell on it. Whatever his reasons, the outcome favoured her.

“Ugh…”

She moved her leg slightly without thinking and felt a dull pain spread through it. The medicine made her feel a little light-headed. It wasn’t long before Rose knocked on the door and entered.

“Come in.”

Behind her stood the boy.

He looked cleaner than before. Back at the Baltgar estate, he had been filthy and gaunt, dressed in rags. Now, he was wearing smart clothes and looked freshly washed. He was still thin, but no longer looked like a street urchin.

“Come here.”

Reina beckoned him, and after hesitating, the boy slowly stepped forward.

His golden eyes were filled with fear and confusion. He stared at her silently for a while, then finally opened his mouth to speak.

“What’s your name?”

“My lady, he can’t—”

“Zephion.”

“Oh, so he can speak!”

Rose’s eyes widened.

Zephion stared quietly at Reina.

“Are you going to kill me?”

His voice shook with fear.

“No.”

“You—you called me a war trophy.”

He spoke as though he didn’t quite grasp the meaning of the term.

“It means you belong to me now.”

Her golden eyes widened. She had no idea what she could see reflected in their colour — a thought that made her want to laugh.

“Reina.”

“…”

“You may call me Reina.”

“Reina.”

He echoed, stumbling a little over the unfamiliar name. For the first time since arriving at House Berend, Reina smiled brightly and without restraint.

***

‘He’s really lost his memories…’

Reina studied Zephion’s beaming face quietly.

She had expected him to remember what had happened to his family and how he had been forced to live this way. At the very least, she thought he would recognise the shape of his own suffering.

But instead, he had forgotten everything — everything except his name. The only fragment remaining was the memory of stabbing her with a knife, and even that was distorted. He seemed to believe it had been an accident, unable to recall why he had done it.

‘Maybe forgetting is kinder.’

If he were to grow up happy and unaware of the truth, the eventual revelation would hurt him even more. And when that day came, his radiant smile would become unbearable.

The thought that she would one day rob this child of its joy filled Reina with a slight pang of guilt. Perhaps Zephion would wish he had died with the rest of House Baltgar. She lowered her gaze, her brow furrowing.

Sooner or later, he would see her as someone to hate. When that day came, what would it matter if he spat curses and blamed her?

In a world like this, there’s nothing that can be done.

If he had been born in peaceful times, he could have lived his life with a smile on his face, just as he did now. It was laughable that she, of all people, was plotting to use a boy who knew nothing.

“Reina, does it hurt?”

Seeing that she had stopped walking, Zephion hurried over, his face tight with worry.

“A little.”

The colour drained from his face as he gripped her arm. Reina didn’t stop him.

The wound on her thigh had mostly healed, though a dull ache still lingered. Quite the accomplishment, she thought wryly — one careless thrust and the heir of ‘Ironblood Baltgar’ had sliced straight through the muscle.

The surgeon’s diagnosis that she would never walk properly again hardly fazed her. Perhaps it was because she had never truly seen this body as her own.

It was Kaelid who raged. When he heard that she would need a cane for the rest of her life, he nearly exploded with fury. For a moment, Reina feared he might kill the child who had crippled her. Although the fury in his eyes was unmistakable, he never raised a hand against Zephion.

“I’m sorry.”

The boy whispered again. She recognised the stricken look that crossed his face whenever she limped across the room. This was hardly the first time he had apologised to her.

“It’s all right.”

At her calm reply, he slumped down, his eyes downcast. Reina didn’t bother to soothe him. After weeks of keeping the child close by, she had learned only one thing: she was woefully inept at caring for children.

She dragged her uncooperative leg forward and Zephion did his best to support her. She disliked being unable to move freely, but not being able to run — or even walk — felt stifling.

‘It’s time I started Zephion’s schooling.’

He was already nine. Before she learned his true age she’d taken him for six, perhaps seven—proof enough of how utterly his former guardians had neglected him.

No, ‘neglect’ didn’t quite cover it. It would be more accurate to call it abuse.

For a nine-year-old to look two or three years younger and have stunted growth, abuse was the only possible explanation. The only small mercies were the absence of visible bruising and his memory loss.

If Reina wanted him to become capable of reclaiming the name Baltgar and exacting revenge, she would have to start training him properly. His training would begin now, from the simplest reading and writing skills to swordsmanship.

‘I’ll be the one to shape him…’

The thought stirred something strange in her. She would mould him with her own hands, feeding him hatred and raising him not as a child, but as a weapon. All for revenge. And ultimately, for death.

Perhaps sensing her gaze, Zephion looked up at her and smiled brightly.

“Wherever you go, I’ll help you walk.”

“…”

One day, the hands holding her arm would be bigger.

And maybe then, instead of supporting her, they would be around her throat.

She let out a soft laugh.

The thought seemed impossibly distant, yet she felt a quiet thrill stir in her chest.

“You’re still too small.”

Zephion scrunched his face into a pout. He might still be a child, but he always sulked when someone pointed out how young or small he was.

“I’ll grow soon! I’ll be taller than you — much taller!”

“Maybe… after a very long time.”

Reina answered calmly. The Marquesses of Baltgar were naturally tall, broad-shouldered men. If he truly carried their blood, he would surely shoot up in time.

For now, though, he was nothing more than a skinny boy with narrow shoulders.

They were slowly circling the garden when she felt it: a sharp, almost stinging stare. They had just returned to the front of the estate. Kaelid was standing, leaning against a statue, looking dark and displeased. He was looking at Zephion with visible distaste.