Delilah had lost all sense of reason. Words tumbled out in fragments, senseless and desperate. She had completely forgotten her own situation, forgotten that her father, Marcel, had already abandoned their family.

“And then what? You’ll bring back proof?”

“Y-yes… yes, I will!”

“And why should I care?”

“…What?”

Vicente’s laughter broke out suddenly. For a moment, he looked almost pleased as though her helplessness amused him.

“Why should I entertain the plea of a traitor’s daughter?”

“Ah…”

His words struck like cold water, snapping her back to reality. All the thoughts she might have had evaporated at once. Moments ago, she had spoken without thinking, but now, faced with the crown prince’s mocking tone, even words deserted her.

“The young viscount will be executed. You, the lady, will be exiled. It’s quick and clean. So tell me, why should I bother with anything messier?”

“T-that’s…”

The weight of his presence crushed the air around her. Her hands curled tightly against her knees, her every breath caught in his grasp. Even her silence belonged to him.

“Begging for mercy without offering anything in return, isn’t that a bit shameless?”

The words cut straight into her, slicing through whatever pride she had left. Her lips quivered. The fragile warmth she’d felt at seeing him again, that small, foolish comfort, collapsed into humiliation.
She lowered her head.

“Wh… what should I do?”

Her voice trembled as she pressed her nails into the stone floor.

Vicente’s smile deepened. Those watching from behind him held their breath; his expression carried a cruelty they had never seen before. The air grew heavy, dense with the unspoken chill of fear.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?”

His once-sharp tone softened, playful now, laced with dark amusement.

“There’s something you’ve never been able to say to me, isn’t there?”

The teasing lilt in his voice left Delilah dazed. She blinked, tears blurring her eyes.

“I don’t want your help, Vicente.”

Her own voice echoed inside her mind like a stone breaking the surface of still water. The words she had thrown at him years ago, when she ran from him. They rose from the depths where she had buried them.

That foolish defiance.

A hollow laugh slipped past her lips. So this was deliberate. He wanted her to say it. To see her brought low, to make her remember.

It was as if he were saying, I’ve never forgotten you.

But to beg him to say help me was unbearable. Especially to him. That was why she had run away back then. Why she had chosen pride over survival, even as her heart broke.

Now, the shame of it burned through her like fire.

Delilah had never once in her life begged for anything. And yet here she was, forced to say the one thing she most wanted to keep buried, to the one man she least wanted to see her fall apart.

Her whole body went rigid. Her fingers itched toward the scar branded into her wrist, but she didn’t dare move. Those red eyes never left her.

So instead, she scraped her nails against the hard stone floor, as if to ground herself in the pain.

Vicente’s words echoed, relentless: Beg me. For your family’s life.

If she had been alone, she would have stayed silent to the end. But she couldn’t let her pride kill her brother.

“…Please… give me a chance…”

The plea broke from her lips, trembling. She couldn’t bring herself to say help me. The words stuck in her throat, leaving only tears that fell soundlessly to the ground.

She didn’t even know why she was crying,  from the humiliation, from the bitterness of it,
or from the ache of being hurt by him once again.

Her tears darkened the stone beneath her, one by one. Even as she bowed her head in shame,a small, irrational hope flickered,  that he might grant her mercy. That he might not cast her aside.

And that hope was the cruelest part of all.

Because Vicente did not answer. He only looked down at her in silence.

And when their eyes met at last, Delilah realized he had no intention of granting her anything.

There was no trace of warmth left in Vicente’s face.  

Delilah bit her lip hard and pleaded.  

“Please… Your Highness, Crown Prince. Show me mercy. I’ll do whatever you wish, anything you ask…”  

She lifted her head, attempting a smile. Perhaps, if she could recall that brief happiness from the past, she could soften his heart.  

But her lips wouldn’t move the way she wanted.  

The tears gathering at the corners of her trembling eyes did not suit the smile she tried to wear.  

“You’re good at it.” 

Vicente said with a mocking smile, nudging the back of her hand with the toe of his boot.  

“So why didn’t you do it sooner?”  

He looked down at her, the woman crouched entirely within the shadow he cast, and smiled beautifully.  

It was the first time he had smiled in ten years, and never before had his expression been filled with such dark satisfaction.  

Delilah’s eyes wavered. Something cold and unnameable coiled in her chest.  

“Very well, Delilah. I’ll give you a chance.”  

***

He had meant what he said.  

Delilah and Luan were removed from that dreadful place unharmed.  The unconscious boy was even given a room in the palace annex.  

Her desperate plea had come at a steep price.  

The room they were offered was not unfamiliar. It felt as though time itself had stopped here, everything exactly as it had been ten years ago.  

Even with her eyes closed, Delilah could have walked the space without a single misstep.  

Every piece of furniture, every mark on the wall, every fragile decoration was where it had always been.  

Even the withered flowers in the vase remained unchanged.  

Biting the inside of her cheek, she stared at them.  

She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t thrown them away.  

Those flowers…  

She had picked them herself, years ago, sneaking them in from the garden for the boy who was not allowed outside.  

“Lady Earl, His Highness is asking for you.”  

The voice outside the door startled her. It was calm, polite, and restrained.  

Delilah clutched the bloodstained shift she wore.  

The thin, worn fabric was nearly transparent against her skin.  

Her shawl, she couldn’t even remember where she’d lost it.  

A traitor’s daughter had no right to request proper clothing,  

so she rubbed her bare arms instead, trying in vain to hide her unease.  

He had already seen everything anyway. What use was shame now?  

When she opened the door, a middle-aged woman, clearly a palace servant, gave her a brief glance before leading the way.  

They didn’t go far before the woman stopped, bowed, and gestured.  

“You may enter, my lady.”  

Delilah hesitated with her hand on the doorknob.  

It hadn’t been long since that humiliation, how could she face him so soon?  

She rubbed her swollen eyes and stepped inside.  

Sunlight poured through the tall windows, scattering into shards that made her squint.  

When her vision cleared, she saw him. Vicente. Bathed in that light, his figure dominating the room even more than the gilded ornaments surrounding him.  

He lifted his gaze slightly when he sensed her presence.  

Those eyes, once like jewels, once beautiful, now burned red with quiet cruelty.  

Their mere focus made her skin prickle, her shoulders hunching instinctively.  

But the heat in his gaze faded almost at once.  

The joy he’d shown before was gone, replaced by the same cold mask as before.  

He sat on the sofa, legs crossed, unmoving. Like a statue carved from shadow and ice.  

She hadn’t known that facing a man without expression could be so terrifying.  

“Come here.”  

At his gesture, Delilah froze.  

Bare feet against the polished floor, she took hesitant steps forward.  

Did come here mean she should sit beside him?  

Even that thought made her hesitate.  

When she finally sat down, awkwardly perching on the edge of the sofa, Vicente spoke first, his tone indifferent, yet deliberate.  

“I thought I should make things clear.”  

The words came without explanation, as if the beginning of a conversation she had missed.  

“If you meet Marcel, and it turns out he really sold the title to the traitors… what then?”  

She didn’t know.  

Or rather, she had no confidence in what she might do.  

In truth, she had said she wanted to meet him only out of desperation, to save Luan, to buy time.  

Now that her head was clear, the absurdity of that plea sank in.  

Did she trust Marcel?  

Hardly.  

A man who had sold even her mother’s keepsakes could not be trusted with anything, not love, not honor, not redemption.  

“If that’s the case, then I’ll accept whatever punishment I deserve.  And please, spare my brother. Let the sentence fall on me instead.”  

There were only so many things she could say.  

In a situation like this, words meant little.  

She had already knelt once. That was enough.  

She had earned this one fragile chance.  

All that mattered now was protecting Luan.  

After that, she didn’t care what became of her.  

“Whatever punishment.” 

Vicente repeated softly.  

“Yes…”  

This time, her tone was steady.  

Gone was the frantic woman from earlier.  

She lowered her lashes and avoided his gaze, calm but distant.  

The faintest smirk tugged at Vicente’s lips.  

She was irritating him again, just like before.  

“My patience isn’t endless, Fifteen days should be enough, don’t you think?”  

“F-fifteen days…? That’s too soon—”  

Her words stumbled out, face growing stiff.  

The fear in her tone was plain.  

The thin red mark across her cheek caught his eye.  

He followed it slowly, his gaze tracing from her face to her small hands, to the faded, torn fabric clinging to her frame.  

The worn cloth revealed glimpses of her pale skin, the tremor in her posture, the hollow defiance in her downcast eyes.  

It was… unsettling.