Large snowflakes drifted heavily beyond the window, falling in thick, silent clusters.

As she stood watching them, Aiden gently draped a thick shawl over her shoulders.

“The air is cold. Come here.”

“……”

Drawing the shawl close around herself, Sveta followed as he led her forward.

He seated her on a sofa upholstered in emerald velvet and handed her a teacup.

“I heard you are fond of herbal tea.”

“…You made me drink bitter medicine, Your Grace. This was the only thing that masked the unpleasant taste.”

“So that is why you came to like it?”

“You made me take it every day.”

“……”

The warmth from the fireplace slowly brought color back to her cheeks.

Aiden watched in silence as she touched the rim of the teacup with her slightly parted, apricot-hued lips.

Her previously loose hair was now neatly plaited and draped over one shoulder.

The pallor of her face gradually gave way to its natural, pearlescent glow.

‘Lady Nora, was it.’

It was the result of granting her request to meet Lady Nora, the maid. In return, Sveta did whatever he wanted.

She dined with him every day.

Believing that they could now communicate without hostility, she began to make small requests of her own and, more often than not, yielded to his wishes in turn.

Compared to the days when she would turn her face away at every opportunity, this was undeniable progress.

And yet, something felt wrong.

A strange, nameless discord clung to him, heavy, damp and suffocating. He could not understand the dark emotion gnawing at his heart. Because he could not name it, impatience began to take root.

Acting on impulse, Aiden stepped closer and tugged at the lace ribbon that bound her hair.

The teacup trembled in her hands, rattling faintly against its saucer.

“What are you—”

Her black hair fell in waves over her shoulders as she flinched.

He shaped his fingers like a rake and slowly ran them through her hair.

The scent of oil wafted through the air, faintly sweet and pleasant.

Aiden pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

Brushing the delicate skin behind her ear, he whispered,

“Sveta.”

“……”

The heat that had ignited within him slowly spread through his body.

His fingers trailed down to her nape and slipped beneath the collar of her robe, tracing the hollow curve of her collarbone.

“Ha… Answer me.”

“What answer do you want?”

Her reply was soft and steady.

In that instant, Aiden finally understood the source of the unease that had clung to him.

It felt as though she had been brought there against her will and was enduring his presence in silence.

She let out a slow breath, her eyes fixed on a distant corner of the ceiling.

Sveta — the woman who had once confessed her love to him with such sincerity — now seemed unwilling to show him any affection at all.

The realization nearly drove him mad.

“What do you mean, what answer do I want? Why are you like this?”

“Why? Do you dislike it when I’m obedient?”

“……”

Her voice remained calm yet coldly detached. As if her soul had slipped away, she stared into the void.

It would have been better if she had screamed.

Anything would have been better than this emptiness: it would have been better if she had clawed at him, struck him or kicked him.

Even that would have been preferable to this emptiness. At least then she would have been feeling something.

But what was he supposed to do with this void?

Unable to find an answer, he finally spoke, his voice rough and hoarse.

“There is nothing about you that I dislike.”

She set her teacup down on the table and murmured,

“That’s a lie.”

“……”

“Don’t lie, Your Grace. You don’t need to soothe me with lies.”

“…What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you should simply do as you please.”

“……”

“You always have.”

His throat burned as though he had swallowed embers.

Aiden picked up the cup she had put down and took a sip. The bitterness flooded his mouth, causing him to frown.

“How can you drink something like this… I’ll have it brewed again.”

“I like it.”

“…You mean you like tea this bitter?”

“Yes.”

He narrowed his eyes, unable to tell whether she spoke truth or falsehood. It felt almost as if she were He thought she was mocking him.

But when he met her dry, vacant gaze, he realized that this had also been in vain. Her eyes told him one thing and one thing only: she wanted him to leave.

Her expression conveyed nothing but quiet indifference.

There was no mockery because there was nothing at all.

Like coarse sand slipping through his fingers, she was slipping away from him, moment by moment.

Unable to bear it, Aiden tightened his grip on the strand of hair wound around his fingers and tugged it slightly.

If nothing else, he wanted to hold on to her and stop her from slipping away entirely.

“Ah—”

Startled, Sveta parted her lips.

The words of protest that rose between them dissolved before they could be uttered, lost inside his mouth.

Aiden seized her soft lips and kissed her roughly.

As he invaded her small, yielding mouth, he kept his eyes open. The warm breath slipping between their teeth intoxicated him. She gasped.

“Ah…”

Her breathing became uneven and Sveta clutched her shawl tightly. Her pale knuckles trembled, but she didn’t push him away.

Aiden eased her slender body onto the sofa.

He didn’t need to force her. They had been together countless times before and she responded out of instinct.

Caging her between his legs, he slid a hand down her back. The slight arch of her waist was a familiar reaction he had long since memorized.

The faint bitterness of herbal tea lingered on his tongue, mingling with the sweetness of her lips.

He broke off the kiss by gently biting her damp lower lip. A thin strand stretched between them before snapping apart.

Sveta’s narrow shoulders rose and fell as she let out a heated breath.

“If you suddenly act like this…”

“You told me to do as I pleased.”

“…I suppose I did.”

She accepted it at once.

Why did her compliance grate on him so much?

“It’s lonely being alone. Let the laundry maids come back.”

“…You gave me your lips, and now you want something in return?”

“I’d like to take a walk sometimes.”

Her sky-blue eyes met his without flinching.

“No.”

“…Then shall we go to the bed?”

“What are you saying?”

Her small hand pressed against his arm. Aiden allowed himself to be pushed back.

Sveta rose slowly and without hesitation. When she released her grip, the shawl slipped from her shoulders.

The soft wool of her dress traced the lines of her body.

Aiden looked up at her, furrowing one brow.

“I thought you wouldn’t agree otherwise.”

“So you’ll sleep with me in exchange?”

“May I not?”

“…All this for something as trivial as a walk?”

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? My body.”

“……”

The words What kind of man do you think I am? rose to his throat—but he swallowed them down.

“Honestly…”

At a loss for words, Aiden fell silent.

“Please… not painfully. Slowly. My body still hasn’t fully healed.”

The dryness in her eyes as she spoke such merciless words was unbearably beautiful.

Aiden sagged back against the sofa and covered his eyes with his palm.

“Will you do it here?”

Sveta—his woman—was acting exactly like a mistress.

Just as he had once said.

“You will become a lavishly kept mistress. You will smile and speak as though you have no thoughts of your own.”

The hollow mistress he had demanded.

The one who would obediently follow every word.

‘Was this truly what I wanted?’

Self-loathing twisted his face, though his hand concealed it.

In a restrained voice stripped of emotion, he said,

“…If you do not want it, I will not.”

Even now, the tension in his body betrayed him, and he let out a faint, bitter laugh.

She must see it too. She would surely think this the perfect moment to take advantage of his weakness.

“I want to see Dongle.”

As expected, she began listing her wishes.

“I want to step into the corridor, at least. It’s too… suffocating here, Your Grace.”

“You said you were unwell.”

“When I recover… may I go outside?”

“…You dislike the cold. When spring comes.”

“……”

He still hadn’t heard her reason for running away.

This woman, who seized every opportunity to create distance between them, was not going to slip from his grasp.

When spring arrived, he would either use the May Festival as an excuse or blame the Queen’s displeasure. When summer arrived, he would blame the rainy season and keep her indoors. And when autumn came, he would find another reason.

By next autumn, perhaps he could finally tell her the truth.

That he wanted her to stay by his side.

That he loved her.

By then, Sveta’s wounds might have healed and she might look at him again.

Maybe she would even whisper that she loved him once more.

But if she still rejected him—

— then perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to sustain a serious injury, if only to keep her close.

‘Where would be best?’

Somewhere along his back, where her small hands would rest whenever she embraced him.

If he told her that he had been injured protecting her, his gentle, tender woman might stay by his side out of guilt, if nothing else.

It was absurd. A reckless, almost deranged thought.

And yet, disturbingly, it felt like a satisfying conclusion.

Forcing his thoughts back into order, Aiden rose, his expression carefully composed.

He lifted the fallen shawl and draped it over her shoulders once more. Then he leaned in and pressed a light kiss against the delicate curve of her ear.

“When spring comes, I will take you wherever you wish.”

***

Several hours later, in the duke’s study.

Aiden ran his fingers along the blade of a dagger that looked, at a glance, like a massive awl.

It was the very blade that had pierced her abdomen.

“A dagger forged from Valteran steel, I hear.”

“Yes, Your Grace. According to our investigation, the hilt was crafted in northern Prisada.”

“……”

After a brief hesitation, Dennis spoke carefully.

“…It is far too valuable for a mere boatman to possess.”

Aiden understood the implication in his aide’s words.

‘An expensive blade forged in Frisada.’

This was further evidence suggesting that his mother had ordered Sveta’s death. His mother was from Prisada.

And yet, something did not sit right.

Aiden’s cool gaze traced the edge of the blade.

“The boatman was said to double as a hunter.”

“Yes, Your Grace. In winter, he sustains himself by selling game.”

“…Then he would be skilled at taking life.”

“Indeed.”

“Then why strike the abdomen?”