“Your Majesty.”

She briefly scanned the ragged orange peel before clicking her tongue softly.

Sveta straightened her back, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“Sit.”

“Yes, madam.”

Obediently, she returned to her seat, though Elise’s disapproving gaze weighed heavily upon her.

“I forced these frail legs to walk just to meet you.”

Elise spoke each syllable with deliberate force.

True to her origins in Prisada, her blunt tone carried a stern authority that pressed down on the listener.

“I will not waste time on pleasantries.”

She placed a small glass vial on the round stone table, making a sharp clinking sound.

Sveta stared at the suspicious-looking liquid inside, feeling uncertain.

“…May I ask what this is?”

“It is what you must drink.”

The silence dropped heavy, like stone sinking to the bottom of water.

As Elise searched every inch of Sveta’s face, countless thoughts rose and fell in her mind. It could surely not be poison.

“It will prevent you from conceiving a child.”

“Ah…”

“Or is it unnecessary?”

Elise’s gaze grew even sterner. The severity of her eyes contrasted with the faint curve of her lips, making her expression all the more frightening. It felt as though she were testing her.

“Th-thank you…”

Sveta clasped the vial in both hands and quickly hid it under the table. Thankfully, Elise did not insist that she drink it there and then.

“For Dalia’s sake, make sure you behave properly.”

“Yes, Your Majesty

“I will give you one piece of advice. You may not like it, but it is for your sake.”

“I welcome it.”

Placing the vial neatly atop her folded knees, Sveta straightened her back.

“That boy seems courteous, but he’s not really.”

“…….”

Elise never once addressed the Duke by name. And no wonder — she was not his birth mother, nor did she harbor any affection for him.

This was one of the many prohibitions that Dalia had imposed on Sveta.

‘Do not mention His Grace in front of Lady Elise. She despises it.’

In order to avoid provoking Elise, Sveta lowered her gaze by half.

“Have you seen the bow he treasures?”

“Yes.”

She remembered the great bow he had carried that day in the harbor alley.

“It was crafted of bamboo imported from the southern continent, fitted with whitewood from Muwieo, and reinforced with water buffalo horn from Valter.”

“How rare it must be.”

A bitter smile crossed Elise’s face.

“It was the prize of the Hunt Festival. It should have gone to my son, Hazel, for his coming-of-age.”

“…….”

“He was only fifteen when he joined. His passion for archery was reason enough.”

“…….”

“Four days later, he returned with a bear larger than himself.”

Once calm, Elise’s eyes began to twist. Her dark gaze, as deep as an ancient tree, flickered with dry, brittle fury.

“He has that kind of ruthless nature. If he wants something, he’ll take it, no matter whose it is. Not even family or sacred rules matter.”

Her plain features were now flushed with color.

“If he would go that far for a mere bow, imagine what he would do for something truly precious.”

“…….”

Sveta could find no reply.

The liquid in the vial would never be needed—she was not the Duke’s anything. And in a year’s time, that precious bow would be drawn against her.

“I’m giving you this advice because you’re Dalia’s daughter: don’t become important to him.”

“…Yes, Your Majesty.”

“If you have a child, it will be you who is dragged into that forest.”

“…….”

“You know how fastidious he is. Not even an heir would be exempt.”

Elise rose, shaking her head one last time at the orange peels.

Dalia and her maid followed behind her like burdensome shadows as she left.

Only once Elise’s shadow had also disappeared did Failin step forth.

“If you’d like me to, I can find out what’s in it for you.”

“Ah, you heard everything.”

“I thought you already knew.”

“I had forgotten, for a moment.”

She had forgotten that eyes were always watching.

Swallowing the words she could not speak, Sveta carefully handed him the vial. She had held it so tightly that her fingerprints were visible on its cloudy surface.

“Will you tell His Grace?”

“…My duty is to protect my lord’s woman.”

The words held layers of meaning. Sveta looked at him desperately.

“If the medicine isn’t life-threatening, could you keep it secret for me?”

“…….”

Again, silence.

With a soft sigh, she asked once more,

“Please, Sir.”

◯◯◯

Near midnight the following day, Sveta, dozing lightly, was roused by a heavy knock.

“His Grace summons you.”

As expected, it was Sir Failin.

“I thought he would not return for another two days?”

“…Circumstances have changed.”

She wrapped a long shawl over her negligée and left the room.

She felt no hesitation now — after all, she would be in the same state the following morning.

She walked through the long corridor until the massive wooden door creaked open, pulling her into the dark chamber.

“I was told you sent for me.”

“…….”

The silence filling the room felt familiar, but the underlying sense of gloom did not. Every nerve felt taut.

True to his meticulous nature, the floor was bare and smooth, with no carpet in sight. Sveta stepped forward carefully.

“Come closer.”

The low, subdued voice slipped through the half-parted bed curtains.

Her heart raced faster the nearer she drew.

“…Mind where you step.”

He pointed, his voice rough.

Dark red stains were splattered across the floor like ink.

Realizing they were blood, Sveta froze in place, unable to breathe.

“Come up.”

Aiden pressed a hand to the space beside him as though inviting her to sit down.

His face was utterly expressionless and looked faintly pale.

He crossed his arms and pulled off his loose shirt. Sveta’s gaze traced the shadowed contours revealed beneath.

The broad chest beneath the hollow of his collarbone rose and fell heavily.

Her own heartbeat surged like wild surf and she collapsed onto the bed.

“Closer.”

“…All right.”

Beneath the musky scent came the thick smell of sweat, tangled with the copper tang of blood.

Her eyes sought its source. Alongside his sharply defined abs ran a crimson line, clean and deep as though cut into reed.

“…A saber wound.”

The Zloytan raiders, who were based in the rocky mountains along the border, were mounted marauders.

They favored slashing attacks, striking the flank with curved blades rather than thrusting, and their wounds were similar.

Recognizing this at once, Sveta understood what had happened. He must have slipped away the moment the blade touched him.

“…It isn’t too deep. That’s a relief, my lord Duke.”

Forcing herself to look away from the wound, she saw him tilt his chin towards the bedside table.

There was an assortment of tools for basic treatment.

“It is fitting that you should tend to a wound inflicted by your father.”

“My father…?”

“It was a sudden ambush.”

“…….”

“I returned the blow in kind.”

Sveta bit her lip as she soaked a cloth in antiseptic; the sharp scent stung her nose. She could feel his cold gaze lingering on her mouth.

“This may sting a little.”

She worked carefully along the curve of the long wound.

“My body bears this scar. Don’t you want to see what your father’s face looks like now?”

His slightly hollow cheeks and languid, tired eyes gave him a decadent air.

It was no easy feat to look upon such a beautiful face and think of Jace Gould.

“…I am curious.”

Jace, the dull-witted. Jace, the cruel.

The eldest son of a fallen count’s house, the traitor’s child who had lost his parents and joined Zloytan alone—he was a strikingly handsome man.

So handsome, in fact, that Hisendra had taken him as her husband for his noble features alone.

What shape would the wound carved into that proud face be?

Where had the blow landed?

On those insolent cheeks, which were so often flushed red beneath the sting of wet leather straps? Or across those twisted lips that were always curling into a smirk as he fastened shackles around her?

If only it were a scar that could never be erased.

“Do you hate me?”

His half-closed eyes made him look elegant and sensual. Moonlight traced the straight line of his nose.

Once as taut as a drawn bowstring, he now seemed as fragile as a single golden thread.

Her heart fluttered and Sveta whispered.

“If I speak the truth, would you believe me?”

A dry laugh broke through his red lips.

“As if I would ever believe a word from you.”

“…….”

She understood. After all, Jace had wounded him that very day.

Bitter words were only natural.

Smothering the pain rising in her chest, she said softly,

“…I’ll apply the ointment.”

Her trembling hands spread the beige salve across the wound. His heated skin glowed red.

He did not so much as flinch, as though pain were nothing to him.

“Now, I’ll bandage it.”

Aiden obediently raised his arm. His body was thicker and more muscular than she had expected.

As she leaned forward to wrap the bandage around his waist, she felt an overwhelming force seize her arm.

“Ah…!”

In an instant, she was pulled into his embrace.

She struggled to rise, but it was useless.

Her heart pounded wildly, her quickened breaths spilling against his hard chest.

“You’ll press the wound if you hold me like this.”.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Stubborn as ever, Aiden carefully wrapped his hand around her back.

His body was hot. Gooseflesh rippled across her skin wherever his fingers brushed against the thin nightgown.

“I should finish—”

“Stay still.”

“…What?”

“Just for a moment. Be still.”

His warm breath fell upon her head. It couldn’t be — but it almost sounded like a sigh of relief.

While his heartbeat slowly steadied, hers only grew more frantic.

Then, without warning, he pushed her away forcefully.