“A strong sleeping draught?”

“Yes. I did not sleep at all last night.”

Sveta wrapped her arms around herself lightly and avoided Ivan’s gaze. She felt guilty for noticing the dark shadows under his tired eyes.

“Hmm… There’s one that tastes dreadful but works exceptionally well. There’s another that has little taste though the effect is only moderate. Which would you prefer?”

“How effective is the stronger one?”

“If you have no tolerance built up, a single spoonful will keep you from rising for an entire day. Even a man as large as a bear.”

‘Even a man as large as a bear…’

Aiden came to mind at once.

After a brief hesitation, Sveta spoke softly.

“The stronger one… please.”

Ivan nodded and stepped towards the shelves that ran along one wall. Sveta followed behind him.

He selected a bundle of thoroughly dried herbs, chopped them finely and placed them in a mortar, grinding them steadily.

As his naturally fair skin gradually flushed red, Sveta’s guilt deepened.

“I didn’t realize you prepared it yourself.”

“It’s rather enjoyable, in its own way.”

Ivan offered a small smile as he placed a funnel over a small glass vial and carefully poured the powdered mixture into it.

He handed the palm-sized bottle to Sveta.

“If you take it too often, you’ll build a tolerance. So only use it when absolutely necessary.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bartley.”

Casting one last worried glance at Pailin, Sveta left the physician’s study.

***

A week passed as smoothly as flowing water.

Every night, Sveta tossed and turned, and each time Aiden climbed into bed to help her sleep.

‘I heard she received a sleeping draught from Ivan.’

Perhaps she was trying to manage without it. She fidgeted restlessly in his arms before finally drifting off.

That was as far as she would let him go.

Each day felt like a test of his patience, but Aiden bore it willingly.

They fell asleep together. They woke together. After finishing his brief afternoon duties, they would walk side by side.

And yet, beneath this quiet peace, a thin crack of unease lingered like a hairline fracture.

Aiden did not know why.

To shake off the faint confusion seeping through that narrow fissure of anxiety, he picked a rose.

“We leave for Czernok tomorrow.”

“So soon already?”

She accepted the pink rose he offered and gently brushed her fingers over its petals. A soft smile settled across her pale face.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Again, something stirred uneasily in his chest.

Before he could dwell on the feeling, an unwelcome figure entered his sight.

“You seem to have lost your way.”

Charles Strilland—his father—strode forward quickly and blocked their path.

Startled, Sveta took a step back and dropped the rose. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her slender shoulders trembling violently.

Stepping in front of her to shield her from view, Aiden raised his hand slightly.

At this signal, the head maid, who had been following at a distance, immediately led Sveta away.

“Are you leaving?”

Aiden’s tone was even as he looked over his father’s travel attire.

“I have seen your mother. It is time I departed. We shall meet again at the hunting festival.”

“You don’t need to attend.”

“What nonsense. Are you not curious what prey I intend to take?”

Charles’s eyes gleamed ominously. His intent was unmistakable.

“I already know. You will catch nothing.”

Aiden answered indifferently, then turned to walk past him. His father fell into step at once.

They moved towards a row of neatly trimmed hedges.

As they walked, Aiden pointed in the opposite direction, indicating Sveta walking among the trees, the head maid visible in the distance.

“The exit is that way.”

His father followed his gaze, then snapped angrily.

“It is not I who have lost the way, Aiden. It is you.”

“……”

“Do not take the harder road. Break off the engagement at once.”

“The harder road? We were never bound for the same destination to begin with.”

At his mocking tone, his father raised his voice further.

“Then where is it you intend to go?”

“……”

“Revenge?” What a petty revenge! Do you really think you’ll be happy if you behead Jace Gould?”

Aiden slowly turned his head to meet his gaze.

Their identical hair shone beneath the harsh sunlight. From a distance, they could have been reflections of each other in a mirror. Tall and proud, they faced each other with murderous intent in their eyes; they were so alike in bearing and arrogance.

“Once he dies, it will be over, Aiden. Whether saint or sinner, death is the end. And after your revenge? What then? What will you have left to live for?”

“……”

“Revenge leads only to emptiness. But if you align yourself with the royal family, your descendants will live in glory for generations.”

“……”

Seeing Aiden remain silent, perhaps believing his words were taking effect, his father continued in a more tempered tone.

“I cannot bear to see some lowly mistress tarnish your name.”

A short, sharp laugh escaped from between Aiden’s red lips.

The faint chuckle quickly swelled into unrestrained, full-throated laughter.

Seeing his son laugh out loud — a rare occurrence — caused deep, rugged lines to carve across Charles Strilland’s brow like layers of hardened earth.

Suddenly, Aiden’s face returned to perfect stillness.

“So that was your reason. Is that why you slaughtered my birth mother’s lover so cruelly?”

“It was only natural.”

“And you ordered my mother to take her own life.”

The crease between Charles Strilland’s brows deepened and spread across his entire face. His contorted features looked as though they might break apart at any moment.

“…Did Hazel tell you?”

“You promised to spare Hazel if he bore a son for Strilland. Is that how you forced my mother to give birth to me?”

“That was your mother’s duty. I showed mercy, if anything.”

It was laughable.

He should have been furious.

Yet laughter kept rising instead.

Yes, the whole situation was laughable. It was better to laugh.

In the face of the brutal truth that his mother had never wanted him, he refused to cry.

So Aiden buried the wreckage of his heart beneath a sneering mask. A dark edge entered his voice as he spoke.

“That pitiful mercy suits your dignity perfectly, Father.”

“Hazel was nothing more than a filthy bastard. Granting that child my name was more than enough. Do you think that was easy for me?”

“……”

“I did it solely for the sake of the family. It was my sacrifice. So you, too, must fulfill your duty.”

Disgust rose within him.

With a single word, his father had reduced him to nothing more than a means of continuing the family line — a prized stallion for the illustrious House of Strilland.

Duty.

D*mn that word!

“……”

“As a man born into Strilland, you have an obligation to elevate our house.”

There was no value in replying. He had no desire to exchange another word.

Aiden’s lips curved at an angle as he turned and began walking back the way he had come.

His father followed, relentless as ever.

“I act with careful thought behind all this.”

Aiden halted abruptly.

He bent and picked up the flower Sveta had dropped. Holding the pink rose, he gazed quietly at its petals.

Strangely, a small peace settled over him.

“Listen to me, Aiden.”

When Aiden lifted his hand, the head maid watching from afar gave a sharp nod.

Touching the rose as Sveta had done, he said calmly.

“My woman will be coming this way shortly. If she so much as hears your voice, you will pay a steep price. Unlike you, I do not possess even pitiful mercy.”

***

“Child, come here.”

Dalia stood at the end of the corridor and stopped a maid as she emerged from the duchess’s bedroom.

The brown-haired maid hurried over and bowed. Impressed by her promptness, Dalia asked her in a sweetened tone.

“Where was His Grace’s morning tea served today?”

The duke did not drink tea in the morning. The question was merely a metaphor.

Understanding at once, the maid nodded.

“In the young lady’s bedchamber.”

“Is that so?”

Recently, Dalia had come running to this corridor every day, stopping whichever maid passed by.

She never tired of hearing the same answer.

‘Every single day, is it? Sveta, you clever little thing.’

Overcome with pride in her adopted daughter, Dalia lifted her chin haughtily.

“And where is my daughter now?”

“She said she was going to the garden.”

“With His Grace, of course?”

“Yes, madam.”

Although it was the same exchange repeated every day, it never became tiresome. Dalia waved the maid away and headed towards the garden.

Her red skirts fluttered as she walked until she found a good spot from which to observe.

Peering quietly from behind a wall of blooming rose bushes, she waited.

‘Sveta… isn’t there?’

What unfolded before her was nothing like she had imagined. There was no tender scene of her adopted daughter walking alongside the duke and exuding quiet affection.

Instead, the current and former dukes were locked in a fierce standoff, the air between them charged with tension.

Dalia immediately made herself as inconspicuous as possible and began to retreat.

It was the former duke who had brazenly attacked Sveta during the banquet. He despised anything he considered impure, and Dalia knew that the word ‘mistress’ would certainly fall into that category.

If he were to notice her, she could expect no mercy.

“…I saw Jace Gould in prison.”

“And?”

As Dalia edged backward, the dreadful name pierced her ears.

Her legs froze stiff.

‘Jace Gould?’

Unaware that anyone was listening, the former duke continued.

“Send him to the Royal Family of Teris. They want him dead enough to overlook something as trivial as a broken engagement. If you present Jayce Gould to them as a gift, they will gladly accept you.”

“A broken engagement? You go too far.”

Having barely managed to slip away, Dalia staggered—then collapsed to the ground.

“Jace Gould…”

Crumbled like discarded paper, she sank down in a heap, murmuring under her breath.

“The wretch who ruined my life… is here?”