There was never any chance he could refuse in the end. His loyal subordinate bowed his head, and Michael smiled with satisfaction. He spoke in a gentle, coaxing tone.

“I’m sure you’ll make a fine pair.”

It was impossible to tell whether it was a kind word or an insult. If it was an insult, it would apply only to the princess, not to him.

Ian thought of Princess Cordelia. That sunshine-golden hair, those aquamarine blue eyes, that smile sparkling like the Milky Way. The brilliant sweep of her dress, the countless jewels each like a shard of a star.

He had looked at those things and wanted them. Just as his liege had pointed out, he had dared to covet her. But he had never once thought he could actually have her. Far from harboring hope, he had believed he must not.

That belief was now shaking from its very roots. It was a marriage proposal he could never have imagined.

* * *

Princess Cordelia was locked in her bedroom.

Since being confined the night before, she had knocked on the door countless times, but there was no response from outside. No one had even brought her water or food, and so she had spent the entire day thirsty and hungry.

Yet worse than the thirst or hunger was a terrible fear for herself and for others, a fear that was almost impossible to endure.

She had seen armed soldiers force their way into the palace in the middle of the night, but she had heard nothing of what happened afterward, and so she kept imagining the worst.

Was her father safe? Where were her ladies-in-waiting? Were the people outside the palace walls unharmed…?

The face of her betrothed surfaced briefly in her mind and quickly blurred. She returned to worrying about her father.

Through that long night and dreadful day, the hour came at last when a reddish glow spread across the western sky.

Cordelia leaned against the window, staring out at the blood-stained sky with a gloomy expression, and flinched as she spun around at the sound of the door opening.

The one who entered was a tall man. His hair was as black as a raven’s feather, and his irises were a dark violet. A crescent-shaped scar marked the corner of his right eye. Noticeably thick forearms and broad shoulders caught the eye.

Dressed in trousers and a plain leather jacket of the sort an ordinary soldier in the royal guard might wear, he held a tray in his hands. Cordelia blinked in disbelief at the sight of the water pitcher, cup, and bowl of bread on the tray.

‘That man is…’

Cordelia knew him. He was the knight who was always at the side of that arrogant bastard who had been frequenting the palace since last year. Lakenon, if she recalled the name correctly.

Seeing him, Cordelia felt rage. Having been locked up since the night before, she couldn’t know the exact state of things, but she did know that the one who had marched soldiers in last night and trampled this beautiful, noble palace with muddy boots was her own half-brother.

That bastard’s loyal hound showing up so brazenly with water and food, as though he were some maidservant or attendant, was an insolence she could not tolerate. Cordelia demanded sharply.

“What are you doing here?”

The man did not reply. He simply stood there holding the tray, staring at her in silence. After a moment he closed the door and set the tray down on the table.

“Please eat.”

He gestured toward the tray and said it flatly. Cordelia felt a rage so fierce her mind went white.

Already struggling to keep her composure through sleep deprivation, hunger, thirst, and anxiety, the enemy’s utterly unruffled manner of offering her food grated on her nerves.

“Answer my question first. Who gave you permission to enter? How dare you set foot in a royal bedchamber without being summoned by its mistress?”

She might have been reduced to a prisoner in this room for now, but Cordelia had spent her entire twenty years of life as a proud member of the royal family.

Even the children of the kingdom’s most distinguished noble houses showed her proper deference, and yet here was a mere subordinate of a bastard, a lowborn man born of a slave and a pirate, standing before her so utterly unbowed.

The sense of humiliation outweighed any fear of the man. She stood with her back ramrod straight and fixed him with a sharp glare. The legs trembling from hunger and exhaustion she hid beneath the folds of her skirt.

The man seemed slightly taken aback. Without shrinking or showing any sign of displeasure, he simply studied the princess before him with what looked like genuine curiosity. Then, after a moment, he spoke.

“It seems you have not grasped the situation.”

“What?”

“You are royalty, that is true, but you are royalty without power right now. You have been locked up here all day long, so you should know, right? You are in no position to snap at me like that.”

His voice carried no emotion. It was so matter-of-fact that it was all the more infuriating. His tone was quiet and unhurried, as though he were not mocking or taunting her but simply trying to make her understand a plain truth.

Cordelia stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. The man, having composed himself from his earlier surprise, spoke again, calmly.

“Please eat. I was told you haven’t had water since last night.”

Cordelia clenched her teeth. Her hunger had vanished for the moment. She fixed him with a piercing stare and pressed him in a voice cold as frost.

“Where is His Majesty?”

“He is in his bedchamber at present.”

“Is he confined there too? Did you dare lay hands on the king of this realm?”

“Getting worked up won’t do you any good. Please, eat first.”

“Ha, you filthy traitors… Is it Michael? Was it really that wretch who orchestrated all of this?”

“Please eat. I’ll explain once you’ve finished.”

The man’s manner was dry and expressionless. Confronted by those eyes that seemed to leave no crack for anything to slip through, Cordelia bit her lip again.

After a brief deliberation, she chose to compromise. There seemed to be no good outcome in continuing to refuse. In the worst case, he might try to force the food on her. That kind of humiliation she could do without.

Cordelia rose slowly and walked toward the table. The man watched her in silence. She sat down in the chair before the table and out of habit waited for someone to pour water into her glass. Then she remembered her situation, swallowed her embarrassment, and reached for the pitcher herself.

She tilted the pitcher over the glass. It wasn’t particularly heavy, but after going without food all day her hands had no strength. Her wrist buckled and the pitcher slipped, sending water spilling messily across the tray. The man who had been watching quietly lunged forward and snatched the pitcher from her.

“Allow me.”

He said it without a trace of mockery, his tone merely slightly flustered. That reaction was somehow more mortifying, and Cordelia felt heat rise to her cheeks.

The man caught sight of her face and paused. His dark gaze lingered on the princess’s delicate flushed face. She looked away, uncomfortable, and only then did he seem to collect himself and tilt the pitcher.

After filling the glass, he set the pitcher down and stepped back. Cordelia did not thank him. Had it been a close lady-in-waiting, perhaps, but there was no reason to be so gracious to an underling of a brother she despised.

Cordelia sipped the water primly. Then, finding it so sweet and cool, she drained the rest in great gulps. It was not a particularly royal manner, but even the most composed of princesses would have found it difficult to observe propriety in circumstances like these.

Her thirst quenched, Cordelia picked up the bread. Aside from the occasional snack of sweets or dried fruit, she had no occasion to touch food with her bare hands, but she could tell well enough that asking for a fork and knife in a situation like this would be pointless.

Cordelia ate the bread in resignation. It was dry without any oil or butter, but it was warm, as though it had just come out of the oven. Before long, only crumbs remained in the bowl.