“…Divorce, did you just say?”

Chadwick’s brow furrowed.

Ophelia met his gaze and nodded quietly. She had wanted to sit and talk with him calmly, but if she didn’t speak up now, he would send her back north without hearing her out. When would she ever find the courage — or even the opportunity — to see him again if not today?

Blinking slowly, Ophelia parted her lips once more.

“I was thinking… perhaps we should get a divorce.”

Her tone was as even as if she were suggesting they simply have dinner together, and Chadwick let out a disbelieving laugh.

“That’s absurd…”

“Why is it absurd?”

The faint smile on Ophelia’s face as she looked at him suggested otherwise, however. It was strange that they hadn’t divorced already.

Seeing that smile made Chadwick run his hand through his damp hair. The thick veins on the back of his hand stood out as he did so.

“You and I… will divorce…”

Tasting her words on his tongue, he muttered in a rough voice. His lips quirked into a crooked smirk and his eyes fixed on hers. His ash-grey eyes, which were usually as cold as ice, now burned with an unusual blue flame.

“Do you not understand what that means? Or are you only pretending not to?”

You know whose will bound us in marriage.

The unspoken words echoed like a phantom in Ophelia’s ears. A bitter smile touched her lips. She did know.

If anything, the problem was that she knew all too well.

“You are the Saintess, Ophelia. If one sacrifice from you can bring peace to all, then of course that is the duty of a Saintess.”

She could still hear Silveron’s voice, urging her to marry.

She had never wanted this marriage. With the monsters running rampant and fewer priests and knights left to restrain them, the people had become increasingly fearful. The surest way to quell that fear was simple: Ophelia as the Saintess and Chadwick as the wielder of the Holy Sword. The temple sought to bind the people’s faith, while the empire sought to bind their hearts. They had both used them as tools.

As Grand Duke, Chadwick had the right to refuse. But Ophelia did not. Until the very last moment, she had only dreamed of escaping.

She would truly have fled. The dagger hidden beneath her white gown was sharp enough.

However, she broke that blade because, on that day in the sunlight-bathed hall, the man who lifted her veil was—

“Chadwick.”

It was him.

The Grand Duke, whom she had only ever heard rumors about, was the same young knight who had once helped her through the mud when she was just a girl.

Swallowing back tears and the memory of him, Ophelia stepped towards Chadwick. Her pale, delicate fingertips closed firmly around his bare hand.

“…What are you doing…!”

When Chadwick felt her warm hand touch his skin, he recoiled and pushed her away roughly.

Her fingers, cast off so harshly, turned red instantly. Ophelia’s face twisted in pain and she was on the verge of tears, some of which escaped. His rejection, his refusal to let her skin touch his at all, was unbearably bitter.

“I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

He had hated her for four years. For four years, she had withered beneath that hatred, waiting for it to relent.

If asked whether her love for him had ended, she could not say that it had. Yet she was far too weary to cling to a love so faint that it could no longer sustain her.

Sometimes she wondered if he had neglected her on purpose, just to make her the one to finally ask for a divorce.

“You hate me too, don’t you?”

At her words, Chadwick turned his crumpled gaze on Ophelia. She spoke again, her voice soft and even.

“I’ll speak with His Holiness myself.”

Their marriage had originally been arranged by the Pope and the Emperor to quell the unrest among the people. But that purpose had long since faded. In fact, it now seemed that more people wanted them to divorce than opposed the idea.

Therefore, the fallout would not be as great as one might think. If he were to join the subjugation campaigns that he had previously avoided for her sake, the temple might even welcome it. Whatever was lost could always be replaced by the sacred stone.

Forcing herself to turn away from the image of that cold chamber rising in her mind, Ophelia pressed on.

“So let’s end this now. Isn’t that better for you too?”

“Ophelia.”

Chadwick’s voice cracked like ice, filling the space around them.

“You’re mistaken.”

His crooked smile only made the glint in his eyes all the more merciless.

“Chadwick…”

“Divorce?”

He let out a short, scornful breath. Looking down at her, his voice was colder than ever.

“Don’t even dream of it.”

At that voice, Ophelia clenched her fingers tightly together.

“Why not?”

Her once-steady voice had begun to tremble.

“Have you forgiven me?”

No… I know you haven’t.

“Can you ever love me again?”

Of course not.

Ophelia clenched her teeth and looked up at Chadwick. She meant nothing to him, so why did he care? Why wouldn’t he let her go?

A raw, sorrowful resentment surged within her, burning so fiercely that it threatened to spill over into tears.

“I thought… you would want this more than I did.”

Her cold, stinging eyes were fixed on him. Meeting his reproachful purple eyes, Chadwick finally spoke in a rough voice.

“Even if it’s none of those things, the answer is the same. No. Divorce.”

“…”

He continued, watching her in silence.

“Divorce?”

“…”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

His fists clenched as he took a step towards her. With each step, the scent of blood seemed to grow stronger until her head spun, even though there was none.

He stopped right in front of her and bent down to look her in the eye.

“I will never allow you to leave me.”

“Why…?”

Ophelia bit her red lips until it hurt.

“You don’t even love me. Then why hold on to me? Why?”

Her voice broke into a desperate cry. The grey of Chadwick’s eyes was colder than ice and struck her with an almost unbearable pain. She faltered, robbed of words, and simply stared at him.

Chadwick stood up straight and gave a hollow, self-mocking laugh.

“There’s no reason.”

“…”

“The start of this marriage, and its end—you have no say in either.”

His voice fell cold, like a warning, like disdain.

“So do not even dream of divorce.”

Chadwick slammed the door behind him, turning on his heel with far more violence than usual, his words as sharp as ice.

Ophelia stared at the tightly closed door, a dazed murmur escaping her lips.

“Then what am I supposed to do…?”

Haven’t I tried, all this time?
I carried the pain, I endured the sorrow.
Because to you, I have always been nothing more than a sinner.

Even when you pushed me away, I still smiled.
Always one step behind, I only watched you from afar.

You knew that, didn’t you? You knew… and yet you never accepted anything I gave.
So why?

“Why won’t you even let me say goodbye?”

If you refuse, then I can never be free.
But I no longer want to love you.

Ophelia sank where she stood in the empty room. Her crimson gown spread around her, its folds unfurling like petals.

It looked just like the red blossoms once placed in her hands at the square—the festival flower of Saintros, the anelmoa.

And, like the meaning of that flower, it was a love both futile and hopeless. A first love destined for nothing.

⚫ ⚫ ⚫

Chadwick strode out of the residence and headed straight for Edel’s infirmary in the capital. He could not bring himself to stay where Ophelia was, for fear that he would lose all restraint.

“Divorce.”

Divorce?

He felt a surge of heat that was repeatedly quenched by cold water — an odd, relentless cycle that churned his insides. Chadwick seized the office door and pushed it open roughly.

“Oh my, what brings you here at this hour?”

Edel greeted him lightly, seated on the desk with her long legs crossed.

“Give it to me.”

Chadwick strode toward her, his brow furrowed, his voice harsh.

“What.”

“Painkillers. Sleeping pills. Whatever it is—just give it to me.”

At this, Edel’s delicate brow knitted in disapproval. Of course. He had never learned how to take care of himself, not even as a boy. Only a few days ago, he had taken the most she could allow, and now he was back again.

Smoothing a hand through her red hair, Edel spoke in a low voice.

“Even the painkillers I gave you last time were stretched to the limit. I can’t give you more.”

“Give it to me.”

“No means no. That’s the physician’s judgment.”

“You won’t die from a few extra pills. Just prescribe them.”

If the drugs had killed him, things would have been simpler. But he had never once considered death. On nights like this, it was simply impossible for him to keep his mind together without taking doses far beyond what was safe.

His grip tightened on the desk in front of him. The thick mahogany groaned under the strain, the wood twisting.

“What are you doing—! Chadwick, you—!”

Edel shot to her feet in alarm. She had just caught sight of the blood seeping through his shirt.

“What is this.”

“What.”

“What is that wound? Don’t tell me you…”

Edel closed the distance in a rush, her face twisted in anger as she glared at Chadwick.

“You went into the Forest of Beasts alone again, didn’t you? Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Move.”

Chadwick pushed her aside and slumped heavily onto the sofa in his office.

Edel stared at him, her exasperation plain to see, before sighing deeply.

“How long do you plan on living like this?”

“…”

“Chadwick Dale Weibrick? What on earth is wrong with you? Why are you living like this? Are you desperate to die? Or is it because you can’t stand being treated like a dog on a leash?”

What was wrong with him? Who knew?

Maybe the problem was his very existence.

Chadwick covered his eyes with one hand and let out a short, mirthless laugh.

Watching him, Edel bit down hard on her red lips. She had known him since childhood, but he had changed too much since that day four years ago. She hadn’t seen this shaken look on his face since the day the former Grand Duke had died.

“Edel, bring me poison.”

“What—?”

“Poison strong enough to kill a man.”

Those were the first words Chadwick had spoken to her—three months after he had clawed his way back from the brink of death.