The carriage, built for two, felt far more cramped than those used in the northern domain.

In that narrow space, every breath Ophelia took reached Chadwick’s ear, clear and unshakable.

“…”
“…”

How long had it been since they boarded?

Ophelia said nothing.

Within the heavy silence, Chadwick’s heightened senses caught only the faint rustle of her movements. For some reason, it left him feeling faintly parched.

At last, he lifted the eyes he had lowered in an attempt to ignore her.

There she was, sitting upright, no more than a handspan or two away.

Perhaps sensing his gaze, Ophelia turned her head from the window toward him.

Her eyes—delicate violet, like clusters of wisteria blossoms—met the ash-gray of his own.

In that instant, Chadwick realized it had been a very long time since he had looked at her so closely.

And at the very moment that thought struck him, her lips parted.

“Chadwick.”

Her quiet voice reached him, and his reply came a beat too late.

“…Speak.”

Looking up at him steadily, Ophelia spoke in a small voice.

“Was it you? The one who told them to bring condensed milk with my tea?”

The unexpectedness of the question drew a faint crease to Chadwick’s brow.

And then—a memory surfaced.

“I think tea tastes best with milk. Sweet, smooth… don’t you agree?”

Back then, before her, there had been three or four little glass bottles, already emptied.

She had smiled then—like a rabbit content after a meal. Because of that smile, he had once ordered the head maid of the residence to keep the pantry stocked with plenty of condensed milk.

Less than a month later, that day had come, and Ophelia had left the residence.

And yet, he had still commanded that the tea leaves and milk be purchased. Out of nothing more than habit.

Now, they were of no use.

“Only once, long ago, I gave the order. Since then, I’ve never spared it a thought.”

Chadwick set aside the brief recollection and answered flatly.

“Still… it was you, wasn’t it…”

Ophelia’s voice was a whisper, whether to him or herself he could not tell. But then she lifted her head, fixing her violet eyes on him directly.

“Chadwick.”

“Yes.”

He met that unwavering gaze.

In the reflected light, her violet eyes seemed at times like fragile blossoms, at others like hard sapphires. Gazing into them gave the illusion of being drawn into the light itself.

As Chadwick stared into her eyes, Ophelia parted her red lips with quiet grace.

“I have a proposal.”

At the unexpected words, Chadwick’s brow furrowed.

Ophelia dropped her gaze for an instant, then lifted it again with a small nod.

“A proposal… and my final request.”

Final.

Chadwick rolled the word over in his mouth. The sound of it grated at him.

And then her steady voice struck him.

“One month.”

She paused after uttering the words, drawing a breath, before continuing.

“Just one month. Try to love me.”

Chadwick froze, as though struck, before he opened his mouth at last, slow and incredulous.

“…What was it you just asked me to try?”

At his words, Ophelia repeated softly, as though to engrave them once more.

“I asked you… to try to love me.”

She lowered her eyes.

This was her last remaining hope. A fragile thread of expectation—like the sweetness of condensed milk, something that might have scattered long ago had he not sent it to her still.

Love—or divorce.

If she could have neither, then she no longer wished to continue this marriage. Or even this life.

Call it selfish if one must—she could not help it.

“So for the last time… I beg you, just once.”

Ophelia had decided to ask for what she never had before, what perhaps would prove useless even if she did.

“One month. For that one month alone, try to love me.”

And if the hope she clung to—when met with his effort—still could not be realized, then she would end this marriage by any means.

Even if it meant ending her life along with it.

With a bitter smile in her heart, Ophelia lifted her gaze toward Chadwick.

“Ah…”

Suddenly, her vision trembled. The carriage lurched, lifting slightly off the ground before thudding back down again.

For a brief moment, their knees brushed together.

Through the thin fabric of her white dress, she could feel the solid weight of his leg.

Ophelia’s eyes lingered on the contact for a moment before she slowly raised them.

There it was — his hand, suspended in mid-air.

Her throat tightened at the sight.

“This is why… isn’t it?”

For this reason, she couldn’t let go.

Because of this, she couldn’t surrender, and it hurt all the more.

If only he truly didn’t care; if only he would let her stumble and fall. But he didn’t.

On the days when she was in pain, he took her to the temple to be healed. And when she seemed about to stumble, he reached out to catch her.

Even though she knew all his actions stemmed from duty alone, it was still so hard to let him go.

“Chadwick…”

“…”

“Did I ever tell you?”

Her trembling voice broke the silence. Chadwick, who had been watching her in silence, finally spoke, his voice low and steady as always.

“…Tell me what.”

He withdrew his half-extended hand and sat back down. Even so, he looked striking.

Although his attire was far simpler than that of other nobles, he seemed no less imposing. Whether standing in the light or cloaked in shadow, Chadwick always shone in a way that dazzled Ophelia.

Even on that day, when his hair was disheveled from battle and he stood on a mound of corpses, he reached out a hand to her.

“Our first meeting—it wasn’t at the wedding.”

On that day, the monsters broke through the western border. Chadwick went to subjugate them.

Ophelia led the campaign, marching along the border for fifteen days. Everyone relied on her.

She was only fifteen.

Unlike the armored knights, she wore only a single layer of white vestments and thin leather shoes that threatened to tear at any moment. She was their shield.

As the threat intensified, the towering knights — men twice her size — came to rely more and more on her holy power.

The feeling of blood draining from her body had persisted for days, but no one acknowledged it.

“Are you all right?”

He had been the first.
Not to ask if her holy power still remained, but to take her injured foot in his hands and ask if she was all right.

It was there—at the borderland where the Trenthia Empire and the Western Empire met, just before the campaign’s end—that Ophelia first encountered Chadwick.

His hair was matted with blood. Yet the large hand he extended to her was careful, steady.

He was only eighteen then—the boy who lifted her up, who took off his own boots and placed them on her feet.

The hand that held hers, the hand that cradled her wounded foot to wipe away the blood, had been so very warm.

His face, bathed in light, seemed not dark but serene. Not fearful, but strong.

At eighteen, he had already been every bit a fine knight.

So unlike herself, who trembled with fear at every turn

“I met you when I was fifteen. And every time I went out on a subjugation after that, I always thought of you.”

“…”

“I would ask myself—what would you have done?”

If it had been him, he would not have been afraid.

And with that thought, she endured the battlefields slick with the blood of monsters.

“Perhaps it was from then.”

Ophelia gave a faint, faraway smile.

Just then, sunlight spilled through the rattling carriage window, weaving brilliance through her silver hair.

“Ophelia.”

Chadwick called her name, his voice edged with urgency, as though trying to stop her.

But Ophelia only smiled and continued.

“That was when I began to love you.”

“…”

“Because it was you, even a forced marriage felt like happiness—”

In her mind, the days they had shared unfolded before her eyes.

It was strange. Even as sorrow filled her, laughter rose with it.

“And because I nearly killed you… I could never forgive myself.”

The first time she had seen him injured was when he was wounded while protecting her — a man who had always returned unscathed before.

She hadn’t even been able to save him in return.

She hated herself for it. She despised herself, and the feeling was unbearable.

So it seemed only natural to her that he avoided her, resenting and despising her.

“And yet… shameless as it is… I still wanted your forgiveness.”

Ophelia’s violet eyes grew wet and clear. Her flushed lashes curved gently, and her trembling lips parted.

“Because…”

Just as Chadwick thought he could almost feel her breath against his ear, though it never quite reached him, her sweet voice fell like a whisper.

“Because I love you.”

Thud—an inaudible sound reverberated through his entire body.

“Chadwick—”

“Don’t speak.”

The words came rough, scraped from his throat in urgency. Yet Ophelia only smiled as she went on.

“I love you.”

Her small, delicate voice filled the carriage to the brim.

Time itself seemed to stop. The air no longer moved.

In his blurred vision, he saw her—smiling through tears that streaked down her cheeks.

“…Love me.”

Somewhere, something crackled and burned.

By the time he found the source of the sound, the carriage had stopped.

The familiar mansion stood beyond the window.

“I’ll wait for your answer.”

“…”

With those words, Ophelia stepped down from the carriage and left him behind.

Chadwick watched her walk away.

Her steps were steady and confident.

Her white dress and silver hair shone in the sunlight, dazzling his eyes.

“Haa…”

A ragged breath burst from his throat, hot enough to scorch.

Only then did Chadwick realize what had been burning away:

The last shred of his remaining sanity.