Swan blinked as she was lifted into the air. His figure blurred in her tear-streaked vision. Her nose tingled as she fought back the tears threatening to spill, clenching her fists tightly. Her flushed cheeks felt as though they might burst.

“Don’t move.”

“But…”

She hadn’t even managed to ask to be put down before his low, firm command stopped her. Swan bit down hard on her lip. The searing pain in her lower abdomen made her fear she might bleed even more, risking the chance of staining his arms.

“Wait.”

He placed her gently on the bed before turning to pick up the crying baby. His gaze was devoid of affection, and there was no sign of any attempt to calm her. Perhaps that was why Mirabella’s cries only grew louder, her wails filled with defiance. Even in her father’s presence, the baby had no intention of stopping.

Quietly, he adjusted the baby’s disheveled swaddle, cradling the small, round infant in his arms. Then, with deliberate movements, he began patting her back.

“Shh, shh. Mirabella, your father is here now. Stop crying.”

At the sound of the slow, low murmur, the man called Sir Raoul raised his head. Alexis followed suit, as did a middle-aged man with deep brown eyes who turned to stare at Atlion in shock.

Their faces were etched with disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. Their expressions seemed to scream that it was impossible, something that should never come to pass. Even if the heavens fell and the world ended, such a thing should not occur. It was the look of those grappling with an unthinkable reality.

And with that, Swan broke for the second time.

***

She couldn’t remember if it was the fourth or fifth time. Swan’s thoughts were confused, her mind drifting. The knight known as Sir Raoul did not collapse like she had. His cheek, struck with such force that it could have burst an eardrum, was swollen and raw. He turned his head and spat blood on the floor.

Swan’s breath caught as she noticed a shard of white tooth in the blood. Her wide eyes darted to Atlion in fear.

The knight named Alexis, the youngest among them, looked deathly pale, as though he might faint at any moment. The middle-aged knight beside him was equally ashen, his face drained of all color. Yet, even amidst their fear and disbelief, there lingered a tension—a simmering frustration they couldn’t entirely conceal.

Smack.

Atlion struck the older man across the face with his bare hand instead of a fist, watching him stagger with an expression devoid of emotion. From the man’s unsteady movements, it was clear that one more blow would bring him to the ground.

The sheer force of Atlion’s grip sent a shiver down Swan’s spine. Even a man of similar stature, hardened by countless battles, was on the verge of collapse after just a few strikes. Steadying her breath, Swan reached out and grasped his arm.

It felt ridiculous, even to her, to interfere as though she had any authority in this situation.

“Please… stop. That’s enough.”

Her heart raced, pounding so loudly she thought it might give her away. She feared her plea would only fuel his anger instead of calming him. Sir Raoul, his head bowed, glanced at her briefly. Swan trembled, her anxious eyes darting towards Atlion as she whispered in a trembling voice.

His icy, unrelenting gaze turned to her. Overwhelmed, she lowered her head, unsure if she had only made things worse. Had she angered him even more? Would he now turn his wrath on her? Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill as she bit her lip to hold them back..

Before she could react, his large, cold hand gently cupped her cheek.

“Stop crying.”

“…….”

Had she failed to hold back her tears after all? A calloused thumb brushed across her cheek, wiping them away. Instead of reddening the bridge of her nose as she often did out of habit, her gaze flickered briefly beneath her eyes. The man’s face, as he cupped her chin, remained expressionless, showing no sign of emotion beyond the intent to calm his startled wife.

Swan gave a faint nod. He lifted her gently and set her back down on the bed.

“Who here will offer their neck?”

“Your Highness!”

The young, golden-haired knight called out, his face flushed with emotion. The sharp hostility glinting in his intense gaze was impossible to mask.

His teeth clenched so tightly they trembled as he grasped Atlion’s resolve. Then, reluctantly, he lowered his head and accepted the reality of the situation. It was clear that Atlion was serious – this wasn’t going to end with a simple beating of his subordinate.

“Take my life, Your Highness. Execute me and display my head to restore order within the army.”

Raoul, his cheek swollen and bruised, spoke in a calm, low voice. Atlion remained impassive, offering no acknowledgement, not even a nod. Without hesitation, he took the sword Raoul handed him. As he unsheathed the blade with practiced ease, Swan jumped up in alarm.

“What is going on here?”

The area around the cabin was noisy. This place, usually quiet and nearly inaccessible due to the long, distant path leading up to it, was unusually chaotic today. Swan turned her head toward the source of the noise. Long, wavy golden hair, skin as if untouched by sunlight, and a graceful presence.

It was the kind of young woman one would never expect to see in such a desolate, sparsely populated country cabin. She was dressed in a sky-blue satin gown, the kind of dazzling attire one might see at a royal court. Although magnificent, it would have been considered modest – perhaps even plain – by aristocratic standards.

Swan suddenly realized just how high the status of the man before her truly was—the man who had made her bear his child. A noblewoman, someone who seemed deserving of immediate reverence, had come all this way to seek him out. Under different circumstances, she would probably have been trembling, kneeling, and bowing low before her.

No, perhaps even now she should do just that. She looked nervously at the man. His expression remained as calm and detached as ever, even as he looked at the woman. The noblewoman’s eyes landed on the sword floating in the air and her face twisted with emotion.

“Truly…”

“…….”

“Have you completely lost your mind? Not just your memories, but your sanity as well….”

“My mind is perfectly fine, Renéee. Mind your words.”

“Brother.”

Her sharp voice carried a firm edge. Swan, with her heart pounding, glanced nervously between the man and the woman. Brother? Was she his younger sister? Or perhaps a fiancée? A wife? She couldn’t tell. Her mouth felt dry as she tried to make sense of it.

“What is the meaning of this? How could you treat your subordinates like this? And in a crumbling wreckage of a place like this! I went through this filthy, miserable mess just to find you, and…”

“I told you to mind your words.”

“What?”

“Do I need to tell you to shut up for you to understand?”

“What? What… what did you just say to me?”

The woman blinked her honey-gold eyes, stunned. Her eyelids fluttered open and closed, her graceful lashes trembling as if they were too fragile for such a blow. She looked like a noble angel frozen in a painting, her expression utterly shocked, as if she could hardly believe what she had just heard.

“Did you just tell me to keep quiet? Me? Why? What have I done wrong? The one in the wrong here is you, brother!”

“Renéee.”

The woman called Renéee lowered her gaze at the sound of her name. Raoul, who had earlier offered his sword for execution, cast her a brief glance before letting out a heavy sigh, his irritation evident. In contrast, the young, golden-haired knight Alexis seemed pleased by her arrival, his expression softening noticeably.

Tears still streaming down her cheeks, Renéee let her eyes roam over the cabin. Her face twisted in revulsion, as though she were staring into a maggot-ridden pit. Swan flinched, her shoulders trembling. Renéee’s eyes moved slowly from the small round window to the kitchen, then to the living area, scrutinizing the sparse and shabby furnishings. Finally, her eyes settled on Swan, seated in the corner of the bed.

It seemed Renéee hadn’t noticed Swan at first, only registering her presence when her gaze reached the bed. Her expression shifted abruptly, shock flickering across her features as her eyes narrowed in disapproval.

“That woman…”

“Lady Amiens, she is…”

“Why is she here…? And what she’s holding…”

Hesitant, stammering questions fell from her lips, scattering without purpose. All eyes turned toward Swan simultaneously. The kneeling squires, Sir Raoul, Sir Alexis, and even Lady Amiens—all their cold, unkind gazes pierced her like arrows.

Instinctively, Swan hunched her shoulders and lowered her head, like a sinner awaiting judgment. She felt as though she had become a woman condemned for bearing a fatherless child. Her flat stomach hadn’t suddenly shown signs of pregnancy, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of being branded as a disgraced mother of a bastard, as if she had conceived entirely on her own, like a harlot.

Heat flushed her cheeks and crept up to her eyelids. Swan blinked rapidly, trying to compose herself. She had purposely chosen the farthest, most inconspicuous corner of the bed, but with all attention suddenly on her, even breathing felt laborious. Amid the suffocating silence, her daughter stirred, her small eyes blinking open.

Her daughter, who always marked her awakening with a loud cry, began her usual routine. Anticipating the inevitable wails, Swan softly patted the swaddle, preparing to soothe her. She found herself absurdly wishing that the noblewoman might mistake the baby for something insignificant—perhaps a rock or a burden. It was a foolish thought, an impossible wish, yet she clung to it.

Because if that didn’t happen—if it didn’t…

“Waaah!”

Mirabella’s cry rang out, her thin voice filling the cabin. Renéee faltered, staggering slightly before looking sharply at Atlion.

“Why… why…?”

“Leave.”

“Why is there a baby here?”

“I said, leave.”

“It’s not what I think, right? Tell me it’s not. It can’t be—it mustn’t be!”

“Shut up.”