“Give her back to me.”

Swan whispered in a dry voice. But the man didn’t answer. Instead, his hand lingered briefly on her br*ast before squeezing it in a gesture that felt both invasive and deliberate. Then, as if in warning, he pinched her n*pple.

“Ah!” 

A short gasp escaped Swan’s lips. She twisted her mouth in discomfort and hastily adjusted her bodice. Meanwhile, Atlion continued to stroke Mirabella’s back. When the baby burped, he planted a soft kiss on her cheek.

Swan stared at him with dark, hollow eyes before stretching out her arms. It was a clear gesture – she wanted him to return the baby. But Atlion looked away, pretending not to notice. Instead, he pulled Swan closer around her waist. She looked up at him with pale, confused eyes.

She couldn’t believe that he had kissed her daughter’s cheek with such tenderness, as if she were truly precious to him. Confused, she lowered her gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. Swan shook her head, trying to dispel the unwanted thoughts that had crept into her mind.

As they left the tent and made their way back to his, unwelcome stares followed them. At least the dimming light of dusk kept her face from being fully visible, which was a small relief.

The Crown Prince, clad in the magnificent armour that symbolised the Imperial family, and the humble village woman who had borne his illegitimate child – there was no way their status could ever match. He wasn’t just any nobleman; he was the Crown Prince. Even a remote country lord would have been out of reach for someone like her. And yet…

When they reached his tent, Swan glanced at him. Renéee, who had been kneeling in her dress earlier, was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the female knight’s advice had prevailed. Swan wondered what this woman meant to him. While everyone else called him Your Highness, she alone addressed him as Sir Atlion.

The thought stung like a thorn in her throat. She had no right to feel that way, yet she did. Even after she claimed to want nothing, the feeling remained.

Suddenly, Swan’s pale face tightened, her expression collapsing into a mixture of helplessness and frustration as she lifted her chin.

“Why that expression?”

“It’s nothing…”

“Go in.”

He released her chin and held the tent flap open for her. It wasn’t exactly the kind of courtesy a crown prince would normally show a simple village woman. Swan, her eyes filled with unease, glanced at him before looking around nervously. Raoul and Alexis watched her.

Their tightly pressed lips were pale, their expressions unreadable. But the tension in the air made it clear how much emotion they were suppressing, even if they didn’t show it outwardly. Swan resisted the urge to flee into the tent and whispered to Atlion instead.

“Isn’t there… another place?”

“Go in.”

He didn’t explicitly say there was no other place, but his look left no room for argument. Though his hand didn’t push her, the intensity in his eyes was just as forceful, allowing no escape. His oppressive stare burned into her, making her discomfort palpable. Swan blinked quickly to hide the sting in her eyes and lowered her head. Like a condemned prisoner being led to her cell, she stepped into the tent.

“Who was that man earlier? Someone you know?”

Atlion’s voice broke as Swan hesitated to even approach the bed. She turned, her face puzzled, as if she couldn’t make sense of his question.

Holding Mirabella in his arms, Atlion gently placed her on the bed, then grabbed Swan’s shoulders and pushed her down with firm pressure. Her aching legs buckled under his strength and she sank to the edge of the bed. Atlion stood over her, staring down at his wife, who was now looking up at him blankly.

“Answer me.”

“Who…?”

“Swan.”

“Who are you talking about…? Ah.”

Swan’s eyelids fluttered quickly and she met his sharp, steely gaze. His eyes felt like cold metal, cutting into her, searching for something buried beneath the surface. She tried to sift through her own emotions to understand what he was after, but she couldn’t.

“What is your relationship with that man?”

“Excuse me? What?”

Swan’s voice trembled slightly, startled by the sudden question.

It was an abrupt question. There had been nothing significant to warrant the question, “What kind of relationship?”

The man had simply led her to an empty tent out of sympathy for her situation. That was all. Swan blinked her wide, round eyes as if trying to process his words. A faint blue spark seemed to flicker in her dry, hollow gaze, causing her shoulders to jerk involuntarily at its brief but chilling intensity.

“I asked, what is your relationship with him?”

“N-no relationship at all.”

“What were you doing in the tent?”

“Sorry? What?” 

His demanding gaze felt like it was suffocating her. Her lips moved hesitantly, surprised. There had been nothing between them – no incident, no connection. Yet his expression was dark and menacing, as if unveiling the truth would reveal something far worse.

“Swan.”

“Nothing happened, really. He just felt sorry for me, so…”

Swan trailed off, her voice weak and pleading.

Her throat tightened and she pressed her lips together, swallowing her words. She looked down at the floor, her eyes unable to look up.

As her tearful eyes remained fixed downward, his hand began to gently rub her shoulder. The tunic she wore, as thin and unimpressive as cloth draped over a pigsty by the standards of his noble cousin, felt even more insignificant under his touch.

Her lower lip quivered. The sensation of his thick hand pressing through the delicate fabric was overwhelming.

As she sat frozen, the tunic was abruptly ripped from her. The neckline she had hastily pulled up fell to the floor, leaving her br*ast, still swollen with milk from nursing Mirabella, completely exposed. It was the first time since the birth that she had been so completely exposed.

Her cheeks flushed, something unlike her, and the cool air that prickled her skin made her hair stand on end. She covered her chest with her arms and looked up at him with a puzzled expression. The hand that had removed her tunic now cupped her chin. Seeing her confused expression, his closed lips moved.

“I want to do it now.”

“W-what…?”

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

The muscles under her eyes twitched. The heat that had warmed her cheeks now rose to her head. She felt like she was going to burst. Swan blinked quickly, her eyes darting around to take in her surroundings. This wasn’t the secluded hut where the two of them were alone, where even her loudest cries would only reach the ears of the wild animals in the hills. No, this was the centre of a group of tents.

Her eyelashes fluttered slightly as her mind vacillated between going blank and being overwhelmed by confused thoughts.

They had rarely been intimate since she had become pregnant with Mirabella. Even before her pregnancy, on their first night together, she couldn’t understand what had made him want her. To him, Swan’s body seemed no different from that of a n*ked old woman.

As a former apothecary, she had tried to explain that physical intimacy carried little risk once a pregnancy reached the stable period. But there had been no desire in his gaunt expression, no hint of passion to make such explanations relevant.

Unless it was a night when she tossed and turned, feeling his subtle gaze upon her, there were no occasions when their bodies intertwined. Swan stared at him now as he removed the arms she had used to cover her chest. The situation was incomprehensible – to demand intimacy in such a place, at such a time. More confusing than where he wanted to be was why he wanted her now. What had moved him?

When she shook her head slowly and moved to cover her chest again, his hand reached out again.

“I think it’s a husband’s right.”

It was a whisper that left no room for refusal. Gently, Atlion placed the stiffened swan on the bed. After escorting her daughter from the tent, he returned. His eyes fell on her pale, rounded br*asts, stark against her trembling frame.

“I…”

One by one, he removed his armour, climbing over her. Swan’s dazed eyes fixed on the dismantled pieces of his armour. The red cloak draped over his shoulders fell to the floor of the tent. Even in the chaos of her disoriented thoughts, the armour stood out clearly in her mind.

She had once tried to hide it deliberately, to steal his memories. And yet, knowing that, he had still tried to lie to her. Was it because she was still his wife? It was amazing – that he still thought of her as his wife, that he still thought of her as his spouse.

Or was it something else? The truth was that Swan wasn’t a woman who could really be his wife.

“K-Knight…”

Her instinctive plea faltered as Atlion’s gaze settled on the arms she used to shield her chest. Without hesitation, he pressed his bare chest against her soft, full br*asts and pushed her arms away. If she was his wife, there was no need to hide. Covering herself from her husband was unnecessary in his eyes. Redness flushed her face, but he did not seem to notice.

“People might hear us.”

Swan whimpered, her voice trembling.

Knights and soldiers stood guard outside the tent. She wasn’t sure she could keep quiet, and the thought only made her more desperate to push him away.

His c*ck pressed against her knee – firm and unyielding like a ripe fruit. Even through his trousers, his long, hard p*nis rubbed against the inside of her thigh, its presence overwhelming and aggressive.

Swan gasped, her breath quickening as she tried to push against his chest. Her palms met the hard, sculpted muscles of his torso, smooth and unyielding under her touch.