The night she became his wife, veiled in a bridal veil, she buried her face in his rugged chest and wept. Because she couldn’t have him. Because even though she was in his arms, she couldn’t really become his wife, and the thought of it made her feel miserable.

Even then she knew it. The emotions she had never forgotten spilled over that night. And now…

“When you whisper like that, with a face like that…”

Instead of finishing the words, he sank his teeth into her collarbone. The sharp pain made her body shake. He bit and licked, as if sucking blood, his lips twisting into a grin as he grasped the white br*ast of his wife pressed against his chest. The rosy colour of her br*ast, deepened in hue, still carried a soft pink. There was no sign of sagging or dark discolouration like a withered black raisin.

And yet, even if she had changed in that way, Atlion’s gl*ns would still have been sufficiently moist.

“It’s nothing.”

He remembered the sight of his wife’s back as she followed an unknown man. A body that had borne a child. A woman who had given birth to his child, her milky skin tinged with a flush of crimson. His wife, cradling their newborn, a blood-red bundle just delivered.

Had she smiled at the stranger she met for the first time today, as she had when she lost her memory and smiled at him? Any man who had claimed her would have gone mad with jealousy. He wasn’t the strange one. He wasn’t just baring his thorns for no reason.

She was with the man, wasn’t she? But that alone wasn’t what drove her to the edge. It was Swan… That is, it was Swan’s actions. It wasn’t the way he looked at her when they were in the cabin.

His gaze, warm and shy with a flush of heat… That had always been Swan. She was always the kind of woman who blushed so easily. But when did it start? When did Swan’s eyes become so dry like this? She didn’t know.

Had she smiled at the man she met today as she had at me when I lost my memory? Any man with a wife would lose his mind over it. It wasn’t that he was strange. It wasn’t for nothing that he bristled.

She was with the man, wasn’t she? But it wasn’t that alone that drove him over the edge. It was Swan… That is, it was Swan’s actions. It wasn’t the way she looked at him when they were in the cabin.

Her look, warm and shy with a flush of heat… That had always been Swan. She had always been the kind of woman who blushed so easily. But when had it started? When had Swan’s eyes become so dry? He didn’t know.

But she had changed. Since when? Was it when she had screamed and wailed in a fit of rage? Or was it when Raoul and his subordinates had come and treated her with disrespect? Atlion had bitten the woman’s pure neck in anger.

The thought of the once dry swan blushing in front of another man instead of him stirred both anger and deep emotion in him.

With his right hand he stroked her full br*ast and licked her n*pple. The one his daughter had sucked. He circled it, scratched it, pinched it. Atlion, who had been licking and chewing on her neck for a long time, brought his mouth to the white liquid on her n*pple.

As he put her n*pple in his mouth and sucked on it, Swan pushed her head away and made a whimpering noise. He pulled down his trousers and spread the woman’s legs wide as she continued to try to close them. It had been a long time since he had seen her pubic hair curl.

Atlion swallowed dryly as he imagined the long, deeply indented crimson folds. As he cupped her soft, supple br*asts in his large hands and savoured their texture, his aroused p*nis twitched slightly. 

“Mm, haa… Ahh!”

For a while he buried his face in her br*ast, inhaling the faint scent of milk that lingered in the valley between her br*asts. The warm and comforting scent, reminiscent of honey, aroused him as he rubbed the head of his p*nis against the long, indented folds of her l*bia. From the swollen cl*t to the sticky inner lips, he circled around, searching for the entrance. The head of his p*nis, reddened to the point of pain, throbbed with need.

“Ah… haah, mmph…”

Swan pressed her lips together tightly and twisted her hips in an attempt to escape him. Her trembling b*ttocks were quickly caught. She let out a sharp cry, “Ah!” As Atlion gripped her, he alternated between kneading and releasing her soft flesh.

“Sir Knight, Sir Knight…”

A faint whisper was muffled and faded. Atlion looked down at the woman. Her damp skin trembled slightly with tension. Annoyed by her constant pushing, he gripped her wrist tightly. The woman let out a feeble sob.

“Not here…” 

“And why not here?” 

“Everyone… everyone will hear us.”

Biting her lip, the woman sobbed quietly and shook her head. He murmured nonchalantly, 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“But…” 

“It really doesn’t. During the war, there were wives who came to the barracks to meet their husbands. The knights’ wives, you know.”

Swan sobbed softly. Atlion, looking down at his wife with an expression of incomprehension, finally leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. There wasn’t a person who couldn’t understand a married woman seeking comfort in her husband’s arms. What could be more natural than a young, newlywed couple sharing intimacy? 

It was also unreasonable to make an issue of the place. The wives of knights who travelled to the battlefield sought the embrace of their husbands, if only for a few days. 

The men of the battlefield – knights – always welcomed their wives who visited the barracks. Even if it was only for a few nights, they embraced them eagerly. And the women, often pregnant, would return home. It wasn’t unusual; it was just the way things were.

Atlion looked down at his trembling wife, shaking with embarrassment. Swan was not a noblewoman. She had never shared in the culture of the aristocracy. Perhaps that was why she was so ashamed to embrace her husband. Besides, Swan had never been the type to show him her affection unreservedly. 

“That is why, on quiet nights, no one finds it strange when muffled moans emanate from the tent. And after such nights, the women return home with round bellies.” 

There was nothing wrong with it – nothing improper. And it wasn’t even wartime. Swan had nothing to fear. 

Atlion pressed a kiss to his wife’s damp cheek, then licked her soft lips. Just as he began to tease her lips, trying to get his tongue into her mouth, it happened.

Suddenly, Swan, who had been staring at him in silence, shook her head and pushed him away again. The movement irritated him. He grabbed her hands as they pressed against his chest and held them tightly. Her limp fingers resembled the kind of toy dolls young children play with – smooth and pale, with a perfect waxy sheen.

Hands that had never pushed him away before, always desperate for his touch.

As he stared down at her, his unflinching gaze made her tremble. Her chin quivered but she pressed her lips tightly together. The firm texture of her b*ttocks against his hand, combined with the pressure of his aroused ppenis rubbing against her lower abdomen, heightened the tension between them.

“Why are you crying?”

“I am…”

“Aren’t I your husband?”

“Ha, but sir…”

“It’s natural to spread your legs and show your v*gina.”

Swan held her breath, her lips quivering at the icy tone of his voice. Only then did she lift her legs, exposing her p*ssy. When her hips were fully raised, he guided himself inside her. Swan stifled a moan and pressed her lips together. The head of his p*nis pushed through her entrance, parting her tight walls as it slid along her inner depths.

“Ah, hmph, uh. Ahh!”

The hand that covered her lips to keep them closed was forcibly removed. The man, not allowing her to remain silent, gripped her wrist tightly as he moved his hips.

It was so large that it felt as if her hole might tear. It was almost unbelievable that she had once been pregnant with something of this size. He parted her l*bia completely and inserted the remaining length of his p*nis.

“Ah!”

Her breath caught as if she had been pierced by a harpoon. He slapped her b*ttocks lightly before pulling her into his embrace. Her pale, slender body was wrapped in his arms and he found it intoxicating – the fullness of her br*asts pressed tightly against his chest, her narrow waist and the wide curve of her hips. Even the faint, sweet scent of milk added to the allure. 

He nipped her jawline with his teeth, silencing her parted lips, and began to move his hips slowly. The rough sound of his movements as his thighs slammed against hers echoed shamelessly.

The woman, regaining her breath, let out sporadic whimpers, her voice resembling the sound Mirabella made when she was upset about something. He watched her, his sweat-soaked wife, as her delicate hands fidgeted with his sturdy shoulders. He found the way her lips twisted to stifle her moans endearing. 

He couldn’t remember a time when that face hadn’t been beautiful. Even when she had confessed, with trembling hands hiding his armour, that she wanted to bury his past – it hadn’t made him resent her. Not even at that moment. In truth, he had never found her detestable. Not even when she cried for no reason and stared at him through her tears. 

His wife was his wife. Swan, no matter what, was undeniably his.

So that night – the night when the cabin was at its brightest – he hadn’t felt the need to reproach Swan for confessing that she had deliberately hidden his armour. It simply hadn’t been something that made him angry. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, it just didn’t matter. 

Alexis had asked if he loved her enough to overlook it. 

“Do you love this peasant – no, this woman? Is that why you’re planning to take her all the way to Solam?”

Alexis, having replaced his deep-rooted fear with determination, asked the question. Did he love her? Atlion just stared at him. Was he planning to take Swan to Solam because he loved her? He couldn’t understand why love was brought up in this context, and the very question irritated him. 

Love. Love… 

Such an emotion seemed to be something for young girls to boast about, a sentiment better suited to the hollow words of court poets who had nothing better to do. It was absurd for a knight to even utter such a word. What made it even more ridiculous was that it wasn’t Renéee, but Alexis – of all people – who asked it with such a straight face.

He did not love Swan. If a beating heart was what defined love, there had never been a moment when his heart had beaten for her. The only moments they shared were those of lust and desire. 

But Swan was his wife. She was his wife, the one who had borne his child, making her unquestionably his. To question her status or position was nonsense when her loyalty to him was so clear. 

Besides, he had no intention of leaving Swan. He had no intention of leaving her. Even if they hadn’t had a child, it would have been the same. From the night he had first acted on his desires and taken her, Swan had been his wife. Even without a child, it wouldn’t have changed anything. 

So he had waited. Waited for her to bear him a child, for her to stop crying so easily, to stop confusing him with her sudden outbursts. Her true status, her real name… if she ever found out, she might faint from shock. She was always so fragile.

He hadn’t given Josie a thought all this time. Alexis, who kept bringing up Josie and questioning their past, was getting on his nerves. Finally Atlion snapped and asked if Alexis didn’t value his life. To be honest, Josie meant nothing to him now.