“She’s my wife, Calyps.”

“She must be the woman who gave birth to your illegitimate child, brother. Mother never approved of your marriage. Actually, not just Mother—there was no bishop, no witness either.”

Calyps, who had been staring down, raised his gaze and murmured softly. His eyes were filled with defiance, showing no intention of backing down. The woman seated beside him cast a fleeting glance at her husband. Her pale green eyes brimmed with desperation. Shifting uneasily, she hesitated for a moment before parting her lips slightly, attempting to address her husband, who refused to look her way.

“Um, Sir Knight…”

Josietine averted her gaze. Calyps also turned his attention to the woman, now staring at her in silence. The man referred to as “Sir Knight,” Atlion, finally looked at his wife. With a cold demeanor, he reached out, took her trembling hand, and placed it firmly on the table, as though binding her in place to keep her from running away.

“May I go and look after my child?”

Her voice was earnest, as if she could no longer endure the tension. Her complexion, pale as moonlight, seemed even more stark in the dim evening light. Atlion lifted his hand and gently brushed her eyelids, a soft gesture that made Josietine’s eyes immediately cloud with darkness.

She knew it too. She understood that Atlion was different—at least, when it came to what had happened to him. The absurd events that unfolded while he was away from Solam. The woman, the child, the wife, the daughter… All things that neither sought nor needed anyone’s permission—or so he believed. Ordinary matters wouldn’t have provoked such a reaction.

“Do you know where Mirabella is?”

Atlion whispered softly, his voice tender but barely audible. Still, it was clear he had mentioned the name of a child. A daughter, perhaps. Now that Calyps thought about it, he vaguely recalled hearing someone mention a girl. But the name Mirabella—it was far too noble for a child born to a mere courtesan.

Calyps frowned, his brows drawing together. With everything in disarray, he hadn’t had the time or the inclination to focus on his brother’s illegitimate child.

‘A daughter, of all things.’

He wasn’t sure whether this was good or bad. In truth, the child’s very existence unsettled him. Whether she was a boy or a girl was irrelevant. What mattered was that she was illegitimate. A commoner—and not just any commoner, but the child of a peasant.

There wasn’t even a respectable family to speak of on her mother’s side. The notion that her mother might belong to a wealthy merchant guild or be a landowner of significant standing was laughable. The report from his brother’s former squire had made it clear from the start: she wasn’t of noble blood.

Had her mother at least been a wealthy merchant or someone of influence, it might have softened the blow. But the squire’s grim expression as he delivered the report said it all – the woman was utterly without standing or merit.

To Calyps, it was as if his brother had abandoned all reason and chosen to consort with something less than human. It was like hearing that he had mated with a beast or an ape.

Even though he had expected to encounter a mistress, a sense of unease still lingered as he rode forward. He firmly believed that anything unverified by his own eyes could not be trusted.

Still, the entire journey to this place left him feeling restless. His brother was no exception to the traditions of their lineage. He was a rightful son of the Solarium royal family and, more than that, the infamous Black Prince, Sir Atlion. Those beneath him were nothing more than insignificant beings to be looked down upon.

How could his brother lower himself to consort with a courtesan? How could his brother father an illegitimate child with someone like her? Calyps’s eyes burned with intensity as he stared at the woman.

The woman, visibly uncomfortable, bit her lips in frustration, then released and bit them again before abruptly standing. Her pale wrist was held tightly. Her frightened eyes darted nervously, unable to meet her husband’s face, landing instead on his taut jawline, as if replaying Calyps’ cutting words in her mind.

With a face as pale as death, she twisted her wrist in an attempt to free herself. When Atlion finally released her, she stumbled slightly before quickly bowing her head. Calyps made no acknowledgement of her gesture. Even her attempt at politeness fell woefully short.

As she disappeared into the darkness like someone fleeing, Calyps gave her a quick glance before speaking.

“I hear the Count of Montana has lost his second daughter.”

His brother remained silent. The fierce energy that once defined his expression had dissipated, leaving behind a calm, composed face—the same one Calyps had always known.

He remembered his brother’s countenance from their days in the palace: sharp and unyielding, like a blade of cold steel. He had been an arrogant and steadfast young man, a knight untouched by even the faintest breeze of compromise. His brows were always perfectly aligned, his posture straight and resolute.

Even in the center of the palace, far from the battlefield, he carried himself the same way. That was who his brother was, and it made this all the harder to understand.

Calyps studied his brother’s dry, detached expression, searching deeply as though trying to unearth any trace of emotion that might be buried beneath.

“That woman is gentle, so she won’t lack for affection.'”

“…”

“So treat the child accordingly.”

Renéee, who had been blinking softly, cast a fleeting glance at Calyps. Atlion, on the other hand, remained silent, swallowing another mouthful of red wine. The tension between the brothers was piercing, colder than even when they stood before the body of their late father, the Emperor.

Reneé raised her gaze to Atlion. Her vivid blue eyes were piercingly clear, without a trace of hesitation or uncertainty.

Would it be easier to accept if he were dazed from the effects of some toxic herb? No matter how he tried to reason it, none of it made sense. He still couldn’t believe it—he simply couldn’t.

Why her? Why a courtesan? Why did it have to be someone like her? Was it because she was his first? Or was it out of a sense of obligation – a need to take responsibility just because he had been involved with her? Had he made such a careless decision out of guilt?

‘I’m so shocked, I can’t even speak.’

“If you insist, then keep her as a mistress. But anything more than that is unacceptable. And, of course, having another child with her would be completely improper.”

Calyps’s expression softened slightly. Whatever the situation, he wanted to respect his brother as much as he could. He couldn’t understand what had worn him down to this point, but Atlion had always been someone whose thoughts were impossible to read.

What was driving his actions? What was he truly thinking? Calyps had no way of knowing. If it wasn’t possible to understand him, then the best course of action was to manage the situation as reasonably as possible.

“Take a proper wife. Have your heir with her.”

“…”

“After that, bring her to Solam if you wish. If, once you’ve ascended the throne, you want to keep her in the palace, then so be it. But…”

“Calypse.”

“I’m not speaking out of turn or acting without knowing my place. But you’re making everyone here uneasy.”

“Calyps.”

“I’m simply setting boundaries.”

“……”

“Of course, I trust that you’re not the kind of person who loses all sense of judgement when intoxicated by a woman’s charms.”

Atlion stood abruptly. The glass in his hand shattered under the force of his grip, spilling both shards and liquor across the table. Renéee watched in silence, her gaze fixed on the sight of the liquid seeping into the ground.

***

A soft, languid voice drifted from the tent, echoing in her ears. Though the only other sound was the chirping of starlings, it echoed relentlessly. Had it been possible, she would have pulled out her eardrums and rinsed them in the clearest stream she could find. But since she couldn’t, the pain in her chest only intensified.

“Take a proper wife. Have your heir with her.”

“If you must, keep the mistress by your side. But nothing more than that. And, of course, having another child with her would be entirely inappropriate.”

“I’m setting a boundary.”

Swan stumbled as she ran from the cluster of tents, her steps faltering. Grasping the hem of her dress, she lifted it as high as she could and fled toward an empty, secluded place. The wind blew against her flushed cheeks, cooling them. She finally stopped in the shadows, far from the flickering lights, and turned to gaze at the tent she had escaped from.

Her mind was a foggy haze. She raised a trembling hand to wipe her damp eyelids. Even though she had expected nothing, the ache persisted, tearing at her. It felt as if her very flesh were being stripped away. She hadn’t come chasing after anything or hoping for more, and yet she couldn’t escape the crushing weight of it.

Her very existence felt meaningless.

Truly, she was nothing. She could never become anything more. Even if she were unimaginably wealthy, in the eyes of the nobility, she would still be nothing.

For commoners like Swan and Tom, such aspirations were unthinkable, let alone for someone with immense wealth and power – it all meant nothing in the eyes of the nobility. Unless you were born into royalty, everyone else was the same: expected not just to bow humbly, but to bow so low that their foreheads almost touched the ground.

Nobility – that title – was something inborn. If you weren’t born into it, no amount of land or gold could fill the gap. Swan ran her fingers over her damp eyelids, feeling the lingering moisture.

She had been told that one could never dare to meet the gaze of royalty. Was that why? Because she understood that any kindness or courtesy shown to her was utterly meaningless? Because she knew that no matter what she offered, it would never be enough to satisfy them?

Perhaps that was why he avoided meeting her eyes, even in bed—because, to him, she was nothing more than a woman he held for a fleeting night to satisfy his desires. She couldn’t tell. She didn’t even fully understand her own feelings.