She already knew the answer. Even without hearing it, she understood. Her pounding heart felt as if it had been completely ripped out of her chest. The reason she had avoided asking about his feelings, the reason she had tried to draw the line first, was because of this.

‘I’m scared. What if he doesn’t like me at all?’

She lowered her hands from wiping her tear-stained eyes and took a deep breath. But her sobs and the frantic heaving of her chest refused to stop. He only seemed to truly see her when she asked him to kiss her, seeking comfort. When his damp lips pressed against hers, capturing her upper lip.

His kisses, sweet and tender with no hint of rejection, felt like fragments of affection. She wanted to believe they meant something. Though his expression was always clouded, the lack of outright displeasure convinced her that it did.

She lifted her head, clutching her chest as her heart pounded painfully. The pain made her dizzy. Slowly, Swan began to move.

She imagined him outside the cabin, probably smoking one of his cigarettes. The man she had called ‘Theo’, although she had never called him by that name. As she opened the door, the cool night wind swept over the rolling hills.

She looked outside, shrouded in darkness after the sun had set. 

But he was nowhere to be seen.

***

“Sir Knight! Sir Knight, where are you?” 

She couldn’t bring herself to call him Theo, so she used “Sir Knight” instead.

It was the same. Even after she’d asked him to use her name, he rarely called her “Swan”. More often he called her by impersonal terms like “hey” or “miss”. Neither of which was what she had longed to hear from him.

“Where are you? Hic… hic…” 

She searched every place he might have gone, but found no sign of him. Not even the faint smell of cigarette smoke. The autumn rain that had started and stopped all afternoon had begun to fall again, leaving the air heavy with the smell of damp earth and rainwater.

“Sniff… hic… what should I do? What should I do…?” 

The light drizzle seeped into Swan’s slender body, soaking her through. She curled up into a ball, shivering with cold. The rain, mixed with the chill of the autumn night, felt like icy needles piercing her skin. 

Suddenly a wave of nausea washed over her. Swan stopped, her feet, muddy from wandering around the cabin, coming to a halt. Her empty stomach churned violently. Doubling over, she gagged, though there was nothing in her stomach to expel. The rain, now pouring relentlessly, lashed at her fragile form, soaking her mercilessly as she crouched defenceless under the relentless downpour. 

What did I do wrong? Was there a reason he was being harsher than usual today? Swan blinked, her eyes stinging from the heavy raindrops. She clutched her stomach and sobbed quietly. What would she do if she ended up alone? If he left her… if he abandoned her completely…

She tried to count the days since her last period, but her mind felt foggy and unfocused. A dull heat radiated beneath her skin, and her erratic heartbeat seemed to echo through her body, mingling with her ragged breathing.

As she slowly closed and reopened her eyes, she saw something – a pair of shoes, miraculously clean despite the rain. It was as if they were protected by an invisible shield, untouched by the mud and dirt. Swan lifted her head.

Even in the pouring rain, the man seemed as sharp as a blade. His presence was icy and unyielding, like steel capable of cutting through skin with a mere touch. Struggling to catch her breath, Swan looked up at him from where she sat. His form seemed blurred, his features softened by her tear-filled gaze.

Her pale blue lips parted, moving soundlessly like a fish gasping for air. The rain continued to fall on her face. She hastily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

She had once heard that men grew tired of women because of their tears. Perhaps that was why he had grown tired of her. Swan knew she wasn’t a woman who could satisfy him in any way. Even if he never regained his memories, there was no reason for him to stay with her.

Still, it would be better if he didn’t leave her. The thought of being alone again filled her with dread. In Swan’s world, unbearable loneliness was a foreign concept. Even when she felt lonely, her days passed quickly as she focused on her responsibilities. Some days were difficult, but she believed she could spend her whole life like that and it wouldn’t be so bad.

If she was lucky enough to find a husband and have children who looked like him, it would be an incredible blessing. But if such happiness never came her way, she had come to terms with that reality. The fragile dream she had once nurtured had been carefully folded away and buried deep in her heart when her mother died.

If this man had never come into her life, she wouldn’t have dared to dream such dreams again. She wouldn’t have reopened that vain hope.

“W-where did you…?” 

The cold air made her shiver, its icy bite sinking into her skin. The icy air that filled her lungs stung like ice. At Swan’s hesitant question, he replied in his usual calm tone.

“I went to the village, but came back when it started to rain.” 

“Oh. I-I see.” 

Swan nodded and tried to stand, her knees still shaking. As she pushed herself up, her ankle wobbled and she stumbled. His hand reached out and caught her effortlessly, steadying her. Her tightly pressed lips began to quiver and it felt as if she was swallowing a whole lump of sobs. Unable to push his hand away, Swan lowered her gaze to his collarbone.

It was the same collarbone her teeth had grazed the night before. She found herself tracing the spot again, even though no trace of a mark remained. His hand, which she couldn’t bring herself to let go, rested firmly on her waist. Was it love that made her feel so overwhelmed? Or was it simply the weight of his presence? She couldn’t tell. There was no frame of reference – this unwelcome man was the first to make her feel that way.

He would only make her reach for an emptiness that even eternity couldn’t fill. Maybe it would have been easier if he had always been cold, never left room for misunderstandings like this. Then she wouldn’t have to search endlessly for signs of affection to convince herself that it was love. She wouldn’t have to keep piecing together feelings that left her so raw.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s… it’s nothing…”

“Let’s go inside.”

“I… I couldn’t find you…”

“…….”

“I-I thought you had left me…” 

That you had left me, cast me aside, and I was alone again… Swan’s breaths came in shaky gasps, her voice heavy with despair. The pain was unbearable. The gaze that looked down at her was cold and unfeeling, like lead. 

“Go inside. The rain is cold.” 

His lips finally moved after a long pause. His large hand reached out and caught her wrist. Swan shook her head, refusing to be dragged away. Unable to meet his eyes, she kept her gaze fixed on the toes of his shoes as tears streamed down her face. Loving him felt like a cruel misfortune. Perhaps the worst misfortune she had ever known. 

Maybe even worse than losing her mother. Yes, it was worse than that. At least when her mother had died, she hadn’t felt abandoned. But this man… 

Swan slowly lifted her head. Had her mother felt the same way when she had become pregnant with her? Had her grandmother also fallen in love with a man who had wandered into the cabin by chance, only to be left behind after a single night, branded a ‘harlot’? 

The villagers had always looked down on her, never really accepted her. Even the idea of the two of them having a small home on the outskirts of the village was considered too much, so they were pushed into the deep valley instead. None of this was a life that Swan or her mother had chosen.

Yes, the women of the Ropennin family didn’t choose this life. Who would voluntarily raise a child without a father?

They were women cast out of the village for their work as healers, their origins uncertain and their presence unwelcome. Female herbalists had long been the target of discrimination by the church. In the end, no one could say what they had done wrong to deserve such treatment.

Swan’s life was no different from her late mother’s, or the mothers before her who had died long ago.

Tears trickled down her cheeks. The rest didn’t matter. She didn’t care if they called her a witch. Such insults didn’t frighten her. She was ready to endure the ridicule of waddling with a swollen belly, mocked as the bearer of a fatherless child.

Just like her grandmother, her mother’s mother, who was endlessly stigmatised and eventually burned at the stake. Through her mother’s life, Swan already understood what it meant to be a young woman raising a child alone. It was the life every woman in the Ropennin family had lived.

Everything else was something she could bear. In time, she would grow numb to it, adapt and move on. But still… still… to live a life with someone by her side had always been Swan’s dream. Like the maidens of the village, she longed for the day when she could wear a white dress and a veil. One day she would make that dream come true.

It was the dream that Swan’s mother had never been able to fulfil. The dream of her grandmother, who had searched the crowd for the father of her child even as she was being burned at the stake. A warm, cosy home. A loving husband and adorable children. A happy and prosperous family. It was a dream that had always been out of reach for the women of the Ropennin family, which made it all the more precious to Swan – a dream she desperately wanted to make a reality.

Couldn’t this man be the one to give it to her? Swan believed she could do anything for him. She was ready to follow him anywhere, to work tirelessly to fulfil his expectations and make him happy.

“I… I think I’m pregnant.”

The confession she had buried deep inside finally came out. Unable to meet his gaze, she lowered her head, guilt and fear weighing heavily on her.

“I-it’s been so long since my last period…”

“…….”

“I think I’m carrying your child…”

Her voice was shaky and incoherent, her words tumbling out awkwardly. The man remained silent. Tears streamed down Swan’s cheeks as she shifted nervously, wiping her eyes with trembling hands.

“So, so, please… please take me as your wife. Hic, hic… p-please…”

Swan held the unresponsive man’s hand. His expression, as she begged him not to leave her, was as emotionless as ever. Only the cold rain continued to soak her. The sound of his steady, deep breathing brushed against her ears. Desperately, Swan wrapped her arms around his neck, her words pouring out.

“Please, I’ll be a good wife. I’ll do anything… anything you want…”

She pressed her face against his chest, but he remained silent. His long arms did not move to hold her.

—

A princess who lost her mother at birth. The silver-haired fairy princess. The young daughter of the knight king. The Rose of Kyrlach. The maiden crowned with thorns. 

Ellaria, the most beautiful woman in the human world, was known by many names.

Said to be the most captivating and extraordinary woman to ever walk the lands of men – or sometimes regarded as a goddess rather than a mere mortal – Ellaria chose the young founding king of Dale as her mate to leave her mark on the world.

He was a man as cold and unforgiving as the perpetual snows of the North or a frost-covered desert. Long before the princess had ever lived as a queen, the king of Dale had lived a life bound by love for his young son. It was only natural for the princess to leave her home and choose him. Her legacy to the world – her mark – inevitably included the two children who followed her, one still growing in her womb.

Ellaria’s decision to travel the northern lands with her young sons – stubborn boys who resisted her guidance at every turn – was born of deep maternal love. There were, of course, countless other factors and ramifications, but at her core she had chosen to live as Queen of Dale.

After a treacherous and daring adventure, Ellaria became queen and bore the young king another child – a daughter. This daughter, Mirabella, was a radiant rose that bloomed under the summer sun, a jewel of the northern land where no seas could be found. Precious and pure, her value lay in her very existence.

When her beloved daughter, the recipient of so much of her love, was married to a neighbouring king, Ellaria had no hesitation. Mirabella was still young, vibrant and cherished, a reflection of Ellaria’s own graceful youth.