“That’s why it didn’t bother me that Mirabella didn’t look like me. Her Majesty the Empress Dowager is truly a beauty. I’ve heard that her mother was also an incredible beauty, so much so that the whole continent was in awe of her incomparable charms…”

“Swan.”

“I’m sorry.”

Atlion tilted her chin up, not gently, but firmly. 

“Who says you’re not beautiful?”

Swan looked into her husband’s hardened face. He was visibly angry, the sharpness of his indignation clear in his expression. She immediately regretted her words, feeling that she had misspoken.

“It’s not like anyone explicitly said…”

Swan, who had been opening and closing her lips as if to say something, finally pressed them together like a clamshell, but it was the angry expression on her husband’s face that frightened her. He looked ready to cut out the tongue of anyone who dared call her anything less than beautiful. Yet no one in the palace had ever said such a thing about Swan.

The maids, the handmaidens, the noblewomen and the ladies all praised her, calling her beautiful and elegant. But Swan dismissed such compliments as mere courtesies due to her position as Empress. Back in her village, she had often been teased and called “carrot top”.

Her hair was a curly reddish blonde, and her freckles gave her a mischievous look. Her grandmother, Una, had shiny golden locks, and her mother, Petunia, had straight black hair. So why, Swan wondered, had she ended up with unruly reddish-golden curls? And what about all those freckles?

When she had bravely approached the other children, they had laughed at her and called her ‘carrot top’, making her hate everything about herself. She avoided mirrors for a long time, convinced that her freckles would get darker every time she looked in one. Fortunately, as she grew older, her freckles faded and her once bright red hair turned a rich, mature auburn. Still, Swan couldn’t help feeling insecure about her appearance.

Tom had once told Swan, “Forget that nonsense! The boys who teased you and called you Carrot Top would stare at you if they saw you now, and the girls said it out of jealousy! You’re much prettier than any of the village girls! I mean it!” Although he was quite drunk at the time, he insisted he was being truthful.

Swan didn’t believe him, partly because it was Tom who had said it, but she was grateful.

“Swan.”

“I’ve been teased since I was little… So I don’t like it. Besides, the palace is full of really beautiful women.”

Even someone like Adelaide, with whom Swan was close, was a remarkably elegant lady. The ladies-in-waiting, Catherine and Lady Amienne, were also stunning beauties, dressed and adorned to the nines in the splendour of the palace. Swan couldn’t possibly stand out as a striking beauty in such a place. And yet Atlion had chosen her.

Sometimes Swan found it hard to believe that a man like him could truly love her.

Unable to meet her husband’s darkened expression, Swan lowered her gaze. Atlion, however, watched her intently before carefully lifting her chin. Her nose twitched slightly and the corners of her eyes twitched reflexively.

His thumb traced the curve of her soft lips. It was such a small gesture, but it sent a sharp tingling through her lower body. His finger, which had parted her lower lip, pressed gently against her upper lip, smearing it slightly.

Warm breath warmed his skin as he moved from her upper lip to her philtrum and from there to the bridge of her nose. As his thumb brushed over the freckles scattered there, he brought his lips to hers. Swan closed her eyes. Without a word, his pointed tongue slid between her lips, sweeping up her saliva as she grabbed the front of his shirt.

She tried to gently push him away, but her resistance was in vain. His lazy tongue grazed her soft palate, skimming over her teeth, savouring every corner of her mouth. After a long lingering, he finally pulled away, leaning close to her ear as he whispered:

“If I wiped out all the vermin in Duian, you’d be sad, wouldn’t you?”

The tongue that had been so sensuously entwined now left her mouth. Swan froze, staring at him, her entire body rigid. His words were so sudden and shocking that she couldn’t find a way to react. She knew she should shake her head immediately, but the ominous look etched into her husband’s face rooted her in place, leaving her utterly speechless.

“There is no need to invoke the authority of the Empress. Just the fact that they dared to oppress a nobleman’s daughter is enough to crush countless of them. Have you considered how many that might be?” 

His long fingers stroked her cheek. Swan’s lips parted slightly, as if to respond, but she quickly pressed them back together. It didn’t sound like a joke. Atlion wasn’t the kind of man to joke. Everything that left his lips was neither a joke nor empty words – they were declarations, intentions he fully intended to carry out.

She swallowed dryly. Atlion’s gaze bore into her as if he were preparing for his own execution. Her rigid posture reflected that weight, her fear evident. Watching her, he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her round forehead.

“Swan.” 

“It’s… just things that happened when I was a child, when you’re young, everyone…” 

“You really never resented them?”

Swan stiffened, surprised by his question. His intensity left no room for evasion. She lowered her eyes, unsure how to answer, the weight of the memories she had tried to bury pressing down on her chest.

How could she never hold a grudge against them? They were the ones who killed her grandmother and couldn’t wait to drive her young, helpless mother out of the village. Even when Swan, orphaned and alone, was taken in by Tom’s family, the villagers still looked at her with contempt, their eyes sharp and unkind. There was no place for her among them.

And yet Swan had never wanted her husband to punish her. Had she truly believed that such retribution would bring her peace, she might have asked for it.

But Swan…

“No.”

Her head, which had been slightly bowed, lifted as she met Atlion’s gaze.

“I don’t want that. Nothing like this.”

“If it’s justification you need, there’s plenty to be found. The Marquis of Clepassé is also seething with anger. And when it comes to execution, there’s none better. Swan, I mean your father.”

Swan flinched slightly at the mention of her father, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Her thoughts were tangled, her resolve firm but wavering under the weight of Atlion’s unshakable conviction.

Atlion’s words made Swan think of her father. To her he was an infinitely kind and loving figure, but in the court of Solam he was known as a cold and ruthless man, sharper than frost. He had lived on the battlefield from an early age. He was a knight at heart. For a man who had spent decades in the blood-soaked horrors of war, wiping out an entire village would be nothing more than a trivial task.

As Atlion said, her father harboured a deep hatred for Duian. If the Emperor gave him permission, he wouldn’t hesitate to lead his troops to burn the village to the ground, treating it no differently than a purge of rebels. And yet Swan couldn’t bear the thought. It terrified her.

She knew such an act would bring no peace. Instead, the thought of children orphaned or even killed in the chaos weighed heavily on her heart. The thought of avenging her pain by causing more suffering filled her with dread. Swan lifted her head firmly.

“No. Don’t do that. Please.”

Atlion’s face was expressionless, unreadable. Swan looked at him in silence for a moment before she let out a deep sigh.

“It was just something from my childhood. Being called ‘Carrot Top’… It was just… nothing.”

Swan’s words faded into silence, leaving her unsure how to salvage the conversation. She stared helplessly at Atlion, wondering how things could have gotten so deep. As she stood there, Atlion leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against her cheek.

“If it’s just something from your childhood, why are these thoughts lingering now?”

Swan blinked slowly, her gaze uncertain. His strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his embrace.

“Why do you hurt me by rejecting the thought of children who resemble you?”

His tone wasn’t resentful, but it carried a weight that pricked Swan’s heart with a pang of guilt. But her feelings remained unchanged. The dazzling women of the court – those who shone like jewels, incomparable beauties – sometimes made her wonder why Atlion had chosen her.

“Why do you like me, Your Majesty?”

It was something she had always wanted to know, but had been too afraid to ask. She couldn’t explain why she was afraid to hear his answer. Even though he had told her he loved her, the question remained in her heart. She lowered her eyes as if afraid to meet his.

He didn’t like it. The man holding Swan looked down at her. The melancholy air that swept over her pale face reminded him of the Swan of days gone by, when she would stare at him endlessly while cradling her swollen belly.

Instead of hardening his expression, he gently cupped her small chin. Why did it have to be Swan? The hand that held her chin tucked the hair that covered her crescent-shaped face behind her ear and traced her sad eyes.

It was said that the Empress Dowager had always doubted the Emperor’s love in her youth. Could it be that he only took responsibility for her because of the child he had conceived, even though he did not really want her?

On the other hand, the Emperor thought it ridiculous to voice such trivial concerns. He believed that ‘love’ was an illusion that didn’t exist in this world, and that only physical desire and obsession between m*n and women were real.

Atlion’s thoughts were not much different. Sometimes he thought that people who indulged in such feelings were utterly foolish. After all, neither his father nor his mother had realised that they had spent half their lives consumed by those very feelings. And he had never expected to become so entangled himself.

But hadn’t the Empress Dowager said something to that effect after losing her husband? That the truly foolish… are those who wander so aimlessly even when what they desire is right in front of them. So then…

“I love you, Swan.”

He smiled faintly as he watched Swan begin to blush. When had he begun to love her? Why had he fallen in love with her? He didn’t dwell on these questions. Once he had fallen in love, nothing else seemed to matter.

Such things did not matter. What mattered was that Swan was by his side. He could never imagine a moment when she wouldn’t be there. It had been that way since the first night they had spent together. Since the moment he had become a man on top of her, it had always been that way.

“I love you, my swan. My Absinthe.”

Swan burst into tears. He stroked her cheek endlessly, as if to wear it down.

“You don’t know how beautiful your smile is. You don’t know how adorable you are every time you blush. Every time you stutter and babble. Every time your freckled nose crinkles because you can’t contain your feelings for me…”

Swan, who had been crying, began to sniffle. These tears were different. Atlion simply pressed his lips to her damp eyelids and cheeks, his expression still soft with a smile. The man kissed her repeatedly, caressing her gently before speaking again.

“The way you pant beneath me, your arms wrapped around my neck – that’s something only I’ve seen. How hot you get, how sweetly you cry, how you make me so painfully hard, Swan.”

“Your Majesty.”

Her cheeks and eyelids began to burn where his lips had touched. Atlion laughed softly, remembering the woman beneath him, blushing like a ripe apple and whimpering softly. It didn’t matter when his love for her had begun. Nor did it matter when he first began to desire her.

But if he had to look back, it was in that cabin. Everything with Swan had begun in that cabin. From the moment he had opened his eyes there, everything had begun. It was because Swan was Swan. She had to understand that his desire was inevitable.

“Every part of you is beautiful, Swan.”