Prologue. The Imprint

I once heard that some humans sign divorce papers before the ink on their marriage certificate has even dried.

Such a thing is unimaginable in the world of elves.

To us, marriage is a sacred ceremony—a vow to love one person for the rest of our lives, an irrevocable promise.

If that sounds like a shackle to you, then you are entirely mistaken.

Elves find a fulfillment through their one and only mate that cannot be found anywhere else in the world.

Emotionally and physically.

We never grow tired of each other. We never come to hate one another.

With feelings that well up from the depths of our hearts, we cherish and care for each other, walking through life together until the very end.

Considering that elves live lives bordering on immortality, it could only be called a remarkably wise arrangement by the gods.

Imagine if elves married and divorced as casually as humans do.

(For the record, the very thought has ruined my appetite. I believe I’ll be skipping breakfast.)

Yesterday’s friend’s husband would become my husband today, and the woman who lived next door yesterday would become my wife today.

Now then, let me tell you a secret about elves—one no human could ever know.

Do you think you’d grow tired of sharing a bed with the same mate after a few years?

(The answer is below.)

For reference, elves are blessed with inexhaustible virility.

Once, I witnessed an elf who had traveled far from home lose the battle against desire and dash out of his inn in the middle of the night to find the one he had imprinted on.

(As for me… I happened to imprint on paper and pen.)

On the other hand, there are those who imprint upon someone yet never get the chance to meet them.

Unable to satisfy their desires, they endure unimaginable torment…

Until the day they are finally reunited with their imprint.

In exceptionally rare cases, an imprint dies or disappears to a place beyond reach, allowing a new imprint to be formed…

But that demands extraordinary endurance.

They must survive every agonizing day spent yearning for their first imprint as though the longing itself might k*ll them.

I once saw an elf living through such a time.

He seemed to have lost his mind.

His every waking thought revolved around his imprint, leaving him incapable of living a normal life.

He also confessed that he met them in his dreams every single night.

Unable to see them in reality, his shattered mind had allowed even his dreams to be ruled by them.

Can you even begin to imagine how powerful an imprint truly is?

Now then, enough of my rambling.

Here’s the answer.

Elves never grow tired of sharing a bed with their imprint—not until the day they die.

I asked countless elves this very question, and every one of them gave the same answer.

‘The more we do it, the more we want it.’

(I’m jealous.)

—Excerpt from The Chronicle of the Elves, ‘On the Imprinting of Elves’

***

“Haa… haa…”

The sound of a woman’s ragged breathing echoed from behind the closed door.

A limp hand resting on the bed suddenly clenched the blanket.

The delicate veins stood out across the back of her hand as her breathing escaped her control.

That dream again.

The one with the faceless man.

An endless white expanse stretched in every direction, with a crimson bed placed at its center.

Even the moonlight filtering through the window glowed red.

The man loomed over her, his broad, muscular torso laid bare.

His gaze, fixed downward, burned with smoldering heat.

As he looked down at himself, teetering on the edge of his restraint, he slowly ran his tongue across his lips.

The motion of that damp tongue was indescribably seductive.

His long fingers traced the soaked fabric of her dress, now clinging to every curve of her body.

Each hurried breath made her beautiful figure rise and fall.

His heated eyes lingered over the smoothness of her skin and every graceful curve it formed.

‘Haa…’

Unable to endure it any longer, he lowered himself and tightly clasped her small hand.

The warmth that flowed from his touch felt so vivid it was as though it were real, spreading across her skin.

Their ragged breaths tangled together first.

The next moment, the lips that had been curled into a faintly provocative smile gently covered hers.

Unlike everything that had come before, the kiss was soft…

Sweet.

The slow, lingering sensation made her body tremble.

Their hearts pounded wildly against one another.

Every brush of their skin felt as though the places where they touched were melting away.

Each time he moved, her vision dissolved into white.

The beat of his heart, the firmness of his muscles, even the beads of sweat trailing over his skin…

Every sensation overwhelmed her.

‘Haa…’

Clinging tightly to him, the woman released the breath she had been holding.

‘More… Please…’

The man’s eyes, looking down at her as she lifted her head, were the same crimson as blood surging through living veins.

‘We haven’t even begun yet.’

His laughter, cool as the winter wind, scattered across her heated breaths.

He gently took hold of her slender arms and draped them around his neck.

‘Even if it hurts, bear with it just a little longer… Rachel.’

At that very moment…

An immense wave of heat surged into her.

***

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Rachel! Rachel, miss!”

Someone was calling her from outside the door.

“Gasp!”

Rachel bolted upright in bed, drawing frantic breaths as though she had been holding them the entire time.

“Haa…”

The hand wiping the sweat from the back of her pale neck was deathly white.

“My body… Why is it so hot?”

Dreams were always like that.

The moment you woke up, they vanished like a mirage.

“Miss! Something terrible has happened! Hurry! Please come out!”

With unfocused eyes, Rachel collapsed back onto the bed.

“Okay. I’m coming. Just a moment…”

She said the words, but the wave of drowsiness washing over her was impossible to resist.

“Miss! Someone from the Imperial Palace is here!”

As she forced her heavy eyelids to flutter open in a futile attempt to stay awake, the crimson eyes of the man from the very end of her dream lingered like an afterimage before slowly fading away.

Her eyelids drooped again as she murmured in a barely intelligible voice,

“I’m coming… I’m on my way…”

“His Majesty the Emperor has come personally to see you! Right now, Miss!”

“…What?”

Rachel’s eyes flew open.

Chapter 1. The Duke Who Appeared at the Imperial Party

He was a duke who had only just turned twenty.

Fifteen years after his father died and he disappeared from the public eye, Reiner Graham returned to the Newberic Empire.

The child whose eyes had turned blood-red under the curse of the gods.

When the Duke of Graham died from a plague one day, the people cried that the cursed child should be buried alive alongside him.

A child with crimson eyes had never existed in the Empire’s history, and even the young Emperor believed the argument had merit.

So, led by the Imperial Guards personally dispatched by the Emperor, the people stormed the Graham ducal estate.

But by then, the child had already disappeared with his nanny.

At the time, he had been hiding with her in the tall grass near the castle gates.

The five-year-old boy watched without blinking as the Emperor’s men ransacked his home before setting it ablaze.

Fifteen years later.

Rumors began spreading that Reiner—the boy everyone believed had been forgotten forever—had returned to Newberic.

At first, no one believed it.

Surely a child cursed by the gods couldn’t have survived all this time.

Then, without warning, he appeared at the height of the social season.

The cursed child… attending a noble ball.

Naturally, speculation spread like wildfire.

Some claimed he had returned to find a wife.

Others insisted he intended to seduce someone and pass his curse on to them.

The rumors grew so outrageous that, at a recent party, someone even claimed to have seen Reiner gouge out his cursed crimson eyes in an attempt to transplant them into another person.

Whatever the truth might be, Reiner shamelessly attended yet another Imperial party today, much to the Emperor’s displeasure.

“Isn’t it absolutely chilling? Those crimson eyes.”

The nobles gathered around the Emperor all turned their heads toward Riner.

He sat alone in a corner of the ballroom, reclining lazily in his chair as he sipped his wine.

“My goodness. How uncultured. Does he really think it’s acceptable to sit like that at an Imperial party?”

“I heard he’s spent years sailing around with sailors. I doubt anyone ever taught him proper etiquette.”

Listening to their remarks, Emperor Felix scoffed.

“Just leave him alone. He probably can’t even afford wine. Judging by the fact that he’s come all the way here to live off the Imperial household.”

The nobles burst into laughter.

“But where is he even staying? Didn’t the Empire confiscate the Graham duchy long ago?”

At the young noble’s question, an elderly count leaned forward with an air of importance.

He had made a fortune buying land across the three kingdoms bordering Newberic.

Rumor had it that, having no heir to inherit his wealth, he donated a fortune to the Emperor and was rewarded with a count’s title.

Detestable as he was, his information was rarely wrong.

“I happen to know the answer.”

As soon as he spoke, the surrounding nobles eagerly leaned in.

Even Emperor Felix, who had been pretending not to care, pricked up his ears.

“The North.”

“…Surely not. Isn’t that the place where people freeze to death in half a day?”

“Exactly. No, that can’t be right.”

The count clicked his tongue in exasperation.

“Oh, come now. Haven’t you all forgotten about his crimson eyes?”

Only then did the others blink in realization.

Since ancient times, the people of Newberic had grown up hearing all kinds of legends—that anyone who looked into crimson eyes would die, or fall under a terrible curse.

“Think about it. Where else could a mutant with crimson eyes possibly live except the North?”

“When you put it that way… it does make sense.”

“I’ve also heard he has quite a few servants working in his castle. Is that even possible?”

When the others still looked unconvinced, the count turned to the Emperor.

“What do you think, Your Majesty?”

Felix let out a dismissive snort, clearly bored by the conversation.

“It doesn’t matter where he lives. The important thing is that he’s completely alone. That’s why he attends every party with such desperation. He’s hoping to find some woman willing to take him in.”

The nobles roared with laughter again.

“As if any woman would actually marry him. Poor fellow.”

“Exactly. Such a waste of that handsome face.”

Ever eager to flatter Emperor Felix, the nobles chimed in enthusiastically.

“Just look at Your Majesty! You’re already preparing to take your fourteenth concubine. Women simply can’t resist you.”

“Ah, that’s right! Who was the woman chosen to become Your Majesty’s new concubine this time?”

“Count Flynn’s daughter?”

The moment someone asked the question, silence swept over the room as though a bucket of cold water had been thrown over everyone.

One noble, completely oblivious to the mood, spoke up.

“Who? Count Flynn’s daughter? You mean that woman who’s supposedly so ugly she can’t even step outside her house?”

“Ahem… What nonsense are you talking about? Haha. More importantly, doesn’t it feel rather warm in here tonight?”

The surrounding nobles, their faces pale with horror, hurriedly clamped a hand over the fool’s mouth.

Then they cautiously looked toward the Emperor.

If the temperamental Emperor took offense, wiping out an entire noble house would be effortless.

As Emperor Felix slowly stretched out his hand, every noble flinched and instinctively shrank back.

Instead of punishing anyone, he merely picked up his wine glass and let out an amused scoff.

‘Idiots.’

He knew the woman they were ridiculing.

Her lustrous golden hair.

Her clear amber eyes.

Long ago, he had met her by chance.

‘Though I never expected her to be the daughter of the wealthy Count Flynn.’

He was already looking forward to announcing at tonight’s banquet that Rachel Flynn, Count Flynn’s daughter, would become his newest imperial consort.

Just then, a commotion arose at the entrance to the Imperial banquet hall.

Rachel had arrived.

***

Rachel stood at the entrance of the Imperial banquet hall, facing Count Flynn.

A dark shadow hung over the wrinkles etched across his face.

“Rachel… Why don’t you run away while you still can? I think that would be better.”

She smiled bitterly.

“You know everyone will be put in danger because of me if I do.”

A few days earlier…

Without warning, the Emperor had arrived at Count Flynn’s estate.

With shameless confidence, he declared that Rachel would become his newest imperial consort.

It was an utterly unreasonable demand.

If they could have ignored him, they gladly would have.

The problem was that the one making the demand was none other than the Emperor of the Newberic Empire.

“Rachel. If you go in there… and your true identity is somehow exposed…”

Count Flynn paused, swallowing hard before continuing.

“You know it was Emperor Felix who exterminated your birth father’s entire race.”

“I won’t be discovered. Don’t worry.”

Rachel clasped Count Flynn’s hand tightly.

The thought that she might not see him again for a long time made her chest ache.

Count Flynn had lived a peaceful, uneventful life.

Then, one day, Rachel suddenly entered it.

From that moment on, his life changed completely.

Rachel addressed Count Flynn by the title she truly called him.

“Uncle.”

His brows softened as he offered her a faint smile.

“Why are you showing such a weak side of yourself? You’re stronger than anyone I know.”

“Strong? Who says I’m strong?”

“To me, Uncle is the strongest and most admirable person in the world.”

Count Flynn had remained steadfast when his younger sister, Layla, fell in love with the King of the elves.

He did not waver when, not long after giving birth, she died from the same plague that had claimed his wife.

Nor did he falter when Emperor Felix declared war against the elves.

He was the kind of man who became stronger than anyone else in times of crisis.

So please… endure this trial as well.

After making sure no one was nearby, Rachel lowered her voice.

“How long did you say it would take to liquidate all of the family’s assets?”

Count Flynn met the gaze of Rachel, who shone like the only light in the darkness.

“I’d say… three years. No… if everything goes well, perhaps two.”

Rachel lowered her thick lashes and nodded.

“That’s enough. I can endure that long.”

“Rachel…”

Count Flynn felt as though his heart were being torn apart.

She was never a child meant to be handed over to someone else like this.

He had cherished her more than his own life.

Born with the blood of the elves, Rachel was, at times, so radiant that he could barely look directly at her.

Her fair skin.

Her shimmering golden hair.

The amber eyes framed by feline-shaped eyes.

Her strikingly red lips.

Her rosy cheeks.

People believed he had raised Rachel.

But that wasn’t true.

Rachel had become the very reason he kept living.

To protect her, Count Flynn registered her as his own daughter and spread a rumor throughout the Empire.

That the child born as his wife succumbed to the plague possessed a face so grotesque that no one could bear to look at her.

A face too hideous to behold.

He simply couldn’t bear to let Rachel meet the same tragic fate as his younger sister and his wife, whose lives had both been cut so painfully short.

He had done everything in his power to protect her.

And yet now…

That filthy Emperor had declared he would take her as his imperial consort.

As though all those years of sacrifice had meant nothing.

“Please. Sell everything we own as quickly as possible and find somewhere safe to stay. I’ll buy you the time you need.”

“Rachel.”

“For the next two years, no one will get hurt. Trust me.”

Rachel squeezed Count Flynn’s hand one last time before letting go.

Then, with her own hands, she pushed open the massive doors to the banquet hall.

The pungent scent of tobacco poured out together with the blaring music.

Beyond the doors, countless guests swayed across the floor in passionate dances.

“Haa…”

Rachel let out a slow breath before stepping inside.

She presented the invitation tied around her wrist to the attendant checking the guests at the entrance.

The man stammered before raising his voice.

“Lady Rachel Flynn, daughter of Count Adolph Eden Flynn!”

In an instant, the music stopped. Every movement in the hall came to a halt. All eyes turned toward Rachel.