The bony body tensed up. Sensing this, the large hand pressed more firmly against the tender flesh. The headache worsened. As the vision flickering before her eyes suddenly retreated, a chilling sensation pierced through her spine.

Ping— An arrow whizzed past. It was an attack precisely aimed at the gap between Hari and Achilleon. Startled by the sudden assault, the horse reared up on its front legs, causing Achilleon to lose his balance.

Still clutched in his arms, Hari rolled onto the ground. The sky spun around as fierce winds struck her ears. Only after hitting her head against a firm chest did the spinning world come to a stop.

“Third Prince, are you alright!”

Over the heads of soldiers who had drawn their swords, arrows with flames attached rained down. If Achilleon hadn’t reached out to pull Hari close, she too would have become a target for the arrows.

“Are they targeting Your Highness?”

“Obviously.”

Achilleon suddenly frowned. His left shoulder, where the arrow had grazed him, was turning dark. After cursing quietly, Achilleon tightly bound the wound with cloth to prevent the poison from spreading through his veins, then pulled out the arrow stuck in the tree. As expected, the arrow’s tip was coated with purple dye.

“You should take care until things calm down. You can’t move anymore in that condition.”

Though his face and neck appeared unchanged from before being hit by the arrow, they were drenched in cold sweat. His cheeks were taut, his brow deeply furrowed. Leaning against a tree for support, Achilleon let out a low groan.

In that moment, many thoughts raced through her mind. The forest in chaos and Achilleon defenseless. The distance to the outer wall. The dim moonlight cut across her path in a straight line, as if illuminating the exit at the end of this path.

Hari immediately searched through her robe, retrieving her pouch that Achilleon had confiscated. From it, she took out mugwort and hemostatic herbs she had stored for emergencies.

“Boiling the roots would be most effective, but we don’t have time. Chewing them raw will still work. They’re for stopping bleeding and fighting infection. If you don’t want to become a corpse here, don’t resist and chew them.”

After hesitating, Achilleon reached out. He grabbed Hari’s wrist, brought it to his lips, and took everything in one mouthful. When his soft lips touched her palm, her body flinched.

“…Why don’t you even suspect I might have given you poison?”

“Whether I die from the poisoned arrow or from poisonous herbs, what’s the difference? Besides, you can’t escape alive after killing me anyway.”

His gaze fell to the shackle on Hari’s ankle. The jewel embedded in its center was emitting a blue light.

“A tracking spell, I see.”

Glaring at the cracked jewel from the impact of their fall, Hari suddenly stood up.

“But none of that matters anymore, Third Prince of Hitais. Because I saved you.”

Hari stepped back cautiously. The thick leaves cast shadows as dark as muddy water across her face.

“I saved you when you were about to die! Isn’t that enough for absolution?”

Hari turned and broke into a run. A hand suddenly shot out and desperately grabbed her himation, but the balance of power had already shifted. There was the sound of linen fabric tearing, followed by a shout.

Margharita—

The man’s voice carried by the wind struck her ears. Hari ignored it, like ignoring a snake’s persistent hissing tongue, and ran through the forest path. Stepping on leaves damp with summer humidity and cutting through the wind, she ran toward where the moonlight shone.

She could have left him to die. Not doing so was a calculated decision in case the escape failed. He wouldn’t be able to kill someone who had saved his life.

The outer wall she finally reached reminded her of Galate’s impregnable tower, which she couldn’t even scratch no matter how hard she tried. The moment she faced those perfect bars that had imprisoned her world, her breath caught and her stomach churned.

‘No, this time is different.’

I can get out.

When she knocked near the wall where small pebbles had been stacked as markers, the stones collapsed to reveal a hidden hole.

“This way!”

Having somehow escaped that chaos already, Ipea reached out her hand. However, the moment Hari climbed over the outer wall, the loose shackle on her ankle suddenly tightened.

“Agh!”

As her skin was crushed and joints ground together in pain, Hari lost her balance and fell.

“Give me your hand. Grab on!”

The sound of the pursuit team’s hooves thundered against the ground. In pain that felt like her ankle was being severed, Hari twisted her body.

She saw Ipea’s tear-filled, pale face as her consciousness began to fade. Armed soldiers with spears and torches surrounded them as densely as forest trees. Watching the scene with despair, Ipea slumped down beside Hari.

“We’d be tracked down anyway if we ran. If we escaped together, attention would focus on you, but alone I’d be caught quickly. I need to take a shield with me.”

“The Third Prince is looking for me. Who knows when another chance will come if not now.”

So run away. I hope at least you can regain your freedom. That was Hari’s sincere wish. Ipea, who had been whipped for causing trouble, wouldn’t get off lightly this time. As Hari pressed her cheek to the ground, she grabbed Ipea’s scarred hand, which remained unmoved.

Just as her tired eyes were about to close, a large net fell over both their heads.

It was the first night that ended in failure.

* * *

“Your Highness, if we hadn’t treated you quickly, it could have been truly dangerous. How did you find mugwort in all that chaos?”

Achilleon regained consciousness on the third day. As he slowly opened his eyes, he saw the thin face of the royal physician who must have spent days and nights tending to him.

“When I first saw Your Highness poisoned by the arrow, I thought the sky was turning yellow. It must have been difficult to find an antidote in such a sudden situation. Heaven must have helped. Instead of losing an arm, you’ve awakened safely like this.”

The arm he unconsciously moved was wrapped in firm bandages. The room was filled with the familiar scent of mugwort. That smell brought back memories from before he lost consciousness.

“But none of that matters anymore, Third Prince of Hitais. Because I saved you.”

“I saved you when you were about to die! Isn’t that enough for absolution?”

“After a day or two of sufficient rest and stability…”

“Where is Margharita?”

Pain like needle pricks followed every movement of his lips. Swallowing the pain, Achilleon pressed the head servant.

“Where is that woman?”

“Ah, about that…”

“I ordered you not to let her escape, did she run away already? I’m asking if you couldn’t catch one fleeing woman!”

Startled by the raised voice, the head servant hurriedly bowed his head.

“The slaves who attempted to escape have been imprisoned in the underground dungeon.”

The hand gripping the sheet suddenly lost its strength. Achilleon gave a bitter laugh.

Right, she shouldn’t escape. How dare she attempt to flee and speak of absolution. His brow furrowed deeper as he recalled the face of the woman who was like a small animal puffing up its feathers to hide its fear.

Foolish woman. How stupid to save an enemy in preparation for being caught. She should have run without looking back. The woman had wastefully squandered what might have been her last chance.

The more he recalled her trembling hands offering the herb stems, the less he understood such foolishness. If she hadn’t gone to such trouble, the woman would have safely escaped the castle.

‘Blood doesn’t lie, it seems.’

The Lagonian tribe that revered all living things. They were a foolishly naive tribe united under the belief in peace and love, regardless of friend or foe. That’s why they must have shown kindness without realizing the King of Galate was approaching their tribe to steal the sacred flower found only in the Lagonian oasis.

One shouldn’t take in a black-haired beast cub.

Achilleon remembered the cruel night when hundreds of tents burned and the massacred Lagonians’ bodies floated on the oasis. Not far away, he had watched a small girl fleeing with her grandmother. The woman who wailed until her throat was raw while holding her grandmother who soon became a cold corpse. That child who was ultimately captured by Galate’s soldiers.

Their eyes met briefly as she was being dragged away, and the child struggled desperately as if pleading for help, but naturally there was nothing Achilleon could do. After all, Achilleon, who was only ten years old at the time, had only sympathy, not power.

‘If you don’t want to meet a miserable end like the Lagonians, you must never neglect training your body, Second Prince. And Third Prince. I hope today’s practical lesson has been educational. Now let us return to the palace.’

‘Being weak is a sin. Then you should die, what else can you do?’

While Antor mounted his horse with a snicker without hesitation, Achilleon couldn’t take his eyes off the tragic scene for a long time because of the wailing girl.

It was over a decade ago.

The only remaining Lagonian bloodline was now locked in Hitais’s filthy underground prison.

You won’t be able to escape again. There won’t be a second chance, Hari.

His sympathy had faded, and his power would give Hari confinement instead of freedom.