A guest, she thought. Achilleon couldn’t understand why this woman, with whom he had no particular connection, would request time with Margharita. After scrutinizing her intentions with narrowed eyes, he answered readily.

“If that is the Princess Consort’s wish, do as you please.”

“It would be my greatest honor if you would visit my palace with the beautiful lady.”

The eye contact was brief, and that was the extent of their conversation. Madalena grabbed her limping daughter’s hand and disappeared down the far end of the corridor. The shadows of the isolated mother and daughter, contrasting with their luxurious attire, cast an even lonelier impression.

He discovered Margharita while passing by the pergola in the garden. The commotion caught his attention first, and Margharita was at its center.

“That fabric is what I offered to Queen Tiltia!”

“How dare a lowly slave who only does menial work tell such lies. You stole my fabric to curry favor with the Queen, you wretch!”

Achilleon shifted his gaze to where the sharp voices were coming from. Even from here, he could see the kneeling woman and the head lady-in-waiting spewing insults. As he was about to turn away from the pointless commotion, he hesitated upon seeing Margharita standing beside them with a serene face.

“I’m not lying. She knows that I sat at the loom day and night weaving fabric for the Queen! Isn’t that right, Hari?”

“Heilotai Ipea! You must have lost your mind. Lady Hari is not someone a thing like you can address so casually. Take this woman away immediately!”

Ipea’s face, accused of being a liar and thief, was already bruised and swollen from beatings.

“My lady, are you acquainted with this woman?”

The head lady-in-waiting holding a switch questioned. It was Laodike, daughter of Elder Pasha and head lady-in-waiting of the Queen’s palace.

“She helped me a lot when I first came to the palace. She seems to be under some misunderstanding. That fabric must be what you personally wove for Her Majesty the Queen.”

Hari’s face remained impassively calm as she looked at Ipea, whose face was contorted with despair.

“This child must have worked for quite some time too, and it’s unfortunate that the tribute meant for the Queen was stolen. As it happens, the embroidery done by both of you was similar, causing trouble for the head lady-in-waiting. But since this child must have made a mistake due to her great sense of loss, please forgive her generously.”

“She deserves to be beaten until her limbs are crushed, but I’ll spare her for your sake, my lady. Take that wench away and lock her in solitary confinement!”

The disturbance ended with Ipea being dragged away, kicked by the maids. Moments later, watching Hari turn around and engage in casual conversation with the head lady-in-waiting as if nothing had happened, Achilleon let out an empty sigh.

Their eyes met unexpectedly. Those frighteningly cold red eyes widened slightly, but the surprise quickly subsided. Hari gave him a businesslike eye greeting before rejoining the head lady-in-waiting’s chatter.

Adding graceful smiles and appropriate responses was just extra. Her bird-like light steps made Hari appear like a true noble. Though only her clothes had changed, the woman seemed naturally part of Hitais’s upper society from birth. She was eye-catching even in rags. Remembering the king’s lustful gaze as he looked her over made Achilleon feel disgusted.

What was it he had said to the priest then?

‘Is that woman a snake with venomous fangs?’

Ipea and Margharita. He remembered how close the two had been.

When the two women reached the fork in their opposing paths, Achilleon couldn’t help but smirk.

A woman closer to a snake hiding its venomous fangs. At least he could give a more definite answer than that incompetent priest.

* * *

It was past midnight when Hari entered Achilleon’s bedroom at his summons.

“You called for me.”

She wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of alcohol. Empty bottles were messily arranged on the wooden table. Hari’s body tensed when she discovered the man tilting his glass.

“Come closer.”

Despite his disheveled appearance, his voice rang out clearly through the night. His eyes, too, as he looked at her after removing the glass from his lips, showed clear consciousness.

“Please tell me why you called for me.”

“Why? Can’t I call for my lover because I want to see them?”

She was taken aback hearing words she never expected to come from Achilleon’s mouth, even at this hour. Hari quickly regained her composure.

“Though we may be acting as lovers, I didn’t think we were close enough for private meetings late at night.”

“Something happened at the temple during the day, didn’t it?”

She could see his exposed Adam’s apple bobbing. His red lips glistened in the moonlight streaming through the window.

“Weren’t you close? You could have protected her. You have that much power.”

Achilleon straightened his slouching upper body.

“At least more than that head lady-in-waiting who struts around following the Queen’s every move. If you had just testified properly, your friend wouldn’t have been dragged to solitary confinement.”

“If you’re talking about Ipea, I didn’t want to get involved in unnecessary matters and make enemies. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to be at odds with the Queen’s people either.”

Hari’s expression remained unchanged even as she received what amounted to criticism.

“The head lady-in-waiting is the daughter of Elder Pasha, one of the two pillars of the Elder Council. If you’re asking why I couldn’t expose her lies in front of everyone, I don’t have that kind of courage.”

That’s when her firm voice showed its first crack. Achilleon stared at the woman who bit her lip, enduring her own cowardice. The moonlight illuminated Margharita’s hunched body in white. Her eyelashes, paler than that moonlight, trembled slightly.

The face of a woman who becomes heartless for her own benefit was so clear like a Paedia (an immature goddess) that it felt even more out of place. Hari lifted her long eyelashes to meet Achilleon’s gaze. It must be because of the moonlight enveloping her that those eyes, so calm they seemed devoid of warmth, appeared beautiful like white stars.

“You’ve had too much alcohol. It’s not good for your health.”

“Mm.”

He spoke without taking his eyes off hers. The strong scent mixed with each word he uttered. Though his mind was clear, his body wouldn’t move naturally, so he must be drunk, Achilleon thought absently while shaking the bottle of strong liquor.

“You’re quite drunk.”

“Yes, I am.”

Accessories scattered on the floor. Purple alcohol staining the back of his hand. A messy room wrapped in cold air. Though she must have felt something different from usual, the woman didn’t ask. It was also a relationship where she didn’t need to ask. Achilleon’s mouth moved impulsively when Hari stopped two steps away.

“It’s my brother’s death anniversary.”

Whether due to drunkenness, impulse, or the woman’s unprecedented presence, his mouth moved on its own. But none of that mattered. Achilleon reached out and grabbed Hari’s wrist, pulling her in. After hesitating briefly, the woman let herself be pulled and stood between Achilleon’s knees. A woman as white as if she had swallowed the moon. Her arms were cold, her waist thin as a fish’s, and her stomach flat.

Achilleon breathed in the sweet scent that came like an ambush. Why did he call this woman?

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“…Should I sing you a lullaby?”

Her expression was reproachful, as though she was asking if this too was part of a mistress’s role. Her face, swallowing her displeasure, drew a meaningless laugh from him.

“Do you think that’s all I called you for at this hour?”

However, even Achilleon himself didn’t know what he wanted to do. Swept up in drunkenness, he called for the woman who hadn’t shown even a hem of her clothes for days before briefly showing her cold face and turning away.

A woman who could stab him right now if she wanted to, who resembled the god he despised.

Achilleon could have laid her on the bed with just a word. As if that had been his purpose from the start. That’s why the words he blurted out were even more disconcerting.

“Do you know why Dictys died?”

Strangely, that bewilderment subsided before Hari’s emotionless expression. He gripped the woman’s hand filled with small warmth and said:

“Antor killed him. Why don’t people see that it was all his doing?”

“……”

“If there were gods, they should have punished him. Not let him survive like a parasite and covet the throne.”

As he spoke, his mind gradually cleared. Achilleon furrowed his brow while wiping his alcohol-flushed face with his palm. He had no regrets about the words he’d already spoken. She was a woman who wouldn’t care if someone fought for the throne or if the palace burned down right now.

Margharita, who wanted nothing but ‘freedom.’ A woman who would maintain her distance even if he babbled about dirty plots, scratched inner circumstances, and secrets borne alone. If Hitais, covered in hypocrisy, malice, and misaligned beliefs, were to perish, she would watch from afar without joy or relief. Somehow, he felt Margharita would be like that.

As long as he held her wings, Achilleon could use her as he pleased. He could order her to serve as an instrument of lust or as a faithful knight guarding this night. Any protest wouldn’t last long, and Margharita would comply with unreasonable demands. So Achilleon did what he wanted to do. He pulled Margharita to lie beside him.