“Your Majesty.”

Clear, unfocused eyes stare intently at him.

“Tell me an interesting story until I fall asleep.”

“I only know one story. I believe the Hitaisians dislike the Igrito myth.”

Achilleon made no reply. Though he lay defenseless with his face buried in the pillow, his grip on Hari’s wrist remained firm. Under this silent urging, she had no choice but to begin the tale.

“…And so the world’s order was broken, and the black serpent still wanders searching for Igrito’s fruit that remains deeply hidden.”

Eerie and obsessive.

“That’s the story. Your Majesty knows it well.”

Beware of greed and stay away from wicked temptations. Otherwise, you will receive divine punishment, losing your nobility and falling into the mud, until the narrow land where you stand becomes your grave. As she concluded the story with this moral, she heard a snicker.

“Radamut made a wish.”

While thinking about how his drowsy voice blended perfectly with the night, Hari felt herself pulled forward. A husky voice brushed past her shoulder and penetrated her ear.

“That foolish serpent prayed for hundreds of nights, a thousand times, and countless more years beyond measure, always looking up at the sky. For someone who would love him, for love rather than greed. Of course, that goddess you worship wouldn’t grant the wish of a mangy beast.”

“…”

“If he had given up after trying enough, he wouldn’t have learned greater hatred. Consumed by evil, he chewed the roots and craved the fruit. Everyone shunned the serpent who was ultimately cast out with divine punishment. That’s how he remained forever a vulgar and lonely beast.”

She couldn’t understand why he was telling this story. Was he so drunk that he didn’t know what he was saying? But his eyes appeared too clear for that doubt, seemingly penetrating her mind. After hesitation, Hari carefully chose her response.

“I regret what happened to Prince Dictys.”

“Who’s consoling whom here?”

Me consoling you who killed my family. That must be what he meant.

“It’s not consolation. I’m simply showing respect for the deceased.”

She heard another snicker.

“I try not to hold personal grudges against Your Majesty. There was a war, winners and losers were determined, and Galate was destined to fall. You simply stood at the forefront, following King Mempion’s orders.”

It wasn’t entirely sincere, but it wasn’t completely dishonest either. Life becomes too burdensome when carrying hatred. She didn’t possess the venom of the serpent who climbed the tree in rage. She thought it right to release some anger festering in her heart. Sometimes she wondered which proved less miserable—living as a soul slave trapped in a tower or living as a physical slave now. When she realized this merely served as a defense mechanism against misfortune, she decided to stop such thoughts altogether.

“My grandmother told me to blame my bitter hatred on difficult circumstances.”

It was neither resentment nor forgiveness. Achilleon held her entire life in his grasp. A perceptive man would surely recognize hidden hatred and calm hypocrisy, but there remained only one thing Hari could truly say.

“But I’m neither broad-minded nor kind enough to disguise resignation as understanding and live in compliance. So I can’t agree with my grandmother’s words. I don’t need to understand the circumstances that drove you to war.”

“If you hate me, you could kill me right now. You can see I’m drunk, and you have the knife I gave you. It wouldn’t be difficult.”

Hari shook her head. Even if she succeeded in killing this man, she had no guarantee she could escape the heavily guarded castle. She wanted a fair deal. But since he rejected her offer, she intended to stick with her remaining options. Hari controlled her emotions and changed her expression.

“But it’s also true that I can be safe by your side. I’ve lost my family and homeland. No one will accept me, and I have nowhere to go. Outside the castle gates, hungry thieves and slave traders targeting young children and women run rampant. Finding a new settlement right after the war has ended wouldn’t be easy. So I simply made the best choice I could.”

Holding her breath until the right time comes.

“I won’t betray you. I won’t run away or try to seduce you. I don’t intend to do anything that would disturb the peace I’ve barely found.”

Until the day comes when she can finally stab this man in the back and flee far away, she could humor him as much as needed.

“I know you won’t believe me, but I am your person.”

Until the expiration date she had set for their contract. Margharita was willing to move as he wished. The rebellious feelings rising inside her remained separate. If she could deceive a man with sweet words, she could do anything, even against her heart.

Still gripping her wrist, Achilleon had his face buried in the pillow. In the deepening silence, low, regular breathing could be heard. She tried to pull her arm free, but it wouldn’t budge, locked like shackles. After what seemed like a long time, uncertain whether he had fallen asleep, Hari noticed a wooden frame standing on the bedside table. A small photograph was inserted in it. Young Achilleon with black hair and gloomy green eyes, and beside him, the deceased Dictys…

It must be the crown prince whom the queen had cherished dearly.

Moonlight spilled like crumbs over the faces of the two similar-looking brothers. The sound of leaves rustling in the night breeze flowed through the open window like water currents. Despite being summer, the dawn breeze felt quite cold.

“My person.”

A laugh resembling a sneer mixed with the wind, tickling her ear.

“How easily you say such things. Do you know what that means?”

His face, devoured by darkness, was smiling. Hari held her breath under his penetrating gaze.

“I’m asking if you understand the weight of the words you’ve uttered.”

“Isn’t it about helping your ascension to the throne?”

“Be prepared to take responsibility for those pleasing words.”

His large hand wound around Hari’s hair. The pulling force tilted her neck askew. Her tangled hair fell behind her back, revealing the vulnerable neck of a victim. Achilleon slid his finger along her slender neck where thin blood vessels stood out, leaving a warning disguised as gentle advice.

“Otherwise, Margharita, I will be terribly disappointed in you. I hope I won’t have to cut the throat of ‘my person’ with my own hands again.”

“…”

The woman’s lowered eyelashes trembled faintly. The intoxication deepens. Achilleon impulsively lowered his head and kissed the woman’s neckline bathed in moonlight. The completely restrained woman’s body smelled of sweet grapes.

Before the waning month arrived. The darkest moonlit night was passing.

* * *

For several days, Hari couldn’t see Ipea. Hari didn’t look for Ipea. Now she no longer wore the shabby leather clothes and ankle shackles that symbolized slavery. She wore dazzling gold bracelets and a peplos that fluttered like wings, eating sweet wheat bread and cake. A prince’s favored mistress had no need to concern herself with a slave’s circumstances.

“A personal invitation from Lady Selina. Being invited to a party enjoyed secretly by a select few nobles represents an unparalleled honor, Miss Hari.”

Laodike, the head maid who had beaten Ipea, spoke enviously. Laodike was only two or three years older than Hari but had secured the position of head maid with her mother’s power backing her.

“I’ve never been invited, so please tell me what it was like when you return. I hear most children of high-ranking administrators receive invitations, but… my strict mother dislikes such entertainments. So I’ve never been.”

“That doesn’t seem to be the reason. I also don’t see why you, Laodike, would need to attend a party at the Karnos mansion.”

At this leisurely retort, Laodike’s eyes narrowed like a viper’s.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I imagine your mother couldn’t send her precious daughter to such a lowbrow party. As you know, Lady Selina’s parties are quite notorious, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they call them wild parties. I’ve heard the people there are absolutely mad. I’m curious about what happens inside, but…”

“That’s exactly it. Doesn’t your family also host tea parties during the social season? I hesitate to say this, but I believe Duke Pasha’s parties may be smaller in scale than the Karnos family’s, but they’re of higher class.”

“Oh my…”

Duke Pasha and Duke Karnos are sworn enemies. The children who grew up watching these two adults determined to criticize and suppress each other continued their sharp rivalry.

Laodike harbored an inferiority complex toward the beautiful Selina. Her sinister eyes, always looking to find fault, proved this.