“What.”

Dog-like.

“Are you saying, Selina?”

“It wasn’t your doing, right?”

“If you plan to keep bringing up things I barely remember, stop there and leave. Didn’t I tell you? I have too much on my mind to deal with your whining. I’ll send a servant next time.”

Just then, documents on the office desk caught Selina’s attention. Taking large strides to the desk, she snatched up the scattered papers.

“What is this?”

“Put that down, Selina.”

“List of countries attending the Pythian Festival?”

After rummaging through the documents despite the cold reaction, Selina soon lost interest.

“You’re being cold to me because you’re busy with this? What’s so important about it?”

But what really irritated her was something else. Princess Madalena’s seal stamped at the bottom of the document.

“You didn’t say a word to me about any festival…!”

“It’s a security matter.”

“You once said I was more precious in the palace than Madalena! Are you saying she’s allowed but I’m not?”

Setting aside the document contents that she couldn’t care less about, that was the most important issue to Selina. Antor’s expression darkened, resembling someone about to curse at any moment, but she didn’t notice.

“Madalena is a proper princess. Is your standing the same as hers when you don’t even have a title? Don’t mistake my holding you in high regard for others doing the same.”

“Who doesn’t know that? That’s exactly what I’m saying!”

He firmly gripped his hand on the desk. Should he be grateful to his brother for raising his patience to this level? He wanted to smash this fly-like woman so she’d never dare come near him again. But there was no need yet to destroy with his own hands the tower he had so carefully built.

“Didn’t the god of mischief, Eros, shoot a golden arrow at Apollo when he returned after defeating the monster Python? Apollo, engulfed in the flames of love, pursued Daphne, and that poor woman turned into a laurel tree… Doesn’t it sound just like the story of me and Achilleon? It’s all fate’s mischief! I’m sure the spiteful Eros shot a golden arrow into my heart.”

But there wasn’t enough compassion left to listen to such nonsense.

“How else could I explain this unquenchable feeling? Wait. Does that mean Achilleon will never accept my love? Forget what I just said.”

“Shut up, Selina. If you say one more word, I don’t know what I might do to you.”

“What did you say?”

Antor tossed a document. It was the festival’s competition schedule.

“Princes from all four allied nations will participate in the chariot race. Achilleon too, of course. Mark the wheel.”

Selina jumped to her feet.

“I want to deal with the Galate slave, not hurt Achilleon! You’re trying to claim the laurel crown, right? Because you can’t defeat Achilleon without using underhanded methods!”

“What?”

This time, Antor’s face sank menacingly. Selina took a step back, startled by the cold glare she had never seen before. He couldn’t help but laugh at the woman who trembled at a single stern look yet acted seemingly possessing two lives.

“I can’t defeat Achilleon without underhanded methods?”

f*cking, what bullshit.

To control his rising anger, Antor had to grip the corner of the desk tightly. The festival victory, the throne, everything would be his. Antor had no intention of sharing the glory that should rightfully be his with anyone else. But once ignited, his anger wouldn’t easily subside.

Unable to defeat Achilleon. Inferior to that bastard. Me. Me of all people.

The consecutive failed assassinations and the hunting festival trophy. Returning as a hero of the Continental War, bringing along a mere slave-born officer…

‘Achilleon, proud hero. My beloved son. Your name will go down in history, and the civilization we have built will become the foundation of the western continent.’

“…What nonsense.”

Achilleon’s victory march through the Lion’s Gate, the loud cheers acclaiming him.

Why do the memories you want to carve out become clearer with time?

Antor, who had laughed mockingly, sat in his chair with his legs crossed.

Yes, my dear brother. Enjoy your fleeting glory that will soon be buried in mud. Crushing you will be my glory. Know that the best respect I can show you is to bury you next to our brother who went ahead.

So, Achilleon, until then, savor the luck you’ve grasped like grains of sand.

“I don’t want Achilleon to get hurt.”

Antor, having regained his composure, replied in a much softer voice.

“Stop talking nonsense. The opening ceremony before the race. Let’s target the purification ritual.”

“Ah!”

Selina’s face brightened as she tilted her head.

The chariot race, the highlight of the festival. The chariot race, where four horses gallop through a massive stadium, was the most popular sport of the festival. The purification ritual was also a time when people’s attention was focused. The women of the princes who mounted the chariots would quickly circle the arena, sending off white cloths filled with flowers. The scattered flowers would burn like stars, decorating the beginning and end of the competition. In that magnificent spectacle…

“Wouldn’t it be equally magnificent to see that woman being thrown off covered in blood?”

Selina’s lips, who had been listening blankly, stretched into a grin.

“The more red a festival is, the more splendid it becomes.”

“Antor… I almost misunderstood you! To think you had such a plan. I was surprised because I thought you were trying to harm Achilleon, not knowing any of this.”

“Tamper with the wheel well.”

“Leave it to me.”

Antor expressionlessly watched Selina leave with her grave determination. After straightening his disheveled posture, he soon picked up the quill pen stuck in the inkwell as though nothing had happened.

“So simple.”

A mocking sneer seeped between the fluttering papers.

* * *

“…!”

Hari suddenly woke from her sleep. The lyre placed at her feet fell with a thud.

“Hari?”

Achilleon, who had been conversing with his aide, looked at her face drenched in sweat. With a gesture, he dismissed Rainan, put down his pen, and rose.

“Chariot…”

Sunlight pouring through the large window illuminated Hari, who lay on the chaise lounge, making her appear transparent. She must have dozed off while he was receiving reports.

“Did you have a dream?”

“The chariot will be wrecked. You’ll be badly injured…”

“Calm down first.”

Achilleon, who had wiped Hari’s wet face, handed her a glass of cold water. Her ragged breathing gradually slowed. By the time focus returned to her dreamy pupils, Achilleon had put down the handkerchief.

“I’m sorry. I fell asleep… Has Rainan left? I hope I didn’t say anything strange?”

“I sent Rainan away, and you made no mistakes, so don’t worry.”

Only then did Hari exhale in relief. Achilleon had visited her on what seemed like a normal morning, just as she was changing clothes after finishing breakfast. She had dance class in the morning. She had been thinking she should practice the lyre more before class started, so the early visit from her instructor was unexpected. And she certainly hadn’t anticipated that visitor would be Achilleon.

The pretext was to observe the unfinished lessons. He said he needed to see directly that she wasn’t being lazy, but questions remained. Whether it was for observation or to have background music while working, Achilleon was busy processing endless paperwork and receiving reports. All while keeping Hari, who was playing the lyre, seated beside him.

By the time she finished playing two pieces, Hari had also relaxed.

‘All eight locations, including the capital and Ithaca region’s settlements, are safe. We avoided damage by releasing the sacred beasts at the right time. It seems we’ll get through this summer safely. But Your Highness, what about Naxos? The number of beasts has been increasing since the year before last, and since it’s far from the palace, it requires considerable manpower to move the El…’

She could play the lyre while vaguely hearing such conversations. Then she briefly fell asleep leaning against the chair. Now fully awake, Hari hurriedly fixed her disheveled clothes and slipped her bare feet into slippers. To doze off in front of that man and then show such an appearance. Her attitude had been excessively defenseless.

At that moment, Hari flinched at the soft touch on her neck. Achilleon, who had reached out, wiped her damp neck without taking his eyes off her. A distance where breaths mingled. Too defenseless, too close… Their eyes met immediately as she raised her gaze. Dark and vivid pupils that seemed ready to devour her.

A slow, long breath touched her cheek. It was a scent resembling deep wood. Each time his long fingers moved up and down her skin like a grass snake, she felt her fine hairs standing on end. Hari, who had been frozen, quickly lowered her gaze and changed the subject. She felt she had to say something.

“We need to make plans.”

“I suppose we do.”

Achilleon slowly withdrew his hand. The distance widened as quickly as it had narrowed. Standing up with the handkerchief in hand, Achilleon returned to the desk and picked up the documents. He crossed the small reception room from end to end in just a few steps. Tapping the documents with his pen holder, he began to speak.