Antor, with his exceptional desire for ostentation, bribed people through extravagant means. He gave them money they could never earn in a lifetime, gifted luxurious villas, and offered Helios’ golden diamonds—of which only five existed in all of Rodos—as tokens of affection. He showered hundreds of dresses and accessories upon them. Nothing remained beyond his reach if he wanted it. A life without resistance even bored him.

Except for one thing: the throne of Hitais.

“I like you.”

Irritation grew within him as Hari simply stared at the gold pouch he had tossed on the ground.

“An opportunity like this doesn’t come to just anyone. Come visit the Sun Palace. This time, don’t go to the west side.”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot accept this money. Of course, if Your Highness wishes to see my dance again and pay a fair price for it, I would gladly accept your invitation.”

Hari, who had half-turned her body, alternated her gaze between the gold coin and Antor.

“Additionally, since the Second Prince is known for his reputation of fairness, I believe you will approach the chariot race with the same integrity.”

“What?”

Antor slightly furrowed his brow at the unexpected remark.

“I’m glad I could bring you some joy with my humble performance. I must go now as Achilleon is waiting for me.”

“Wait…”

After glancing down at the pouch, Hari turned away without hesitation and walked off.

“Huh.”

The situation struck him as absurd. The sensation resembled a sudden chill washing over him. A mere slave woman had just rejected him. He felt so dumbfounded that anger couldn’t even surface. However, the ignited desire didn’t cool—rather, it blazed more fiercely at the woman’s arrogant coldness. The afterimage of the golden bird departing without giving him even a moment’s glance shimmered gloriously under the sun. She resembled a trophy of glory given to the victor.

* * *

The waiting area at the stadium bustled with contestants preparing for the race. Women could be seen untying their hair ribbons and placing them on the competitors as tokens. Lovers or husbands.

Hari watched Achilleon as he prepared his chariot, fingering the silk ribbon she had prepared just in case. The ribbon, embroidered with her initials and a small bird at the end, fluttered lightly in the breeze.

‘Your Highness, why did you allow the Lagonian dance?’

‘I thought it would be interesting.’

‘Thank you.’

No other words could describe it but a performance that had burned her soul. At least while dancing, Hari experienced true happiness. Though brief, she felt she had regained something lost. She would never forget the joy that welled up to her throat in that moment when she proclaimed to everyone that Lagonia still lived.

Calming her still-pounding heart from the lingering excitement of the performance, Hari looked around. Achilleon, having finished his preparations, received a bronze helmet from an attendant and put it on.

“Your Highness.”

He slowly turned around. The green eyes beneath the helmet that covered half his face widened slightly.

“Well… everyone seems to be doing this.”

Hari smiled awkwardly and raised both hands to let down her hair. Her wavy golden hair cascaded down her back. He stared at the woman whose fragrance had intensified, then bent down for her. While her white hands approached to tie the ribbon to his shoulder plate, Achilleon unconsciously held his breath. Margharita’s scent, a mixture of flowers and fruit, poured into his embrace. The moment that fragrance enveloped him, his lower abdomen throbbed. Hot heat swept through his body and warmed his breath. Swallowing dryly, Achilleon grabbed both of the woman’s wrists that clung to him like cicadas. Hari looked up. Her pupils trembled slightly when faced with the desire that seemed about to burst through.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I wanted to tie it nicely, but the knot isn’t quite…”

Achilleon, who had been staring at her red, parted lips with consuming intensity, exhaled slowly and loosened his grip.

“I hope you win, Your Highness. Good luck.”

Heat so vivid it could be felt without touching. The signal of a body infused with lust. Margharita, barely managing to pull up the corners of her mouth, fled from the spot. Until the chariots lined up before the start of the race, her pounding heart wouldn’t calm down. Seated in the lower stands, Hari gazed blankly at the tall man who stood out even from this distance.

Why?

While pondering this question with an obvious answer, the judge gave the standby signal.

Achilleon stood on a black chariot engraved with a golden snake. And soon, the heavy resonance of the salpinx (a brass trumpet) announcing the start of the race awakened Hari from her daze.

Thud-thud-thud-thud—more than a dozen chariots left the starting line, raising dust as they raced. The spectators’ cheers, hitting the ears, mixed with the earthquake-like sound of hooves and filled the racetrack. When turning corners, the jeers and cheers reached their peak. The chariots of overly competitive competitors collided with tremendous noise. Horses tumbled in tangles, and a competitor who lost his reins was thrown off. A chariot coming at full speed trampled over the competitor rolling on the ground. Unable to watch this horrific scene any longer, Hari squeezed her eyes shut.

It was cruel and barbaric. The people of Hitais, who routinely engaged in and enjoyed even worse slaughter, abuse, and oppression, were also cruel. So that man, who seemed to have no gaps, would be no exception. Hari opened her eyes when she heard Achilleon’s name amid the cheers. She jumped up and grabbed the fence crossing between the track and the stands.

‘Surely not as the prophecy said…’

But fortunately, there was no sign of a bloodied Achilleon. Now only a few competitors, including Achilleon and Antor, remained on the race track, continuing their combative race. The two princes, alternating in the lead, fueled the audience’s excitement to its peak.

“Achilleon!”

The two chariots clashed. Ka-chang—as the terrifying sound of rupture continued to echo, Hari’s hands gripping the fence became soaked with sweat.

It was then that Antor pulled out a blunt-ended spear.

Crash!

The mercilessly swung spear stabbed into Achilleon’s armor. Achilleon, withstanding the recoil with his strength, also pulled out a spear seemingly in anticipation. While precariously maintaining balance on the running chariot, they engaged in fierce attacks and defenses.

‘No.’

Hari desperately gripped the fence.

I think I finally understand a little.

How to drag you into the swamp.

So you can’t die yet.

As Achilleon’s armor broke, the ribbon Hari had tied there flew far away. Achilleon hesitated and turned his head in the direction the ribbon had flown.

The finish line was right ahead.

Seizing that moment, Antor swung his spear for the final blow, but instead of countering, Achilleon grabbed the reins. In an instant, the direction of the chariot twisted.

The spectators’ cheers, excited by the tense situation, mixed with the horses’ cries.

Crash! The sound of a chariot being half-destroyed followed. As the dust settled, only Antor rolling on the ground and his broken chariot remained on the track. Beside it, distinct wheel marks created by strong friction announced the end of this race.

“Woooah!”

It was Achilleon who stood at the finish line.

* * *

Lust.

Achilleon calmly acknowledged this fact. With a cup at his lips, he stared at Margharita. Even in this commotion, he could clearly hear the woman’s voice as she was surrounded by nobles.

While Achilleon undoubtedly played the protagonist of the outdoor ball celebrating the first victory, at this moment, what attracted the nobles’ interest was Margharita, who had presented an unforgettable opening performance. Those who had insulted and despised her as a slave now desperately sought her return greetings.

Despite this revolting change in attitude, Margharita handled it with flexibility. She led the conversation in a comfortable atmosphere, smiling with gently folded eyes.

“I could never understand those who disrespected Miss Hari from the beginning. They say origins are important, but shouldn’t we show proper respect to such a beautiful lady? Haha.”

Some even spouted meaningless flattery trying to win Hari’s favor. The furrow deepened between Achilleon’s brows as he watched these people swarming like flies.

‘What’s so good about them that you smile like that?’

The woman who only knew how to freeze stiffly in front of him now smiled so freely at other men.

“Your Highness, congratulations on your victory. I was so worried you might get hurt the entire time I was watching.”

With that lingering smile on her face, Hari offered him a toast. The warmth of the woman remained on the drinking cup modeled after a golden ram’s horn.

Either possess her or cut her out.

With a sigh-like laugh, Achilleon stood up holding the cup. There was still plenty of time before night would fall.

“Actually, I have something to tell Your Highness.”

The first day of the festival was passing by. It was late at night, but entering Achilleon’s bedroom had become quite familiar now. Hari secretly swallowed a sigh.

Her body felt weary from the fatigue accumulated while appropriately dealing with nobles who constantly flirted with her. While most approached with light curiosity and s*xual desire, Orseus Schulus differed.

Boasting that his great-uncle was Councilor Duke Clymene, this man acted as if that power belonged to him, and being heavily drunk, he became even more difficult to bear. If Achilleon’s servant hadn’t passed by and extracted her, she might not have escaped the predicament.