“The enemy has invaded! Everyone, run!”

The once-silent old tower trembled with the thunderous shouts.

Cracks ran across the tower walls, and thick layers of dust blanketed the worn stone floor.

At the very top of the tower, in a room darker and quieter than anywhere else, was Yvette.

Yvette forced her heavy eyelids open.

Shouts echoed throughout the tower, followed by the deafening crash of shattering windows and screams whose source she could not identify.

Collapsed on a shabby bed, Yvette flinched at a distant scream that sounded as though it might break off at any moment, but she could barely keep her eyes open.

The instant Yvette reached out and grabbed the wooden bedside table, a sharp pain spread through her fingertips.

A protruding splinter sliced shallowly across her palm. Drops of blood trickled down and stained the bedsheet.

‘Was this supposed to hurt?’

Her expression numb, Yvette closed her eyes, then opened them again.

Thud, thud.

The sound of someone running drew closer.

The screams grew fiercer, as though someone were being killed, and the rarely visited tower filled with cries of unknown origin.

‘Has a rebellion broken out?’

‘Or is it war…?’

In truth, whether war broke out or not, Yvette’s circumstances would not change.

She was a beggar queen imprisoned in a tower.

Calling her a queen was almost laughable when she lived in rags. The room contained nothing but a creaking bed, a bedside table with splinters jutting from it, and two dresses so worn that their colors had faded.

Her body, battered by her husband’s violence the night before, still refused to move, as though it had been nailed to the floor.

Her husband had kicked Yvette all night with his booted feet, leaving dark bruises across her gaunt, pale skin, which had little more than bones beneath it.

“I told you not to look at me like that! You deserve to be beaten no matter what. That’s the fate you’re meant to suffer, so don’t blame anyone. This is how traitors end up! You’ll rot beside me for the rest of your life.”

Her husband’s crazed laughter as he swung his leather belt had reduced Yvette to a wretched state.

For Yvette, who was forced to endure her husband’s violence, the nights were a time of misery.

It did not matter whether war broke out or the kingdom fell.

Yet even though she had been imprisoned in a tower, Yvette was still the queen of the southern Kingdom of Vendels.

No matter how far she had fallen, she had to carry herself with dignity.

She forced herself upright to preserve that noble pride, but her wounded body refused to obey. She barely managed to slide off the bed before collapsing onto the floor.

She had no strength left to endure.

‘Father, Brother…’

Her beloved family came to mind.

The creaking lock shattered with a dull crack, as though something had struck it.

Had war truly broken out?

Still slumped on the floor, Yvette barely managed to lift her head.

Click. Click.

The rhythmic sound of boots.

Only a soldier could produce such sharp, disciplined footsteps.

Yvette squeezed her eyes shut, sensing that her end had come. Her cheeks, red and swollen from holding back tears, burned hot.

A pair of legs came into view as someone approached her where she sat on the floor. A soldier standing beside the man raised a salute.

“This is Yvette Aeris, Queen of Vendels.”

“The queen…?”

At the man’s words, the officer beside him bowed deeply.

The man who had approached with steady military footsteps withdrew a hand from his pocket.

Yvette tried to raise her head, but her body would not obey.

Then the blue-eyed man who had come to stand before her slowly seized her chin in one hand.

At the rough grip, Yvette let out a short, muffled cry.

“Mm!”

‘It can’t be.’

As she fell from the bed to the floor, Yvette could barely stay conscious through the feverish heat consuming her body. Even so, she knew the identity of the man whose eyes met hers.

Cobalt-blue eyes like the deep sea.

She had never forgotten them. Not even once.

‘You.’

‘How are you standing before me?’

Tears spilled from Yvette’s trembling eyes.

Once her stubborn sobs finally subsided, the man in the long frock coat leisurely lowered his hand, as though dismissing them as crocodile tears.

The overwhelmingly tall man stood with his back perfectly straight. His hair was black, and his eyes were a vivid blue.

His glossy black coat matched the color of his hair, making him look like a single shadow.

“Ah…”

A bloodstained sob threatened to tear free from Yvette’s throat. She did not even have the strength left to wipe away the hot tears running down her cheeks.

“War spoils.”

At the man’s words, the adjutant beside him immediately bowed deeply.

“Your Highness, Crown Prince, what shall we do with the Queen of Vendels?”

“She is a trophy of our victory. We’ll take her to Conwell.”

The frigid blue eyes turned away from Yvette.

Perhaps sensing something strange, the adjutant left the room in the tower. The hurried sound of his footsteps descending the stairs followed.

As Damon turned his back, his cloak swept through the air.

Then Yvette’s hoarse, cracked voice trembled softly.

“Theo…”

At Yvette’s trembling voice, Damon’s boots, which had remained steady all this time, faltered.

“You’re Theo, aren’t you? You really are Theo… aren’t you?”

Too weak even to stand, Yvette crawled across the floor, unable to wipe away the hot tears streaming down her face.

She collapsed with a thud.

Before losing consciousness, Yvette saw a pair of blue eyes glaring at her with cruel intensity.

“That’s right, Yvette. Your Theo has returned. Your one and only sl*ve, who obeyed your every word like a dog.”

* * *

Vendels, the prosperous kingdom of the south, had fallen to the Kingdom of Conwell, whose people were known as the barbarians of the north.

It had been inevitable.

With its fertile lands and formidable army, the Kingdom of Vendels had ruled the south and half of the central region. Yet its destruction had been foreseeable from the moment the tyrant James ascended the throne.

Unlike his father, who had been an outstanding ruler, James cared nothing for the kingdom, preferring luxury and pleasure instead.

The Kingdom of Conwell, which had long remained quiet in the north, launched a sudden attack on Vendels and crushed the kingdom’s heartland in one swift strike.

“Bring me the ruler of the defeated kingdom.”

The Crown Prince of Conwell had delivered victory.

At a single command from Damon, everyone moved in perfect order.

Seated upon the golden throne, his navy-blue boots reeked of the blood spilled while eliminating the soldiers of Vendels.

Damon looked down from the golden throne, a seat reserved for kings alone.

Several nobles, the generals of Vendels, and James—the ruler of Vendels and a man notorious as a tyrant—had all been forced to their knees.

Breathing heavily through clenched teeth, James glared at Damon, the man who had plundered his kingdom.

“You! You filthy sl*ve! You lowborn, wretched bastard! How dare you…!”

“I would like to hear how it feels to submit to that wretched bastard, Your Majesty.”

“You son of a b*tch!”

More than the fall of his kingdom, it was the humiliation of having raised a white flag before Damon that wounded the tyrant’s pride.

James roared, “A year ago, I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“You failed. That is why I am alive and standing here now, James Aeris.”

“Shut up, you son of a b*tch! You’re nothing but a marauder! I am the master of Vendels!”

As James screamed until the veins stood out on his neck, a faint smile escaped through Damon’s teeth, as light as wind brushing past.

“How amusing. When our soldiers stormed your bedchamber, I heard you were panting on top of the head maid.”

“…!”

“Waving that small, pathetic thing of yours around until the soldiers dragged you off her.”

“Wh-what…?”

At Damon’s mockery, the back of James’s neck flushed scarlet as he knelt on the floor.

He had known nothing of the invasion until the soldiers burst in, too occupied with Selina—his mistress and chief lady’s maid.

Belated humiliation surged through him.

James curled his lips at the composed Damon.

There was only one way to strike at the man’s most vulnerable point.

“So, have you met my queen? How did it feel to reunite with her after a year? Did she welcome you?”

“……”

“Every night, that woman lay beneath me and screamed so—aargh!”

The adjutant standing beside James swept his long sword across the king’s cheek.

Damon, who had been resting his chin on one hand, rose from the golden throne without a trace of expression and descended the steps.

As Damon left the long banquet hall, James, still forced to his knees, shouted after him.

“Yvette is my queen! Even if you die, you’ll never have that woman!”

At James’s roar, Damon turned back toward the tyrant.

Stride by stride.

The measured thud of his military boots striking the floor drew closer to James, who could barely breathe.

Then Damon bent near him and whispered so quietly that no one else could have heard.

“You’re wrong. Yvette is my bride. I came to take back the bride who was stolen from me.”

“…!”

“It is unfortunate that she is my wife who betrayed me.”

A merciless sneer spread across Damon’s lips.

An unidentifiable sheen gathered in his bloodshot eyes.

Just as it had that day one year ago.

Back when he had no idea that everyone would betray him.