Thump.

As though trapped in a dream, Damon wandered through the misty depths of an abyss.

His breath rose to his throat.

He stood amid a battlefield where blades clashed without end.

“Your Highness! You must pull yourself together. The defensive line is about to collapse!”

“Gillian!”

“I’ll cover the rear! If we fail to hold this position, the road to Conwell will be exposed! You must find your strength!”

“Very well. Leave the rear unit behind. I’ll take command of the mercenary vanguard!”

“Remember this. Conwell’s future rests upon you, Your Highness. I, Gillian Tropos, commander of the mercenary corps, will always stand at your side. As long as we draw breath, our mercenaries will follow you!”

“Gillian!”

The shouts of mercenaries rang through the clash of blades.

The valiant cry of Gillian, commander of the mercenary corps.

And the man standing at the forefront of the battlefield, holding aloft the flag of the Kingdom of Conwell.

It was Damon.

—Stab.

“It will only end when you die. You have to die! Only then will my son become crown prince!”

Catherine’s voice pierced his heart.

The serpentine, rancid smile of Viscount Herbert, who had betrayed him from behind.

Even the cowardly sight of his half-brother Joseph hiding behind Viscount Herbert as he aimed a poisoned arrow at him.

Every image remained vividly seared into Damon’s mind.

“Gasp!”

Damon’s blue eyes flew open and fixed upon a white wall.

Cold sweat streamed over his entire body, dampening his cheeks and jaw.

The hot, sticky sensation beneath his pillow was unpleasant.

Damon reached behind his head and felt beneath it.

A bandage had been wrapped around the wound. Although a little blood was still seeping through, it seemed the bleeding had stopped.

With a groan, Damon pushed himself upright. Yvette hurried toward him, her eyes swollen from crying.

“Theo, are you awake?”

She approached cautiously and clasped his hand tightly.

Damon’s cool eyes stared vacantly at the beige wall for a moment before slowly taking in the objects around the room.

Everything entered his vision as though he were learning to recognize an unfamiliar world all over again.

He frowned slightly, then instinctively wrenched his hand from Yvette’s grasp.

At that small movement, Yvette’s shoulders trembled faintly. A moment later, large tears silently rolled down both her cheeks.

While Damon had lain unconscious, Yvette’s once-large, clear eyes had swollen from crying, leaving her looking as frail as a withered flower.

A former slave serving in the guard, lying in the bedroom of the Grand Duke’s only daughter.

Damon dragged a large hand over his face as though washing it dry.

His gaze suddenly turned cold and murderous, and he remained silent.

Believing that, too, was her fault, Yvette anxiously shifted from foot to foot.

“I’ll go bring the doctor right away. Just stay here for a moment!”

Yvette swept out of the bedroom, dragging the hem of her dress behind her.

Beyond the closed doors of the princess’s bedroom, cream-colored curtains fluttered through the open terrace.

The Conrad Duchy was peaceful.

‘I survived that cliff.’

‘Now that this tenacious life of mine has endured, they will pay the price.’

Thanks to the thug striking him in the head, the memories of who he was had returned without warning.

His days as the crown prince who had led a mercenary corps and been called the Lion of the Battlefield.

The serpentine smile of Viscount Herbert, once his supporter, and the sight of his half-brother betraying him at the final moment.

And behind them both, the true architect manipulating everything—his father’s mistress, Marchioness Catherine Brigard.

Blood-soaked fury awakened within Damon as he clenched his fist.

‘I have returned to life.’

Even after the dark blue waves swallowed him beneath that cliff, he had stubbornly survived.

He had made them a promise.

That if he lived, he would return and repay them a hundredfold.

As the crown prince of Conwell.

In the form they feared most.

Damon bit his lower lip until the flesh split and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

But for now, he was nothing more than a slave with nothing to his name.

Even if he returned to Conwell alone, Catherine would have him assassinated before he ever reached the palace.

‘I need power.’

‘Forces that will support me—and an army.’

Damon thought of the mercenary corps that had fought beside him, and of its commander, Gillian.

The beast of the battlefield who had guarded the border, drenched in blood as he cut down enemy soldiers.

It would be ideal if he could bring the mercenary corps under his command, but realistically, that was impossible.

In that case—

“Theo! I called the doctor. He’ll be here soon. Drink this first. It’s water mixed with honey.”

Yvette returned carrying a bowl of water and held it out to Damon, her face flushed red.

Her eyes and cheeks had reddened with worry, and she was beside herself at the thought that Damon might be seriously injured.

The hopelessly naive daughter of the Grand Duke.

‘If the Grand Duke of Conrad and his soldiers help me, entering Conwell should pose no difficulty.’

‘But there is no chance they would ever do that for a former slave serving as a guardsman.’

If the grand duke of a neutral duchy recklessly aided a frontier crown prince facing assassination threats from the true power behind Conwell’s royal court, he could end up making an enemy of the southern Kingdom of Vandels.

‘How can I draw Conrad into this?’

The moment Damon looked at her crimson cheeks as she held out the bowl with trembling hands, the back of his neck burned hot.

Thump. Thump.

It was the pounding heart of a hunting dog thrilled to have its prey in its sights.

The perfect plan to claim Conrad’s power as his own with ease, enter Conwell without bloodshed, and never stain his hands.

‘I intend to make it appear that I am this foolish princess’s true lover.’

If he could only keep this woman, still untouched by the ways of the world, by his side, everything ahead would proceed far more smoothly.

Simply because he was the lover of his beloved daughter, the Grand Duke would eventually have no choice but to lend him his army.

As Damon’s gaze lingered on Yvette’s softly apricot-tinted cheeks, a faint smile spread across his lips like a shimmer of heat.

“Thank you, Yvette.”

“You really are all right now, aren’t you? I truly thought something terrible had happened to you. I’ll never put you in danger again. I promise.”

At Yvette’s shy smile, Damon merely smiled gently in response.

That guileless princess caught in his net would stand at the very forefront of his grand revenge.

As a pitiful sacrifice.

As a target for his vengeance.

Making an innocent young lady his own would be easier than twisting a child’s wrist.

His cool, handsome smile showing, Damon drained the honeyed water in one gulp and handed the bowl back to Yvette, who could not hide the blush on her cheeks.

“As long as you weren’t hurt, that’s all that matters.”

“Theo…!”

Yvette’s gaze wavered faintly, drained of strength, like the fragile flame of a candle trembling in the wind.

“The truth is… society doesn’t look kindly upon me. They whisper that I don’t belong among them. Because of that, I’ve become a blemish on my brother and father as well. They say I don’t behave as a young lady of the Grand Ducal House should. That’s why I tried to go quietly and come back unnoticed. Any ridicule directed at me is tied to their honor too. Lady Pellose, in particular, can hardly stand me. I suppose she simply hates me.”

Yvette had not wandered into a dangerous district simply out of childish recklessness.

She had been afraid that, if people learned she had gone there to buy modest gifts for the servants and their families, they would point fingers at her for encouraging extravagance and vanity as a princess of the Grand Ducal House.

Understanding the kindness behind Yvette’s concern for those beneath her station, Damon slowly spoke.

“Don’t mind them. No matter what malicious gossip those noblewomen spread, you are still you.”

“…Do you truly believe that?”

When Damon silently nodded, Yvette’s honey-blonde hair flowed softly over her shoulders.

Her cheeks flushed like ripe apricots, and her delicate heart began to beat cautiously.

‘He listened to me sincerely and believed me.’

The fine, downy skin of Yvette’s cheeks reddened like a rabbit’s.

Damon had already risen and reached for the bloodstained guard uniform draped over the chair.

Yvette gathered the stained uniform into her arms.

“You were hurt because of me. You got injured trying to save me. I-I’ll make you a new one.”

“I can’t let you do such difficult work with your own hands…”

“No. I need to change too. I can’t keep causing trouble for others. I-I’ll do this myself.”

“…!”

“I’ll make you a new uniform myself, Theo.”

Damon rose and suddenly stepped toward Yvette, who barely reached his chest.

For an instant, an intent look settled in his blue eyes.

It seemed tender, yet the overwhelming pressure radiating from him wrapped around Yvette’s entire body, leaving her unable to move.

‘What is this? Why is my heart beating so fast? Why can’t I look Theo in the face? Whose heartbeat is this?’

Still clutching Damon’s uniform, Yvette froze as he approached as though he were about to embrace her.

‘He’s too close! What do I do…?’

Yvette squeezed her eyes shut.

Reaching past the rigid Yvette, Damon picked up the guard’s longsword and leather belt behind her.

“There’s a sparring match coming up soon. I should return the sword, Yvette.”

A victorious smile curved Damon’s lips as he reached behind her shoulder.