“Ruben?”

Ikael, sensing something was wrong, called his name. But Ruben’s fixed gaze did not waver.

It was only natural for him to prioritize Lette. She was the leader of the revolutionaries, the saintess, and the daughter of his only mentor. Moreover, they had recently received a blood-written threat targeting her. Unlike Helia, Lette couldn’t heal herself. Ensuring her safety was his duty, and his actions were justified.

But why did it feel like he had committed a grave sin? Why did the sight of her golden eyes fill him with such guilt, making him want to kneel before her and beg for forgiveness? Why did an overwhelming despair claw at him, urging him to plead, to say, Forgive me… no, blame me… no, please don’t blame me? His throat burned as if it were on fire.

Would this feeling fade if he looked away? If he averted his gaze from her eyes? But Ruben couldn’t bring himself to turn away. He stared at her as if afraid she would vanish at any moment, his gaze unrelenting.

“Your Highness, are you all right?”

Amid the chaos, a maid regained her composure and hurried to Helia’s side to check on her. Only then did Helia slowly shift her gaze away from Ruben. Her empty, vacant eyes met the maid’s, and the poor woman froze as though she had caused the chandelier to fall. The maid stammered, bowing deeply as she quickly added more words.

“I will summon the royal physician immediately. Please, wait just a moment—”

“My maid is waiting outside. Call her.“

“Pardon?“

“I don’t need treatment.“

“But your injuries—”

Helia silently stared at the maid, her gaze unwavering. The maid flinched, quickly understanding her mistake.

“I apologize! I’ll fetch her right away!”

The maid abandoned all decorum and dashed out of the banquet hall. Those left behind formed a hesitant circle around Helia, their worried gazes fixed on her, but none dared approach. Her bloodstained dress grew darker and darker as the stain spread.

It was when Ruben, unable to bear watching any longer, tried to rise to his feet that Lette beat him to it. She sprang up and rushed toward Helia. In that frozen moment, it seemed she was the only one capable of moving. Everyone else could do nothing but watch her.

“Your Highness.“

“……“

“I’ll heal you immediately.”

Just as Lette reached out to touch Helia’s injured knee, the princess slapped her hand away with a sharp smack. Lette’s delicate hand wavered in the air, its direction lost.

“How dare you.“

“Your Highness…“

“Take your filthy hands off me.”

The entire room fell into stunned silence. The saintess’s hands—called filthy? People were shocked, their thoughts spiraling between disbelief and bitter confirmation. Sympathy and concern dissipated in an instant, replaced by resentment and outrage. Once again, Helia had become the room’s villain.

Lette recoiled, her outstretched hand frozen in the air. For the first time, she seemed shaken, retreating slightly from the rejection.

Watching this, Ruben felt his breath catch in his throat. Helia’s refusal to accept help from anyone, even now, was maddeningly consistent. Her stubborn isolation no longer saddened him—it infuriated him.

But then Helia calmly pressed her bloodied hand against the floor. Slowly, she bent her knees. She was trying to stand. Sticky blood smeared across her fingers as she pushed herself up.

More blood gushed from her wounds as her weight shifted. A small pool of crimson formed beneath her feet, painting a gruesome picture. It was unbearable to watch.

Yet Ruben couldn’t bring himself to touch her. A part of him wanted to scoop her into his arms and carry her away, but another part of him—bound by an unspoken rule—stopped him from acting.

Conflicting emotions coexisted within him. She was so wounded and frail that it seemed she might collapse with just a touch. And yet, the overwhelming aura from her made it impossible to approach.

He knew what it meant—she was rejecting him.

Her condition was too severe for him to grant her wish to be left alone. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to go against her will. Instead, Ruben refrained from withdrawing his outstretched hand. He rose to his feet and spoke again, forcing strength into his voice to prevent it from breaking.

“If you refuse treatment, you must return to the mansion immediately.“

“That’s my intention.”

Fortunately, Helia accepted the notion of returning to the ducal residence. Relieved, Ruben continued,

“I will have a carriage prepared at once. Though it may be inconvenient, I will assist you until then.“

“That won’t be necessary.“

“Princess.“

“I’ll return alone. Please continue enjoying the banquet.”

It was already a ruined banquet. Xeroth had quietly excused himself to prevent further incidents, and the nobles had edged toward the hall walls, casting nervous glances. Continuing the banquet was out of the question, with the shattered chandelier dominating the hall’s center. Even so, Helia spoke as if nothing had happened—her injuries were trivial.

“What are you saying…?“

“Your Highness.”

Interrupting Ruben, Helia’s personal maid, Lina, suddenly appeared. Usually, her disregard for protocol would have been offensive, but Ruben didn’t have time to feel annoyed. Anxiety filled his mind, drowning out everything else. Warning bells rang in his head—he was about to be pushed aside, dismissed by none other than a mere maid.

“There you are,“ Helia said.

“Yes, Your Highness.“

“Support me. Let’s return to the mansion.“

“Understood.”

Lina quickly placed her hands on Helia’s shoulders to support her. Ruben frowned in frustration. Indeed, it would be easier to carry her rather than make her strain her legs. Why couldn’t she see reason? Why was she so stubborn, so oblivious to her own pain?

“Allow me to carry you.“

“No.“

“Princess.“

‘Please.‘ Ruben swallowed the plea rising in his throat. If begging would change her mind, he would do so. He even felt willing to kneel before her at this moment.

Yet Helia’s expression remained cold. Her voice was detached—indifferent to a degree she wouldn’t even show to a stranger.

“Did you not hear me? I said it’s unnecessary.”

Ruben froze. He stopped moving altogether as if someone had turned him into stone.

Rejection was nothing new in their relationship. So why did it feel this way now? Unbelievably, it was as if the entire world had denied his existence. At the same time, a voice from deep within whispered words he didn’t even realize he feared: You’ve been abandoned.

Abandoned? The notion was absurd. By whom? He and Helia had no relationship in which abandonment was even possible. They had never belonged to each other in the first place.

And yet, why did it feel like she was tightening a leash around his neck? Why did it feel like his breath was caught in his throat, as though he was suffocating? Why did his heart sink and his feet falter as if the ground beneath him collapsed?

Why, with just one word of rejection, did he feel as if the entire world had been stripped from him, leaving him in unbearable darkness?

As Ruben remained frozen in place, Helia began to walk forward. Bright red footprints stained the floor with every step, vivid against the pale tiles. No one dared approach her as she moved.

By the time she disappeared from the banquet hall, leaving only a trail of bloody footprints, no one had stopped her.

It was the second day of the Harvest Festival.