‘This is going to end in a bad tie between us.’

Speaking honestly made her face burn with discomfort.

“So please, stop saying things like that so easily.”

Isabel turned her gaze to the side.

‘I must really look like that,’ she thought—right as Kailhart leaned in closer, his voice low and barely more than a breath by her ear.

The moment she slightly tilted her head, her eyes caught their reflection in the fogged-up mirror diagonally in front of her.

Kailhart, securing her with one arm, was tending to various things without pause. He carefully removed the needle from her arm, checked her temperature and pulse, then slowly massaged her pale, chilled legs one by one.

‘Did he come to see me often while I was unconscious?’

But the way he handled the needle himself, the way he brushed aside the stray strands from her forehead, those weren’t the kinds of things someone learned in a few days.

He didn’t stop until her stiff limbs were fully relaxed and able to move again. Only then did his hands slow.

“You seem… oddly used to this.”

And it wasn’t just a feeling—he really was skillful.

His touch was gentle, pressing just hard enough not to cause pain, moving across her body with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this before.

Even though she couldn’t imagine Kailhart in the role of a caregiver, not even for a moment.

“In fact, it almost feels like you know my body better than I do.”

The way he had calmed her during her coughing fit, the way he instinctively moved—it had all felt like the actions of someone deeply familiar with her.

As if he knew her better than anyone else in the world. Better even… than she knew herself.

“Of course I do.”

‘Because we’re married.’

However, his voice remained calm and matter-of-fact.

That familiar strangeness crept into her again—something both intimate and foreign sinking beneath her skin.

“It’s our duty—and our right.”

He never raised his voice, but she could tell.

Kailhart was clearly shaken.

And that restlessness in him wasn’t for something distant or abstract.

“So then, as your wife, am I allowed to ask you something?”

“Of course. Ask anything.”

“Was it for me?”

It had always come back to her.

The reason he’d made time to visit the outskirts of Saint-au—her hometown, now nothing but scorched ruins—had been the same.

‘Because of me.’

Maybe she’d misunderstood him from the very beginning. Maybe she’d gotten the first button wrong.

“Are you… staying in this marriage for my sake?”

A marriage born of conquest.

Although they held an official ceremony, their relationship remained ambiguous, suspended somewhere between truth and pretence.

Many people had questioned it over the years, but nobody had dared to ask Kailhart directly.

And so, this unstable, drifting connection continued. Always hovering, never solid.

“Did you start this relationship with me from the very beginning?”

The moment she asked—honestly, without evasion—a droplet of water slipped down the fogged-over mirror in front of them.

As the steam faded, the reflection of their figures grew clearer.

“I already told you.”

Kailhart’s mouth twisted slightly as he replied. There was the faintest trace of a smile at the corners of his lips. One that felt real.

“From the very beginning, Isabel… you were the reason.”

‘Only you.’

Those quiet, added words reached her ears—echoed through her.

‘Only you.’

‘I wanted to make you my wife.’
‘I wanted to truly become your husband.’

The conversation they’d had on the train, on the way to her hometown. His honest expression back then. It all came flooding back, layering over the moment.

‘You—the one who trampled and burned my country without mercy.’
‘And yet… you insist our first meeting wasn’t an act of conquest.’

If both versions of him were real — the ruthless invader and the man who had looked her in the eye and spoken with sincerity — then this relationship had to be redefined.

Because if that were true, it would mean that Kailhart had been trying to protect her from something.

From something rooted in her homeland. Something she couldn’t remember. Or perhaps something she knew, but couldn’t bring herself to recall.

‘But from what…?’

Her eyes stung, and she blinked.

It felt as if the grains of sand that had been blown into her eyes by the wind in her war-torn homeland were still there.

They were still pricking her.

Even when Kailhart reached out and wrapped his arms around her, her soaked hair clinging to his skin, she couldn’t speak. Isabel couldn’t speak.

The warmth of his body slowly seeped into hers, thawing everything that had gone cold.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

“Still, where is this place…?”

As soon as they stepped out of the bathroom—her body still damp, wrapped and guided by Kailhart’s hands—the scent in the air struck her first. Familiar. Deeply familiar.

“Do you recognize it?”

“Of course I do, but…”

The scene that came into view was both familiar and strangely different. It was that same greenhouse—the one they had once lived in.

“It’s changed a lot.”

It took her a moment to recognize it. So much had shifted—furniture replaced, the layout rearranged.

“Yeah. If there’s anything that feels uncomfortable while you’re here, just tell me.”

Kailhart’s voice dropped low, unreadable as ever.

He explained that the room she had thought was just a bathroom was actually part of a specially prepared quarantine area for her.

As she reached out instinctively to examine the unfamiliar furniture scattered around the room, he quietly fastened the collar of her robe. She froze. Her fingers gripped the fabric tightly.

The gesture felt awkward and hesitant, reminiscent of a couple still adjusting to each other in the early days of marriage. Now, of all times.

After brushing and smoothing her damp hair, Kailhart finally turned away. She followed a few steps behind, scanning the transformed interior.

While the marble bathroom had seemed like a tranquil place to rest briefly earlier, the greenhouse now felt like a carefully preserved moment in time.

“As far as I can tell, this must’ve cost a fortune.”

Kailhart had never kept a concubine or mistress, so it would undoubtedly draw attention if word got out that he had created and gifted such a place to her. It would be scandalous. People would talk.

“You really went too far, didn’t you?”

She studied the strange devices, the unfamiliar gauges with readings she couldn’t interpret, and asked softly.

Kailhart came to a sudden stop.

“I only gave you what you needed.”

“Still…”

“It needs to function as a bunker, if necessary.”

At some point, they had reached the centre of the greenhouse. Kailhart’s broad back cast a long shadow across the floor beneath them.

For a moment, she thought the colour of the shadow was a dark crimson, a shade of red that could consume all the darkness of night. It stung her eyes. Isabel turned her head away.

She let her gaze wander up the iron supports holding up the greenhouse, past the towering windows and domed ceiling, and beyond that, to the night sky.

It was so black that it seemed as if someone had painted the moon and stars with ink. And there, in the windowpane that had turned into a mirror, their eyes met.

“…”

“…”

Kailhart stood reflected in the glass, watching her in complete silence.
And she couldn’t look away.

It was as if something had locked into place the moment he brought her here—
as if he’d been waiting for this very scene to complete the picture in his mind.

And in that silence, he gazed at her—at the upside-down reflection captured in the middle of the ceiling—
as though placing a final, deliberate stroke on a long-envisioned canvas.

What kind of picture was he trying to paint?

Following the deep, inky tones that seeped through the curved windows and domed ceiling, Isabel tried to imagine the kind of space Kailhart had wanted to create.
And then—something inside her trembled.

Ah…

Her hand, reaching into the empty air, twitched faintly as though sketching something in the space before her. Her fingers slowly lost strength.

Now that she thought about it—it looked so familiar.

Yes, that was it.
Why hadn’t she realized it sooner?

“I’m sorry. From now on, you and I…”

It looked so much like Isaya’s greenhouse.
That day, that space—it all overlapped so clearly now.

The air that brushed against Isabel’s fingertips rippled faintly, tickling like the flutter of butterfly wings.
Something deep within her stirred—rising swiftly from the depths of her unconscious.

“This will become a cursed bond.”

Those were the words she had heard the first day she met Isaya.

She’d thought the memories from those early days were long gone.
But now they returned—along with the emotions.

A cursed bond?
It had felt like a strange thing to say upon first meeting someone.
But maybe, she’d thought, Isaya could say it so confidently because of those extraordinary eyes.

And from that moment on, Isaya had spoken to her informally—as if the distance between them had already vanished.

Isabel, unsure how to respond, had stood frozen in place—caught off guard.
Then Isaya had come closer, sat down right beside her, and reached out…

Gently brushing her fingers around Isabel’s mouth.

Isaya had slowly traced Isabel’s lips, even the stiffness in her mouth she couldn’t quite hide, letting her fingers linger as she leaned in close.
Then, with a soft whisper—“Let’s see each other often from now on”—she gently pressed a kiss to Isabel’s cheek.

From that day forward, Isaya’s greenhouse had become their shared space.
On evenings after long, difficult days, when they sat side by side in quiet companionship, Isaya had made sure to set out paints and drawing supplies just for her—small gestures of thoughtfulness.

The warmth, the serenity of those moments seeped into Isabel’s body.
She still didn’t understand why Isaya had once called their bond a cursed one.

“You know… these days, I feel like I live for these conversations with you.”

Really? Isabel, still a child back then, had asked in surprise.
Isaya leaned her head against Isabel’s shoulder and gave a soft smile.
“Mm, really.”

The memory echoed like a whisper from the warmth of that distant greenhouse.

“I love you, Unni.”

Her eyes burned.
Isabel clenched her teeth and let out a silent breath.

She curled her fingers in toward her palm—
and then Kailhart, who had been standing a few paces away beneath the twin square windows in the ceiling, suddenly stepped close again.

Isabel lowered her gaze.

“That look on your face… you remembered something, didn’t you?”

Kailhart drew in, closing the distance completely.
He wrapped his arms around her—firm and certain—and lowered his head to her nape.

“You were thinking of your sister again, weren’t you?”