“Isabel.”

Kailhart’s gaze stilled.

Even when he called her name, she wouldn’t look at him. No matter how closely he pressed himself against her, it was never enough; he was desperate for more. They were like two beasts sinking together into a bottomless abyss.

The nights he spent chasing her shadow felt endless. Just when he thought he had finally caught her, she vanished like a mirage.

“Don’t turn away. Look at me.”

The words scraped up his throat, sounding almost like a plea, even to his own ears. He was always desperate in front of Isabel.

“Look at me and ask for what you want. Demand it from me.”

He knew he was a mess whenever he was with her — a madman. Everything was contradictory. He kept telling her to be honest about what she wanted, even though he couldn’t bring himself to do the same.

The trap he’d set had only ensnared him in the end. Each time he saw the numb, distant look on Isabel’s face, worn down by everything she had endured, he sank deeper into the quagmire.

“Ah, wait, just—slowly…”

Nevertheless, he knew it was the best choice he could make.

As he watched Isabel struggle to finish her sentence, Kailhart let out a hollow laugh.

It was ridiculous. He had cut off every possible escape route, and yet now he was the one who was cornered.

But that was fine. If she insisted on treating him so badly, he’d rather she hated him.

“Why? Isn’t this what you want too?”

He murmured the words quietly, and, for once, Isabel met his gaze without flinching.

In the silence between them, her blue eyes shimmered as twilight gave way to night. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and slipped down her flushed cheeks.

It was the expression he had longed to see whenever he held her.

But her lips barely moved, never quite parting to reply. Still, it was enough.

Kailhardt clenched his jaw and leaned in towards her once more.

The moment when their emptinesses collided again.

The scent of water mingled with a faint green freshness at her nostrils.

‘If you’re really grateful, then don’t suddenly start smiling.’

It was the same scent she had once known — the one that had lingered in the air on the day he took her, before she had ever had the chance to fully bloom. It was the scent she still longed for.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

Kailhart knew Isaya’s dying prophecy by heart, without making a single mistake.

He had known the truth all along, yet he still pretended otherwise as he held her in his arms.

A dull ache throbbed in her head.

Then, with a sharp smack, her head whipped to the side. A red handprint appeared on her cheek, over a bruise that hadn’t healed properly. But her expression didn’t change.

“This isn’t what we agreed on, is it?”

Charles, fuming before her, burst out in anger.

Her cheeks stung from the repeated blows. Her wrists were tied behind her back, ankles lashed to the chair, pain radiating from too many places to count—yet instead of crying out, Isabel clenched her jaw.

She lifted her head, looking at Charles as he spat his accusation.

“I… kept my promise.”

She couldn’t remember how many times they’d had the same conversation. Charles never seemed interested in listening properly.

“What promise?” If you’d explained things properly to His Majesty, do you think he would have said anything? Huh?”

“I…”

No matter how many times she tried, Charles refused to listen.

“You probably just moaned a little in bed, pretending to whisper in His Majesty’s ear, flirting and trying to seduce him. So why would he have listened?”

He sneered and, at his signal, the person standing in front of Isabel struck her on the other cheek, causing her to turn her head again. The burning pain was nothing compared to Charles’ ongoing mockery.

“Don’t you dare wander around the Imperial Palace as if you own the place! You know you’re only useful for your body.”

Ha! Of course. Just as I thought: pretty things have no shame; they’re all parasites. He kept picking her apart, his words growing sharper and more venomous with every breath.

Isabel drew in a silent, trembling breath. She dropped her gaze, enduring it as Charles spat out the next insult.

He said that her body was no different to that of a common wh*re, and that this was the only treatment she deserved.

His words sliced into her, cold and merciless. Still, Isabel stood there, swallowing back every retort, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

Pressed from every side, her mind spun, overwhelmed by too many thoughts.

Having recently been granted permission by the Emperor to use the Central Library, Isabel now spent most of her daylight hours there.

Though her body was treated as nothing more than a spoil of war, her mind remained her own. She found her only escape in the worlds hidden within old books, clinging to them as a refuge from everything she’d lost.

“Would you like to know what happened to that woman in her final moments?”

Nevertheless, the memory of Kailhardt’s mocking voice from the night before, when he had been so merciless in his treatment of her, echoed in her mind and refused to go away.

Even while reading, she sometimes had to squeeze her eyes shut and force herself to steady her breathing.

That evening, as she returned to her room after sunset, Charles’s men cornered her. They dragged her to an abandoned storeroom deep within the palace and beat her mercilessly.

“Getting hit and you’re off in your own little world now?”

Charles snarled, grabbing Isabel by the collar and forcing her to look up at him.

“Guess after being through this a few times, you’re not even scared anymore, huh?”

Charles always made the same threat. Usually, the beatings would stop before nightfall, before the emperor arrived, allowing Isabel to clean up and prepare.

This routine had become so normalised that she had even forgotten about it, until her maid gasped in shock at the extent of her injuries while helping her get ready for the emperor’s arrival.

“My goodness, Princess, what happened to all these wounds on your body?”

The maid was new, having taken the place of the one who’d been executed not long ago. She let out a quiet sigh when she saw the injuries scattered across Isabel’s body—everywhere her clothes failed to cover.

“Was it Lord Charles again, like last time?”

Instead of answering, Isabel quietly accepted the thin nightgown the maid handed her.

“Please, Princess, isn’t that right?”

“I’m all right.”

“But—”

“You don’t need to worry about it, Meli.”

Still, the maid, Meli, let out a soft, sympathetic groan. She was old enough to be Isabel’s mother, and her name—so close to her late mother’s—made Isabel glance at her without thinking.

“His Majesty will be here soon. You should go now.”

“Princess, are you really going to meet His Majesty like that—?”

“If I need anything, I’ll call you.”

Even so, Isabel kept her distance. For Meli’s sake. She adjusted her clothes neatly, turning away from the maid.

“But Princess, it’s cold outside!”

Despite everything, Meli remained warm and attentive to her. The next day, and the day after that—always the same.

“Hurry and put this on, Princess. Really, you’re still so young you don’t know what cold is…”

No matter how hard Isabel tried to keep Meli at arm’s length, Meli would always smile gently at her and sometimes throw in a silly joke.

“On days like this, even if it’s a hassle, you have to layer up to avoid catching cold. The head maid insisted she only needed a thick fur coat, and now she’s been sniffling all day with her nose bright red.”

The warmth from Meli’s body lingered in the many layers she wrapped around Isabel.

“She’s usually so strict, but now that she’s sick, nobody dares laugh in front of her—but their faces are hilarious—”

Meli would sit next to Isabel and recount the day’s events, chatting and laughing as she described what everyone had done and how they had reacted.

Ordinary, silly, everyday stories of people simply living their lives.

For the first time in a long while, Isabel realized she could feel another person’s warmth.

By the time she realized that listening to Meli had become part of her daily routine, she was a little surprised by it.

“Haha, honestly, Princess, isn’t it funny? Right?”

As she watched Meli waving her hands in laughter, Isabel gripped the end of her gown. The thin, soft fabric crumpled silently in her grasp.

She had always believed she was right to keep her distance from everyone. But maybe—deep down—she, too, longed for someone’s warmth.

“Would you let me, Princess?”

One evening, Meli sat close and spoke quietly.

“It’s nothing much. I made a small batch of ointment using herbs. Would you like me to apply it for you?”

Seeing the concern in Meli’s face and the small jar in her hand, Isabel hesitated.

“I kept begging the doctor for something for bruises, telling him I didn’t care if it was expensive or not, but he wouldn’t give me anything.”

“……”

“Really, how can someone be so heartless!”

Meli continued, explaining that she had been worried about Isabel’s sensitive skin.

Isabel let out a silent sigh.

What should I do?

The right thing to do would be to push her away, wouldn’t it?