He bit her nape as he reached climax. Like a beast marking its female, he carved a vivid imprint of his teeth. Simultaneously, his hips jerked up forcefully.

“Ungh!”

With Isolet’s low roar, hot s*men poured into her like a bursting dam. Kyrie felt her vision flash white. The feeling of her belly filling with hot liquid, every muscle in her body convulsing.

She too plummeted into climax following him. Her inner walls contracted, clamping down hard on Isolet’s member.

“Haa, haa…”

When everything ended, Isolet collapsed onto Kyrie. Their ragged breathing mixed with the sound of rain and scattered into the air.

Kyrie stared blankly at the ceiling.

Tears streamed down the corners of her eyes. Her body was hot, but strangely her heart felt cold. Below ached heavily and numbly. The sensation of his fluids trickling down between her thighs felt both unfamiliar and wretched.

Was this love, or destruction?

She didn’t know. The only certainty was that they could never return to how things were before.

Isolet lifted his head from her embrace. Moisture pooled in his eyes too. With trembling hands, he wiped away Kyrie’s tears.

The man who’d ravaged her like a beast moments ago had vanished, replaced by Isolet with the face of a wounded child again.

“…I’m sorry. Your wounds haven’t even fully healed, yet my greed hurt you.”

“…It’s okay…”

He pulled Kyrie into a crushing embrace.

“I can’t let you go. The thought of you not being mine… it’s more terrifying than death.”

Instead of answering, Kyrie closed her eyes. His embrace was warm, but that warmth was like chains binding her. Outside the tent, rain still fell. Seemingly mocking their crossed fates.

While Kyrie recovered from her injuries, the war reached its final stages.

Isolet had changed. He was no longer an emotional prince. He’d become a cold, efficient commander. There were no reckless charges, only precise tactics that minimized casualties.

But the soldiers whispered. That the prince’s eyes looked like a dead man’s. That he didn’t smile at victories or cry when allies died.

And finally, the capital’s gates opened.

Citizens cheered, scattering flower petals. A return after three whole years. The streets were festive, but a strange silence flowed along the path where Isolet’s white horse passed. Because his expression was so cold.

Kyrie watched him from the rear of the procession. Though her wounds hadn’t fully healed and riding was painful, she gritted her teeth and endured.

That silver back ahead had grown so distant she couldn’t reach it even if she stretched out her hand.

She became thoroughly an outsider, mixed into the cheering crowds.

The royal palace also bore scars everywhere. Traces of the rebel forces setting fires and looting as they fled. Charred pillars and torn curtains remained, but fortunately the structure itself was still magnificent.

Isolet entered the audience hall.

The dust-covered throne was the first thing to catch his eye.

The place where his father was murdered and his siblings fell bleeding.

Isolet slowly climbed the steps and sat on the throne. The old wood screamed. He gripped the armrests. Cold chill climbed up his palms.

Was this the seat he’d wanted so badly?

Was this cold, hard chair the result of sacrificing everything he had?

Isolet felt strangely hollow. Then Casian approached and bowed.

“Your Highness, congratulations on reclaiming the capital.”

His attitude toward Isolet remained crooked, but his eyes were serious.

“The Empire’s support has ended. As promised, we’ll proceed with preparations for your marriage to Her Highness the Princess.”

“…Understood.”

Isolet answered briefly. His gaze turned toward Kyrie standing by the door.

She stood at the farthest point. Hidden in a pillar’s shadow, maintaining perfect guard posture. Before, he would’ve called her to his side. But now he couldn’t bring himself to.

‘That’s right, Kyrie. Don’t come closer.’

Isolet cried inwardly.

‘My side is dangerous. The place beside me will only wound you. So… stay there. Where my hand can never reach.’

Kyrie felt Isolet’s gaze but absolutely didn’t raise her head. She too knew. That high place where Isolet sat was a sanctuary she couldn’t ascend.

‘Please become an eternal sun.’

She prayed in her heart.

‘I’ll protect you from within this shadow. Even if you don’t see me, even if you forget I’m protecting you.’

The audience hall’s massive doors closed.

Thud.

That heavy sound pronounced the severance between them. The king was isolated in light, and the knight chose to remain in darkness.

* * *

Shortly after the capital’s recapture, in the palace annex.

Princess Adelaide stood by the window, looking down at the bustling soldiers. Unlike the victory-filled scene outside, only cool silence circulated in her room.

“Report, Commander.”

She spoke without turning around. Casian, sitting crookedly on the sofa, swirled his wine glass and spoke.

“It’s exactly as rumored. No, worse than the rumors.”

Casian’s voice held strange seriousness instead of his usual playfulness.

“During the Red Gorge battle. Prince Isolet abandoned the main force. He threw away his commander’s position and leaped into the enemy’s heart for just one person—that guard knight.”

“…I’m aware. Thanks to that, we won.”

“Won?”

Casian snorted.

“That wasn’t victory, it was a seizure. Your Highness, I’ve roamed countless battlefields but never saw eyes like those. They weren’t the eyes of someone cutting down enemies. They were a beast’s eyes, crazed with the agony of having its heart carved out.”

Casian set down his glass and rose.

“Do you know what he was like when I arrived? Atop a pile of blood-soaked corpses, clutching that barely-breathing woman, howling. That he didn’t need the crown, revenge, or promises to the Empire. Just begging her to breathe.”

Adelaide’s eyebrow twitched faintly.

“That noble, cold prince?”

“Yes. That’s when I was certain. The soul of the man called Isolet is already mortgaged to that woman.”

Casian approached Adelaide and whispered quietly.

“Do you want an empty shell, Your Highness?”

“…What?”

“If you force the marriage, you’ll obtain it. But what you’ll get is only a ‘corpse’ named Isolet. His eyes will chase that knight, not Your Highness, for life. His heart won’t beat for you. No, he’ll hate you. Because you’re the one who tore apart his love.”

Adelaide bit her lip. Her pride was wounded, but she couldn’t refute the truth.

She recalled the warning she’d given Kyrie at the tea party.

‘Hide that heart thoroughly.’

But it wasn’t something that could be hidden by hiding. The extreme situation of war had dragged their emotions to the surface and made them explode.

“So what? You want me to admit defeat and withdraw?”

“Not defeat. Reshuffling the deck.”

Casian shrugged.

“When the game’s obviously lost, a truly wise gambler collects their chips and walks away without regret, right?”

That night, Adelaide couldn’t sleep. She reread reports about Isolet and Kyrie under candlelight. Their exile at the northern fortress, countless moments risking their lives for each other.

“…Is this really true?”

Adelaide asked in a trembling voice. Casian, standing in the darkness, nodded.

“Yes. I witnessed it myself.”

“Sir Casian. Didn’t you want that woman? Why are you suddenly telling me to give up the woman you coveted so much?”

At her sharp question, Casian smiled bitterly. He fingered the hilt at his waist. He too had wanted to possess that woman called Kyrie, that sharp and beautiful sword. But—

“I saw it in the gorge.”

Casian’s eyes stared into space as he answered.

“His Highness burned his own life to save that woman. Even vomiting blood from mana reversal, he couldn’t breathe properly until he confirmed her heart was beating.”

“…”

“But the real reason I’m withdrawing is because of that woman’s eyes.”

Casian paused briefly, then continued in the voice of a general admitting defeat.

“Right after she returned from death’s threshold. A normal person would’ve thanked someone for saving them or trembled in fear. But that woman… was only looking at Prince Isolet. Like she didn’t care if the imperial army swarmed, if I was beside her, or if the world collapsed.”

He shook his head.

“In that woman’s world, there’s only one man named Isolet. There’s no gap for me to squeeze into—no, not even space to insert a needle ever existed from the start.”

Casian bowed politely.

“So Your Highness should also stop. Trying to separate those two will only make you miserable. They’re not in love. They’re under a terrible curse where they can’t breathe without each other.”

After Casian withdrew, only heavy silence circulated in the room.

“Ha…”

She laughed hollowly.

“Sickeningly sticky.”

Adelaide looked at herself in the mirror. The princess was praised as the Empire’s most beautiful and wise. But to Isolet, she was merely an ‘inconvenient obligation.’

She wanted to be loved. At least respected. 

But as long as Kyrie was nearby—or even if Kyrie disappeared—Isolet would spend his life longing for her. She would become a wretched queen forever overshadowed by a dead lover’s ghost.

“No. I refuse such a pathetic role.”

Adelaide picked up a quill.

Her eyes changed. Not the eyes of a woman who’d failed at love, but the cold eyes of a politician calculating the Empire’s interests.

“If he has no value as a husband, I’ll at least extract his value as a king.”

She wrote rapidly on paper.

[Annulment Agreement]

Below it, she listed practical conditions the Empire could obtain. Tariff abolition, trade monopoly rights, and permanent military alliance.

Isolet was mad with love. Right now, if he could just be with Kyrie, he’d rip out the nation’s very foundations. Then this was the best opportunity to demand the highest price.

“Prince Isolet. Since you didn’t give me love, you’ll give me money and power instead.”

Adelaide smiled with satisfaction and stamped the document with her seal.

“And…”

She looked out the window toward the knights’ quarters in the annex. Probably that fool Kyrie was there, preparing to leave.

“Clever knight. I’m not helping you. I’m simply discarding rotten cards and collecting golden eggs.”

She rang the bell to summon a maid.

“I’ll attend the palace tomorrow too. Prepare the most splendid dress.”

Her voice was confident. It wouldn’t be a loser’s exit, but the entrance of an architect flipping the board.