“Withdraw your pheromones, my lady.”

Seraphina spoke in a composed, unshaken tone. With unhurried ease, she added,

“I’m offering this as advice—for your own sake.”

“What did you just say?”

Mireille shrieked sharply as she clenched her fists. Caught off guard by Seraphina’s unexpected reaction, she swallowed hard.

“Stop bluffing, Your Highness.”

“If you continue releasing your pheromones at me, word will reach His Highness the Crown Prince immediately.”

After finishing her sentence, Seraphina shifted her gaze to Rosalynde by the door. True to her words, Rosalynde looked ready to dash out at any moment.

Following Seraphina’s line of sight, Mireille flinched when she noticed Rosalynde. Seraphina addressed her hesitation calmly.

“If you don’t mind His Highness finding out, then go ahead.”

Seraphina placed both hands neatly atop her lap. Her posture, as though daring her to try, made Mireille’s cheek twitch.

“You think I wouldn’t—”

“Let’s end this conversation here.”

Just as Mireille was about to release her pheromones, the Empress cut in hastily. Grabbing Mireille’s hand, she spoke,

“To a recessive, a lady’s pheromones are practically poison. Would it be fitting for someone destined to become Crown Princess to cause a disturbance in the palace?”

At the Empress’s gentle coaxing, Mireille reluctantly returned to her seat. The Empress then turned to Seraphina, her tone stern and authoritative.

“I extended this help out of pity for your situation, Crown Princess. If you possess even a shred of gratitude, you will keep my proposal from the Crown Prince.”

She spoke as though bestowing a great favor, clearly anxious that the matter might reach the Crown Prince’s ears—yet behaving as if she had shown extraordinary benevolence.

“Answer me, Crown Princess. You understand what I’ve said, don’t you?”

“……I will take my leave.”

Seraphina rose quietly.

Seraphina bowed her head briefly to the Empress, who was pressing her for an answer.

She had no intention of running straight to the Crown Prince to tattle. But neither did she wish to give the answer the Empress so clearly wanted to hear.

“Crown Princess!”

The Empress’s sharp voice rang out behind her as Seraphina stepped out of the reception room.

She did not turn around. Being tormented by the Empress—what she had just endured—was more than enough.

***

Seraphina returned to her bedchamber with a weary expression. The walk from the Empress’s palace back to the Crown Prince’s quarters felt unusually long.

She was always exhausted after meeting the Empress, but today was especially draining. In the end, she decided to cancel all remaining appointments and rest.

Rosalynde escorted her to the room, then tactfully withdrew.

‘My head hurts…’

Once inside, Seraphina rubbed at her throbbing temples. With fatigue layered atop the headache, she wanted nothing more than to lie down immediately.

Just as she stepped into the dressing room to change into comfortable indoor clothes, she froze with her hand on the door.

Damian was there—in the dressing room attached to the Crown Princess’s bedchamber.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for documents with your signature. They weren’t on the desk, so I thought they might be in the safe.”

Damian spoke in an even tone as he closed the safe. It wasn’t surprising—he had a key to it as well.

What stung was something else.

“You didn’t tell me.”

The fact that Damian had chosen to come here quietly instead of speaking to her first left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“It’s been almost a month since we last saw each other.”

“I’ve been busy. Founding Day is just around the corner.”

Damian replied calmly and moved to pass by her. As he did, she caught his sleeve.

It was a weak grip, but it was enough to stop him.

“Why.”

“Why do you need my signature?”

“Ah, that’s…”

At her question, Damian’s expression tightened. He ran a hand through his neatly combed hair and pressed his lips together.

“It’s needed for the Founding Day preparations.”

“That’s a lie.”

Seraphina watched him hesitate before answering. She tried to meet his gaze, but it wasn’t easy.

Damian was avoiding her eyes.

“I heard Leoban forged my signature and caused trouble. They say creditors even came to the imperial palace.”

Seraphina stubbornly kept looking at her husband, who refused to meet her gaze. His avoidance made her chest ache, cold and sharp.

Yet she continued speaking as if nothing were wrong.

“It happened because of me. I heard you took care of everything. Thank you. This time, I’ll change my signature.”

“There’s no need.”

Damian answered immediately.

“Protecting you is my responsibility.”

Damian’s reply was dry. Perhaps because of that, it sounded as though helping her were merely part of his duties.

Don’t take it that way. Damian was acting out of pure goodwill.

She knew that—yet even so, a murky, unpleasant emotion churned deep in her chest, impossible to suppress.

“You married me to take responsibility for me. So does that mean… protecting me is just part of your job?”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. Seraphina scrunched her nose.

What a foolish thing to say.

Damian wasn’t at fault. If he had done anything wrong at all, it was only that he had tried to take responsibility for her. Aside from an excess of duty, there was no sin in him.

She let go of his sleeve with a quiet sigh.

“I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I’m just tired…”

“Tired from what?”

At some point, Damian was looking straight at her now. The gaze that had avoided her earlier was fixed firmly on her.

“Did you meet Her Majesty the Empress? What did she say this time?”

At Damian’s questioning, Seraphina met his eyes. She gave a bitter smile and replied,

“She told me that since you won’t hold me, I should give the bed to Lady Mireille.”

Damian’s brows furrowed at her words. The muscles around his eyes twitched.

“I need to see Her Majesty.”

“It won’t help.”

Just as Damian turned to leave the room, Seraphina’s voice stopped him. He turned back at her words. Standing before the door, he looked at her as she spoke.

“It’s true that you don’t hold me.”

“Sephi.”

“Why won’t you hold me?”

Her voice trembled thinly. Seraphina clenched the hem of her skirt. The fabric crumpled with a loud rustle.

“Am I only someone you’re responsible for? Why won’t you sleep with me? Is it because I’m a recessive? Because I’m not from a high noble family? Or because I—”

As Seraphina poured out her pent-up resentment, Damian strode forward and pulled her into his arms.

He held her tightly. His pheromones surged out in an instant.

The very next moment, he restrained them again with practiced control and whispered to her,

“That’s not it.”

“I didn’t want to get married either. You’re not the only one….”

“That’s not it.”

Speaking firmly, Damian buried his nose at the nape of her neck. His broad back swelled as he drew in a deep breath, then he whispered in a low, heavy voice,

“Sephi…”

The moment Damian called her name, a throbbing sensation flared at the back of Seraphina’s neck.

The pheromone gland that had remained quiet ever since she became an omega was suddenly asserting its presence.

“Don’t tell me… is my cycle coming again?”

Goetz had told her that cycles in those who manifested late, with atypical traits, were irregular. That was why he had insisted she always carry suppressants.

“The suppressant—I need to take the suppressant!”

Seraphina tried to pull away from Damian’s arms to get the medicine. But he didn’t let her go. His thick arms wound around her like vines, binding her in place.

“If I’m allowed to hold you, then I will. Until you tell me to stop. Until you’re sick of it.”

Damian spoke in a heated tone as he breathed in Seraphina’s pheromones deeply. Through the fabric of his clothes, she could feel his arousal responding to her scent.