Chapter 4:  Twisted Wind

“That’s enough, Your Highness. You’ve done more than enough. You’ve been remarkable. And… thank you.”

“Please… don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything well. I should’ve learned more, been sharper, kept my senses keener, watched my surroundings more ruthlessly, picked up on things faster, more… more…”

In the end, Elana broke down in tears and collapsed onto the floor.

The Duke of Ridges gently stroked her small, frail back.

“Your Highness, you’ve done so, so well. I know how hard you’ve struggled to endure alone while His Majesty was ill. It’s my own shortcomings that kept me from serving you better, and for that I’m truly sorry. So please, don’t cry.”

“Haah… Master… Father… Thank you for everything. I admired you so much, and I wanted to be like you. I really wanted to become your daughter-in-law…”

A promise she could never fulfill.

She couldn’t go on; her head dropped, words lost.

“You have always been my daughter, and my daughter-in-law. Thanks to you, our princess, I laughed so much and was happy. I’m only sorry that I can’t help you carry this heavy burden anymore.”

“Father…”

“You must remain steadfast. No matter what anyone says, Your Highness, you are this country’s rightful heir and its next sovereign.”

The Duke of Ridges’s face was endlessly gentle and compassionate, but at the same time, unwavering and upright.

Because of that, Elana couldn’t bring herself to say she had already given up the throne.

She couldn’t tell him that it was the only way to save Killian.

She swallowed back her tears and sobs, pulling out what she had brought with trembling hands.

In that small vial was a deadly poison.

Ever since Robellina entered the royal palace, her mother had always warned her to beware of poison, so she had been taking it in tiny doses for years.

“The law says high treason must be punished by burning, but burning is too cruel. I couldn’t let you go that way.”

What she hated most was that the only kindness she could offer was to let him die with less pain.

Her pale fingertips touched his large, steady hand as she handed him the vial.

“Thank you. I’ll never forget Your Highness’s kindness.”

He could see, all too clearly, how tormented and broken she must have been to bring this.

But these words were all the Duke could offer.

“I will never forget your precious life, Master. And I’ll never forget today’s humiliation. And I swear—I will protect him, no matter what. I promise.”

Leaving just that, Elana turned and left him behind.

As she hurried from the prison, her mind was filled with guilt toward the Duke and desperate plans to rescue Killian from the mines.

Behind her, the Duke bowed his head.

“Please, never forgive me for failing to serve Your Highness to the end.”

***

Elana forced herself to sever those distant, vivid memories and looked at his face.

It was still beautiful, and those eyes still shone so brilliantly.

But the man himself was nothing like the one she remembered.

‘Killian Clian Ridges.’

He went by the name Calliod Lorcan Gladius now, but to her, he was still Killian.

Elana clenched her fist tightly.

‘You’re alive… You really were the one I’d hoped for. I’m glad it was you.’

She had made plans to get Calliod out of the mines, but she could never get direct news of how things were going, and the anxiety nearly destroyed her.

But here he was—alive, miraculously.

And yet, she couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.

‘I never wanted to confirm you were alive like this. I never wished for us to meet again like this.’

Elana gazed at those green eyes—eyes bright as spring grass—through her own gold-melted irises, then dropped her gaze.

This was the kind of moment she’d always hoped to avoid.

Ever since the sudden appearance of the Gladius Kingdom’s heir, “Calliod,” she’d always had a vague, unspoken certainty that he was Killian.

She’d always told herself that if the day ever came when she had to face that truth with her own eyes, at the very least, she didn’t want to die by his hand.

That was part of the reason she’d climbed the snowy mountain.

Yet here she was.

‘How is it you never once stood on my side? How is it you grant my wish in this way?’

Why was it always like this with the gods?

Elana Rita Cliphes, the only one in the royal family who could be called a princess, bore a grand title but a wretchedly tragic fate.

She’d always believed her prayers would never reach the heavens, and so she lived—yet stubbornly, clinging to hope and longing, she prayed every day.

Trapped in the merciless whirlpool of fate, she never found a way out, but still, she wondered if the gods might pity her and grant just one wish before she died.

So she kept praying:

“Please, just let me see his face one last time before I die.”

She knew it was a selfish wish. She never expected it would come true.

Even if it did, this was never how she wanted it to happen.

But of all things, her wish was granted like this.

‘So cruel.’

Even so, Elana couldn’t allow herself to reveal all her feelings, so she held her frail, battered body together by sheer will.

Calliod gazed coldly down at those kneeling before him.

At nearly 190 centimeters tall, with a powerful, perfectly honed physique, he exuded a force that filled the room.

He was a flawless beauty, as if sculpted by the gods themselves, and his eyes—green as new leaves in spring—seemed to drip with ice rather than freshness.

“I-I’ll be spared now, right? I gave up the country. That means I’ll be spared, right?”

Alan asked as he put his seal to the documents handing over the country.

But no answer came.

Growing desperate, Alan began to shake, raising both hands in supplication.

“I made a mistake. I… I got greedy, that’s all. I just wanted to leave some mark—some achievement. I’m sorry. Just spare me, please, I beg you.”

The so-called king, throwing away all dignity, groveled with hands and knees on the ground.

Calliod let out a short, incredulous laugh.

To think Alan had recklessly picked a fight with Gladius—a nation growing stronger by the day, expanding its territory and power—and now, this was the best excuse he could muster? It was almost too pathetic to be funny.

“Killian. Come on, for old time’s sake, right? Hah… Y-you’re not still holding a grudge about that, are you? That… That was Mother—Mother, she—”

Even as Alan groveled, his words growing more desperate when he saw Calliod’s cold indifference, he finally stammered out something that should never have left his lips, trying to force a smile.

In the same instant, Calliod’s expression iced over—colder, sharper than any winter frost.

“A-ah…”

“Elana! Say something, will you?!”

Realizing something had gone terribly wrong, Alan shouted desperately at Elana, who was kneeling diagonally behind him.

But Elana, her face more regal than the king himself, showed no sign of emotion—silent and unshaken.

Frustrated, Alan reached out and jabbed his half-sister’s shoulder.

That was when Calliod’s heavy boot moved toward him.

“Kyaaa!”

“Ku—kh!”

It all happened in a heartbeat.

The chill of steel flashed—a blade slicing through pale flesh.

The maids’ screams rang out before Alan could even register what was happening.

He let out a dull groan as he collapsed sideways, convulsing briefly before going limp, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“I hadn’t planned to let him die so easily. But… I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

Calliod hadn’t meant to kill him so simply, but the sight had become too repulsive to bear.

In truth, the blame for that day’s tragedy lay not with this foolish boy, but with his mother, Robellina.

Calliod wiped the blood from his blade.

Scarlet droplets splattered onto the snow-white ground.

Elana watched it all unfold—every scream, every moment—without so much as a blink.

‘How unfortunate. Robellina should have been here to see this.’

She felt a pang of regret that Alan’s mother, unconscious and locked away in the dungeon, was not present for this.

Still, to deliver this scene to her someday, Elana forced herself to take in every detail—her face and even her eyeballs speckled with blood, yet she didn’t so much as flinch.

She stared obsessively at the blood soaking her dress hem, her gaze cold and unmoving.

At the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, she lifted her eyes.

Blood, which had pooled at the corner of her eye, now traced a slow line down her cheek.

Calliod stopped in front of her, meeting her gaze.