The familiar scent mingled with the sharp tang of alcohol, spreading more intensely around her. A hand cupped the back of her head. Their lips met, leaving no space between them.

Her breath quickened. Her mind turned hazy. She could faintly taste salt on the inside of her lip.

‘You’re crying.’
‘You’re really crying.’
‘Why…’

Their mouths finally parted. At that close distance, the two of them simply stared at each other in silence.

“……”

What had just happened didn’t feel real. It wasn’t the act itself that unsettled her, but the aching familiarity of it.

Oswald’s eyes, filling her entire field of vision, trembled.

“Every time I look at you, I get angry.”

He said he was angry, yet he looked devastated.

Why did it feel like he hated her far more than he needed to?

Held firmly by the shoulders, Daphne could do nothing but look back at him. It was as if he had been wearing a mask until now; every word he spoke was weighted with grief-soaked sincerity.

“D*mn it, I just wish you were dead.”

He suddenly pulled at the robe draped over her body, roughly and without warning, exposing her spine and shoulder blades.

Startled, Daphne gasped and grabbed at the slipping fabric.

The robe had fallen so low that it was barely covering her chest. With her hands no longer holding it up, it looked ready to drop to the floor at any moment.

“You… I… how much I…”

“What are you even saying, Oswald? Calm down.”

Daphne clutched the robe desperately as she spoke. Her voice trembled. His aggressive demeanor made her body curl in on itself. His blue eyes, fixed on her, were unwavering and intense.

“We’re married.”

“……”

“And tonight is our wedding night.”

At his sudden shift in tone, Daphne glared at him with resistance. Her fist, gripping the robe against her chest, tightened so hard her knuckles went white. When she still gave no reply, Oswald let out something like a sigh and lowered his head.

“…!”

He pressed a small kiss to the side of her neck. The unfamiliar sensation made Daphne flinch faintly.

“Daphne.”

“……”

“Take off the robe.”

His golden hair moved within her lowered field of vision. Daphne shook her head and gripped the robe tighter still.

Perhaps it was this defiant gesture that caused him to laugh briefly. The next instant, her robe was suddenly and forcefully pulled away. It happened faster than the blink of an eye.

“……!”

“D*mn…”

Something close to a curse slipped from his lips. Before she could ask again, he kissed her deeply, as though intent on taking her breath away. His mouth consumed hers entirely.

She couldn’t breathe. With every passing moment, it felt as though the last of her air was being drawn into his mouth. Perhaps it was the alcohol on his breath, but her head spun as though she were drunk.

The strength drained from her legs. Oswald seemed to notice as she kept tipping forward. His hands slid beneath her knees and back, lifting her up.

Her lips finally parted from his. Only then, suspended in the air, did she realize what was happening — and she began to struggle.

“Let me go!”

“Shh… There are people outside.”

Were there really people outside? It was possible. If someone heard them shouting, their identities would be exposed immediately.

She closed her mouth, but didn’t stop resisting. N*ked in his arms, she pummelled his shoulders with both fists and kicked her legs wildly in the air.

“Daphne.”

At the low voice, she froze for a moment. Their eyes locked again.

“You’re drunk.”

Daphne said desperately. Her hands, clutching the collar of his robe, trembled uncontrollably. Oswald noticed it too.

“So tomorrow, you’ll…”

She rambled in panic as she lay in his arms, but was met only with Oswald’s unreadable stare. Then he fell silent.

“Don’t do this!”

Daphne struggled again when she saw the bed drawing closer, and fear flooded her face. She could clearly feel how aroused he was, given how close their bodies were.

As a prisoner in enemy territory, she had no one to save her. Daphne was not foolish enough to forget that, and she was sure that Oswald knew it, too. If he intended to take her by force, there was nothing she could do. Even if it was a lie, she was still his wife.

All that awaited her now was a night of horror.

“Ah…”

Tears broke free on their own. Soft bedding brushed her skin. Somehow, she was already lying on the sheets, and all she could do was cry helplessly.

But contrary to her despairing expectation, Oswald simply stood there, staring down at her.

Doing nothing…

“……”

Terrified, Daphne hastily pulled the blanket up over herself.

Oswald still did nothing. He stood there as if he had made a grave mistake, or as if something inside him had broken. Just as his expression began to look desolate, he dragged a rough hand across his face.

“…Ha…”

“……”

Then he stepped back from the bed. He picked up the robe from the floor and set it beside her. Daphne could only stare blankly at each movement.

“The hour…”

“……”

“…It’s late.”

His cracked voice echoed through the room. That was all.

Oswald turned and walked into the bathroom, his footsteps heavy.

Left alone, Daphne stared after him, too stunned even to think of putting the robe back on.

＊ ＊ ＊

The following day, a grand evening party celebrating the wedding was scheduled to take place at Carlton’s main estate.

There was not a word spoken inside the moving car. The driver occasionally glanced at the rear-view mirror. Oswald, seated beside her, stared out of the window in silence.

To Daphne, everything that had happened the night before felt like a dream.

“……”

‘Maybe he forgot everything in his drunken haze.’

She, too, turned her attention to the window beside her, her expression blank. Rows of trees blurred past in long, sweeping lines.

Several heavy, silent moments passed before the car finally stopped in front of a grand fountain.

Once they had been escorted out, Daphne and Oswald walked into the banquet hall, their arms linked.

The first things she noticed were the elegant music drifting through the air, a waltz perfectly suited to autumn, and the groups of people in dazzling attire.

As the couple stepped inside, the low hum of conversation gradually died away. Dozens of eyes shifted towards them.

There was the pitiable princess who had spent years hiding her face. And there was Oswald Lawrence, the celebrated hero who had restored peace.

Daphne immediately felt the weight of countless curious stares pressing down on her. People looked at her as though she were a rare exhibit finally put on display.

“You look wonderful together.”

“Congratulations on your marriage.”

On their way in, someone standing to the side offered them blessings. Daphne answered with a polite smile.

Standing side by side, the couple spoke with those who approached. Some offered champagne, others offered wine, drinks difficult to refuse.

‘I feel like I’m going to be sick.’

Not because of the alcohol, but because of the pressure tightening around her. Wherever she went, eyes brimming with curiosity or pity followed her. Daphne let out a small sigh.

“You can’t seem to focus.”

Oswald’s cold voice reached her. The people who had surrounded them had just stepped away.

“I’m doing my best.”

“This place is full of delicate types. Try harder.”

Her stomach lurched. If she could, she would have emptied everything inside it.

“Fine.”

Daphne answered dryly and turned away. Oswald caught her wrist. She looked back at him.

“I’m going to get some air.”

Her heels clicked sharply and steadily on the floor as she stepped out. Oswald couldn’t follow her, as someone had just come up to him and distracted him.

The walk to the terrace felt longer than she had expected. The world tilted faintly at the edges of her vision, causing her to stumble — only a small misstep, but enough to make her lose her balance.

A hand caught her arm at once.

When she lifted her head — her movements slowed slightly by the alcohol — she found herself looking up at a man she had never seen before. His expression was warm and gentle.

He was strikingly handsome: tall and well-built with soft brown hair and golden eyes that gleamed under the lights.

“Are you all right?”