Charlotte lowered the teacup in her hand soundlessly onto its saucer.

She was still in her nightclothes. The Marquis of Langham had come to her room first thing in the morning, before she had even changed.

“I have no face to show you, my daughter.”

Silvanian, Marquis of Langham, spoke with his shoulders drawn in, those same shoulders he usually carried so proudly before his beloved child.

Charlotte forced a bright smile.

“It’s all right, Father. I’ll think of it as something that was never truly mine to begin with.”

To others she might appear cold. In truth, her heart was as warm as a spring breeze.

The marquis felt guilty for failing to secure her love. If he had wished, he could have raised stronger objections, invoked the engagement contract, openly defied the emperor. Instead, he had allowed himself to be persuaded. As a father, it shamed him.

‘The choice is yours. I shall follow your will.’

The emperor’s face from yesterday lingered vividly in his mind, the way he had spoken as if bestowing an extraordinary privilege.

‘And if you wish Charlotte to have a marriage in which she is truly loved, you must be even more careful. I cannot give your daughter what she undoubtedly can, more than enough.’

In truth, it had never been a real choice. It had been arranged so that breaking the engagement was the only path left.

If he were to justify himself, he would say this: any father who truly loved his daughter would have chosen the same.

Silvanian could not bear the thought of Charlotte spending her life loving a brilliant husband who would never return her affection.

If there was another man, one of immense power, who would also love his daughter, then even if it cost him his entire fortune as dowry, he would welcome that man into the family.

“Do not grieve too deeply. Soon… something good will happen, surely.”

Love. It might matter greatly to the young, but—

‘I also promise that Charlotte Langham shall be granted a status equal to that of an empress. Your house will be recorded on the very first page of the empire’s new history.’

He did not yet know who the emperor meant. But Ahazan was not a man who spoke lightly. If he promised, he would keep it. And if he did not, there were contingencies prepared.

He told himself there was nothing to fear.

Yet he could not share any of this with his daughter. That was what burned inside him most.

“Yes, Father. Please don’t worry.”

If it was the will of the house, she obeyed. She always had.

But this time, though she smiled, her face was slightly swollen.

The marquis knew why.

He wished he could reach out and stroke her cheek, but she was no longer a child. Instead, he rose, deciding it would be better to give her space.

When he left, Charlotte lifted the now-cold teacup and finished it in one swallow.

The fragrant liquid filled her mouth and calmed her a little.

Ahazan von Lernando.

It had been immoral, perhaps, but unavoidable that she had come to love her friend’s betrothed.

Clodine had always believed she alone loved Ahazan from afar. She had suffered quietly, rejoiced over the smallest scraps of his attention, never realizing how deeply he loved her.

Charlotte’s gaze drifted toward the window.

‘You must return at once, Your Highness!’

When had that been?

From somewhere deep in the dark corridors of memory, she seemed to hear the voice of the man who had always followed Ahazan, then and now.

It must have been Clodine’s sixteenth birthday.

The Count Ramier estate had hosted a lavish debutante ball.

Charlotte had been staying with relatives at the time. She had hurried across great distance to celebrate her friend’s birthday. But the horses had grown unexpectedly sluggish along the way, and she had arrived late into the night.

The ballroom had still burned with heat and music.

Yet no matter how many times she circled the hall, she could not find Clodine.

Thinking perhaps she had retreated to her room, Charlotte headed toward the familiar staircase leading to the second floor.

She did not even finish climbing.

‘His Majesty will already know, Your Highness, that you have abandoned your duties and come back to the empire without his permission!’

Pressed against Clodine’s tightly shut door stood Ahazan von Lernando, the crown prince of the empire.

Beside him, his aide spoke in urgent whispers.

‘It’s been a while, Cal. Give me some time.’

‘Your Highness, but—’

‘Clodine sprained her ankle. She twisted it getting out of a carriage. It’s swollen this much.’

Even in the darkness, his figure was unmistakable.

He lifted his hand and indicated an absurdly large size.

Charlotte held her breath and listened.

‘She can barely walk. I’m worried. If I were in the empire, I’d let her hold my arm all day.’

Charlotte had been so shocked she almost forgot to breathe.

She could hardly believe such words had come from that taciturn, stoic man.

‘I want to stay by her side like this.’

His voice, murmured into the night, was so gentle she felt she could listen to it forever.

‘I want to be somewhere I can reach her first if anything happens.’

His confession continued for some time.

Even after lingering at the door, unable to leave, Ahazan had looked back at it again and again.

In the end, it had been Charlotte who turned first and went back downstairs.

From then on, Ahazan loved Clodine in his own way.

Always in secret.

As if there were reasons he could not declare his feelings openly.

Once Charlotte had seen it, she could never unsee it.

She began to notice everything.

And before she realized it, her own gaze had begun following Ahazan.

A love that could never be fulfilled.

A love she must never covet.

She had resolved to bury it quietly.

To wish for his happiness from afar, that was the most she could allow herself.

Then, seven years ago, everything changed overnight.

Clodine became the Crown Princess of Rotermann.

Charlotte became Ahazan’s new fiancée.

Within three days of being mentioned as a candidate for empress, she had been chosen by Ahazan himself.

She had worried for Clodine, who had abruptly crossed into Rotermann to marry another man, but at the same time, she had not wanted to understand her.

Every day felt like a dream.

She had never been so happy in her life.

Even if it meant spending her entire life atoning to Clodine, she had wanted to cling to that chance God had given her.

Never imagining the dream would shatter so quickly.

Never imagining that Ahazan’s love for Clodine was vast enough to destroy an innocent kingdom in a single night.

‘It’s all right, Charlotte. Everything will be all right.’

Charlotte repeated the words in her mind.

Someday, this love would end. Perhaps another would come.

To Charlotte, Clodine was far too precious, far too significant, to cast aside again in order to protect her own love.

Her fingertips trembled as she set the teacup back onto its saucer.

The tears she thought had stopped began once more to slide down her cheeks.

***

Deep into the night.

Ahazan sat alone by the wide window, a glass of wine tilted in his hand.

It was, in his own way, a toast, to the date of his state marriage with Clodine finally being set.

‘Bastard.’

‘What do you gain by going this far just to marry me?’

No matter how fragrant the wine, Clodine’s words from that morning would not leave his mind.

Ahazan was a man who moved coldly according to profit. The seat he occupied demanded it. Efficiency had always defined him.

Whenever he acted against his own nature, Clodine was at the center of it.

This time was no different.

How utterly mad this was.

He drained the last of the wine into his mouth and let out a faint, humorless laugh.

He had never imagined he would take Clodine as his wife like this.

On the most beautiful day, he had once vowed to place her upon the throne as empress—flawless, untouched by adversity.

Yet instead of adorning her in beauty, he had made her cry again today.

A dull tightness settled in his chest.

‘Go ahead and refuse.’

‘Think first about how many lives are tied to your ankles.’

He should not have said that much.

Regret came too late.

These days, a single word from Clodine, a single gesture, was enough to drag him between heaven and hell.

Be calm. Be rational.

He told himself that a hundred times.

Yet the moment that small woman stood before him, impatience clawed at him until he felt he would go mad.

He loathed himself for wanting to cage her, to hold her in his grasp, yet he could not stop.

‘I cannot become your wife.’

When she said that, it felt as if his entire life had been denied.

If that were true, then what had he lived for?

A savage whirlpool churned in his chest.

As if it were not enough that this was the only way he could have her—

Knock. Knock.

Just as he wondered whether to pour another drink, someone knocked at the bedroom door.

There were not many who would dare approach the emperor’s chamber at this hour.

“Enter.”

The door opened immediately.

Cal stepped inside.

“I thought Your Majesty would still be awake. There is something urgent to report…”

When Cal trailed off like that, it meant trouble.

Ahazan lifted one brow slightly, a silent command to speak and leave quickly.

Cal understood at once.

“It concerns… the missing maids of Rotermann, Your Majesty.”

Ahazan had expected as much.

Without replying, he walked to the table and poured himself another glass.

Cal continued.

“It seems the private soldiers of the Ramier family may have been involved in their disappearance.”

The Ramier family’s private soldiers.

The hand circling idly around the rim of the glass slowed.

The sharp gold in his eyes surfaced from beneath heavy lids and met Cal’s gaze directly.

“I regret to say this… but Lady Ramier herself… may be connected.”

Clodine?

Impossible.

The corner of Ahazan’s lips curved faintly.

But when he spoke, there was no trace of amusement.

“Clodine knows nothing of this. Of that, I’m certain. But if her family is involved…”

He thought of Count Ramier.

The count was his loyal minister and the empire’s esteemed chancellor.

Not once had Ahazan doubted his loyalty.

He did not know.

After a moment’s thought, Ahazan spoke in a low voice.

“So this is a warning. Stop digging.”

As expected, it was no simple escape.

Someone knew their weaknesses, knew them well enough to exploit them, to keep Ahazan from advancing further.

Ahazan issued a firm order.

“Even if the search slows, assemble only those we trust. If the Ramier family’s private soldiers are truly involved, we must move discreetly. Whether true or not, not a whisper must leak. If rumors spread, the Ramier house will bear the full brunt.”

No matter how important the maids’ lives were, they were not as important as Clodine’s honor.

A stain on Count Ramier’s name would weaken the very foundation that upheld her.

Ahazan realized, then, that he could finally call whoever abducted the maids an enemy.

“As you command, Your Majesty.”

Cal bowed deeply and left.

Alone once more, Ahazan lifted his glass and drank.

Was it possible that only a few cups were enough to make him lightheaded tonight?

Clodine’s face wavered before his eyes.

He had once believed enduring the ache of wanting to see her was second nature.

It no longer was.

Knowing she was somewhere within this palace forced him to grit his teeth just to keep from running to her.

He set the glass carelessly on the windowsill and crossed to the wide bed.

As he lay down, darkness engulfed him.

And with it came a suffocating loneliness.