Even in her dazed state, Clodine heard Ahazan’s words clearly.

She opened her eyes wide and looked straight up at him.

“You’re going to put on that face as if you know nothing?”

Ahazan frowned in disbelief and lifted his other hand, gently brushing the trembling corner of her eye.

“How can a woman have so little conscience…”

The smile at the corner of his lips deepened, dimples forming in his smooth, lean cheek. There was something disturbingly amused about his expression, like a demon reveling in cruel entertainment.

Clodine, on the other hand, could not understand a single word he was saying.

In this situation, how could he be the one to speak of conscience?

Without even the strength to shake off his touch, she could only protest her suffocation with painful tears and ragged breaths.

Only then did Ahazan release her and rise from his seat, picking up the tray he had set on the table.

“Well, we have plenty of time ahead of us. We can take our time talking.”

As soon as some distance opened between them, Clodine strained to push herself upright from where she had been lying. It was not as if she could escape, but it was at least a futile act of resistance.

Ahazan returned to the bed, tray in hand, and set it down roughly on her knees. The impact caused some of the porridge to spill, soaking into the blanket.

Clodine glared fiercely at the tray and then at Ahazan. Her eyes, gentle by nature, could never appear truly vicious, no matter how sharply she widened them.

“Eat.”

“If you were me, would you eat just to stay alive?”

A queen who had lost her beloved kingdom and her husband, the king, would she eat such food merely to survive?

Her thin hand gripped the tray as though she might throw it to the floor at any moment.

But Ahazan spoke faster than she could act.

“Pellier Sanderson.”

Clodine’s hand slowly lowered.

Pellier Sanderson was one of the three maids who had attended her in Rotermann’s royal palace.

Her pale face turned toward him, staring as if to ask how he knew that name.

“It’s the name of the woman who will die today if you don’t eat.”

“Ahazan!”

“If you have no will to live—”

Her cry, close to a scream, clashed with his cold voice.

Ahazan dropped into the large armchair beside the bed and finished lightly,

“Then eat with the will to let others live.”

How. How could he—

Clodine muttered faintly, disbelief written across her face.

The man before her did not seem to be the Ahazan von Lernando she had once known.

He had never been particularly gentle or warm, but neither had he been a beast wearing human skin.

Her entire body trembled.

It was a relief beyond words that Pellier was alive.

But where was she? What horrors was she enduring at this very moment?

And what if Pellier was not the only one?

“Torturing prisoners violates the laws of war!”

Though she looked as though she might collapse at any moment, Clodine shouted with fierce resolve.

“Well. Whether it becomes t*rture or favor depends on you.”

“What does that—”

“Please do try not to t*rture the pitiful citizens of your kingdom, Queen Clodine.”

With that, Ahazan rose without hesitation and left the room.

Left alone, Clodine’s eyes darted anxiously from side to side, unable to comprehend what he had meant.

Not long after, the four servants who had been standing outside reentered.

They moved quietly, replacing the blanket stained by the spilled porridge, relighting candles extinguished by the wind, attending to their tasks.

Only one maid approached the bed. She held out the spoon from the tray and spoke softly.

“You must eat, Your Majesty.”

Clodine looked at her as if she were mad. Her reddened eyes brimmed with tears so thick they almost looked tinged with blood.

“Take it away at once.”

Each word was forced out between clenched teeth, grinding against one another with an audible creak.

The maid did not so much as blink.

“His Majesty has ordered that whatever Your Majesty eats be distributed to the prisoners as their meal.”

“What?”

Clodine frowned, as though she had misheard.

“What will you do? Will you let innocent prisoners starve?”

Her wide eyes blinked once.

The tears that had pooled there spilled down her cheeks in heavy drops.

She had always restrained her tears, knowing they solved nothing.

But now, the only thing left for her to do was to sit helplessly and let them fall.

It was wretched.

Her tears flowed harder.

“Whether you eat or refuse, it will not serve as any revenge against this Empire. So please… grant at least one bowl of porridge to your pitiful countrymen.”

Unlike Ahazan, the maid did not seem entirely devoid of compassion.

She let out a small sigh as she tried to soothe Clodine.

Pitiful citizens of her kingdom.

The faces of those who had once attended her with warm hands at her side came to mind.

Had they all been dragged here as well?

The venom that had filled Clodine’s expression softened, replaced by pity for unseen figures.

Watching that change from beside her, the maid gently placed a spoon into Clodine’s weakening hand.

Just one bowl of porridge.

That was all the fallen queen of a ruined kingdom could offer to her people, who had become citizens of a defeated nation overnight.

Clodine slowly tightened her grip around the spoon.

***

In just a few days, the dining table had come to overflow with lavish dishes.

Clodine sat expressionless, lifting her fork toward a plate piled high with lamb.

Beside her stood the maid, Merian Bennett, recording precisely how much of the lamb Clodine consumed on a small wooden tablet in her hand.

This table had been arranged at Clodine’s own request.

Completely unrelated to her usual light appetite of vegetables and fruit, every dish now consisted of meat or fish.

“If you have even a shred of mercy in your heart, don’t record it too honestly, Merian.”

No matter how extravagant the spread, Clodine had always been a small eater. Even when she forced herself to swallow until she nearly vomited, it was nowhere near the portion an adult man could consume.

Today as well, she looked at the food that would be delivered intact to her people and could only hope that Merian might record a slightly larger amount.

“If you don’t throw it up again, I’ll add a small lie for you.”

Clodine gave a hollow laugh, her face gaunt as she looked at Merian.

The girl was uncannily perceptive, impossible to deceive.

“If I eat too much of such greasy food, I can’t help but vomit.”

“Don’t lie. I know you’re making yourself throw up.”

“Why would I? If I ruin my health, who knows what suffering might fall upon the kingdom’s people.”

“That’s an excellent mindset. Keep holding onto it, Your Majesty.”

Clodine shot her a weary glare.

It was true, she still did not look like someone receiving fine meals every day. Though she was better than before, when she had seemed close to death, she was far from restored.

At last, she set down her fork with a pained frown, as though she could not eat another bite.

At Merian’s subtle signal, the other servants stepped forward and supported Clodine as she rose.

“Since you’ve finished your meal so well, I have a gift for you, Your Majesty.”

“I don’t need it. Not a gift from an enemy nation.”

“Really? I think you might regret that.”

Clodine shook off the servants’ hands and turned sharply toward Merian.

Her suspicious gaze fell upon the small leather note in Merian’s hand.

With her usual expressionless face, Merian unfolded it slightly.

“That—!”

As if realizing something, Clodine snatched the note from her.

A fleeting smile touched Merian’s lips before disappearing.

“This… this is Pellier’s handwriting…”

Pellier Sanderson had possessed the most beautiful script among Clodine’s three maids. Her flowing, vigorous penmanship was so distinctive that Clodine had once wished to imitate it.

[To my eternal queen]

Even reading just those words blurred her vision.

The note had been folded twice. To read the contents, she would have to unfold it once more.

Instead, Clodine folded it twice more and hid it tightly in her small fist.

“Would you like to take a walk alone?”

Merian gestured toward the window.

The Van Helsing Empire, like Rotermann, experienced little seasonal change. Though nights and early mornings were cold enough to require a fire, the noon sun was warm enough to melt the frost that settled overnight, creating a land where plants and animals thrived.

Clodine was staying in the western annex of the imperial palace, a modestly sized residence lavishly adorned.

For a reason long established, it had been reserved only for enemy dignitaries of the highest rank.

Even in broad daylight, when the main palace bustled with official affairs, the annex remained so quiet that the flutter of a bee’s wings could be heard.

Clodine had never once stepped outside her chamber.

The view beyond the window, alive and breathing, had been nothing more than a painting in a frame, irrelevant to her.

But today, it felt different.

The garden was in full bloom with every kind of flower, beautifully maintained, the landscaping impeccable.

More than anything, there were no servants coming and going to check on her condition, nor soldiers glaring at the walls while guarding the corridors.

Clodine lowered her gaze to the note clenched in her hand.

At least while reading this, she wished to be disturbed by no one.

“While you’re out, take a slow walk around the garden. In consideration of the effort I put into delivering that gift, you must keep your promise.”

Merian spoke firmly.

Perhaps, in her eyes, Clodine looked like a flower dying for lack of sunlight.

Still wary, Clodine gave a stiff nod.