The servants were startled by Clodine’s sudden appearance. In that fleeting instant, they seemed to realize the weight of the words they had just spoken, their faces draining of color.

“Y-Your Majesty…!”

They belatedly bowed, but Clodine saw none of it.

“Just now… what did you say…?”

She clenched the front of her dress in a small fist. Her heart was pounding so violently from what she had heard that she could barely form the words. Merian, standing behind her, stepped forward in her place.

“Her Ladyship has asked you a question! Answer at once!”

The maids flinched and began speaking over one another.

“They—they’re dead…”
“The women. Young women from Rotermann…”
“It’s all anyone’s talking about. It isn’t just us.”
“That’s right. They say the bodies were found in the square. Everyone is saying so.”

They seemed more eager to insist that the rumor was widely known than to mourn the tragic deaths of the women from Rotermann.

Clodine shook her head in disbelief, then abruptly turned and began to run.

“My lady—!”

Merian hurried after her.

Forgetting even to take an umbrella, Clodine ran through the rain, soaked through in moments. At last she reached Ahazan’s office. She brushed past the soldiers who tried to stop her and flung the door open.

Inside the spacious office, Ahazan, Cal, Yuri, and five soldiers stood in grim discussion.

“Clodine.”

Ahazan spoke her name as she stormed in.

She swept her gaze over the room and walked straight up to him.

“You knew the women from Rotermann were dead?”

Ahazan did not answer.

Instead, he looked down at her in silence, then removed his outer coat and draped it over her rain-soaked shoulders.

Clodine knocked his hand away.

“I asked if you knew.”

“Clodine. Calm down first—”

Yuri stepped in, trying to soothe her. It was useless.

The moment she sensed that Ahazan had known, Clodine turned from him and strode toward the soldiers lined up together. The one at the front dropped to one knee in respect before the future Empress.

Without warning, Clodine drew the long sword from his waist.

Gasps erupted around the room.

She lifted the blade to her own throat.

“I will see them with my own eyes.”

The edge nicked her skin.

In her agitation, Clodine did not notice, but a thin, vivid line of red appeared along her neck. Everyone else did.

“Put it down.”

Ahazan’s voice rang out, darker and more furious than ever. The tension in the office tightened until even breathing felt dangerous.

Clodine did not retreat.

“I won’t move until I see the bodies myself!”

“Clodine!”

Ahazan raised his voice, something he rarely did. Blood was beginning to stain the white fabric of her dress.

At last, despair overwhelmed her, and tears broke free.

“Let me see them… please…”

Her desperate plea twisted Ahazan’s face. He exhaled harshly.

“Why must you always—”

He bit back whatever he had been about to say and muttered a curse under his breath.

In the end, he could not break her resolve.

To Cal, he gave a low order.

“Bring them.”

“Brother—!”

Yuri protested immediately, shaking his head fiercely.

“You can’t. Absolutely not—”

“Are you defying me, Yuri?”

Though he spoke to Yuri, Ahazan’s gaze never left Clodine’s throat, fixed on the slender neck now streaked with blood.

Cal did not require a second command.

He left with the soldiers and soon returned, carrying three bodies wrapped in white cloth.

A strangled sob tore from Clodine’s lips.

She breathed as though suffocating, chest heaving uncontrollably. Then, on unsteady legs, she walked toward the three forms laid out side by side on the floor.

No.

She did not know what she was denying, only that the word filled her mind.

A dreadful premonition swallowed her whole.

‘They’re dead. All three.’
‘They were women of high status in their homeland.’

The servants’ whispers seemed to echo again in her ears.

Three women from Rotermann.
Young women of noble birth.

Those vague descriptions could not, must not, point to the women Clodine knew. That single desperate thought filled her mind.

Her trembling fingers seized the white cloth covering the head of the corpse. Beneath it, she felt something horrifically rigid.

Slowly, she pulled the cloth down.

The moment the mutilated face beneath was revealed, Clodine collapsed to the floor.

“I…Isla…”

It was Isla Benchwood.

One of Clodine’s three precious maids.

She had prayed for some cruel illusion, some distortion of sight that would tell her it was not Aila.

But it was unmistakably her.

In an instant, Clodine lost her reason. The horror vanished. The fear vanished.

She dragged Isla’s cold, stiff body into her arms.

“Why… why you… Isla, why are you here like this…?”

Her face, smeared with tears and blood, twisted in anguish. She sobbed like a wounded animal, choking on each breath. She stroked Isla’s lifeless cheek, then clutched her tighter, again and again, unable to stop.

If this truly was Isla—

Then the other two bodies…

The thought stole her breath.

Slowly, she turned her head toward the remaining corpses.

She rose and approached them.

She did not have the courage to see their faces. Instead, she lifted the cloth from the middle.

A hand was revealed.

And on that hand—

A small ring.

Her eyes fixed on it.

‘Is this truly for me, Your Majesty?’
‘Yes. It is a gift meant only for you. Do not boast to the others that I gave it.’

A cherished memory flickered before her.

A broken sound slipped from her cracked lips.

“Pellier…”

The beautiful sapphire ring, now resting upon a battered hand, was one Clodine had commissioned long ago for her senior maid, Pellier Sanderson.

“No… no, it cannot be… Pellier, no…”

She collapsed over Pellier’s body and wrapped her arms around her. Desperate to see her face, she tore the cloth away.

“Ah—ahh…!”

A scream tore from her throat.

Pellier’s face was unrecognizable.

The t*rture had been that severe.

“Clodine. Stop. Stop, please!”

Ahazan rushed forward and seized her shoulders, pulling her back.

Clodine clawed and struck at him with all her strength.

“Let go! Get away from me—you murderer!”

Despite her fury, Ahazan did not forcefully restrain her. He endured it. If she struck him, he accepted it. If she shook him, he held firm.

“You killed them! They died because of you!”

Clodine hurled every venomous word she could.

If Ahazan had not taken Rotermann’s people captive—
If he had not killed O’Neil—

Pellier and the others would not have suffered this fate.

The sight of their mangled bodies tore her heart to shreds.

“Bring them back! Bring them back to life!”

Her breath came in ragged gasps. Everything about Ahazan, everything she saw, felt hateful and unbearable.

She clutched at his clothes, pulling until her nails broke.

How long she raged like that, she did not know.

Suddenly, something drained from her body entirely.

It felt as if she were floating upward. The frantic voices around her blurred into a dull ringing. The world swam, light flashing, fading, flashing again.

And then, in Ahazan’s arms, she lost consciousness.

***

Night fell thick and black.

Though it had rained all day, the storm showed no sign of ceasing. Thunder rolled relentlessly. The long corridor lay swallowed in darkness.

Flash.

Lightning split the sky.

For a brief instant, two figures hidden in the shadows were revealed.

“We have dealt with the remaining ones.”

At the loyal servant’s report, the man smiled.

“A regrettable sacrifice. See that the families are well provided for.”

He had sworn to reduce unnecessary casualties.

It could not be avoided, for the greater cause.

Still, they were, in a broader sense, his own people as well. A faint regret lingered.

“In any case, do not leave a trace. The Emperor is neither a fool nor a puppet.”

For a fleeting moment, something flickered in the servant’s gaze, but it vanished just as quickly.

“I understand. There will be no cause for concern.”

Another flash of lightning illuminated their faces.

The taller man, standing straight and composed, extended a hand into the rain. His golden hair gleamed like silver beneath the storm-lit sky. His violet eyes, so like his mother’s, shone coldly, like gemstones.

“And a letter has arrived from ‘that person.’”

The servant withdrew a small folded note from within his coat and handed it over.

The man accepted it calmly and slipped it into his pocket.

“Tomorrow’s wedding should be quite a spectacle.”

“It will be most entertaining.”

The servant bowed and soon disappeared into the darkness, leaving the man alone.

He gazed at the falling rain and felt refreshed.

Imagining Clodine still screaming somewhere, and the Emperor pacing helplessly at her side, brought a smile to his lips.

“I do hope my wedding gift pleases the two of you.”

His chilling voice lingered in the cold night air.