Clodine opened her eyes sharply in the darkness, the sound of rain pouring outside filling her ears. Though the room was swallowed in shadow, she recognized at once that she was in her own bedchamber.

It felt as though she had only just escaped a terrible nightmare. A heavy emotion still pressed against her chest.

Breathing harshly, she pushed herself upright and pressed her palm firmly against the center of her chest. Even so, her pounding heart refused to calm. She was struggling for breath when a voice suddenly came from beside her.

“Clodine.”

A large hand reached out and cupped her cheek. The familiar resonance and touch, Ahazan.

“Are you conscious?”

His voice was full of worry. Yet the more she tried to focus on his words, the more nausea surged within her. It felt as though everything inside her would spill out. She hastily clamped both hands over her mouth.

‘Over a single nightmare…’

It had been horrifying, so dreadful she did not even wish to think about it again, but could a mere dream truly make her this sick?

She lifted a hand to wipe her face dry, trying to steady herself. This time, a sharp sting pricked at her fingertips, and she winced. Frowning, she looked down at her hands.

Suddenly, the room flooded with yellow light. Ahazan had lit a lamp.

Under the glow, the dried blood crusted at her fingertips became clearly visible. So did the nails, broken in ugly fragments.

Clodine stared blankly at her hands, unable to understand.

Why are they like this? They were fine just a moment ago.

‘Come to think of it…’

When was ‘a moment ago’?

When had I lain down here to sleep?

She wanted to answer the questions rising in her mind, but she could not. The clearer her thoughts became, the closer they edged toward a truth she did not want to face.

“That’s impossible…”

Yes. Impossible.

Muttering, Clodine thought of Pellier Sanderson as she had seen her in the dream, dead, her body cold and stiff. Her face so brutally mutilated it was barely recognizable.

Her head shook on its own.

Though she tried to hold them back, tears welled up and blurred her vision. With trembling fingers, Clodine reached up and touched her neck. Soft silk was wrapped around it.

As she stroked over the fabric, a sharp pain shot through her. The meaning of that pain was too terrifying, too overwhelming. Her heart seemed to drop.

“The wound is deeper than I thought.”

Ahazan immediately reached out, gripping her wrist and lowering her hand.

Through tear-blurred eyes, Clodine looked at him. In fleeting moments of clarity, she saw his hardened expression.

Hesitantly, she spoke.

“It… wasn’t a dream.”

She did not explain what dream she meant. Yet Ahazan asked nothing. That silence was answer enough—and a cruel one.

A sob slipped between her lips. What began as a small sound grew louder, spreading into helpless weeping.

“It wasn’t a dream. Was it?”

“Clodine…”

At the sigh threaded through Ahazan’s voice, her face crumpled. She twisted her elbow, trying to wrench her wrist from his grasp.

“Why…? For what reason did those girls…?”

He would not let go. With one wrist still captured, she shoved at his shoulder with her other arm—again and again. He merely watched her push him, making no attempt to restrain her further.

“Why did those girls have to die like that? What was the reason?”

Her cracked lips parted, and her voice came out harsh, almost metallic. Overcome with fury, Clodine began striking his chest with both fists.

Thud. Thud.

She hit him with all the strength she could muster, desperately, yet he did not so much as flinch. That immobility made her hate him all the more.

“It’s all because of you. If not for you… If you hadn’t dragged us here…!”

Only then did Ahazan move. He seized both her wrists, one in each hand, pressing his thumbs against them until her fingers were forced open. She had clenched her injured hands so tightly that blood had smeared across her pale, delicate palms.

“You murderer! Don’t touch me!”

The resolve she had held earlier that day, to try reconciling with him, was gone. In its place rose a desire to kill him. The images of her dead maids burned her insides until she felt she would go mad.

They had done nothing wrong.

And so Clodine sank deeper into thoughts of them.

She longed painfully for those girls who had always smiled like spring sunlight.

In the winter-cold palace of the Rotermann Kingdom, they had stayed by her side, dropping everything at the slightest sign she might feel lonely.

Even when the kingdom fell, they had rushed to enter the palace, not to protect their own families, but to guard their queen who had been left alone.

If grief were measured by brutality, O’Neil’s death should have been the more devastating. But the bond she had shared with her maids was beyond comparison. This time, an indescribable rage filled her chest.

“Bring them back… Bring them back to me…!”

She should never have simply trusted Ahazan’s promise, that if she married him quietly, he would save the lives of the people.

She should never have believed that residing comfortably in this palace, fulfilling the duties assigned to her, was enough to satisfy her responsibility toward her people.

What kind of queen is this powerless…?

To whom can I beg forgiveness now, for driving you, who were so kind, into such a horrific death…?

Clodine’s shoulders shook violently as she sobbed. Her already frail body convulsed, and she swayed like a reed in the wind. Before long, Ahazan’s force pushed her back onto the bed.

“Breathe, Clodine. Breathe properly.”

Ahazan grasped her chin and lifted it. Though his voice was cold, his hands were urgent.

“If you lose consciousness again, I won’t stand by and watch.”

Even as she gasped and wept uncontrollably, Clodine did not stop glaring at him.

“I’m not afraid of your threats.”

In despair deep enough to welcome even death, fear had no place. And Ahazan recognized that truth at once.

Facing Clodine, who radiated a venomous fury, he felt the need to speak words even more cruel.

“What if I were to throw your maids’ corpses into the middle of the sea?”

Clodine thought she must have misheard him.

Her face twisted as she stared at Ahazan, her lips parting soundlessly in shock.

“How is it? Does that frighten you a little?”

“You… how could you possibly say such—”

“Why not? They mean nothing to me.”

Ahazan deliberately sharpened his words, pushing her further into a corner. He was no longer afraid of being hated by her. Nothing unsettled him more than the thought of her losing the will to live under the weight of unbearable guilt.

If resentment had to be directed somewhere, he would rather it be aimed at him. And so, he no longer hesitated to speak cruelly to her.

“Our wedding is soon. You don’t have the luxury of drowning in grief like this. Instead of clinging to the dead, you should be protecting your living people.”

Clodine could not contain her fury at the sight of him calmly pressing upon her weakness without so much as a change in expression. Though pinned beneath his strength and unable to move, she screamed with everything she had left.

“You’re worse than a beast! Do you even hear yourself? How can you—how can you, the Emperor of the Empire—say such things?”

“Then what would you have me do?”

Ahazan, too, clenched his teeth as suffocating frustration mounted inside him.

“Should I, as the Emperor of the Empire, let you go over something like this? Don’t be ridiculous. If that were the case, I wouldn’t have started any of this to begin with.”

“I will never forgive you. I’ll curse you for the rest of my life!”

“Fine. Then live. Breathe, even if it’s only to curse me. By my side—for the rest of your life.”

As though no other choice existed for her, Ahazan remained mercilessly cold.

For a long moment, he looked down at her with an unreadable expression. Then he slowly rose from the bed.

Freed at last, Clodine covered her face with both hands. Her shoulders shook violently as her sobs, fierce and unrestrained, mingled with the sound of rain and echoed through the chamber.

“Your maids’ funeral will be held after the wedding is safely concluded.”

Though she gave no reply, Ahazan continued to say what needed to be said.

He smoothed his disheveled clothes, trying in his own way to sound composed, though Clodine had no way of knowing that. Their hearts, already misaligned and directionless, were now racing toward opposite extremes with fierce momentum.

“Do not entertain any foolish thoughts. There is no other way to save your people except through marrying me.”

With that final remark, Ahazan turned away from her.

Whether it was the flickering lamplight, the sound of Clodine’s continued weeping behind him—or his own selfishness, which disgusted even himself, his world seemed to sway for a brief moment.

“In that case… what comes next?”

Just as he placed his hand on the door to leave her chamber, her voice, thick with tears—stopped him.

Ahazan stood silently, waiting for what she would say next.

After a moment, Clodine swallowed her sobs and continued.

“After the wedding, what will you use to bind us again?”

Unlike before, her voice was drained of strength. After their exhausting clash, she no longer had the energy to fight back. That weakness might have pleased him, but instead, Ahazan felt something far more bitter.

In the word us, there was no place for him.

Not only was he excluded—he stood on the opposite side, as though he were the one threatening them.

He had not been the one to kill the maids. And yet, once again, he found himself positioned against the us to which she belonged.

Tightening his grip on the doorknob, Ahazan answered in a voice stripped carefully of emotion.

“You’ve already tried it once. I assumed you would know by now. Must I spell out every detail for you?”