Clodine’s body burned with heat, damp with sweat. The instant she pressed herself against him with all her strength, Ahazan felt a sudden wave of dizziness. He was not a man easily flustered, but this moment was an exception.

As if clinging were not enough, she leaned toward his ear and whispered in a dry, fragile voice.

“Ahazan…? How did you get here?”

Her tone was slow, hazy, nothing like her usual self.

He immediately understood that she was not thinking clearly. Even so, he tightened his hold around her head and shoulders, afraid she might collapse.

“You came back alive. I knew you would.”

Her voice sounded like hers, yet not entirely. She clung to him desperately, like someone on the verge of losing everything.

The sight of her stirred something painfully tender in him. He wanted to answer her, wanted to say something, but he had no way of knowing which moment in the past she was wandering through.

“I missed you. I always missed you.”

Her voice trembled. She began to sob quietly, breath hitching between words.

“I dreamed every day that you came to see me.”

Each word struck his chest like an arrow.

They were simple, direct, but he could not make sense of them.

‘You missed me?’

He held her just as tightly as she held him.

Why would she have missed him? She had become the wife of the man she loved, surely she had lived contentedly. Why would she long for him?

“Is this a dream too?”

Only then did he answer.

“No. It’s not a dream.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Perhaps reassured, the strength slowly drained from her arms around his neck. Her body sagged, just as it had before.

Carefully, he laid her back down on the bed. Her face was flushed with fever, pink heat blooming across pale skin.

He stared at her with a conflicted expression.

He had been the one to say it wasn’t a dream. Yet somehow, it felt as though he had just woken from one.

What she had said, he could not believe it.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

Her condition mattered more.

He called for the servants at once. Word spread quickly throughout the villa that the Empress had taken ill with a fever.

Merian Bennett, who had just arrived for the morning shift, rushed in pale with alarm. But in truth, there was little she could do. Ahazan dismissed them all and tended to Clodine himself.

Through the night, he wiped her burning face, neck, arms, and legs with cool, damp cloths. No matter how many times he wiped her down, the stubborn heat would not leave her body.

And when he truly looked at her, he realized how thin she had grown. Even compared to a few days ago, her condition had deteriorated noticeably. Compared to years past, the change was unthinkable.

“You said you’d changed completely. Is this how you meant to prove it?”

His voice carried quiet reproach, but his hands never stopped moving.

Near dawn, her fever finally began to break. Only when it lowered to a manageable warmth did he allow the servants to change her sweat-soaked clothes into fresh ones.

Once they were alone again, he lay down beside her without hesitation.

Let her scold him later if she wished. Right now, she looked as though she might shatter or fade away at any moment. He could not simply leave her.

He cradled her head gently in his large hand and returned to the words she had spoken.

‘I dreamed every day that you came to see me.’

What had she meant?

Shouldn’t that have been his line?

During the war, Ahazan had suffered from insomnia. It would be more accurate to say he chose it, because night after night, Clodine appeared in his dreams.

To see someone he could neither touch nor claim was t*rture beyond words. Dreams were merely the cruel byproduct of unbearable longing.

He looked at her sleeping face, questions filling his eyes. But her expression was peaceful now, more so than before, and that alone eased him.

A faint smile touched his lips.

“If you wake up and say you don’t remember any of it, I might get angry.”

He lowered his head and pressed a light kiss to her pale forehead.

“That’s the price for scaring me tonight.”

Just then, Clodine shifted in her sleep and burrowed closer into his chest.

He stiffened for a moment at the unexpected closeness, then slowly relaxed and closed his eyes as well.

***

Clodine woke to a splitting headache.

She pressed a hand to her forehead and blinked, her vision clearing, only to freeze.

“Mm…?”

She blinked again.

As the image sharpened, her expression hardened.

‘Ahazan?’

In the bright morning light, Ahazan’s face hovered directly above hers, eyes closed in sleep.

She lifted her head slightly and stared at him in disbelief.

She had gone to bed alone last night. Though she had felt unwell, she remembered clearly lying down by herself.

Then what was this?

Holding her breath, she lowered her gaze.

Their bodies lay pressed close, facing one another.

Both were fully dressed in neat nightclothes.

But Clodine recognized instantly—

The nightgown she wore was not the one she had fallen asleep in.

‘Why is my nightgown… no, how was it changed?’

Clodine’s face paled further as her gaze moved from the arm wrapped firmly around her waist to Ahazan’s sleeping face. The weight of his arm pressing lightly against her felt unfamiliar. His face, eyes closed in sleep, was far too close.

She swallowed soundlessly and pressed both hands over her heart, afraid the frantic pounding in her chest might somehow reach his ears.

Heat surged through her into her scalp, her fingertips, her toes. It felt as though the fever that had tormented her the night before was creeping back, slowly overtaking her body again.

‘I’m just startled… Anyone would be startled in this situation…’

She hurried to justify herself against a question no one had asked.

After a brief hesitation, she carefully shifted, intending to slip out of his arms. But the moment she managed to lift the arm around her waist—

“Sleep a little longer.”

His voice came from above her head, rougher than usual, as if he had just woken.

Only then did she realize how overly cautious and timid she had been. Embarrassment flickered across her face.

“Why are we like this?”

Ahazan slowly opened his eyes.

Uncharacteristically impatient, she pressed further.

“My clothes… did you change them?”

Instead of answering, he simply stared at her.

Then, without warning, he leaned forward and gently pressed his forehead to hers.

Startled, Clodine tried to pull away, but he drew her closer instead.

“What are you—!”

Before her voice could rise, he cut her off, his tone faintly dissatisfied.

“You still feel warm.”

As he spoke, he pulled the thick blanket up to her neck and tucked it securely around her.

“This won’t do. I’ll make you some soup that’s good for fever.”

Clodine watched him sit up on the bed, still unable to fully process what was happening.

Though he rubbed his eyes like someone not fully awake, he moved without the slightest unsteadiness. He slipped on the coat draped over the neighboring bed and tied the sash at his waist with practiced ease. Before leaving, he returned to smooth down her blankets once more.

“Don’t move from here until I say so.”

“Ahazan—!”

She called out urgently, but he ignored her and walked out of the bedroom.

Left alone, Clodine stared at the door in disbelief, still buried beneath the heavy blanket.

After a moment, she threw it aside and rose from the bed. A wave of dizziness washed over her, but she steadied herself and pulled on a coat before stepping into the corridor.

“Your Majesty, you’re awake.”

Merian approached at once, as though she had been waiting.

“How are you feeling?”

Even Merian’s usually impassive face showed clear concern.

Clodine frowned slightly.

“Was I very ill last night?”

Merian nodded gravely.

“You were delirious with fever. His Majesty stayed by your side all night. It was only this morning that your temperature finally came down.”

“Ahazan nursed me all night?”

Clodine repeated the words as if hearing something impossible.

“From what I saw since dawn, he didn’t rest even for a moment.”

Before Merian could finish, Clodine closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose.

If she had been so ill as to lose consciousness, then her recovery now was surely thanks to someone’s constant care.

And that someone—

Had been Ahazan.

Her expression grew complicated.

After pacing briefly outside the bedroom, she finally headed downstairs, recalling something he had said about making soup.

As expected, Ahazan was in the kitchen, surrounded by servants. He seemed to be giving instructions about ingredients. At his orders, they scattered at once to carry out their tasks.

Only then did he notice Clodine standing in the doorway.

His brow furrowed sharply.

Tilting his head slightly, his voice low and cooled with disapproval, he said,

“Do you find my orders amusing?”