Clodine slowly turned from her seat and looked back at the painting. It still hung in the same place, bathed in the same sunlight as before.

As though drawn by something unseen, her steps retraced the path she had just taken and led her once more before the frame. Tilting her head slightly, she studied it more intently.

Roses and lilies blended together into one…

Since ancient times, the flower symbolizing the Emperor of the Van Helsing Empire had been the red rose, particularly the variety with abundant petals and a large bloom. By coincidence, it was the very same kind depicted in the painting.

And that was not the only coincidence.

The lily, especially the pure white lily, was the flower that symbolized the Ramier family. In truth, the object placed at the very center of the Ramier family crest alongside a sword was also a lily. Of course, there were several noble houses within the Empire that used the lily motif in their crests. But the only house that hosted an annual ‘Lily Festival’ and customarily presented lilies to distinguished guests was the Ramier family.

Of all flowers, it had to be that rose and that lily.

Clodine thought she might be overthinking something insignificant, yet she could not easily dismiss the thought. As if guided by that suspicion, she reached out and removed the painting from the wall, turning it around.

It was then that she noticed something peculiar, the back of the thick leather canvas was covered with a thin piece of cloth.

‘What is this cloth?’

She hesitated for a moment, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby. Unable to suppress her curiosity, she carefully peeled the fabric away from the frame.

And at last, she came face to face with several neatly written lines on the back of the painting.

The handwriting was unmistakably familiar. It was that of the late Empress Selena. Only days ago, in the kitchen, she had seen a box filled with letters written in that very same hand.

With trembling breath, Clodine began to read.

‘May no unhappy fate befall the two of you. May the bond that has entangled you be filled with love for one another. And when you one day come to understand this destiny, may you regard it as a blessing.’

The single paragraph seized her gaze, her thoughts, her emotions. It was filled with someone’s sincerity and desperate longing. And the passage concluded with a sorrowful line:

‘Though none of it may have been granted to Geskel and me.’

Geskel, the name of Ahazan’s father and the former Emperor of the Empire.

The one who had pressed such tragic and cruel verses onto the unseen back of a painting was indeed the late Empress Selena.

Clodine read the words again and again.

Anyone could see that the message had been written for Ahazan and Clodine, bound as betrothed the moment they were born by the decree of the system. And beyond that, it was also a quiet memorial to Selena’s own past, forced into an unhappy fate with Emperor Geskel by that same procedure.

Suddenly, she recalled Ahazan once mentioning that his mother had loved another man.

Perhaps that was why Selena had so fervently wished that her newborn son and his betrothed, though tied together by a forced destiny, might, unlike herself, come to love one another.

A bitter smile touched Clodine’s sorrow-stained face. When she thought of the path she and Ahazan had already strayed so far upon, her heart felt as though it were burning.

‘Where will this destiny end?’

A question with no answer drifted quietly within her chest.

***

“For the time being, you must absolutely not let water touch your left hand.”

Merian had already repeated the same warning five times. Clodine slowly blinked and gave a faint smile, as if to say she understood and that it was enough.

Merian continued to stress that the hand must be carefully wrapped in cloth to keep water from the wound, but Clodine preferred to finish treatment with only the ointment applied.

After examining once more the injury at Clodine’s neck, Merian began putting away the medical instruments.

“Do not tell His Majesty. I will handle it myself.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Clodine put on the long-sleeved nightgown Merian had brought at her request. Unless she deliberately rolled up the sleeves, the long lace concealed everything, the broken, unsightly nail and the burn on her left hand alike.

The soup Ahazan had prepared that morning truly seemed to be effective against fever. Her temperature had completely subsided now, and the headache had vanished.

‘It seems he will retire late again tonight.’

With that thought, she lay down alone as usual and attempted to sleep. Judging by the past four days, Ahazan deliberately entered the bedroom only after she had fallen asleep. When night descended, he unfailingly stepped outside the villa to train with his subordinates or spend time among the soldiers.

Alone in the softly flickering candlelight, Clodine closed her eyes.

She tried not to think of the painting she had seen earlier, nor of the late Empress Selena’s poetic lines. Nor the dreadful-tasting soup, nor the sweet candy, nor her injured hand from that unexpected incident.

Yet when she tried not to think of them, nothing else remained in her mind.

Only Ahazan’s smiling face and the words he had spoken returned again and again.

How much time had passed?

The sound of the bedroom door opening reached her ears.

She knew that the door did not normally open so quietly. So she understood at once that whoever had entered was making a deliberate effort not to create noise.

Next came the sound of slow, cautious footsteps. Someone was walking with particular care to soften the creak of the wooden floor.

Still lying on her side, Clodine kept her eyes closed and feigned sleep, focusing on every sound.

The footsteps drew nearer.

The familiar scent that reached her soon after could only belong to Ahazan. For some reason, she felt reassured.

‘Reassured?’

The one most startled by that instinctive emotion was Clodine herself.

Then Ahazan gently pulled the blanket up over her shoulder, nearly causing her to flinch.

Though her eyes were closed, she could sense his movements close beside her. She wondered if he intended to do more, but he merely adjusted her bedding before stepping back.

‘Has he done this every night?’

Thinking of the nights she had fallen asleep before him, Clodine slowly opened her eyes.

Keeping her gaze still, she watched as Ahazan suddenly opened the door again and called out to someone standing outside.

“Did you call for me, Your Majesty?”

From the voice and the faint silhouette in the darkness, it seemed to be Merian.

After her gentle reply, Ahazan’s voice followed. He lowered it considerably, clearly trying to speak quietly, yet in the stillness of the room it was easy enough to hear.

“Bring a small brazier. The bed is far from the hearth, and I am concerned the Empress may feel cold during the night.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And… did the Empress eat her dinner well?”

Clodine closed her eyes again.

Come to think of it, she had not dined with Ahazan that evening. Cal, who had returned from the capital carrying a great deal of political news, had kept him occupied the entire night.

Ahazan’s voice, thick with unmistakable concern, struck Clodine’s heart with unusual force.

‘That voice… that tone…’

A rush of tangled emotion surged up without warning, tightening her throat until she felt she could hardly breathe.

Merian replied in an equally subdued manner.

“She hardly ate at all. She says her fever has broken and the aftereffects are gone, but it seems she has not yet fully regained her strength.”

“It must be largely due to the poor conditions here. We should return to the capital tomorrow at once.”

“Does that mean the trip will end here?”

“Prepare accordingly.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. As you command.”

Once Ahazan’s orders were given, Merian immediately brought the small brazier inside and placed it beside Clodine’s bed. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the warmth wrapping around her entire body.

After Merian left, Ahazan remained for a while, gently smoothing the blanket over her.

“I can’t bear to see you hurt anymore.”

A careful hand, almost hesitant, brushed lightly against the hair that had fallen across her forehead. Clodine fought hard to keep her eyelashes from trembling.

“I would rather see you angry at me… shouting at me.”

His voice was low yet tender, quiet yet resonant.

After that, he did not touch her again. With those final words, he stepped away from her once more. As the distance between them grew, his fading scent rippled through the space around Clodine, who lay alone in the vast bed.

Drawn by an emotion she could not name, she slowly lifted her eyelids.

Ahazan had moved to stand beside the fireplace, his back turned toward her as he removed his upper garments to change into his night robe.

In the red glow of the flames, his bare upper body was revealed, lean and powerfully built, without excess flesh. The shadows settling between the carved lines of his muscles would have drawn admiration from anyone who beheld them.

But what held Clodine’s gaze completely was not the strength of his form.

She could not tear her eyes away from the countless scars scattered across his entire back.

Though the room was dim and the distance considerable, each scar stood out clearly to her. Some appeared so severe that they might once have threatened his life.

In the stillness of the room, the faint sound of fabric brushing against skin seemed unusually loud.

Slowly, Clodine pushed herself upright on the bed. It felt as though her body moved before her mind had fully decided to do so.

Though she believed she had made no sound, Ahazan immediately turned his head.

His face was shadowed by the backlight, yet the darkness posed no obstacle to their eyes meeting.

“I did not mean to wake you.”

Ahazan withdrew his gaze from her and faced forward again, finishing the adjustment of his night robe.

Without looking at him, Clodine quietly countered his words with a question of her own. She kept her eyes fixed on his bed instead.

“What was the battlefield like… where you fought?”

After confirming that her gaze was not resting on him, Ahazan stepped toward the shelf where the liquor was kept.

“It is not a place worth describing.”

He spoke curtly and poured himself a drink, lifting the glass to his lips. The tone made it clear he had little desire to discuss the subject.

Ordinarily, Clodine would never have initiated conversation with Ahazan. That alone made her question unusual. Yet she went further, pressing with a hint of persistence.

“Did you ever want to run away?”

In truth, she was not entirely aware of what she was saying. It felt as though her heart did not belong to her; unlike her usual self, the words spilled out impulsively.

Ahazan had not yet noticed that something about her was different.

“Run away…”

There was the faintest trace of laughter in his trailing voice.

“Run away for what purpose?”

It was not a question.

He emptied the remaining liquor from his glass and continued at once.

“If we had lost the war, there would have been no hell better than that one.”

Clodine reflected quietly on his words.

He was right.

Dark times were like a swamp beneath one’s feet. No matter how desperately one struggled to escape, the chance of reaching paradise was almost nonexistent.

She understood that feeling better than anyone. During the years she had lived as O’Neil’s wife, she had felt it countless times and despaired over it.

‘You did not live easily either… after casting me aside.’

There had once been a time when she truly wished that for him, that his world would be just as painful and wretched as hers.

Yet in this moment, she did not understand why that truth pierced her heart so sharply.

The long years they had endured separate hells in their respective places, the sum of that combined suffering, burned inside her with unbearable regret.

Could I not have borne you, and you borne me? If we were destined to endure those endless years of hell regardless, could we not have fallen into the same swamp and, at the very least, held each other there?

Why only now.

Why now, when it is already too late.

Clodine lowered her head, covering her eyes with her right hand. Her shoulders sagged as though all strength had drained from her body.

‘May no unhappy fate befall the two of you. May the bond that has entangled you be filled with love for one another. And when you one day come to understand this destiny, may you regard it as a blessing.’

The misfortune that had not passed them by.

The place between them filled with hatred.

A destiny that felt like a curse rather than a blessing.

“Clodine. Are you still unwell?”

At last, Ahazan noticed that something in her behavior was not right. He set his glass down on the shelf and strode toward her.

Clodine lifted her head to see him kneel on one knee before her, lowering himself to meet her gaze. Though her eyes were vacant, her face was flushed red.

“Hold me.”

Ahazan clearly heard her, yet he froze briefly, unable to comprehend the command.

His eyes blinked slowly, as though asking her to repeat it.

Clodine’s fists were clenched pitifully tight, but her voice did not tremble in the slightest as she spoke again, clearly and distinctly.

“Hold me tonight, Ahazan.”