Clodine entered the bathhouse with Merian, dressed in a light outer robe.

Inside, a bath filled with hot water and fragrant flower petals awaited her. Wine had been prepared to ease the fatigue of travel, along with beeswax candles blended with aromatic oils. A hazy steam veiled her vision, yet even that felt warm and soothing, like a restorative balm.

Through the open window, a fresh breeze drifted in, stirring the white curtains.

As Clodine’s gaze idly settled there, her eyes narrowed.

It seemed as though someone was standing behind the curtain.

“I will attend to the Empress’s bath. All of you may leave.”

It was Ahazan.

Leaning casually against the window frame, he sipped his wine and watched her.

His hair, stirred lightly by the wind, seemed glossier than usual. Dressed in a loose white shirt and wide black trousers, he looked both relaxed and refined.

The servants glanced briefly at Clodine for confirmation before withdrawing one by one.

When they were finally alone, Ahazan set his glass upon the windowsill and approached her.

“You said I should rest from the journey.”

Clodine spoke first, her expression subdued.

“I did.”

She furrowed her brow faintly and clarified,

“What you’re doing now is interfering with that rest.”

Ahazan let out a soft breath of laughter.

“And how do you know what I intend to do?”

As he spoke, his hand reached calmly toward the front of her outer robe.

Clodine was certain he meant to take her as he had the night before.

Suddenly, the fierce and unfamiliar sensations she had endured in the night condensed into a single sharp shock, coursing through her body. She stiffened instinctively, fists clenching where he could not see.

She did not want to lose herself again to unbearable stimulation and crave him against her will.

Before he could strip the robe from her shoulders, she caught his hand.

“I don’t want this anymore. Last night was a mistake. Forget it.”

Her voice trembled slightly, but her tone was firm.

Ahazan’s hand stilled.

“I told you clearly. You may decide how it begins, but not how it ends.”

Clodine met his eyes, her own filled with complicated emotion.

His expression remained as gentle as before.

“Let go.”

At his quiet command, she slowly released his hand.

She felt the thin robe slide down her body and fall to the floor with a soft sound.

The underdress beneath, white, translucent lace, was so delicate it revealed glimpses of her skin.

She endured his gaze upon her. Though it was only his eyes, her body burned as if touched by his hands.

Frozen by the thought that he would once again unravel her as he had the night before, she could not move.

Ahazan lifted her effortlessly in both arms.

Then he lowered her gently into the bath filled with steaming water. Her chilled skin seemed to melt at once in the heat.

He drew a chair beside the bath and sat.

Clodine, reclining within the tub below his knees, could not help but cast him a bewildered look.

“I think I was too harsh on you last night.”

He murmured it almost to himself.

With his left hand, he began to massage the inside of her left arm; with his right, her shoulder. His movements were measured and steady, not wandering but pressing at even intervals, like someone easing tension from tired muscles.

“Relax, Clodine. I won’t touch where I shouldn’t.”

When she looked at him with renewed unease, he added teasingly,

“I would know better than anyone what aches and why.”

The simple remark left her speechless.

A flush bloomed across her cheeks, betraying her embarrassment.

Yet afterward, Ahazan remained true to his word.

For a long time, with unchanging pressure and an expression of calm, he tended solely to easing the strain from her arms, her legs, her waist.

Clodine bit her lower lip and deliberately turned her gaze away, refusing to watch the hands that touched her.

To keep herself from being swept away by emotion again, she forced the conversation toward something practical.

“When will you hold the funeral for the maids? The wedding is over. Keep your promise.”

She had expected him to take offense at her bringing it up again.

Instead, he answered evenly, as though discussing the most ordinary of matters.

“It will be held as soon as preparations are complete. I promise it will not go past this week. If you have any preference for the rites, tell me.”

His seriousness caught her off guard. She found herself speaking with the same composure, as though discussing affairs of state rather than standing half-bare in a bath before him.

“The form does not matter. But allow the people of Rotermann to attend.”

When his gaze met hers, she continued,

“Just a few would be enough. A funeral without anyone to truly mourn my maids would have no meaning.”

Ahazan accepted Clodine’s request with surprising ease. Nodding, he replied.

“Write up the list and give it to Cal.”

The conversation progressed more smoothly than she had expected, and the atmosphere between them softened, if only slightly.

But it lasted only a moment.

“Your hand is a mess.”

Ahazan said it while looking at the burn on Clodine’s hand. Combined with the broken nail and other small injuries from the recent chaos, there was hardly an unblemished place left.

Clodine quickly searched for a suitable answer.

“I burned it a little while feeding paper into the fireplace at the villa.”

She could not bring herself to say that she had grabbed a pot heated by fire with her bare hands because she feared he might get hurt.

Ahazan raised one brow faintly, speaking in a detached tone.

“How does burning paper result in a brand like this?”

His voice made it clear he found the explanation unconvincing. Clodine felt even more uncomfortable.

Fortunately—or perhaps not, he did not press further.

Instead, he spoke with unmistakable firmness, almost like an order.

“Don’t injure yourself carelessly again. This body isn’t yours alone anymore.”

His final words lingered in her mind.

“Not mine alone?”

Her voice sounded faint yet strangely resolute.

Ahazan did not answer. He merely looked at her, his hands continuing to knead her legs steadily, without pause.

Clodine leaned her head back against the edge of the bath, her gaze drifting up to the ceiling adorned with ornate paintings and sculptures.

“It feels like this body was never mine to begin with.”

Her voice was dry, too dry to be called lamentation. There was no trace of provocation, no desire to argue. She was simply stating what she truly felt.

The raw sincerity of it reached him as well.

After a brief silence, Ahazan scooped warm water and poured it gently over her chest where it rose above the bath. The heat spread over her skin, and her heart, chilled moments before began to beat more strongly.

“Does that make you unhappy, Clodine?”

His voice was gentle, serious. The kind that compelled reflection.

Unhappy?

About the years when her body had never felt like her own?

Before she could answer, Ahazan took her hand and lifted it from the water. He placed it against his own forearm, then covered it with his other hand.

When he closed his fingers around hers, her hand beneath instinctively curled as well, grasping the thick, firm muscle of his arm beneath the damp fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t be unhappy. Instead, I’ll give you this.”

By ‘this,’ he meant his body.

He wore a faint smile, but there was nothing playful in it.

“It may not mean much to you. But I protected this body with everything I had.”

In that instant, the image of his scar-covered back at the villa flashed before her.

“It looks decent enough. And it does whatever it’s told.”

He smiled more deeply then, a shallow dimple forming at his cheek, handsome, even strikingly so.

“I’ll give it to you. I’ll make it so only you can have it.”

Through the drifting steam, Clodine stared into his eyes.

Before she could fully consider what his words truly meant, her heart interpreted them first. She did not know how sincere he was, but she sensed she would not need to ask.

‘Are you really going to believe something like that?’

Her face remained expressionless as she questioned herself.

At the same time, she kept answering inwardly—no, absolutely not.

Unaware that her fingers had begun, little by little, to tighten around his arm.