“Did the princess always eat so little?”

“Yes. She leaves nearly half her meal every time, apparently.”

“Then why didn’t you report it?”

Startled, Derek shrugged helplessly.

“You told me not to report anything, Your Highness.”

“….”

Theodore couldn’t even retort. He only radiated a cold, cutting aura. It was true—he had ignored every report about her, brushing them aside without interest. There was nothing he could say.

“But, Your Highness… isn’t something strange about all this?”

“What is.”

“Well, I’ve been watching the princess all this time, haven’t I? And for someone supposedly doted on, she’s… odd.”

Derek scratched at his eyepatch.

“Aside from going to the archives the other day, she almost never leaves her room. And no one visits her except that Balkan fellow.”

“….”

“Look now, too. I’m sure word has spread that she collapsed, but not a single person has come.”

At that, Theodore finally realized that something was amiss.

Come to think of it, she had also looked clumsy with the tableware in the dining hall. In fact, her grasp of noble etiquette had seemed entirely off. It was as if she were a child learning to walk for the first time.

Ayla had tried her hardest to blend in, but she could not fool Theodore.

“When did Grid bring her back to Melshid?”

“Let’s see… when she was about ten, I think.”

“And before that?”

“That I’m not sure of… Should I investigate?”

Theodore paused, thinking—then shook his head.

“No need.”

For a brief moment, his emotionless violet eyes wavered. But he quickly hid it, drawing a cigar case from his coat.

“Whatever the circumstances, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s a damned mermaid.”

An enemy.

A fragile piece of leverage in a peace that could shatter at any moment.

Reiterating the definition of Ayla that he had been trying to blur, Theodore clamped the cigar between his teeth. But just as he reached for the lighter on the bedside table, his hand brushed against Ayla’s notebook.

On the front page were the words she had written at the luncheon:

〈Even after learning I was flawed, you neither sent me back to Melshid nor raised any objection.〉

“Flawed…”

His brow tightened.

Instead of lighting the cigar, he snapped it in half and tossed it into the wastebasket.

Then he approached the bed.

“…ngh…”

Ayla whimpered softly, her fists clenching the blanket. Her lips, now with a hint of recovered color, parted to emit a faint sound.

“So you can make noise, after all.”

Theodore muttered under his breath.

Without thinking, he swept aside the damp strands clinging to her forehead—only to scowl at the sensation.

Her sweat-soaked hair clung to his fingers, and he curled his hand into a tense fist.

“…Annoying. As always.”

***

“Ugh…”

Ayla groaned, overwhelmed by the sensation of weight pressing down on her entire body. Her eyelids felt as though they had been glued together all night, but she forced them open and saw a strange ceiling.

Not only the ceiling, but also the soft pillow beneath her head and the firm yet comfortable mattress supporting her back. None of it belonged to her.

“Gasp—”

Startled, she shot upright like a spring.

‘Where… am I?’

She remembered collapsing in the garden—that much was clear.
But after that… could it be…?

‘Don’t tell me this is Theodore’s room…?’

As Ayla recalled his face just before she fainted, she covered her mouth in shock. Then she sensed that something was amiss.

Soon, she discovered why.

The fingertip that brushed her lips was too smooth. Too smooth.

‘What…?’

She should have had a cut. There should have been a knife wound. But the skin had almost healed, with fresh flesh already forming underneath.

Ayla felt the blood drain from her body.

‘No… no, that’s impossible.’

After losing her ability, her body had stopped healing like that. But now—

Her wound had closed.

‘Did… did my ability come back?’

Why?

It had definitely vanished before.

Her heartbeat quickened.

‘If it’s back… wouldn’t Grid drag me away again?’

She hated that. She could never relive those hellish days again. Her skin prickled with phantom pain—wounds Grid had once inflicted.

Fear rushed in so violently that her mind nearly shut down.

‘Calm down. Someone could’ve just treated me.’

Come to think of it, she did feel much better than she had in the garden. Maybe they gave her medicine… or used healing magic?

‘Right. That must be it. If I just check again—’

Her frantic gaze darted around the room until it landed on her pen on the nightstand.

With no hesitation, Ayla grabbed it and pressed the tip to her wrist.

A clean, sharp pain shot through her as a thin line tore open her skin. Blood welled up. And then—

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Theodore’s sharp voice sliced through the room.

Ayla froze mid-motion.

Drip.

A drop of blood fell from the tip of the pen onto the white sheets.

Theodore reached her in an instant. He clamped his hand around her wounded wrist and lifted it sharply. The sheet beneath them bloomed red, spreading like a stain of accusation — just like the dark, simmering fury in Theodore’s violet eyes.

“I asked you what you’re doing! Snap out of it, Princess!”

“Ugh—!”

His grip tightened around her wrist. But Ayla, unable to recognize him in the darkness, only struggled to wrench the pen free.

‘Let go—let go! I have to check—’

Her mind was consumed by the wound, and her panic made her resistance violent. The more she fought, the more blood seeped into the sheets, staining them deeper and deeper.

“Stop— d*mn it. Ayla Panopaea!”

Theodore finally shouted her name.

The room went still.

The moment she heard it—her name—Ayla’s blurred gaze slowly regained focus.

“Hey, you half-wit.”

Mockery and ridicule were the only ways she had ever been addressed.

Here, however, she had only ever been called ‘Princess’, nothing else. Hearing her real name again after such a long time came as a strange shock that pierced straight through her chest.

Her soft, sky-blue eyes finally locked onto Theodore with clarity. Moon-pale skin, black hair and deep violet eyes — it was an unforgettable face, even in fear; she recognized it instantly.

Ayla finally realized who was holding her down.

‘Te…o?’

Her lips parted weakly, mouthing his name.

Her expression crumpled faintly.

“…Haa…”

The strength drained from her fingers and her hand finally went limp.

Clatter.

The pen slipped from her grasp and rolled across the floor.

Theodore clenched his jaw and stomped down on the pen. The metal snapped beneath his heel, producing a sharp, grating sound that shattered the silence.

“Have you lost your mind?”

His broad chest rose and fell heavily, breath ragged from the struggle.

“Are you that desperate to die?”

Theodore’s eyelids twitched faintly, as if anger were pulsing beneath his skin. The metallic stench of blood churned in his throat, making his Adam’s apple bob sharply.

“Or is this how you vent because my father upset you at the luncheon? If that’s the case, congratulations, Princess. You’ve succeeded perfectly. My mood is absolute h*ll right now.”

He twisted Ayla’s blood-stained wrist, a low growl rumbling in his voice.

“If anyone sees you bleeding in my room, it’ll be a spectacle. Especially for Melshid.”

Ayla’s mind went cold as if someone had tipped a bucket of ice water over her head.

It was a mistake.

She had let fear take over. She hadn’t thought at all about the consequences. About how much trouble this would cause Theodore.

If this incident spread, Grid would seize the chance. He would accuse Theodore of harming her and then negotiate for compensation or whatever benefit he could extort.

He wouldn’t care what really happened behind closed doors.

‘No… that’s not it.’

Ayla parted her lips, but Theodore had already looked away. Her unspoken words could not reach him.

The pen was beyond repair and ink had spilled everywhere. There was only one way she could explain.

Knowing he would hate it, she reached out with trembling fingers and slowly traced letters onto his palm.