Just before winter set in, Laxion took its first official step amid the unrest in Callithea. Until then, any assistance had been provided indirectly via merchants and trade routes, a practice that had always been quietly approved by the Laxion government.

This time, however, was different. Twenty-two massive ships bearing the imperial seal and the Emperor’s signature set sail, laden with relief supplies. This was a bold declaration that Laxion’s aid to Callithea was now formally recognized and sanctioned by both nations.

Unsurprisingly, the anti-Callithea faction, influenced by Cedric, denounced the decision, branding it a reckless waste of public funds. Yet their outrage never went beyond words. By the end of the council session, even those who had once demanded absolute opposition had fallen silent and agreed to the shipment one by one, as though compelled by an unseen hand.

The ailing emperor commended his ministers for reaching an agreement and promptly ordered the fleet to set sail. Although no army was being sent, this gesture alone allowed the imperial family of Callithea to breathe a sigh of relief.

Fearing Laxion’s deeper involvement, the rebel forces in Callithea retreated south under the pretext of ‘regrouping their troops’.

Thus, peace came on the eve of winter — fragile, uncertain and fleeting. Nothing had truly been resolved. The rebels still held power, and the Callithean throne remained unstable. The only thing that had been gained was time, and as the harsh winter cold approached, it was the royal family of Callithea who would suffer most from it.

The south, once the nation’s granary, was now under rebel control, and nearly all the major ports, vital lifelines for trade and aid lay in that same region near the borders.

Isolation had begun to set in.

Even the relief fleet from Laxion would take at least three months to arrive, and it was unable to dock at any nearby ports. To make matters worse, winter had arrived early that year, and the seas near the mainland were already freezing over.

Amidst all this, the steady stream of reports from Callithea that Anita had once received suddenly ceased, as if communication had been deliberately cut off. This left her torn between relief and unease. Although she was thankful that no dreadful news had come, the uncertainty gnawed at her, making her cling to Cedric all the more tightly.

“The frontline stationed in Kiarowe has moved a little farther south. For now, your family should be safe.”

When Cedric was in a good mood, usually after they had spent the night together, he would share snippets of information with her, treating them as acts of kindness.

Anita understood perfectly well what he was doing. This was how he conditioned her: by starving her of affection and truth, only giving her scraps.

He took perverse pleasure in watching her read his mood with trembling eyes, then lower her head as though she were a chained creature too afraid to defy its master.

Yet Anita hid her shame behind a mask of composure, pretending not to feel degraded each time. Nevertheless, she yearned to hear his words and find out what was happening in Callithea, and whether her brother and his family were still safe.

As the days passed, the tension lingered, but no new disasters occurred. Her nightmares began to fade.

Still, Anita herself seemed to wither a little more each day, as though something inside her was being drained away.

Cedric no longer came to her chambers.

Now, it was always Anita who went to see him, draping a robe over her nightclothes and taking Reneé with her. She would slip quietly into his quarters at night, like a courtesan visiting her most valuable client.

Sometimes she would wait for hours in silence as the night stretched on and the candles burned low.

Cedric was often too busy to return before dawn. His attendants would politely ask her to rest, but she could never truly sleep in his bed.

Instead, she would curl up on the soft mattress, holding her breath in the stillness and waiting for the sound of his footsteps.

Over time, she began to think that perhaps this was better.

Because on the nights when he did return, she could not sleep at all, those nights were always quietly tormenting.

“Move properly, Anita.”
“Ah… ngh… ugh!”
“You’re getting better. You’ve quite the talent for pillow talk.”

Whenever they were together, Cedric pushed Anita to her limits, stripping her bare and taking what he wanted while mocking her for willingly coming to him.

Each time she lay in his arms, Anita seemed to fade a little more. The light drained from her eyes, leaving her face devoid of emotion except for quiet resignation and fragile, aching sorrow. Even the palace maids who had once despised her could only feel pity for her.

That night was no different.

At some point, she must have slipped into unconsciousness, sleep claimed her out of sheer exhaustion beneath the weight of the man above her.

Then, suddenly, Anita awoke.

Lately, Cedric had begun coming to his bedchamber more frequently and earlier each night. Whenever he arrived sooner, Anita found herself exhausted all the faster.
She had grown used to slipping into unconsciousness mid-act, drifting into uneasy sleep once her body could no longer endure.

‘…The moon’s still bright.’

Moonlight poured through the curtains, bathing the room in a pale glow. Dawn was still far away, she thought as she stirred.

“Ah…”

Even the slightest movement drew a faint moan from her lips.

Every part of her body ached, as though she had been repeatedly hit.

Wincing, Anita forced herself to sit up.

Even in the dim light, the bruises blooming along her collarbone and arms stood out starkly against her skin. With trembling fingers, she traced them, staring blankly at her own body and feeling cold and detached.

Who had cleaned her up? When had it happened?

Aside from the bruises and the dull ache left by his touch, all traces of the long, punishing night had vanished, leaving silence and emptiness in their place.

‘Another shameful sight I must have shown them.’

The first time Anita awoke to find herself washed and dressed, she was unable to face the palace maids.

However, as this happened repeatedly, she slowly became resigned to it, though the sharp edge of her shame never truly disappeared.

Her voice, already soft by nature, had all but vanished.

When she pulled her knees up, the sheet slipped from her shoulders with a faint rustle that seemed unbearably loud in the silence.

Holding her breath, Anita turned her head.

The first thing she saw was a tumble of black hair.

Cedric, who was always immaculate when awake, looked utterly disheveled asleep.

It wasn’t a sight Anita wished to see; disheveled like this, he seemed coarse and almost vulgar, stripped of the cold refinement that usually kept her at a distance.

Yet even in bed, he remained cold.

The only difference was that, beneath that glacial exterior, he allowed himself to utter words and commit acts that no crown prince should ever utter or commit, ones reserved for her alone.

Anita gazed quietly at his beautiful sleeping face before lowering her eyes.

On any other night, she would have turned away and forced herself to go back to sleep.

But perhaps it was because the moon was shining so brightly tonight that she felt a strange, reckless longing to slip away from his side, just this once.

“Who told you to leave the room on your own at dawn?”
“I woke up… I thought my tossing might disturb your rest.”
“And since when is that for you to decide?”

Anita froze midway as she tried to rise from the bed. She remembered all too well the night she had been harshly scolded for leaving before he awoke.

“When you wander off looking like that, what do you think the servants will say? Do you ever think? Or are you deliberately trying to disgrace me?”
“I was properly dressed. No different than when I arrived…”
“Anita.”
“…”

“Do night and morning look the same to you? Are you saying daylight and darkness make no difference?”
“…”
“Why do you think courtesans work at night? You don’t even understand something that simple?”

Anita could never understand this man.

He despised her, yet seemed equally unhappy whenever she moved out of his reach.

In fact, he couldn’t bear the thought of her, someone who was under his control, acting independently.

‘If it’s just outside, it should be fine. No one will be there anyway.’

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Anita clutched her pounding heart. Even so, she could not suppress the desperate urge to flee from him.

‘Please…’

Holding her breath, not daring even a sound, Anita reached for the doorknob.

Click.

It was a faint, barely audible sound, yet she froze and turned back towards the bed.

The metal handle, engraved with rose patterns, had grown warm in her tense grip.

Fortunately, there was no sign of movement from the bed.

The well-maintained door opened smoothly, without a creak.

Tap.

Anita squeezed through the narrow opening and quietly shut the door behind her.

She flinched at the sound, however faint, and pressed her ear against the wood until she was certain there was no movement inside.

Only then did she exhale and lift her head.

Outside the bedchamber was a small adjoining room intended for guards, or for reading and resting.

A single candle burned there, its flame trembling in the draught.

Beyond that were the private parlor, the dressing room, and the rest of the secluded quarters.

Ordinarily, two knights would have stood guard there for protection.

However, ever since Anita had started her nightly visits, Cedric had ordered them to retreat to the inner room whenever she was present.

Moving towards the couch in the flickering light, Anita sank down, drew her knees to her chest, and buried her face in them.

She told herself that she would only rest for a moment, just long enough to steady her breathing before slipping back inside.

‘…Cold.’

What she hadn’t accounted for was the cold.

While the bedchamber still held traces of warmth from the roaring fire that had burned there earlier, the outer room was subject to the unhindered chill of winter.

Although her long-sleeved robe was appropriate for the season, it was far too thin to protect her from the cold, which hinted at impending snow.

A shiver ran through her as the air nipped at her skin.

Anita had always been sensitive to the cold; her bare toes curled first, stiff and pale with numbness.

‘Cold.’

She murmured softly, the word fading into the quiet.

Yet she made no move to go back inside.

It was bearable at least she was alone here.

Click.

Just as Anita had begun to feel a sense of fragile peace, the sound of a door opening shattered the silence.

Startled, she turned towards it.

It wasn’t the door to the bedchamber, but the one leading from the inner quarters.

Someone stepped through it.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, the Crown Princess.”

“Ah…”

It was Dian who had entered.

The moment he caught sight of Anita, he dropped his head so quickly that it almost touched the floor.

Without hesitating for a second, he turned his back to her.

He moved so quickly that Anita didn’t have time to feel embarrassed about being seen in her nightclothes.