“There’s a nursemaid, so why him?” Sys demanded.
“He’s good with children,” Bee replied.
It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Evan had practically raised the children of the Pison Company, including El. He had a knack for handling them.
Even Sasha, prone to fussiness, would fall asleep easily with Evan. When Bee was too busy to tend to her, Sasha naturally sought him out.
Sys’s face crumpled further at her response. No matter how skilled Evan was, could he really outdo a nursemaid? Sys couldn’t fathom why his daughter needed Evan by her side.
“She’s probably asleep by now,” Bee said, stopping Sys as he moved to check on Sasha.
“I need to see for myself,” he insisted, striding forward.
Bee quickly closed the distance, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Are you going to leave me here like this?” she asked, her lashes fluttering as she gazed up at him, her face tantalizingly seductive.
Sys’s throat tightened, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Of course, we’ll go together,” he said, feigning nonchalance while his eyes darted away.
Bee’s fingers trailed slowly up his spine, her gentle touch stirring the desire he’d kept dormant.
It had been days since he’d held her, swamped with work. His pent-up longing was at its breaking point.
Bee fanned the flames of his desire.
“I was hoping we could go somewhere just for the two of us,” she said, her tone unmistakably suggestive.
Unable to resist—unwilling to resist—Sys’s lips crashed onto hers, claiming them fiercely. Her soft lips swelled under his hungry kisses, a faint sting of pain ignored by both, as they were equally consumed by need.
Their lips parted, tongues entwining, heedless of their surroundings—Erharak Hall, knights just outside the open door.
“Haa, haa,” Sys gasped, reluctantly pulling away.
He wanted to take her right there, but a thread of reason held him back. This was a public place, unfit for such intimacy.
Scooping Bee into his arms, he lifted her effortlessly, her arms naturally circling his neck.
Racking his memory, he recalled the nearest suitable room and quickened his pace.
Bee, nestled in his embrace, glanced back at Erharak Hall. Amid the dazzling lights, a dark veil seemed to fall, an illusion of that day.
“Are you happy?”
The eerie voice of the Black Priest, neither male nor female, echoed in her mind.
As Empress, she’d called for him multiple times in this hall, but he never answered again—as if he’d never existed, or their connection had ended.
“Are you happy?”
As the hall’s door began to close, his voice seemed to whisper again.
Bee tightened her grip around Sys’s neck.
He paused, looking down at her with concern. Her reflection shone in his golden eyes.
“Are you happy?” she asked, echoing the Black Priest’s question.
Sys gave a wry smile, as if the answer were obvious.
“What a question,” he said, resuming his brisk pace, eager to hold her fully. Despite his urgency, his lips moved naturally.
“And you?”
Bee buried her face in his chest, breathing in his sweet spearmint scent, feeling the steady thud of his heart.
“Are you happy?” he pressed, holding her tighter.
Rubbing her cheek against him, she murmured, “I’m happy.”
What that Bee had longed for, yet could never have, was now hers—his heart, his scent, his everything.
Epilogue: Act 1 – Marquis Elient
At sixteen, my father, the Marquis, passed away.
His carriage overturned on a rain-slicked road. The news of his death sent my mother into shock, and days later, she followed him, closing her eyes forever.
Blaming himself for their deaths, my younger brother vanished after her funeral.
I was left alone in the Elient Marquisate.
My brother, a year younger, had been frail since birth, his life hanging by a thread with every cold.
In a family renowned for its martial prowess, his weakness was an anomaly.
My mother blamed herself, spending tearful nights by his side.
My parents poured their attention into curing him, leaving me, born healthy, to fade into the background.
Perhaps I was slow compared to other children, or maybe I lacked the ability to express emotions, but I struggled to show my feelings. I often reacted too late, unsure how to respond to others.
People’s reactions to me split two ways: anger or indifference.
Over time, interacting with others grew harder. They approached with assumptions, only to leave disappointed or frustrated.
Some departed resenting me.
I turned to the sword instead. It was easier than dealing with people. The sword was honest, rewarding my effort fairly.
When my father returned from seeking medicine for my brother, he was a corpse. Duty-bound to protect the family, I had to set the sword aside.
The Elient family was once famed as a martial house, leading the vanguard in conquest wars, earning countless honors.
But under the current emperor, no wars had erupted in the empire.
Occasional raids by the Inayari in the West were routine provocations, not significant enough to spark conflict.
It was an era of peace.
In peace, there was little place for warriors. As times changed, martial houses declined, and scholarly families rose to prominence.
The Elient family, dating back to the kingdom’s founding, was among the empire’s original noble houses. Had my father not died, we could’ve weathered the shifting tides. But I was too young to uphold the family’s strength.
In peace, external battles gave way to internal ones. The empire’s political arena was a battlefield, with nobles tearing each other apart without hesitation.
Youth was a fatal weakness here.
Never had I resented the lack of allies in the Elient family more than then.
With no shield to protect me—not even my mother’s family, too weak to help—I had to find a way to survive alone.
I made myself bait, diving into the fray.
Unlike my childhood, my difficulty expressing emotions became an asset. People, unable to read me, faltered.
Their hesitation revealed openings, which I learned to exploit.
As I grew older, I became adept at concealing my emotions—or rather, I forgot how to express them.
It wasn’t easy. Hyenas circled, waiting for me to falter. I could never relax, always on edge.
“I love you.”
Many women confessed to me, drawn by my looks, my family, or my wealth.
I didn’t push them away. I didn’t need to—they left on their own, hurt or bored by my indifference.
I thought she’d be the same.
“Don’t you like me?”
She was different from the others who approached me.
She didn’t leave quickly, nor did she seem fazed by my coldness. As far as I knew, she was always brimming with confidence, unhesitant in expressing her feelings.
She was honest with her emotions, something I could never do.
Perhaps, I thought, she might stay unchanged forever.
Though I couldn’t give her the love she wanted, I dreamed we could grow old together as partners, as spouses.
Even after our marriage, I was consumed by family matters.
Scholarly nobles, eager to expand their influence, dismissed martial houses like mine. Surviving among them required more than I could give. I had no choice but to neglect her.
Was that my mistake?
By the time I noticed, everything had changed.
My wife was no longer the woman I knew.
She was constantly anxious, suspicious, and jealous of everything around me.
