BTEE 11

Chapter 11

With long strides, Regis had already reached the end of the corridor when Cassielope quickly caught up to him.

The faint scent of perfume that had recently begun to linger around her made Regis hesitate for a moment.

“…For what reason are you following me, Your Majesty the Empress?”

“Does a wife need a special reason to seek out her husband?”

Even though she knew those words contradicted what she usually said to him, Cassielope met his gaze without wavering.

It had always been Cassielope who held the upper hand between the two of them. Yet now, she was the one speaking not as empress and emperor, but as wife and husband.

For the first time, Regis—who had always shown her only his back—slowly turned around. He met the gaze of the woman standing firmly behind him.

Though she was small enough that her head barely reached his shoulder, Regis had never once thought of Cassielope as small.

It wasn’t just because of her commanding presence—it was because of those eyes, filled with unwavering conviction that her choices were never wrong.

Eyes that seemed to pierce straight through to one’s soul. Many nobles had confessed their sins under that gaze, terrified by it.

He had always stood beside her, never been the target of that look. He hadn’t realized how suffocating it could feel.

“Have you nothing to say?”

“…I’m not sure what you mean, Madam.”

“So you’re going to pretend ignorance, Your Majesty?”

Cassielope deliberately lowered her gaze toward Regis’s sleeve. There was a faint bloodstain there—one that could easily be missed if not looked at closely.

Following her eyes, Regis subtly turned his wrist to hide it from view.

“May I dare ask whose blood that is?”

Her eyes gleamed sharply, as though granting him a final chance.

She asked as if she already knew the truth, urging him to confess. But Regis had no intention of speaking it.

“I injured my opponent during sword training. It must have stained me then. Was this what you were so curious about, Your Majesty?”

Injured his opponent during sword training, he said.

At that absurd excuse, Cassielope gave a short, bitter laugh.

Regis, like her and Yulia, was a Sword Master. The only person who had ever sparred with him was Cassielope herself.

It was his unbending rule never to train with someone significantly weaker than himself.

He had always told her, ‘Sparring with those weaker than me doesn’t make me stronger,’ and would ask her to be his training partner.

He was also known to use wooden swords when facing ordinary knights so as not to injure them.

His swordsmanship rivaled hers; it was clear he’d lied because claiming to be injured himself would make no sense.

But Cassielope didn’t believe even that much.

“You’re lying to me again.”

“…”

“Just as every person has their own natural scent, blood too carries its own distinct smell.”

It was something she had learned instinctively from a lifetime spent on the battlefield.

They all smelled of iron and salt, but each person’s blood carried subtle differences.

And she would know—she had been closest to him on the battlefield. That was his blood.

Cassielope’s expression suddenly twisted. She gripped his immaculate collar in her hand, wrinkling it beyond recognition.

When she tugged, his face was pulled down toward hers.

“I told you, Regis. I’m the only one who’s allowed to hurt you.”

“…That’s not what you think.”

Her shadowed eyes scanned him carefully before she slipped her hand inside his jacket.

Her fingers found a small vial tucked neatly inside the inner pocket—a vial just like the one she herself used to carry on the frontlines.

Because she had been stationed at the front, there was always a chance she could be captured if they lost.

And as the sole heir to the royal house of Clemence, she had high value as a hostage. She had carried poison with her always, saying it would be better to die than be taken away to a foreign land.

Even after the war, both she and Regis had continued the habit unconsciously—each still carrying that vial of poison.

Cassielope gently shook the vial in her hand. Judging by the contents, it seemed he hadn’t drunk from it.

But I saw him cough up blood…

Up close, she could see it clearly now—the red stain at the corner of his lips.

Sword Masters possessed bodies far superior to ordinary people. Their healing ability was extraordinary; they rarely, if ever, fell ill.

For someone like Regis to cough blood… that could only happen if he had deliberately drunk poison.

“How could anyone believe your lies when you look like this?”

He had taken the throne from her—and now, he had tried to end his life with poison?

Absurd. Unthinkable.

Even she, who had lost the throne, had never considered such a thing. For him, who had taken it, to do so—it was nonsense. He wouldn’t, and he shouldn’t.

Her pale fingers brushed over the bloodstained corner of his mouth.

They weren’t the soft hands of a noblewoman but rough, calloused ones hardened by years of swordsmanship.

Cassielope rubbed the spot with her thumb as she spoke.

“Explain yourself, Regis.”

“…Maybe it’s because I had raspberry pie.”

“It wasn’t raspberry pie. It was lemon sherbet. Just because I don’t eat sweets doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s being served.”

“…It’s really nothing. See? The vial’s still full, so—mmph!”

Before he could finish another lie, Cassielope pressed her lips firmly against his.

The soft contact made his blue eyes tremble helplessly. For a fleeting moment their lips stayed together—then slowly parted.

“Still not going to tell me?”

The metallic tang of blood lingered between them. She couldn’t not taste it—it was unmistakable.

Realizing she had kissed him merely to confirm it, a faint crack appeared on Regis’s composed face.

“Lope, you—”

Whatever he’d meant to say never came out.

Cassielope’s eyes gleamed dangerously now that she had confirmed he’d coughed up blood.

“You took everything from me—and then tried to die, Regis?”

“…”

It was a misunderstanding. Regis knew she was mistaken—but he didn’t correct her.

There was no need to.

That expression filled with hatred—that was the best outcome he could hope for.

Even deceived, she wouldn’t be fooled. Even misunderstanding him, she burned with fury.

He decided to stoke it further.

“My only goal was to drag you down from the throne.”

“…What?”

“As you can see, I’ve accomplished that.”

“Regis Euriel!”

“No, that’s wrong. It’s Regis Clemence now, remember, Your Majesty?”

A voice utterly cold and detached.

Cassielope froze; she had never heard that tone from him before.

Biting the inside of her lip, she released his collar as if throwing it away.

Perhaps from the shock, or perhaps because her strength gave out, she stumbled slightly.

She didn’t fall—but she almost wished she had.

Because when she staggered, Regis’s arm caught her around the waist, pulling her even closer.

“Don’t worry. Even so, I’ll wait until the heir to the Empress’s line is conceived.”

“…”

“So tonight, dress beautifully and wait for me in the bedchamber. As you wish, I’ll gladly embrace you.”

He loosened his arm and stepped away, striding off without hesitation.

Left standing alone in the corridor, Cassielope heard his voice echo one last time.

“Oh, and—accepting the Emperor’s indulgence is also part of the Empress’s duty.”

At those final words, Cassielope bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Crimson welled on her lips.

Her clenched fists trembled, white as bone.

The Empress’s duty, he had said.

She had been prepared to fulfill it. She believed it was her duty to the Clemence Empire, given her position.

Regis was not wrong.

But knowing that in her head and facing it in reality were entirely different things.

In the past, his expression had been emotionless, almost forced—but this time, when he spoke of “consummation,” she felt he truly meant it.