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Chapter 38
“Lift your head, Marquis. I’ll give you fourteen hours. Catch every escaped prisoner within that time and take responsibility.”
The Empress spoke kindly, as if offering a chance.
But the order was completely unrealistic. If all the prisoners were gathered in one place, maybe they could be caught—but scattered across the land, it was impossible to capture them in less than a day.
‘It would take forever just to get there!’
While the Marquis’s anger burned inside him, the Empress calmly surveyed his pitiful figure without a flicker of emotion.
“Can’t do it? Then I’ll kill you immediately and throw you into a pigsty. I suppose I’ll also call the staff here to serve it as a pork dish.”
“…….”
“A pork dish made from the man who owns you… How delightful. No servant bears resentment toward their master, so it will surely taste exquisite.”
“Y-Your Majesty…”
A demon.
Nothing less than a demon.
The Marquis had always been a confident man. His childhood had held pain, but he had overcome it, becoming a hero who built everything himself!
Yet before the Empress’s overwhelming presence, his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably.
“Please spare me! Tell me what to do…!”
Ironically, he felt a silent certainty. Of course—she had personally come to the border to meet him. What could it mean?
“Assign me any task, Your Majesty. I’ll do anything!”
“Quick-witted. I’ll send someone… Do it, and I’ll personally forgive your sins, Marquis.”
A pardon from the Empress.
With her name, he could be completely forgiven!
Not only that, he would have a strong backing. It was perfect.
If handled well, it wouldn’t just resolve this incident, but also secure forgiveness for future troubles.
“Thank you for giving me this chance. No matter what, I will follow your orders, Your Majesty…!”
The Marquis repeatedly bowed to the ground, offering endless gratitude.
“Psyche.”
Rough breaths filled the night.
A low, heated voice scraped against her ears, dripping with desire.
A shadow in black clothing knelt under the bed, moving swiftly with the rustle of fabric.
Psyche clutched the blanket, trying to ignore the voice that crept through her blurry consciousness.
In this country, wandering through endless winter, the dawn wind froze everything it touched. Perhaps this sound drifted along with the wind brushing the leaves.
Yet the unwelcome noise showed no sign of stopping.
“Psyche… Psyche… Psyche.
I want to reach you.
I want you.”
The voice that came in her sleep was more of a moan than a call. Hot breaths, mixed with groans, reached her.
The tone carried desire and intensity—clearly human, clearly possessive.
She realized the heat in the voice belonged to the man moving before her.
“Psyche Clement.”
Hearing the voice, she swallowed hard.
…Sir Aster?
She raised a small question in her mind but frowned at the rough groans filling the dark space.
“…Hff.”
A hand, hot and searching, reached toward her defenseless body.
Slowly, it began to trace her skin, slipping downward in an instant.
As his lips brushed against hers, Psyche exhaled unconsciously in excitement.
Her name came with the heated breath.
“Psyche.”
The scene shifted again.
She was running through a deep forest. It seemed like the hills behind the Grand Duke’s castle, with green leaves and a large lake.
She ran as if her breath would fail. Her diaphragm tightened, making it hard to breathe.
‘I mustn’t be caught.’
Though she couldn’t see clearly, she ran blindly. Her ankles splashed through puddles.
The water grew deeper, dragging her feet down. Like a marsh’s grip, the hidden rocks twisted around her ankles.
Fear pressed on her, tightening her chest, and tears welled in her eyes.
From afar came footsteps.
Someone pushing through the bushes, searching for her, chilled Psyche’s spine and made her hairs stand on end.
Splash.
Unable to endure the rising disgust, she bit down hard to keep quiet.
‘Ugh!’
Perhaps she bit her tongue too, and a sharp, metallic pain surged. Psyche stumbled back.
The water churned violently.
She prayed desperately that only she could hear the sounds…
But the gods ignored her today as well.
“There you are.”
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
With the pounding of his heart, a low voice reached her ears.
“No… no…”
As Psyche tried to dive into the water to escape, a firm grip held her waist.
A strong arm wrapped around her, holding her tight.
“I think I’m the man you love.”
“…Hff!”
Psyche gasped sharply, pulling herself upright. The sunlight blazed down, as if trying to swallow her whole.
The bright rays stung her eyes, forcing her to face the harsh reality.
This was a damn dream.
Thump.
Thump.
Her heart pounded violently.
Today was the day her parents were leaving for the Cigarr Empire.
Thanks to the steady application of anonymous ointments, Psyche’s cheek had fully healed by the time her parents were about to depart.
As she prepared to see them off, she secretly brushed her cheek with her finger, then composed her hands as the Count approached.
“Psyche, when winter passes, spring will come.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Don’t cry.”
Her father seemed to think she was secretly wiping away tears.
He embraced her gently and whispered softly:
“But in the northern lands where you’ll stay, spring doesn’t come.”
“……”
“You are a child who loves spring most of all.”
It was a final invitation to return with him.
“Father, I’m staying not as a sacrifice, but because I truly wish to live here.”
“…I see. If that is your will, I respect it. But remember the ‘thing’ I gave you. There will surely come a day it is needed.”
“…Father.”
Though she spoke firmly, her father’s expression was resolute.
“Psyche. Even if you get what you want after being broken, it is meaningless. Everything matters only when you endure fully yourself.”
The warmth of contact was comforting.
The Grand Duke’s castle was always warm. The air around her carried gentle warmth, as if considerate of Psyche, unaccustomed to cold. Yet she always felt a vague emptiness.
Drinking water temporarily filled the stomach, but hunger remained. Psyche’s heart felt the same.
But holding her father’s hand, Psyche realized the warmth she longed for was love.
“Father, I… don’t think that way.”
No one can always be strong. There are moments of weakness and decay.
Yet through those moments, one becomes stronger.
“I left the family business to find my own life. I wanted you to see me after I found it.”
Her desire to become the head of the Clement family remained.
But life in the Grand Duchy was not entirely unhappy.
New encounters, things seen and heard for the first time, a life determined by her own choices, not fate—all of it was wonderful.
“Psyche.”
Her father held her hand tightly, bowing his head.
Tears fell drop by drop beneath his chin.
“I never expected you’d still have that handkerchief.”
It was the handkerchief she had given him whenever she had free time after first learning embroidery.
