TNLA 50

Chapter 50

She was asleep without the slightest movement, her entire body carrying his scent and traces of him. Through the curtains, the morning sunlight spilled onto the floor, catching faintly on her fine, golden hair, making it shimmer like threads of light.

She still looked tired and weary, but much better than before. At least there was some color in her face now. Though she was still quite thin, she no longer looked like a withered branch or a pile of bones.

It felt as if winter had finally passed her, and spring was slowly approaching.

Like a flower that had dried and wilted but began to lift its head again after receiving water, she seemed to be slowly coming back to life. Every time he saw that fragile revival, he couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of anticipation.

This place wasn’t one he particularly liked, but bringing her here had turned out to be the right choice. For a while after coming down to Shuell, he’d worried she might only worsen—but at some point, she began to regain life day by day. Whatever the reason, he had achieved his goal.

Still, this wasn’t his land.
Technically, yes—on paper, it had been incorporated into his territory. But his true domain was in the North—the land he had built with his own blood over six long years.
That was where he knew everything, controlled everything.
Those castles were his, those people followed his command.

But this place wasn’t.

This was the land where she had spent time he didn’t know about.
Where she met people he didn’t know.
Where she met that useless, lowborn bastard.

She seems to have recovered enough now. It’s time to take her back.

He would bring her back—to his land.

Once this suppression campaign ended, he would take her home to his northern stronghold—and lock her away there. Away from that bothersome Juhed’s watchful eyes.

The northern lands might be too cold for someone as frail as her, but he could easily make it warm. He’d heap oak logs into the fireplace, line the walls and floors with thick tapestries and furs.
She hardly ever went outside anyway, so what did the weather matter?

Still, she seemed to grow sickly if kept inside all the time, so… he’d build her a greenhouse. A much larger, more beautiful one than the one here.
She loved flowers—so he’d have southern flower seedlings shipped up in bulk, plant them in the greenhouse, and fill the air with butterflies.

That way, she could live always in warmth, never feeling the winter at all.

Glass was expensive, and a greenhouse was a symbol of luxury—but Kashien had more than enough wealth to build one as grand as he wished.

As he imagined her sitting there—surrounded by flowers and butterflies, smiling softly—his lips curved faintly.

He reached out, gently brushing her warm face, tucking back the strands of hair that fell across it. Holding a lock in his hand, he brought it close to his face and inhaled deeply. Her scent was mixed with his.

Ah… intoxicating.

In his dry, colorless life, she alone was warmth, color, and fragrance.
He couldn’t even remember how he had endured those long years without her by his side.

And now, again… another battlefield without her.

Of course, this time it wouldn’t take years like before—but the absence of something once possessed was far greater than that of something never had.

He wanted to take her with him.

Perhaps… he should take a piece of her.

He rose from the bed. The mattress dipped and swayed as his weight left it.
Pulling on his robe, he reached for his sword—the one he always kept high, out of her reach.

Striding back to the bed, he drew it with a soft shrrring.
It was far too long for what he intended, but it was the only blade in the room, and it would serve its purpose.

A sliver of sunlight caught the edge of the blade and flashed across Arlen’s face.

Her eyes fluttered open.

For a moment she stared blankly at the gleaming blade before her face, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Then she slowly blinked several times… and quietly closed her eyes again.

“Awake?”

Kashien’s tone was casual, as if they’d simply met eyes while dining together.
He took a handful of her hair in one hand—and without hesitation—shhk!—the sword sliced through it.

Arlen’s eyes opened again.
Kashien lifted the severed lock of her hair to his face, inhaled its scent, then smiled in satisfaction. He sheathed the sword, returning it to its place, while she remained motionless, silent, simply watching.

When he finally tucked the hair neatly away in a drawer and came to sit beside her on the bed, she shrank back, clutching the blanket to her chest.

He gave a low laugh, brushed her hair aside, caressed her smooth, rounded shoulder—then, gripping the back of her neck, leaned in and devoured her lips.

His hand roamed over her soft skin as he kissed her—biting, sucking, tasting, pressing his tongue deep into her mouth, tangling with hers, stealing every breath she had.
She neither resisted nor responded. She merely endured him—just like that.

When he finally pulled away, he wiped the saliva from her lips with his thumb and stared at her.
Even after consuming every drop of her sweet breath, it wasn’t enough.
No matter how much he took, he never had enough.
No matter how completely he possessed her, it never felt like possession.

She was safe in his fortress now. There was no longer the risk of losing her to death.
And yet—it still felt like she might slip away, seeping through the gaps between his fingers.

Then suddenly—she looked at him.

Not just a vague, unfocused glance—but really looked at him.

He froze, forgetting everything he had been doing, and met her eyes—those pale green eyes, still faint but showing a trace of life again.

They didn’t tremble in fear.
They didn’t try to flee.
They simply looked at him.

It wasn’t fear. Nor hatred.
Something else entirely—but what, he couldn’t tell.

That gaze—steady, unwavering, resolute.
It spoke of something he didn’t want to hear, and yet couldn’t look away from.

Kashien stared back, as if drawn into her eyes. His stomach churned with an odd dizziness, and he finally covered her eyes with his hand.

Behind his palm, he couldn’t tell whether her eyes were still open or closed.

But still—wasn’t it a good thing that she was looking at him again?
He decided to think so.

Yes. She was definitely getting better.
He didn’t need to worry about that absurd, baseless feeling that she might disappear.

Arlen of my castle.
My Arlen, who will be waiting for me there.

He kissed her lips once more—long and deep.

*

What did that man want from me?

Once, he had simply been a wounded child.
How did he become such a monstrous being?

Was he always a demon, and I had simply walked into his lair without knowing?
Or… did he become a demon because of me?

Whatever the truth—please, let this cursed bond end here.
Let us never meet again.
Not even if we die and are born anew.
Never again.

*

It began with a small fire.

“Sir, there’s a fire in the kitchen!”

Baron Aisop woke with irritation at the urgent voice.
He had once managed Shuell in place of Duke Requies, but after the Duke came down personally, he’d stepped back. Now that the Duke had gone off to suppress a rebellion and would likely be gone for some time, Aisop had resumed overseeing the estate.

“How big is it?”

He threw on his robe and left his room.
Even a small fire could be dangerous—especially these days, when the air was so dry.

“They’re trying to put it out now. It seems an ember from the stove jumped—but since no one was there at the time, it wasn’t noticed right away…”

The soldier followed him, reporting quickly.
It was the kind of accident that could happen from time to time, so the baron just covered a yawn and nodded. He wanted to put it out quickly, give some orders, and go back to sleep.

But another soldier came running—and the situation changed.

“The fire’s spreading too fast!”

“What?”

The baron frowned.
“I thought it was under control?”

“It spread to the woodpile, sir—discovered too late—and also, something…”

He quickened his pace, annoyed. Fire was always dangerous; if not extinguished immediately, it could grow out of control in minutes.

“Has everyone been mobilized?”

“Yes, sir. All servants and soldiers are trying to put it out, but…”

Because most of the old staff had either been killed or driven away when the castle changed hands, the current workers were mostly new—few had been here even a year.
There was no one experienced to direct them, no one familiar enough with the castle’s structure to handle an emergency efficiently. They moved clumsily, out of sync.

“If it’s not out within ten minutes, summon the townsfolk!”

Just then, yet another soldier came running.

“The stables are on fire!”

“What?”

He spun around in disbelief.

“The flames spread too fast—we’re evacuating the horses, but it’s not easy!”

“…Arson.”

He ground his teeth.

As if to prove it, another soldier came from the opposite direction, shouting about yet another fire.

“This isn’t coincidence,” the baron hissed. “It’s arson. Someone’s taking advantage of the Duke’s absence to start a revolt!”

“Sound the alarm! Half the men to fire control, half to defense! Lock down the gates—no one enters or leaves!”

He rushed up to the ramparts, shouting orders.
“Seal the inner and outer gates! Contain the fire inside the walls! Prepare for attack! Find the arsonists before they strike again!”

The clanging alarm bell rang throughout the castle—clang, clang, clang!—loud and urgent.

The sound reached even Arlen, lying half asleep on the sofa.
She blinked drowsily, catching sight of the two maids on night duty scrambling in confusion.

“It’s been noisy for a while now—something must have happened.”

“Wait here, I’ll go check.”