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Chapter 2
‘레이든 발데르!’
The man standing before her was the protagonist of the side story of “The Flower That Bloomed in the Ice Castle.”
So this wasn’t a dream or hallucination.
He was the emperor of the Valder Empire, the supreme ruler of the continent—레이든 아누비스 발데르.
A man called a mad tyrant, said to have bathed the world in blood with his blade, the “seed of the devil” etched into his bones.
…Wow.
It felt unreal.
Even though she had imagined his appearance many times in her past life, seeing him in person felt different—too perfect, too unreal. His flawless skin and neatly shaped brows gave him the cold, carved presence of a statue.
His slicked-back golden hair shimmered brilliantly, sometimes reflecting silver like splashing liquid gold. His pale gray eyes, when they met hers again, were as cold as glass.
A gaze of innate nobility—and unbearable arrogance.
“Eek!”
Vivianne snapped out of her daze when a sharp blade suddenly pressed up under her chin.
The sword was stained with faint traces of blood. The smell of iron mixed with strange chemicals filled the air, jolting back the fear she had momentarily forgotten.
“You were thinking of something else while standing before me.”
Her mind spun.
Should she reveal the truth? Say she knew the future? That she could prove her usefulness with foresight?
No—no way. This man would never believe something like that.
At best, she’d be treated as a madwoman. And she wasn’t the only one who might have tried acting insane to survive.
So should she just accept this and die miserably?
“This is the blood of a deer cub. I don’t like mixing blood unnecessarily. Good for you, isn’t it?”
Reyden smiled faintly and withdrew his blade. He wiped it calmly with a cloth laid neatly on the table.
‘Right. This guy is insane.’
He was the kind of man who might stab someone on a whim and casually say, “Ah, my mistake,” as if nothing had happened.
“How far have you heard about me?” Reyden asked.
Each movement of his long, pale fingers along the sword made her heart feel like it was plummeting off a cliff.
“Who told you that trembling and appealing for pity—or pathetic seduction—are useless tactics?”
Her body stiffened.
Think. I know this man. Am I going to die just because I freeze up like an idiot?
“So you’re just staring at me like that?”
No! I’m just frozen because I’m scared!
As she tried to look away, Reyden grabbed her chin and forced her to face him.
“So your tongue has already frozen in your throat. Interesting.”
“I—I can speak.”
“Interesting. A new strategy. Then don’t look away.”
His gaze slowly traced her trembling silver eyelashes, her pale pink eyes, flushed cheeks, and slightly shaking lips.
“So you are the so-called ‘unfading star of Lethe.’”
In an instant, he flicked his blade through the air.
Snip.
The restraints binding her loosened and fell away.
“You mixed peony and vanilla oils. Were you studying my preferences?”
“The women who dressed me applied it.”
“Hmm. Then the mixture is quite well done.”
“Ah—!”
Reyden leaned in, sniffing her neck like a beast.
“What were you thinking? Trying to steal my sword and cut my throat? Revenge for your country?”
“I have no such intention.”
Her calm, low voice surprised him. Reyden sheathed his sword and studied her quietly.
Most people, even while bound, would collapse in submission before him. But this woman didn’t. Even freed, she remained rigid.
Was this the last pride of Lethe? No—that didn’t fit the rumors at all.
Lethe had been a kingdom of luxury and indulgence, destroyed effortlessly by Valder. The first princess, Vivianne Lethe, had been described as frivolous and foolish.
Yet this woman…
There was no trace of seduction or desperate flattery.
Only an awkward, stiff composure.
His gaze lingered on her silver hair—rare even in Valder—and the trembling pink eyes beneath her lashes.
When she finally looked away, his brow twitched.
“Look away again and I’ll kill you.”
Her eyes snapped back, clear and eerily pure.
The last royal of Lethe.
“The only one left in the world with those eyes. Do you understand that?”
“I know the royal family of Lethe has been annihilated.”
“No grief in your voice.”
“I also know you spared the citizens.”
“So you’re grateful?”
“Perhaps… the people of Lethe might even consider themselves fortunate under Valder’s rule.”
She forced the words out, swallowing nausea.
Lethe had been a kingdom of jewels, silk, and art—a paradise for nobles, but fragile in military strength. Its collapse had been swift.
Some citizens, in the end, had even welcomed Valder rule.
“Fortunate, you say? Even while calling me the seed of the devil?”
“I believe you gave them a path to survive. In that sense… you are their savior.”
Reyden let out a short laugh.
‘Was the rumor wrong?’
She was beautiful—strikingly so—but strangely plain in behavior. No seduction, no pleading, no performance for survival.
Just stiff honesty.
“Then you stand quite firmly before your ‘savior,’ don’t you?”
“I am aware that the kingdom of Lethe has been erased. If His Majesty would show even a little mercy…”
Her goal was simple: survive.
Unlike the original Vivianne who died pitifully while clinging desperately to life, she wanted to survive by any means necessary.
‘Reyden is insane—but he rewards usefulness.’
She just needed time. If she endured—
Wait.
A thought struck her like lightning.
Reyden is terminally ill.
How could she forget that?
Just two years. If she could survive that long, she would be free.
“Hah—wait a moment!”
Before she could think further, she was thrown onto the bed.
“You weren’t concentrating when you asked for mercy.”
“Ugh!”
Reyden was already on top of her. His teeth sank into her neck.
“Whether I show mercy or not is my decision. If I desire something, it must not be ruined.”
His breath brushed her collarbone.
“Answer me.”
“I will… I will do as you wish.”
“Good.”
Something in his mood darkened further. Her stubbornness—despite her fear—was irritating.
“Ah!”
He bit down harder, leaving a mark.
Something about her submission felt off—too controlled, too calculated. As if she were thinking about something else entirely.
Reyden frowned.
“Now it seems you’ve decided to behave.”
Before she could react, he captured her lips.
She struggled, awkward and stiff, unable to push him away properly.
Then—
He pulled back suddenly, a strange expression on his face.
Interesting.
For a moment, something warm spread through his chest.
A strange heat.
Must be my imagination.
Breathing unevenly, her cheeks flushed red, Reyden spoke abruptly.
“Show me your talent. Perhaps I’ll spare you.”
He threw off his imperial mantle and jacket in one motion.
He took his clothes off.
Then he began unbuttoning his shirt.
As more of his body was revealed—broad shoulders, defined muscles, the sculpted strength of a man forged by violence—Vivianne instinctively covered her mouth with her hands.
“Now then. What useful talent do you have?”
His shirt soon fell completely away.
