Chapter 3
Chapter 3. The First Night, or the Seventy-Seventh Night
After the twentieth first night that bound them to each other.
The two died repeatedly, again and again.
Then came the seventy-sixth death. And the seventy-seventh wedding.
The ceaseless cycle of return was the perfect condition for driving someone insane, but the two willingly surrendered to it.
They were the only ones who truly understood each other, so even if they went mad, they didn’t collapse alone. Sometimes as a couple, as comrades, as friends, sometimes as reflections of each other.
“You did quite well, stabbing your own heart. Everyone present must have realized His Majesty had gone mad.”
“Was it any better than the bride who jumped from a moving carriage and broke her neck? Was that the twenty-fourth honeymoon? The sight of the Empress leaping with a calm smile was truly courageous.”
With each step on the red carpet, shadows of death clung heavily.
But it didn’t matter. Even if they died or went mad, they were not alone.
* * *
After the tedious wedding, the first night came again.
Vinea’s cumbersome jewelry was removed piece by piece by the attendants.
When the last pin holding her hair was taken out, her shimmering platinum blonde hair cascaded down. Her long hair and the silky slip she wore subtly hid her beautiful curves.
It was an alluring attire for a bride’s first night.
A maid lit a scented candle, releasing smoky floral scents into the air.
When the attendants left, Vinea, now alone, pinched the candle’s wick with her fingers, extinguishing it. The hot sensation spread to her fingertips, reminding her she was still alive.
With a heavy sigh, Vinea picked up a bottle of wine from the table. The smooth neck of the bottle fit perfectly in her hand.
Crash!
A decorative sword hanging on the wall would be too long and heavy to fight off the assassin soon to come. The wine bottle would be much more suitable.
Even if she survived, she would return to the cycle on the day her heart stopped, one year after the cycle began. So she had no choice but to find a way through death.
And so she had died seventy-seven times in every possible manner.
Including dying at the hands of the assassin who would soon arrive, though it was all in vain.
Vinea smashed the wine bottle on the table, spilling wine over her hand with a detached expression.
No one came despite the loud noise. It was to be expected, as the assassin sent by her uncle, the former Emperor of Veshnu, was about to break into the room.
On this night, the bride was supposed to be gravely injured and unable to recover for nearly a year. The Emperor of Veshnu, enraged by the news of his daughter, would prepare for war, spurred on by his treacherous brother.
Not in this lifetime, though.
“But you did succeed five times, Uncle.”
It didn’t matter if her uncle became the Emperor of Veshnu again.
After all, by merely slitting her own throat, everything would reset. A few bouts of power were trivial in comparison.
However, this time, she wouldn’t let it slide.
She had discovered a ‘clue’ during the seventy-fifth return, and this time she would definitely learn how to end the cycle.
Hence, it was better for her father to remain Emperor to keep her uncle’s prying eyes away.
A stealthy presence was felt outside the window. The assassin, who expected the bride to be asleep from the drugged incense, had arrived.
At the same time as in previous cycles. The dark figure opened the window and slipped in.
The assassin’s eyes wavered with confusion as they found the empty bed.
“How… when the sleeping incense was lit…!”
Hiding behind the wall and watching the situation unfold, Vinea swung the bottle without hesitation.
Splat!
Blood spattered on her white cheeks from her merciless strike.
Without any change in expression, Vinea watched the assassin’s body collapse with a pierced throat. As she pulled off the assassin’s mask, the face of the maid who had lit the incense was revealed.
At that moment, the tightly closed door opened.
Vinea stood up and casually tossed the wine bottle, which rolled noisily on the carpet.
A light, indifferent smile crossed the man’s face in the blue moonlight.
“Empress.”
“You finished early.”
“There was no reason to delay.”
Like Vinea, Tatar was also covered in blood.
For the couple’s secretive first night, the intruder inevitably visited the palace. While they initially panicked and fled madly, it was no longer the case.
Who would still be foolish enough to be caught off guard after seventy-seven cycles?
Without even glancing at the assassin on the floor, he took long strides. He reached out and gently turned Vinea’s chin from side to side.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. And you?”
“Same here.”
After brushing Vinea’s blood-soaked side hair to confirm she was uninjured, he finally glanced at the blood-splattered bed.
“Will you sleep here?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Alright.”
They had been through worse than a room with a dead assassin.
Vinea turned and headed to the bathroom.
She washed off the sticky blood and donned a new slip. When she emerged, Tatar, looking as if nothing had happened, turned to her.
It seemed he had called for an attendant, as there was no trace of the assassin’s body. If it weren’t for the faint scent of blood, it would be as if nothing had happened.
Tatar lay down on the bed as if it were second nature. Vinea naturally lay beside him, her eyelids slowly blinking.
Once again, the first night of the seventy-seventh return had come, without finding the cause or the solution.
When she opened her eyes and turned, she met Tatar’s half-lidded, vacant silver-gray eyes in the darkness.
Even though they had faced this seventy-seven times, the first night was always mentally exhausting.
It marked the beginning of the detested cycle and felt the most futile, as all the time in the previous cycle crumbled like a sandcastle.
That’s why, like clutching a breath underwater, they sought each other on the first night, without needing a promise.
The first night of the return that no one else could understand. When they opened their eyes, they would have to live another tiresome and fierce life to find a way to end the cycle.
It was a night when they could barely sleep, relying on the comfort of a relationship that could not be described as mere love, friendship, or alliance.
Vinea parted her lips.
“This time will be different.”
“What will be?”
A voice as cold and dark as the night brushed Vinea’s ear. Tatar’s voice was imbued with the same emptiness as his eyes, as if he had let go of even the slightest hope.
“This wretched situation.”
“I hope it turns out as you wish, Empress, but… haven’t we been repeating this for far too long to expect a sudden miracle?”
Seventy-seven cycles. Enough to crush any human’s hope.
Yet Vinea hadn’t let go of the thread of hope. We will escape this cycle. Change takes time, and we have consistently strived for it.
In the end, the belief that there would be a miracle kept us clinging to our humanity, Vinea believed.
In the darkness, Vinea’s blue eyes reflected the bright moonlight. Tatar, gazing at those eyes that sparkled like the daytime sea, felt a strange emotion as he brushed her right eye with his thumb.
“Stubbornly beautiful.”
At words that could be either an insult or a compliment, Vinea’s brow furrowed slightly, but Tatar lowered his head before she could react. His lips touched hers in an instant. The warm sensation invaded Vinea’s mouth.
If she pushed him away, he would likely retreat without resistance, but Vinea, sensing the desperation in his actions as if he were clinging to someone about to leave, surrendered her body without thinking.
The thin slip offered no resistance as his hands slid it upwards. His hand traced her smooth skin, moving from her waist to her beautifully curved chest.
Having just bathed, Vinea’s strong fragrance heightened his already sensitive nerves from the encounter with the assassin.
He grabbed her slim waist with one hand and climbed on top of her.
When her soft upper chest touched his swelling chest, his breath faltered for a moment.
“…The cycle and the Empress both drive me mad.”
With his other hand, he pulled down her underwear. The attire prepared for the bride and groom’s first night came off easily with the slightest movement and touch.
Every part of Vinea’s skin emitted a strong floral scent, likely due to the bath products. Despite going through the cycle so many times, the fragrance was something he could never get used to.
Had she always been this beautiful? This enticing? This impossible to resist?
As Vinea reached out to him, Tatar clasped her hand around his neck and completely laid her down on the bed.
The thirst was unbearable. Would it go away if he devoured her?
Tatar exhaled a dry breath.
He lifted himself up and swiftly discarded his cumbersome clothes. Under the dim light, his well-toned body revealed firm muscles.
His flawless body had no scars, as if he had never been seriously injured.
But Vinea remembered.
She remembered the moment he drove a knife into his own heart to end the cycle. The time he ingested poison and his skin turned blue with spots as he died. The red rope marks on his neck. The wounds on his skin from the assassin’s dagger that he would have had to deal with if not for tonight.
She remembered all the pain that lingered on his body and then disappeared.
Only she remembered, no one else.
As he stared into Vinea’s eyes, consumed by darkness, he whispered in a low voice.
“You need to focus, Empress. This is our first night.”
“First night? How shameless…”
His shimmering silver-gray eyes were filled with a determination not to let her go.
Vinea felt the same.
She was the one who accepted his plea on the twentieth night, with his head bowed on her lap.
We will forever be each other’s salvation as we wander through this hell.
To ensure we don’t completely lose our way even as we go mad. To not forget our goal of ending the cycle. To not give up on ourselves out of exhaustion from the unchanging reality.
And then the conversation ceased. What followed was the fulfillment of desires that briefly allowed them to forget this hellish reality.
The thin slip couldn’t hinder his advances.
His rough fingers explored her soft skin, grasping her curved chest and teasing its peak.
As the peak quickly rose, emitting a sweet scent like ripe fruit, there was no reason not to savor it.
His face, which had been marking her slender waist with red traces, moved upward, biting down on the soft flesh.
“—Ah!”
The strange sensation between ticklishness and pain traveled up her chest, pulling at Vinea’s neck.
Even as a small moan escaped Vinea’s lips, Tatar didn’t stop his tongue’s movements.
To prevent her from escaping, he wrapped one hand around her waist as she squirmed.
The more he teased her delicate skin, the more Vinea’s chest heaved.
The heat from her breath mingled with his own, and not missing a beat, Tatar pulled her slip completely over her chest.
As Vinea’s arms lifted with the slip, he stopped and looked down at her with smoldering eyes.
She was entirely in his grasp. Though not bound, she might as well have been, provoking his primal desires.
His world lay beneath him. He groaned, scratching his throat.
“Empress…”
