Chapter 2
A scream like glass being scraped with a knife burst from deep in her throat. Immediately, Anaide’s body dropped below the window as if cut short.
Her father was the first to be executed.
Next, the major nobles and attendants who had assisted her father, and the maids who had served her, climbed the guillotine one by one.
Those who had been living people just moments before bowed their heads like grain stalks beneath the steel blade.
Anaide shed endless tears at the phantom warmth, and even when she tried to speak, there was no one left to converse with affectionately, so only low moans escaped between her lips.
Time passed quickly. The clear blue sky became stained with blood, and her eyes became red with bloodshot veins as if infected by the sky’s color.
She snapped back to attention after spacing out all day when she heard sounds from the stairs below the tower.
Anaide curled up like a wounded animal.
‘Who is it?’
It wouldn’t be ordinary soldiers or knights coming up to distribute meals. The sky was still red with sunset. It was too early.
Anxiety struck her heart urgently, as she stared at the tightly closed iron door.
Had they come to kill the last princess of Rutilan? Would she also meet her end beneath the guillotine like her father, the nobles, and the maids?
Even as she squeezed her eyes shut and imagined her final moments, the footsteps were steadily approaching at a constant pace.
She couldn’t escape. Guards stood firm outside the iron door. She lowered her head and waited for the door to open. Soon the iron door opened with a desolate sound.
The first thing she saw were black boots that reached above the knees.
“It’s been a while, former princess.”
It was Fernir—that man’s voice.
The moment she heard his voice, her breath caught. Even her heart that had been struggling in resignation, surrender, and despair stopped abruptly, and all her nerves focused on him.
She slowly lifted her chin.
It was a face she had always seen, yet one she was seeing for the first time.
Cold gaze. Lips curved with mockery. An insolent attitude that had cast aside all honorifics.
The scar around his eye, which had always curved round with laughter when he looked at her, now only formed a straight line.
Fernir no longer saw Anaide as his lover. Perhaps he saw her as vermin worse than roadside trash.
Anaide stumbled backward from him, who looked at her with unfamiliar eyes.
Her steps carried unmistakable fear. Cold sweat on her pale nape glinted in the sunset light streaming through the window.
It was when she finally reached the wall by the window, breathing heavily.
He pushed past the knight waiting nearby and strode toward Anaide. His one step equaled her two.
He grasped her chin and tilted it up as he spoke incomprehensibly.
“What an excellent condition, coincidentally.”
Anaide trembled at the sudden ominous premonition. She would have her neck cut like her father, like countless retainers.
Her eyes reddened again. Her gaze lowered. She couldn’t say anything. Her sour breath tormented her lungs. Fear, shame, and the helplessness of being unable to do anything crushed Anaide’s heart.
Fernir pressed against her eyes as if brushing them and said:
“Why? Do you feel wronged? If you feel wronged, try fighting back once.”
“…”
“You might have a hidden knife somewhere. I didn’t strip off all your clothes, after all.”
Body heat warmer than a normal person’s touched her eyes. The leather gloves he always wore were gone, and what touched her face was rough bare skin.
Anaide didn’t answer. She had nothing to say. She didn’t have a knife, and Fernir wasn’t seriously making such murderous talk.
At that moment, he called her name.
“Anaide.”
That voice was much softer than an executioner calling a criminal, but it had the power to drag someone along like putting a noose around their neck. Anaide used all her strength to turn away from him.
Fernir acted as if her reaction didn’t matter at all.
When she held her breath, he turned his head to the side with a gesture like coaxing a child.
“Won’t you even look at your future husband’s face?”
“…What?”
Anaide looked up at Fernir with a puzzled expression. Husband—that wasn’t something someone who came to kill her would say. If it was to grab her attention, Fernir had used the most effective method.
But Fernir just shrugged as if it were obvious.
“The one who marries you becomes King of Rutilan. Why would I pass up this opportunity?”
For a moment, Anaide couldn’t understand what Fernir had said and slowly blinked.
It took twice as long as usual to input, process, and digest his statement in her mind. Anaide breathed slowly. Her back molars naturally clenched.
Instead of killing me, he’s going to make me his wife.
Anaide let out a hollow laugh as she threw a question at Fernir.
“Why? For the legitimacy of the throne you’ve obtained?”
“That’s right. Exactly.”
“What if I’d rather throw myself out that window than marry you?”
Anaide sharply retorted as she slightly turned her body. The window wasn’t large, but it wasn’t so narrow that her small frame couldn’t fit through.
Right on cue, wind blew from behind her. Seeing Anaide’s fierce glare, one of Fernir’s eyebrows rose. She added venomously as if seizing the opportunity:
“What if I don’t have the confidence to live looking at your face?”
Her voice was like wringing out a single drop of water from a dry handkerchief.
That single drop resembled desperation more than hatred or resentment.
The standoff continued. One of the knights leaned forward, but Fernir raised his arm like making an oath to prevent the soldiers from approaching.
Watching them, Anaide slowly leaned back.
‘Just a little more, just a little more…’
Whatever action she showed, Fernir would think Anaide was making meaningless resistance. She wasn’t a woman who had lived such a bleak life that she needed to make extreme choices.
Like he thought, she wasn’t really trying to die either. But what was certain was that she didn’t want to be dragged away like this. It was close to an avoidance instinct.
Whether the avoidance instinct would be stronger than the survival instinct, she didn’t know…
The moment her grip became completely slippery with cold sweat, fierce wind slashed between Anaide’s collar.
Anaide’s body swayed like a willow branch fluttering in the wind.
It was then that Fernir’s movement suddenly became agile.
“Ugh…!”
A moan burst between her lips. Her long blonde hair was instantly swept back, and her unconsciously moving palm grasped the hard window frame. Cold wind burrowed between the layers of her dress hem.
She used all her strength to support her swaying body and urgently lowered her head.
Below her chin was Fernir’s hand.
The white chemise dress Anaide wore was wrinkled as if it would tear under his grip. It was a brutally strong power she couldn’t possibly push away.
Obvious snickering came from above her head.
He released his grip on her collar and placed hands that felt not just warm but hot on her shoulders and waist. Blue veins protruded on the backs of his hands.
Only then could Anaide understand what had been done to her.
She had almost been pushed out the window because of Fernir’s touch.
“You’d rather die than marry me.”
Anaide’s cheek twitched.
Only after things turned out this way could she understand what she had done. She had just said she’d rather die than become Fernir’s wife, but when he demonstratively tried to push her, she instinctively wanted to live.
If Fernir had truly wanted to kill Anaide, she would have fallen from the tower without a chance to react…
He pulled her shoulder, she fell into his embrace, and she was swallowed by the hem of his black cloak like a gift wrapped in packaging.
“To my eyes, you look like you’re dying to live. Am I wrong?”
Anaide couldn’t argue back. What he said wasn’t wrong at all.
She had no choice but to want to live. She was a living human, not a dead one.
Tears flowed uncontrollably again. The survival instinct naturally given to any living thing felt cursed. She also resented her own weak nature for ultimately being unable to even show defiance and bowing her head.
Fernir patted Anaide’s back, then held her tightly.
“Then you should have jumped immediately when I beheaded your father.”
“…”
“I don’t understand why you just watched. It’s not like you didn’t know this would happen.”
Was his embrace comfort or hypocrisy?
The scent characteristic of winter wind came from between Fernir’s clothes. It was a fragrance that reminded her of the north, his homeland. He spoke casually as he rubbed her hair.
“The ceremony is three days from now at noon. I’ll send maids, so be prepared.”
Was the ceremony a wedding? Anaide slowly blinked her swollen eyelids as she repeated the surreal word.
Her father died from her lover’s betrayal, and now she would have a royal marriage with that lover–who could have known her life would unfold so dramatically?
Being held by the man who murdered her father, she should push him away if only out of apology to her father. She should at least feel nauseous…
Her exhausted mind and body melted foolishly at the familiar scent and warmth. Though anger and frustration circled near the threshold, she couldn’t think of anything, as if she were inside a soft blanket.
She just wanted to escape somewhere. To become even a squeaking mouse and hide in a mouse hole right now.
Until he released her from his embrace and left, Anaide could only stand there quietly, chewing over her tainted emotions.
The area around her eyes stung hotly.
The wedding preparations passed in an instant, like an execution.
There was almost nothing she remembered. The only thing she recalled from the preparation process was the maids’ blatant guidance to the queen’s palace rather than the princess’s room she had used before.
The phenomenon of floating as if her memory had been erased became even worse during the wedding ceremony. Anaide blinked her stiff eyes as she looked at the priest reciting the wedding address before her.
‘They even got notarization from the temple beforehand.’
An institution established under the mission of protecting the continent and humanity. A place that valued honor and justification, at least on the surface.
Such a temple had recognized Fernir’s qualification to be king, as he had protected the nation from monsters and erosion. No one would be able to object to this marriage anymore.
After the formal wedding address, the high priest extended his hand from beneath his white vestments toward Anaide.
“Does the bride also vow to love the groom for life?”
Anaide’s consciousness, which had been submerged underwater, suddenly returned to its place.
Ah, this is the final part of the marriage vows.
She realized that Fernir had first expressed affirmation when asked if he would love her. Since the priest said “Does the bride also” rather than “Does the bride,” this man had shamelessly made a false vow to love her.
Anaide almost made a face. She hid her bitterness in her mouth.
‘Lying without even wetting his lips…’
Well, he couldn’t openly say he disliked her at the wedding ceremony. He would need this royal marriage with Anaide.
Anaide answered with a scratchy throat.
“…Yes.”
As she continued her answer, a speech-like wedding address followed. When the calm bass voice with almost no tonal changes continued endlessly, the tension that had filled her muscles gradually relaxed.
But the world wouldn’t leave Anaide alone. The high priest pointed at both Fernir and Anaide with his palm and said:
“Then now, let the two of you share the kiss of vows.”
