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“If she’s not my wife, then she must be a slave. Since I have no legal right to own Rose, does that make me a man who stole another’s slave girl and called her my wife?”
“Alec…”
“No, I suppose I can’t even call her a wife, can I? She’s just a woman, isn’t she? A woman who belonged to someone else, whom I dared to take as my wife…”
“Stop it. Enough. That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I’m only worried about my daughter. In the end, she’ll be the one who gets hurt.”
Alec’s eyes narrowed dangerously. The abbot, Dallas, clenched his jaw as he met the young man’s piercing gaze. Yes, Rose would ultimately bear the pain. Alec had chosen to stand against his half-brother in rebellion, determined to reclaim his rightful status and position.
His rightful status. His rightful position. From the moment the abbot first met him, he had known Alec was royalty. Unlike the villagers, who lived isolated and unworldly lives as simple rural folk, Alec had a sharp understanding of the current state of Travis.
Anyone with even basic knowledge of the empire’s affairs couldn’t be ignorant of the unrest that had unfolded over the past decade. Dallas himself had been in Travis during the period when the emperor passed away, and his eldest son, the first prince, seized power.
Those months were grim and chaotic, marked by widespread bloodshed. Corpses piled along riverbanks, severed heads displayed on city walls—atrocities so horrific they left an indelible mark.
When the abbot eventually came to Lorant, he realized who Alec was. The youngest prince, discarded and assumed dead by the emperor himself. At first, he thought the boy was merely a young noble, but…
Even when on the brink of death, emaciated to the point where his ribs showed, Alec had maintained a dignity that seemed unnatural for a starving boy.
His refined accent and noble bearing starkly contrasted with the rustic simplicity of the village. Lorant was a remote frontier village, far removed from the capital. It was a place where one might expect to find exiles, not a prince with a legitimate claim to the throne—one the emperor had been unable to eliminate despite his efforts.
Even wearing tattered dress shirts and mud-streaked trousers, Alek exuded an innate elegance. His unyielding eyes burned with life, his spirit untamed. Only a prince could possess such qualities.
“When Your Highness chose Aprosa, I thought you had given up everything. I believed you had resolved never to return. After all, if you hadn’t abandoned it all, you wouldn’t have made a runaway slave your wife.”
The unexpected honorific hung in the air. Alec broke his glare, his fists clenching tightly at his sides.
“It was for Rose,” he replied.
The abbot shook his head in quiet disapproval. Alec replayed the words in his mind, their weight sinking in. Your danger is yours alone. Leave Afrosa behind.
The words felt like a command to disappear from Rose’s life, to vanish and never return. But such a thing was unthinkable.
“Parting with Rose is impossible,” Alec said firmly.
“…”
“If I could live forgetting Rose…”
If separation from Rose were possible—if he could truly forget her love, their shared moments, the mercy and kindness she’d shown him. If he could let go of her smile, the fluttering of his heart. If he could have abandoned all of that… then he wouldn’t have ruined his past life as he had.
But he couldn’t let go of anything. He couldn’t forget a single thing, and that was why he clung to Afrosa. Even though he knew how much she suffered because of him. Even though he knew how much she resented him.
It didn’t matter if she chose seclusion. Even if Afrosa withdrew to the secondary palace with their son and daughter and refused to show her face, it would have been enough. Just knowing she existed under the same sky, in a place where he could still reach her, was enough to sustain him.
At least she hadn’t disappeared into a place he couldn’t find her. At least he could still, if he wanted, see her face. And if that were true—if that remained true—then perhaps someday, she might forgive him. Perhaps someday, she might smile at him again.
His thoughts had always been consumed by the desire to win Afrosa back. He became a beast of burden and a wretched thing, all for a future with her. A man who once recoiled at even the slightest touch of another woman’s hand had forced himself to embrace others, even taking breeding stimulants meant for livestock to produce heirs.
The revulsion he’d felt then was something Afrosa could never know. The pain of it was something she, too, would never understand. After taking those pills, he buried his face in the chemise that had once wrapped her body, and then… then he laid with another woman.
The memory of that night was always vivid. It clung to him, unyielding, no matter how far he tried to run from it.
“I cannot let go of Rose,” he said finally.
The abbot said nothing. His pale face was turned toward the window, his gaze listless, as though too exhausted to reply.
Alec left the chapel with a final declaration: “We leave in three days.”
The autumn sky stretched high and clear above him. Standing under the warm sunlight, Alec’s thoughts turned grim. Until his severed head reached the imperial palace, Ruvero would not stop.
He had to leave Lorant with Afrosa as soon as possible—before Ruvero discovered Nasca’s lifeless body, his head cleanly severed. After his return to the past, Alec had proposed an alliance to Marquis Heslo.
The marquis was a moderate republican, an ally of Prime Minister Mankel, and a man who despised the current emperor. Heslo discreetly supported the “April Council,” an anti-monarchist group labeled as political extremists by the royal family and the aristocracy.
Though weaker than Marquis Oppressé, Heslo had the potential to attract centrist constitutionalists aligned with Mankel’s parliamentary vision. Financial resources were no issue for Alec; the secret vault left behind by his late father, the emperor, was his alone. If he could secure his father’s will from that vault, he would gain control over a quarter of the imperial assets.
The vault was under the ownership of the Rich Federal Bank, beyond even Ruvero’s reach as emperor. Before his brother could escalate matters further, Alec needed to leave Lorant and begin his fight.
Would Afrosa agree to leave? He glanced back at the chapel, his thoughts tangled.
“I’m only worried about my daughter. In the end, she’s the one who’ll get hurt.”
His brow furrowed deeply, and a fiery heat flared in his chest as the broken image of Afrosa from his past life flashed in his mind.
He clenched his fists and shook his head vehemently, murmuring to himself, “No. That won’t happen. Never. Never…”
“Ah, I forgot to introduce this gentleman.”
Marquis Heslo let out a hearty laugh. When Alec’s gaze lingered on the man locking eyes with Afrosa, the marquis took the opportunity to speak. He clapped the taller man on the back with an air of camaraderie and said,
“This is Lawrence Hamizle, my personal secretary. He’s also a major in the Republican Army.”
Marquis Heslo glanced up at Lawrence with a wide, approving smile that stretched the corners of his lips. Standing taller than the marquis, who himself had a sturdy build, Lawrence was as physically imposing as Alec. His broad shoulders and well-defined chest stood out even beneath his neatly pressed shirt.
Alec’s expression remained unreadable as he studied the man, his gaze shifting to Lawrence as the latter saluted the marquis. Heslo’s private military force—expanded rapidly over the past two years to counter both the northern April Council and the Empire’s regular army—was no small matter.
For Lawrence to hold the rank of major within that force spoke to his competence. But how did he know Afrosa?
Alec’s thoughts churned as he recalled the flicker of emotion in Afrosa’s eyes when she looked at Lawrence. The more he thought about it, the more he felt a heat rising within him—one he hadn’t experienced before.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. And Your Highness Consort. Please, call me Lawrence.”
The man executed a flawless bow of greeting. Alec instinctively turned to Afrosa, who was far less skilled at hiding her emotions. She stared at Lawrence with a face full of confusion, her reaction clearly betraying her inner turmoil.
“Your Highness,” Lawrence added, his voice steady.
Alec’s ears caught the voice of Marquis Heslo as his gaze lingered on Afrosa’s pale face. It brought him back to the moment, prompting him to turn his head.
Lawrence Hamizle stood out with his sun-kissed skin and strikingly handsome features: thick brows, a high nose bridge, and perfectly shaped lips. His wavy blonde hair, brushed back to expose his forehead, added to his ruggedly appealing look.
“Pleasure to meet you. I trust, given the marquis’s confidence in you, that your abilities are indeed exceptional.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. I will do my utmost to serve both the marquis and Your Highness with complete dedication.”
Lawrence offered a faultless bow before lifting his head. His words, precise and formal, mirrored a soldier’s discipline. Yet, as his gaze lingered on Alec, it carried a probing intensity, distinct from the look he had given Afrosa.
Alec did not look away, but the anger brewing inside him was undeniable. The thought that this man—perfectly built to win the favor of women—had caught Afrosa’s eye, even for a fleeting moment, infuriated him.
He’d never experienced such raw jealousy before. That brief moment of Afrosa’s attention, though fleeting, felt like a betrayal. It wasn’t just a passing glance—Alec couldn’t dismiss it as meaningless.
The mere idea that her gaze, captivated for less than five minutes, could hold such significance gnawed at him. The heat of jealousy churned into an intense desire to tear Lawrence apart, a visceral reaction so fierce it left a metallic taste on his tongue.
The world around him faded—sounds dulled, sensations muted.
“I think I’ll head back to the guest room now. You should stay and talk with the marquis and Lawrence a bit longer,” Afrosa said softly, her voice pulling him out of his thoughts.
Marquis Heslo had been commenting on the rough terrain and unpaved roads of their journey. Alec looked down at Afrosa. Her face was pale, but she wore a faint smile. He nodded curtly, unwilling to leave her in Lawrence’s presence a moment longer.
“I’ll walk you back.”
She gave a small nod, and he gently wrapped his arm around her waist, turning to escort her.
Back in the guest room, Afrosa untied the ribbon at her neck and removed her bonnet. It was a spacious room, lavishly appointed like the drawing rooms of nobility. But as grand as it was, Afrosa found it stifling. She couldn’t explain why.
Placing the bonnet on the table, she sat on the edge of the bed.
“You can go now. I’ll rest here,” she said, her tone dismissive.
“Do you know him?”
“Who?”
“Hamizle.”
Alec’s tone carried an edge, though his voice remained steady. Afrosa looked up at him, noticing his reluctance to leave. She shook her head.
“I don’t know him.”
“He seemed to know you.”
“How would you know? How do you know if he knows me?”
“Rose.”
Afrosa clamped her lips shut, feeling stifled again. She stood abruptly, intending to take off her dress.
Layer by layer, she started to remove the garment, but Alec approached her, turning her around. His hands, familiar and deft, undid the fastenings of her dress and loosened the tight corset around her waist.
Once he’d freed her, he guided her to sit back down and stared down at her.
“How would he know you?” he asked again, his voice low but unwavering.
“When I was young.”
“Young?”
“Before I met Father, I knew him.”
“Why did you lie earlier?”
“I don’t remember clearly… My memories are fuzzy.”
It was the truth. The memories were faint, and since she’d met Lawrence at such a young age, it felt meaningless to acknowledge it. Afrosa had thought it was something not worth mentioning to Alec, so she initially said she didn’t know him. But Alec was relentless.
He had somehow figured out that she knew Lawrence, even though they hadn’t exchanged any meaningful words. Honestly, it sent chills down her spine.
“How did you know him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rose.”
“Just go. They’re waiting for you.”
Afrosa turned her head, refusing to look at him anymore. Alec didn’t press further, only gazing at her for a long moment. Afrosa, on the other hand, felt utterly exasperated.
She’d been in a foul mood since the afternoon, and she couldn’t understand why he was being so touchy about this.
What did it matter if she recognized someone’s face? It hadn’t interfered with his plans. She hadn’t done anything to disrupt things, no matter how much she replayed the events in her mind.
Not when Marquis Heslo offered her his hand for a handshake, nor when he altered the greeting by kissing the back of her hand. Not even when she politely accepted Lawrence’s greeting.
And yet, Alec acted as if everything about the situation displeased him.
She didn’t know how to stay out of his way or how to be helpful to him.
“Rest. I’ll be back soon.”
Afrosa didn’t nod, nor did she reply aloud. All she heard was the sound of the door closing behind him.
Only after Alec left did she lift her head, a wave of regret washing over her.
“I should have just said I’d stay in Lorange.”
She bit her lip, trying to untangle the thoughts knotted in her head. But no matter how hard she tried, the same thought kept surfacing.
Afrosa, who cherished her love for Alec above all else. Afrosa, for whom Alec was her everything, found herself thinking, pitifully and repeatedly:
“If only I weren’t pregnant. If only I weren’t carrying a child…”