3
1. Heartless Time
After washing up in the bathroom, Daphne was laid straight onto the bed. Asherad savored the sweet fragrance that rose from her body.
Soft flesh only just beginning to fill out a once-gaunt frame. Damp golden hair tumbling loose. That alone made a picture of beauty. Since she wore nothing at all to begin with, everything proceeded as smoothly as flowing water.
There had been a time when the act felt foreign to her, but Daphne had now grown accustomed to it—with him, or more precisely, to the mingling of flesh.
Being held in Asherad's arms had not improved her life, as it turned out. Asherad was busy acting on the Emperor's behalf, and when he found time, he would summon Daphne and take her to bed.
"Ah, aahh!"
Her nights with him were not physically painful, because he had to see Daphne aroused to the point of madness.
Asherad was relentless, and pinned beneath him, all she could do was let sweet moans spill from her lips.
It was, quite literally, as if he meant to overcome the contraceptive drug.
Asherad poured his seed into Daphne. When tears welled in her eyes and, unable to endure the stimulation, she pushed him away, he only grew rougher.
Only when the pleasure approached pain, her mind boiling over and losing all coherence, did he finally release Daphne and lie down beside her.
She stared blankly at the ceiling, lost in thought.
What was her existence, exactly? What could she possibly be, that this man of such noble blood was so desperate to hold her?
Why did he hold her so she could never run away?
Whenever the man's face twisted with arousal at her body, for that moment alone, she felt a strange sense of domination. Daphne knew that Asherad did not take other women.
Why was it her alone that he sought?
Did that mean he despised her that much?
Or could it truly be, literally, love?
Asherad was an unknowable person.
With a face of severe, flawless beauty, he bewitched her. The soft shading of candlelight, the jewel-like eyes nestled beneath his long lashes—they were beautiful.
So beautiful it was entrancing, and Daphne kept gazing at him. There had been a time when she had been overwhelmed with happiness at this man's touch.
When he had chased after her, the her that had fled, she had been happier than anything. The life in which she had hung her head as a sinner was negated. Asherad had said from the start that she was no sinner.
And so, before Asherad, she carried guilt but did not live as a sinner. That was why she liked Asherad, and why she could breathe at his side.
Asherad had called that feeling love. But if he truly loved her, he would not act like this. If he loved her... 'Daphne, I want you to be free.'
He would have acted like Fabian. He would have released her from this hellish yoke.
Daphne looked at the man beside her, the man who had been crushing her lips with his thumb and now brushed them softly.
"What are you thinking about?"
At Asherad's question, Daphne let out a hollow laugh. Had this person ever once been curious about her thoughts?
"I was thinking about why you do this to me."
Asherad seemed pleased with the answer. The thumb that had been pressing her lips came to rest on her cheek. He rolled onto his side and turned Daphne's face toward him. Their eyes met again.
"Isn't it obvious."
"..."
"Because I love you."
Asherad took Daphne's hand and pressed his lips to her wrist. Daphne felt suffocated by it. Simply being in these arms, in this bed, was so stifling she could hardly bear it.
She wanted to flee.
From all of this.
From him.
Love?
Asherad was not the sort of person who did such things. Daphne knew that well. Asherad kissed her wrist, each one in turn, then traveled up her arm.
"Hah!"
He bit into the soft flesh of her shoulder like biting into ripe fruit, then soon raised himself and began pressing kisses along her collarbone.
"You're not happy?"
"..."
"You used to love it so. Being called for, having your head stroked. All of it."
"..."
"Why make that face? I've given you something to be satisfied with."
"..."
Asherad stared intently at Daphne's face. It was expressionless, as if hollowed out. A face that seemed to ask, so what? The yearning that had once filled her eyes to the point of overflowing was long gone.
"Daphne."
"..."
"You should look at me properly."
Daphne gripped tight the wrist Asherad held captive. Looking at Asherad's face, she spoke properly, and quietly.
"Not anymore."
"..."
"Not anymore."
Then she lowered her eyes, avoiding his gaze. Asherad frightened her. The cruelty he harbored, that ferocity of his—it terrified her.
"Not even a little... am I happy."
"..."
"There is only despair now. None at all."
At Daphne's words, Asherad's face changed. Despair. Despair? Despair?! He bit the lips that had uttered such an obscene word. When Daphne cried out in pain, he pushed his tongue inside.
The briny taste of blood seeped out. Asherad licked up that blood greedily.
Daphne twisted her body. When she looked at him with a tear-soaked face, he smiled all the more darkly. And at that deranged face, Daphne too went mad and spoke.
"I don't want to live."
Thus came the betrayal of the dog he had cherished as adorable. Asherad looked at Daphne with a frozen expression.
"Then just die."
"..."
"If you die... what happens to the family of that bastard who tried to take you and run... it'll be entertaining."
Daphne bit her lip as she looked at him. It was exactly as Fabian had said. He was a cruel man, and he had no qualms about ruining Daphne's life.
Fabian's family.
Meribel, and his mother.
The family Fabian had told her about with such a laugh in his voice.
Fabian was already dead because of her—she could not be the reason his family died too. Daphne had at least that much of a conscience.
She remembered how precious family was. Just as her mother was precious to her, a mother would be precious to Fabian as well.
And this man, as if killing one person were not enough, said he would kill innocent others besides. Daphne gritted her teeth.
"Go to hell."
"..."
"I hate you—I hate you!"
Daphne shoved Asherad away. This man was the most wretched thing in the world.
"Yes, go on and hate me."
Asherad smiled bitterly down at Daphne.
"Because I'm not letting you go."
"..."
"If you die, you gain a companion on your road; if you run, I will hunt you to the very end and punish you."
"..."
"Promises... exist to be kept. Isn't that right, Daphne?"
Daphne looked at Asherad as though he were something hideous. He kissed her cheek, then gently stroked her hair.
"Please, please get out. Please!"
Daphne muttered as though wrenching the words out. Everything about Asherad was horrifying to her. So repulsive, so revolting, she could not bear it.
So she offered the utmost rebellion she could: every time Asherad's hand came near her, she shuddered with loathing. As expected, Asherad stopped touching her altogether.
After that day, Asherad stopped seeking Daphne out.
"His Highness has gone to war with Asalla."
At Sara's words, Daphne's expression stiffened. Sara looked her straight in the face. Her tawny eyes fixed on Daphne. It was as though she were trying to dig something out of her, but Daphne, frozen stiff, did not even see Sara's face.
"What will you do?"
"..."
"About His Highness the Crown Prince."
"..."
"He's abandoned you."
More than the shock that Sara knew of her relationship with the Crown Prince, her words themselves were the shock. Abandoned. Asherad had said nothing at all. Had she been deluding herself that they had reached the point where he might say something?
Or had he, told to get out, truly gotten out? Asalla was a country with which they had fought over territory for nearly a hundred years. A contested frontier where ceasefires would be called over pointless wars of attrition, only for fierce battles to erupt again without warning.
She knew it from books.
Asherad was leaving for that place? Tears poured from Daphne's eyes.
"Oh, you poor Daphne!"
Sara pulled Daphne into her arms. Held against her, Daphne's face went blank.
It was strange. Wouldn't it be better if he fell in battle there? she thought. If he truly died, it would be satisfying. Maybe she would even be free.
And yet, when she had told him with loathing to get out, his departure to a battlefield left her feeling strange.
She wished him dead.
And yet she wished he would not die.
Daphne clutched her chest, her heart aching for no reason amid that strange vortex of emotion.
The moment he turned twenty, he had left for the battlefield without a word.
If he loved her, why did he leave behind only questions? Daphne thought she could not understand Asherad.
Unable even to wish perfectly for his safety, or for his death, the heartless time began.