Chapter 17
Even though Calion’s tone, when he added his words, was unusually soft for him, the cold irony woven into it was like a finely honed blade.
Startled, Ronin hurriedly spoke.
“No…! No, I—cough! Cough!”
Ronin coughed violently, as though his lungs were being torn apart, yet even then he thought.
He needed to understand why Lord Liofric was so angry. If he didn’t, he would be expelled from the North—and then he would face a father colder than even the Northern cold itself, and be beaten.
Why is he suddenly saying things like this? Marriage, spouse… and he called me his wife… and then…
Fever-clouded Ronin quickly realized.
Ah. That’s it.
He knew all too well what people wanted from “Alistair,” especially when it came to an Alpha’s desires.
Lord Liofric is a rational man. So even toward an enemy like me, he’s making this proposal. But if I miss this opportunity…
A rational person would not extend the same offer twice.
Then this might be my last chance. I must not disappoint him.
Having reached that conclusion, Ronin dropped to his knees in front of Liofric. Calion, who had remained silent until then, finally spoke as Ronin reached toward his lower garments.
“What exactly are you doing?”
His voice was colder than ice.
But Ronin, already burning with fever, did not notice the change.
“I—I’m going to serve my husband. We’re m-married, so… c-cough! So we should spend the night… hah… together…”
A violent fit of coughing cut him off again. His shoulders trembled with each dry, rasping breath.
Ronin steadied his collapsing body with both arms, but the coughing would not stop.
Calion’s gaze grew even colder.
“So even while you look half-dead, that’s what you’re thinking.”
Ronin Alistair was not normal. Not physically, and certainly not mentally. Proof enough—he was trembling, yet still speaking of duty.
“B-but… it’s my duty… I have to… do it…”
Shaking shoulders. Bloodless fingertips.
Yet he still spoke of duty with that body.
Well, the nobles of the capital were like that too. They just burned with desire—but in the end, what they wanted was the same.
So that’s what this is. He wants Liofric’s seed.
The thought filled Calion with disgust toward Ronin Alistair. And yet, he could not look away.
His gaze kept drifting to that thin wrist, those damp eyelashes.
The fever-flushed, crumpled face evoked something he did not want to acknowledge.
Calion hated even this reaction in himself. Even if he told himself it was merely heat in the spring air, or a natural biological response, he could not suppress the self-loathing.
He cut in with an even colder voice.
“Just a whore, then. I almost feel it was a waste to feel even a moment’s pity for you.”
After saying it, he finally found the resolve to leave the room.
Ronin’s pale hand reached toward his waistband, but Calion pulled away.
“Ronin Alistair. Listen carefully. As long as you do not bother me, I will not interfere with whatever you do in this house. I don’t care who you drag into your bed with that vulgar body. However—”
Alistair held his breath.
Meeting those unfocused, fever-glazed pale eyes, he spoke clearly.
“Do not expect anything else from me. That is all I require from this marriage.”
Everyone stood at the main gate, waiting for the arriving guest.
Soon, a carriage arrived in front of the mansion.
The strictly trained servants bowed their heads. Otherwise, they would not be able to hide their disgust and pity.
Clack.
The carriage door opened, and a woman stepped out.
Flaming hair, clothing that exposed the upper curve of her chest—everything about her was unmistakable.
She scanned the people with a languid expression: servants carefully hiding their disdain, a strong and beautiful Alpha, and Alistair’s troublesome “asset.”
Jeinar studied Ronin carefully.
A Beta, they said? Doesn’t really show. Or rather…
Her gaze lingered on Ronin’s silver hair.
It shimmered whenever it caught the light, carrying an almost mystical air.
A kind of innate elegance she herself could never imitate no matter how hard she tried.
Still, I’m the one who took this position!
Jeinar instinctively looked toward the tower. Richard had said that “Shasha” was obediently waiting in the tower for her fate.
Hmph. Fool. That’s why she was abandoned.
Clicking her tongue, Jeinar was about to enter the mansion when something flickered at the top of the tower.
“W-what is that?”
The distance from the gate to the tower was not far. Jeinar realized it at the same moment she asked.
The figure standing barefoot at the very top of the tower was her cousin, Shasha.
Richard, too, recognized his wife and shouted.
“Shasha! What are you all doing? Hurry and go to the tower—”
His words died.
Shasha had spread her arms.
As if she might jump at any moment.
No… Shasha… it can’t be… surely not…
Richard denied it with everything he had. Servants rushed toward the tower under his command, but none could stop her.
Shasha took her final step into the air.
Time seemed to stop.
Even the screams of the crowd could not reach her as she fell slowly—but irrevocably.
Her skirt billowed like flower petals, and her silver hair scattered in the sunlight.
Ah… Mother…
Ronin, too, was drawn to that radiant light.
The same hair color as his own. Something that could never be concealed no matter how hard one tried.
A fate bound by blood—and that meant—
So my end… will be the same…
Thud.
“Gah—!”
A short, ragged breath tore from his throat.
His body shot upright reflexively, drenched in cold sweat.
Ronin looked around with anxious eyes.
An unfamiliar place. Yet also familiar. The Liofric estate, where he would be living from now on. Not his family home where “that incident” had occurred.
“…Haah.”
Only then did his anxiety ease slightly. He lay back down on the bed.
But sleep would not come.
Far from it—his heart pounded as though he had been running at full speed.
Ronin closed his eyes, trembling.
Behind his eyelids, the image of his mother’s falling body repeated over and over again, vanishing and reappearing. And if his focus slipped even slightly, it felt as though what followed would appear next as well
