YAED 14

It was Caella. Even seeing only Pheon’s back, moving through the darkness with his hood pulled so low it covered his face, she recognized him instantly.

Perhaps it was due to the power flowing through his blood—the power he only became aware of after dying once and returning to life. Or perhaps it was simply stubbornness. A stubbornness bordering on guilt.

There had never been any honeymoon, nor any semblance of married life during their entire marriage, yet this man—who hadn’t even cared enough to remember what Caella did each day—recognized her immediately. Wasn’t that utterly shameless?

She kept intruding into his vision, and it felt so instinctual that Pheon himself nearly felt sickened by his own reaction. Though Caella, dead with her eyes wide open, should never appear again in his mind, he—the very architect of her death—still hadn’t come to his senses.

‘The night air is cold.’

When she’d barely regained consciousness after collapsing moments earlier and immediately hailed a hired carriage, Pheon’s vision spun dizzily.

No one had followed the princess out from the townhouse, and Caella had seamlessly blended in with the servants—maids and gardeners—returning home from work along this affluent street. And now, in his haste to follow her, he found her walking fearlessly into dangerous territory.

It was obvious at a glance: she was running away. Smearing soot recklessly across her petite face, she fled.

But she couldn’t walk through back alleys where dangerous criminals loitered. Even in Krain, the prosperous capital of the Cranian Empire, there were places where death was certain the moment you stepped inside. He had no choice but to stop Caella.

“This is a place where dozens might die each night unnoticed. You can’t go.”

Pheon knew exactly why she was here. Just one look made her reason clear.

Under the hood and that clearly borrowed, tattered maid’s coat, she’d surely stuffed herself with jewels or gold coins. It was far too dangerous for the sheltered princess to be out dressed like this. Far, far too dangerous.

Bathed in pale blue moonlight, only one feature stood out vividly on her face: her eyes. Caella recognized him immediately, gasped sharply—but then narrowed her eyes even more fiercely.

“Then you’ll just have to personally escort me.”

She asked none of the expected questions: “Why are you here?” or “How did you find me?” In a way, it was quintessentially Lusenford—remarkably efficient.

He should have told the princess, with her head held impossibly high despite her disheveled state, to turn back. But Pheon couldn’t bring himself to say those words.

Asking her to return meant asking her to marry him. He well knew that the late Grand Duchess and the current princess were plainly two different people.

Even though they were distinctly different individuals, he still couldn’t possibly dare ask her to marry him—not when political, economic, diplomatic stakes hung in the balance, nor even when Duke Ostein’s very life depended on it.

“You can certainly provide an escort. Even if I’m not Lady Lavalle.”

To Pheon, no woman other than Beatrice counted as a true lady—and Caella, despite being Princess Ostein, wasn’t even worth as much as a scullery maid serving in Lusenford Castle.

Knowing full well he’d never accompany her, Caella gritted her teeth and said it anyway.

It was foolish. This man, completely unaware of why, now stood facing the full brunt of her misplaced anger. He hadn’t done anything—not yet.

Caella, who had never mocked or ridiculed anyone before, barely managed to rein in her fury just before it spilled onto Pheon.

If she went any further, some long-buried feeling or foolish sentiment within her would surely reveal itself. No. She spun around abruptly and began walking down the perilous street again.

“Ca—!”

In these night streets, calling out “Caella” was impossible—and “Princess” even more so.

Ever cautious of listening ears, Pheon swept a hand across his mouth and immediately followed her. With his far longer stride compared to her hurried steps, he could catch up with her in just a single pace.

But what could he possibly say? His tongue, so fluent even before the Emperor or Beatrice, froze stiff before Caella. How could he possibly stop her, when she’d go this far just to avoid marrying him?

Above all, Pheon understood her perfectly well. A lady raised delicately in the warm south of Ostein simply didn’t belong with him—a flawed man—and the cold, unwelcoming north suited her not at all.

Thus, no matter how flustered she made him or how unexpectedly she acted, he couldn’t stop her. He simply couldn’t.

A towering man in plain clothes but bearing a longsword, and a woman veiled in a hood—a mismatched pair drawing wary, dangerous glances in the night streets.

“This is far too dangerous.”

“Have you proposed again?”

Caella jerked her chin up sharply.

“You were rejected, weren’t you? Yes, I knew you would be.”

She nodded to herself as if confirming what she’d long expected, then walked even faster. For someone who had just collapsed and barely stood back up, even reaching this place was overexertion. Though she believed she was walking with all her strength, her steps already wavered unsteadily.

Yet the more unsteady she became, the harder she clenched her teeth and pressed onward. Pheon could feel her sheer willpower so clearly that he couldn’t bring himself to stop her. He didn’t even deserve that right.

It felt like being dragged into hell, limbs bound, neck yanked by force. Caella, who must have felt this even more acutely, suddenly halted and looked up at him.

“Why did you love so weakly?”

Caella, who’d endured every humiliation and never broken under her husband’s coldness—fulfilling her role as Grand Duchess until the very end—couldn’t understand.

“Why make such a feeble love affair, yet cause a scandal loud enough for all of Cranian to hear?”

If making a spectacle of love was required, Caella was certain she could outdo anyone.

Was it because she’d been too naive? Even after hearing he’d helped kill her father, she hadn’t fully turned away—that’s how wholly she’d loved Pheon. It had been a heart she guarded till the very end.

Yet because of such cowardly love, that strong heart of hers had been rejected. Caella felt unbearably wronged and furious.

“…I’m sorry.”

Her question, unlike any he’d heard before, carried layers of meaning. Ashamed that he could offer only such trivial words in response, Pheon hung his head—but Caella seemed to interpret his apology as “We must marry.” She quickened her pace.

Pheon fell into deep thought. Should he tell her to leave?

But unless he found a method befitting Princess Ostein—one the entire Empire would accept—the House of Ostein would certainly be obliterated, accused of disgracing the Emperor. And before that, Caella would undoubtedly be caught.

If the current Emperor were in his right mind, Pheon wouldn’t have worried at all. He hoped Caella would marry Prince Elkanan of Kerujan and leave. She absolutely had to leave Cranian—whether by marriage or by eloping, she just had to go.

“Once you’re out—do you have a plan? An escort?”

After silently warding off street ruffians with sheer presence alone, Pheon finally asked after a long walk. The gates of Krain Castle were now faintly visible in the distance.

“Even if I had a plan, I wouldn’t tell you, Your Highness.”

Indeed, only a fool would reveal it. Who would tell their escape plan to someone obviously destined to stop them?

Pheon had already given up on capturing Caella. If only her safety could be assured, he wanted to let her do as she wished.

He worried only for Duke Ostein’s safety—but that, he’d protect with his life. Either way, it was his responsibility. Though this new life had nothing to do with the late Grand Duchess, he still carried guilt.

“You must escape safely.”

He cursed his own clumsy tongue. His heart brimmed with emotion, yet those feelings refused to pour out as words. Caella, ignoring him entirely, stared straight ahead with wide eyes.

“Ah…!”

Even with her face smeared pitch-black with soot, she was beautiful. Those eyes—clear as winter sky without a single trace of cloud—looked not at Pheon, but toward the gate.

Death awaited beyond that gate. By current imperial decree, anyone whose identity couldn’t be verified would never pass through that merciless checkpoint.

The face of someone deciding to defy taboos and die rather than perish helplessly suddenly brightened. But Pheon, whose eyesight surpassed even Caella’s, immediately stopped her.

“No.”

“Let go of me.”

“Not now. Please. There’s the Emperor’s administrator, Caella.”

He had no idea why that administrator stood there now—but he and the clerks trailing him all recognized Caella and Pheon’s faces.

Moreover, it wasn’t just the clerks. The guard detachment accompanying them had turned the already deadly checkpoint into something even more heavily fortified.

“If not now…!”

If not now, the gate would soon close. Once the townhouse realized the princess was missing, chaos would erupt—this was her only chance.

Caella shoved his arm away and dashed forward. But Pheon, gritting his teeth, blocked her. Administrators were the Emperor’s own hands and eyes. Being caught here meant ruin—the Emperor would be furious.

“Caella, please!”

“Please, Your Highness. Please, please just let me go.”

In the dark, foul-smelling alley shadows, the two struggled physically. Caella struck and kicked, but Pheon held her tightly and refused to let go.

“Not now. Please. If you go now, House Ostein ends tomorrow morning.”

It truly was the end. Whispering low, Pheon held the thrashing Caella close. She glanced at the administrator, then at the gate commander speaking with him.

A young knight nodded in agreement with the administrator’s words—it was none other than Sir Isidore Dacten, commander of the gate, and Pheon’s own cousin. Encountering him here would bring nothing good.

“There is a way—I can go…!”

But that method was something Pheon must never know—something only she could know—so Caella couldn’t say more. Mentioning “Brother Isidore” in front of Pheon would implicate Sir Isidore Dacten, the gate commander, as well.

And above all, she couldn’t overcome Pheon’s iron grip. The familiar scene repeated itself once again.

Everything kept closing, being snatched away, vanishing right before her eyes. Despair came easily; hopes long abandoned even with effort.

There was no reason for the Emperor’s eyes and ears—the administrator and clerks—to be at the gate at this hour. Yet there they stood. Her escape was over. It always ended this way.

Light gradually faded from Caella’s eyes. She’d hoped to escape through her long-standing connection with Sir Dacten—but the Emperor’s direct administrator outranked even Gate Commander Dacten. It was over. It always ended this way. Her life always ended this way.

Strength drained completely from the hands that had been violently pushing him away. Pheon felt the warmth in his arms slowly rising—she was running a fever.

“I’ll… I’ll get you out later. I promise.”

He knew these words were useless. They wouldn’t even reach her ears. Yet Pheon still pleaded, hiding her in the filthy alley shadows to shield her from the Emperor’s sight.

“You’ll be free. You’ll become someone with no connection to Lusenford—so please, just endure a little longer.”

As he spoke, Pheon felt a stabbing pain in his heart. Yes—Caella had to become someone entirely unconnected to him. Forcing her upright as her strength ebbed away, he gritted his teeth so hard they nearly cracked.

*

“His Imperial Majesty has staked his dignity on your marriage to the princess.”

While Pheon barely managed to calm things and return, Caella didn’t even weep. She only sank deep into silence within the carriage.

Pheon, who’d seen countless battlefields, couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling—that silence resembled the demeanor of someone facing death.

He desperately wished to erase this marriage as if it had never happened. But having returned only days ago, he simply lacked the power yet.

Especially now, when the Emperor sought to prove “proper imperial household leadership” through their union—canceling it was utterly impossible.

Caella, who’d worn a thin veil over her pale face before her death in the previous life, would surely have hated this just as much. Then or now—it was all the same.

How humiliating this marriage must be for the noble Princess Ostein. And Pheon himself was deeply pained to be the one now burdened with explaining cold reality to her.

“If this marriage fails, His Majesty’s dignity will suffer—and where that anger will land is painfully obvious.”

Was she even listening? Caella—humble in appearance yet dazzlingly beautiful—seemed entirely indifferent to his words. Her ears were closed, her eyes dimmed.

“For now, you must live, Princess. Caella.”

He never, ever wanted to see her die again with her eyes wide open.

“If you live, you can divorce me, inherit the Duchy of Ostein—and someday, you might even think living was the right choice.”

His heart burned with anguish as he spoke. He was silently begging her—please, just don’t die.

“Just three years—can’t you give me just three years?”

Though it was far too short a time, Pheon dared to make the promise.

“I’ll divorce you after three years. I’ll never covet Ostein. I’ll put it all in writing and sign it. Just three years. After that…”

After that, he had to completely excise himself from Caella’s life. He knew he could never excise Caella from his own. His breath caught in his throat.

“After that… go south.”

Pheon lowered his gaze. Even as he spoke these words, the shameless wretch couldn’t bear to look directly at her.

“Return south.”

But Caella wasn’t listening to his words.

‘I’m… I’m truly foolish, and there’s not a single thing I can do properly.’

Stupid, foolish, and everything she attempted was clumsy.

Why couldn’t she just stay put instead of stepping forward and causing trouble for everyone?

No matter how hard Caella tried, she couldn’t even reach the soles of ordinary people’s shoes.

We always have to clean up the messes she makes—and she speaks so strangely too.

What could a half-baked Grand Duchess possibly accomplish?

If you don’t understand anything, staying silent and still would be helping us, Your Highness.

Everything she did was like this. How could a foolish idiot succeed at rebellion just because she tried once? Even her death had to be completed with others’ help.

Bring the rain inward.

Since she was a fool who knew nothing and couldn’t even speak properly, she should just stay silent. She should just die quietly again this time.

Even having returned, there was no way she could accomplish anything. After all, in the four years before her death, she’d barely slept while working tirelessly—yet received no recognition. She should just sit still and die obediently.

At some point, Caella’s lips curled slightly upward.

‘What could I possibly do?’

Unable even to distinguish reality from madness.

Seeing Caella wander through darkness, smiling unnaturally, Pheon’s eyes trembled painfully. She wasn’t listening to him at all.

Silently, the carriage returned to the Ostein ducal townhouse.