Chapter 04
Dailen, who had been sitting lazily as if he might slide off his throne at any moment, slowly rose amid the many gazes fixed upon him.
The absolute power he had been born holding in both hands had shaped him into a man who never bothered with caution or restraint. Whether others watched him or not meant nothing as he strolled forward at an unhurried pace toward Lyrette.
Hmm…
He crouched down in front of her and studied her vacant, hollow eyes. Then, as if inspecting something delicate, he slowly extended his gaze over her youthful face.
No matter how I look at her… she’d be a waste to kill.
…
A face like this isn’t something you see often.
His grayish-blue eyes tilted this way and that in contemplation. Soon, he spoke to the knight holding a sword as though ready to execute her.
“Don’t kill her.”
“…Pardon?”
“However, Your Highness—she is the daughter of a treasonous family.”
“She should be executed along with the others…”
Concerned voices murmured around him, but Dailen clicked his tongue in annoyance and the crowd immediately fell silent.
A satisfied smile crept onto his lips as he looked down at Lyrette.
“I saved you.”
“….”
“Therefore, your life is mine.”
His gray-blue eyes flickered with a dangerous, unhinged gleam.
“For how long…?”
“….”
“Until I grow bored.”
It was a gaze steeped in something like the entrance to hell.
“Gasp!”
Lately, she had been dreaming often.
And every time, it was fragments of a past that brought no comfort.
Lyrette wiped her sweat-soaked face and slowly sat up. Her health had been unstable for days, swinging violently between improvement and collapse.
Some days she was feverish and delirious; other days she could at least sit up and think clearly.
Today seemed to be one of the latter.
“Do you need anything?”
A butler approached her cautiously.
She eyed him warily before answering in a slightly hoarse voice.
“I’d like some water.”
At her words, the butler moved swiftly yet silently.
Lyrette’s gaze followed him the entire time.
The master of this mansion—the owner of the name engraved on her body—was excessively meticulous. Not only had he shackled her ankle, he had even assigned a watcher to her room.
Being constantly observed weighed heavily on her mind more than she expected.
She drank the water handed to her and glanced at the butler standing nearby.
His sharp gaze, enhanced by a monocle, was as keen as his master’s—almost as if mimicking Valderion’s eyes.
That alone made her deeply uncomfortable. It felt as though her back—the place where his name was carved—was aching.
“If you are dissatisfied with this room, we can move you elsewhere,” the butler said suddenly.
He seemed to have misinterpreted her cautious glances.
“There are larger bedrooms available.”
“…No. This is enough.”
She placed the glass down.
“More importantly… I’d like to be alone for a while.”
“….”
“I don’t intend to do anything foolish. I wouldn’t be able to anyway.”
As she shifted her leg, the cold weight of the shackle pressed against her ankle.
The chain and the butler—both were suffocating her, as if Valderion’s control was closing in from all sides.
After a moment of silence, the butler seemed to agree and left the room.
Lyrette hugged her knees and stared at the door until the presence disappeared completely.
Your life is mine.
Dailen’s words echoed in her mind like tinnitus.
Ever since her father’s rebellion, her life had been ruined completely. Under Dailen’s rule, she had lived through hell.
He truly treated her as a “toy.”
Not a person, but something to be used and harmed at will. Despite his noble birth, he was cruel and violent beyond measure.
It had been an existence of endless suffering.
Under him, she broke and healed repeatedly, never whole.
Not sexually—no.
As she had told Valderion, Dailen considered her something filthy, like livestock.
He slept with countless women, yet never touched her in that way.
And somehow, that made it worse.
More degrading. More inhuman.
In the end, her father had been right.
Through enduring Dailen’s rule, she had learned with certainty that he should never wear the Emperor’s crown.
It was unbearable to think of such a man ruling the empire.
But she had no strength left to resist.
After losing her entire family, she was nothing more than a lone wanderer in a barren world.
Her will to survive had long since cracked.
From the moment she watched her family’s heads fall, it had begun to erode… and under Dailen’s cruelty, it had finally shattered completely.
Do you want to die?
But even death had been taken from her.
After her suicide attempt failed, she had been reduced to something that could not even die freely. Bound and restrained like a prisoner.
Dailen had stripped her of every basic human freedom as punishment.
Don’t do that, Lyrette.
If you try to die, I’ll drag you back from hell myself.
What meaning did life have when even death was not hers to choose?
Everything had turned gray.
There was more—too much more.
Locked in a cramped room, her door broken and rattled at night just to torment her. Whipped with wet lashes until her skin split whenever he was displeased. Attempts to escape always ended with her ankles broken.
All of it had become routine.
Her gaze drifted upward.
A tapestry hung on the wall.
A shield crossed by swords, wrapped in rose vines and a stag crest.
That banner had flown during the night her last family died in blood.
The Imperial Family and House Eustutia.
They were one and the same.
Sun and moon of the empire.
So her only options were the palace—or this place.
A dry laugh escaped her.
Valderion’s faint smirk overlapped in her memory.
Something inside her churned.
She looked at the shackle.
Then she stood and walked.
The chain scraped across the carpet, stretching taut.
She couldn’t go further—but it was enough.
She reached the tapestry.
With no hesitation, she ripped it from the wall and threw it to the floor.
“Did she eat?”
Valderion asked as he extinguished his cigar.
“Yes,” the butler replied.
“All of it?”
“Not entirely… but enough to be considered a meal.”
“And her condition?”
The butler’s eyes shifted calmly.
“Unchanged from when she first arrived.”
“So even rest changes nothing.”
Valderion clicked his tongue, unsurprised—but still displeased by how consistent the situation remained.
He rubbed his brow as if speaking to himself.
“Do I really have to touch her for it to work?”
Even with proper food, warmth, and rest, Lyrette’s condition had not improved.
Her fever had subsided somewhat, likely due to the Name’s initial symptoms, but her limbs remained rigid.
It meant the issue wasn’t environment or nourishment.
“Rigidity, then paralysis…”
He reviewed the symptoms.
The core of the Name was contact.
Without physical connection to the Name’s owner, the afflicted person could not stabilize. That was why it was called an illness that could only be healed by touch.
Without it, they deteriorated.
First fever and chills. Then stiffness in hands and feet like wood. Eventually, full paralysis as if the bones had detached. If prolonged, the nerves would rot and the skin would decay.
From what he had observed, she had already lost use of two fingers.
Soon the rest would follow.
“Hah.”
He recalled her expression again—those eyes glaring at him with stubborn resistance.
She looked fragile, like she could break at any moment. A white peony on a barren field.
That was likely why he had not noticed her immediately in the snow.
She blended too well into white.
Yet her gaze was not weak.
Even when she tried to pull away, she never looked away.
That alone was commendable.
“It’s past lunch…”
He glanced outside.
“…Prepare dinner for two in the annex.”
The butler understood immediately and left.
Valderion watched him go, then turned his gaze to the window.
Snow was falling again.
Stronger this time.
Winter, which seemed to have ended, was returning.
The afternoon light was pale and fading.
