"That man eats people. He's a cannibal."
"A savage. Utterly uncivilized."
The whispers of the gathered crowd drifted toward me on the frozen wind before dissolving into the white silence of the North.
I lifted my gaze to the man standing before me.
His massive shadow—cast by the pale winter sun at his back—swallowed mine completely. A bitter gust of wind sliced through the air, so cold and sharp that I could barely remain upright. Instinctively, my neck curled inward, my body trying to protect itself from the relentless cold.
"Drink."
He extended the bowl toward me, his gesture impatient—as if commanding me to take it immediately.
I stared at him blankly. Sweat mingled with blood was trickling down his forehead. His face, his hands, his clothes—every inch of him was drenched in crimson.
And yet, despite the howling snowstorm, he wore nothing but light clothing. Steam rose faintly from his skin.
Isn't he cold?
I felt so pathetically fragile in comparison—trembling uncontrollably despite being wrapped in a thick fur coat layered over several undergarments designed to block even the most vicious wind.
With a quiet sniffle, I lowered my eyes to the bowl he offered.
"Drink it before it cools. Hurry."
Blood-soaked hands. A bowl slick with something viscous.
Though every instinct rebelled against it, I removed my gloves and accepted the vessel.
"Ah—"
The moment my bare fingers touched the bowl, an unfamiliar sensation sent goosebumps racing across my entire body. A small groan escaped my lips before I could stop it.
The liquid was slippery yet strangely sticky at the same time. It slid between my fingers, dripping onto the pristine snow below.
Red bloomed against the white like scattered flower petals.
Steam still curled upward from the dark liquid that filled the bowl, its warmth a grotesque contrast to the frozen world around us.
My gaze drifted past him to the altar that had been erected on the frozen ground.
Upon it lay an offering, wrapped tightly in cloth that had once been as white as the snow surrounding it. Now it was stained a deep, wet crimson.
What lies beneath that shroud?
Curiosity flickered within me—but I crushed it immediately. Some things were better left unknown.
"Drink it before it grows cold. The ritual will only take effect while it's still warm."
The maid's voice came from behind me, sharp with urgency.
I stood motionless, the bowl clutched in my trembling hands, and let my gaze sweep across the assembled crowd.
Everyone was watching me.
Some faces twisted with barely concealed amusement. Others wore expressions of open contempt.
I looked down at the bowl cradled in my palms.
You have to drink it.
They don't know.
None of them understand who I truly am.
I am no hothouse flower that bloomed in the gentle warmth of the South. I am a weed—one that grew in the cracks of the imperial palace, trampled again and again until I was finally ripped out by the roots and discarded.
But weeds don't die so easily.
Now, using this blood as my nourishment, I will sink my roots deep into this frozen, barren soil. I will grow. I will thrive.
And when I bloom, it will be as a poisonous flower—one whose venom will consume the entire world.
I raised the bowl to my lips.
My eyes remained wide open. I refused to look away from what I was doing—refused to hide from my own reality.
The first sip hit my tongue and I nearly gagged.
The overwhelming metallic stench. The viscous, horrible texture sliding across my tongue. And above all—that taste. Iron and salt and something primal that I had never experienced before in my sheltered life.
My throat convulsed. My stomach lurched violently in protest.
But I swallowed it all.
If something like this were enough to break me, I never would have married this man in the first place.
I dragged the back of my hand roughly across my mouth, smearing away the blood that dripped from my lips. My jaw clenched so tight it ached as I fought to keep everything down.
Only when I was certain I wouldn't retch did I lift my gaze to meet his.
"Well done."
He looked down at me—this man they called a monster, a savage, a cannibal.
And he smiled.
"Ohhh...!"
A single voice broke the stunned silence—a gasp of genuine admiration.
"WAAAAAH!"
"She actually did it!"
And then the crowd erupted.
Cheers rose into the frozen air, echoing across the endless white expanse. I lifted the empty bowl high above my head for all to see.
"LONG LIVE THE MARCHIONESS!"
Their voices thundered across the snow-covered fields, carrying my new title into the wind.
I will put down roots in this frozen land.
I will grow strong through this marriage.
And I will have my revenge.
On those I once loved with all my heart—the very ones who so brutally murdered me.
For if I don't marry, I'll die anyway.
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