A short while earlier, Callius Rodrian received an unexpected letter.
He stared intently at the gold-rimmed envelope resting in his palm, his brow furrowing with suspicion.
If this had come from Ronheim, it would have arrived via the Western Sea route.
But this letter had been delivered by an errand boy within the capital itself. That meant the sender was here—somewhere in this city of vipers and silk-tongued nobles.
The question was: who?
Callius hailed from Ronheim—a land the nobles of the Arrental Empire dismissed as barbaric. To them, he reeked of blood and beasts, a savage dressed in ill-fitting finery.
No one in this capital would willingly associate with him, let alone send him correspondence.
A letter without a sender's name... It could easily be a prank. Or something far more sinister.
But in the end, it was just paper and ink.
What harm could words do to him?
Callius broke the seal with practiced indifference—then froze, his golden eyes widening.
Garden of the Moon. Before anyone else. Gratitude.
The words were innocent enough on the surface. But strung together, they formed a code that only he could recognize.
The Leknes flower was a bloom unique to Ronheim—one said to glow with golden luminescence beneath the moonlight. Among his people, gold was often poetically called "Leknes." And the Garden of the Moon...
The gold mine.
No one outside his most trusted inner circle knew of the vein of gold Callius had recently discovered beneath Ronheim's frozen earth.
The information couldn't have leaked. It's impossible.
And yet, someone knew. Someone here, in the heart of the Empire.
Callius turned the letter over, searching for any clue—a watermark, a distinctive pen stroke, a hidden seal. He found nothing.
Even if a name had been written, I probably wouldn't have believed it.
After all, who would suspect the "mad princess" of penning such a calculated message?
"Look over there!"
A mocking voice cut through the ambient music, and every head in the banquet hall swiveled toward the entrance.
"Good heavens—is she wearing nightclothes?"
"Has she completely lost her mind?"
Today was Lovers' Day—the most romantic occasion of the social calendar, when couples throughout the Empire exchanged tokens of affection and new romances blossomed under crystal chandeliers.
The palace ballroom glittered with silk gowns, sparkling jewels, and carefully curated smiles. It was a day when even the most scandalous behavior might be forgiven in the name of love.
Naturally, the assembled nobility was always hungry for gossip to spice up their tedious lives.
And tonight, they had found their prey.
The crowd parted like a sea of rustling silk as Princess Chloe entered the banquet hall. They watched her as one might observe a curious specimen in a menagerie—with equal parts fascination and contempt.
Fans fluttered before painted lips. Smirks bloomed behind gloved hands.
And the princess at the center of their scorn?
She wore no jewels. No elaborate gown. No artfully applied cosmetics.
Instead, Chloe glided through the crowd in nothing but a simple white sleeping dress, her face bare and luminous, her feet clad in soft, fur-trimmed bedroom slippers.
"Oh my, I heard her condition was serious, but this..."
"What a tragedy. Is there truly no one to care for her?"
But the whispered pity died on their lips as they watched the princess's face transform.
Chloe was smiling.
Not the vacant smile of a broken mind, but something radiant—something dazzling.
For a breathless moment, the entire ballroom fell silent.
Sparkling silver hair cascaded down her back like moonlight made tangible. Her skin seemed to glow with an ethereal luminescence. And those eyes—clear as the finest sapphires, bright with unmistakable intelligence—fixed upon someone across the room.
Even dressed in nothing but a nightgown, Princess Chloe was devastatingly beautiful.
"Who on earth is she smiling at?"
Necks craned. Eyes followed her gaze.
And then a collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
The object of the mad princess's radiant attention was none other than Marquis Callius Rodrian.
Ronheim—the barbaric northern territory that had been subjugated by the Arrental Empire only after decades of bloody conquest.
Callius was a scion of that land's former royal house. When the Empire finally crushed Ronheim's resistance, they had taken him hostage as a boy—a guarantee of his people's compliance.
But the Ronheim people were too fierce, too wild, to be easily controlled from afar. Rebellions continued to flare like stubborn embers. Eventually, the Empire made a calculated decision:
"Send Callius Rodrian back as governor of Ronheim."
It was the only way to maintain any semblance of order. The Ronheim people, for all their hostility toward the Empire, were fiercely loyal to their own bloodline.
And so Callius returned to his homeland—a prince-turned-puppet, caught between two worlds that would never fully accept him.
Among the glittering nobles of Arrental, Callius stood out like a wolf among peacocks.
His suit was technically appropriate, but it hung on his massive frame with an awkwardness that suggested he would rather be anywhere else. His eyes—sharp and predatory, the color of molten gold—swept the room with barely concealed disdain.
He had positioned himself in the darkest corner of the ballroom, a glass of untouched wine in one hand, radiating an aura of menace that kept everyone at a safe distance.
Until now.
The peculiar princess approached him without hesitation, her soft slippers making no sound on the marble floor.
She stopped directly before him and extended her hand, palm upturned.
"I want to receive something from you."
Her voice, though not loud, seemed to carry across the entire hall. Every ear strained to catch the exchange.
Callius frowned, studying her with obvious confusion.
To any observer, it was clear these two had never spoken before. On Lovers' Day, gifts were exchanged between established couples or hopeful suitors—not complete strangers who had just met eyes across a crowded room.
"Anything will do."
Chloe stretched her palm closer, her smile unwavering.
"Surely you won't leave a lady's hand hanging in the air?"
When Callius still didn't move, she tilted her head toward the decorative vase behind him—one overflowing with delicate flowers arranged for the occasion.
Her meaning was unmistakable: Take one and give it to me.
The assembled nobles held their breath, awaiting the inevitable rejection.
But to everyone's astonishment, Callius did neither.
His golden eyes held hers for a long, measuring moment. Then, without a word, he turned, plucked a single bloom from the vase, and placed it gently in her waiting palm.
As if willing to play along with whatever game this was.
Chloe's face lit up with genuine delight—the kind of unguarded joy that made even the most jaded hearts skip a beat.
"Thank you, Marquis Callius Rodrian."
The entire ballroom watched in stunned silence.
What is happening?
A mad princess stealing flowers from a beastly marquis. And that same beastly marquis, rumored to eat human flesh, playing along as docile as a lamb.
"A beautiful fool and a savage monster. What a tragic pair."
The whispered comment was just loud enough to be heard—something everyone was thinking but hadn't dared to say aloud.
Meanwhile, Callius was studying Chloe with an intensity that suggested he was trying to solve a puzzle.
"I love flowers very much!"
Chloe declared it loudly, clutching the bloom to her chest like a child with a new treasure.
Something flickered in Callius's golden eyes.
"I would be eternally grateful. You see, I am exceedingly fond of flowers."
The words from the mysterious letter echoed in his mind.
Surely this was coincidence?
But before Callius could pursue that thought, Chloe stumbled.
She collided with a passing servant who had been precariously balancing a tray laden with wine glasses.
CRASH!
"Ahh!"
Deep crimson wine cascaded down the front of Chloe's pristine white nightdress, staining it like spreading blood.
"Are you injured?"
Callius's voice was blunt, his expression as unreadable as ever—as though chaos was something he witnessed so regularly that it no longer merited surprise.
"I... I..."
Chloe looked up at him with glistening eyes, her lower lip trembling as if she might burst into tears at any moment.
Without a word, Callius offered his arm—a stiff, formal gesture—and began to escort her toward the garden exit.
The crowd parted easily, returning to their conversations with practiced disinterest as the strange pair disappeared into the night.
Princess Chloe—beloved daughter of an Empress who had once been adored by the entire Empire, only to fall into disgrace and madness. The only legitimate heir of the Idelian royal bloodline, now reduced to a pitiful laughingstock.
The air practically hummed with barely concealed contempt.
And the gossip continued long after she was gone.
"You can stop the performance now."
The moment they were clear of the ballroom, Callius released her arm with cold precision.
Not that he had truly been supporting her to begin with. Chloe's supposed injury had been nothing but theater—she had never stumbled at all.
This is the man they dragged away in chains all those years ago.
I stared at the golden eyes gleaming in the darkness of the palace garden, their brightness almost unnatural in the dim light.
I kept my expression calm, but my entire body was rigid with tension.
I'm terrified.
Callius Rodrian. He was even larger and more imposing than I remembered from glimpses of him during my previous life.
They called him a beast. Now I understand why.
The people of Ronheim were legendary for their size—rumored to be descended from giants, if the old stories were to be believed. Callius was no exception. He towered over me, his shoulders broader than any man I had ever encountered, his physique radiating raw, barely contained power.
And those eyes—sharp as freshly honed blades, gleaming with predatory intelligence—pinned me in place like prey.
Standing before him felt like facing down a wild animal.
Perhaps choosing this man was a mistake.
I swallowed hard, but I refused to retreat. There was nowhere left to run.
Don't show fear. Speak calmly.
I drew a steadying breath and forced my shoulders back.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me with unsettling intensity. Then he reached into his coat and produced a familiar envelope, letting it dangle between two fingers.
"I received your invitation, Princess."
His voice was a low growl—the kind that seemed to vibrate through my chest.
"How fortunate that you're as perceptive as I hoped."
I tried to smile with casual ease, praying he couldn't detect the tremor in my voice.
"I knew you would come."
"Do you have any idea what you're playing at?"
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. The subtle shift of air brushed against my face.
Oh no.
Instinctively, I shrank back, my neck drawing into my shoulders—then caught myself and straightened with effort.
Even that small movement made my heart pound violently against my ribs.
They say he smells of blood and beasts.
As rumored, there was something distinctive about his scent—something unmistakably Ronheim. But it wasn't the nauseating stench of gore that the nobles whispered about.
It reminded me of a cold wind sweeping across frozen plains in the dead of winter. Clean. Sharp. Elemental.
His massive hand shifted at his side, and for a heart-stopping moment, I could picture those fingers closing around my throat.
"What do you want, Princess?"
I spoke as briefly as possible, hoping the trembling wasn't obvious.
"A deal."
"A deal?"
He looked down at me with those razor-sharp eyes and let out a contemptuous snort.
"I've heard rumors that you've gone mad."
I had anticipated this. I responded with the words I had carefully prepared.
"And I've heard rumors that you devour human flesh. What benefit is there in throwing the same stones when we're both standing in the same glass house?"
He, too, was someone plagued by vicious rumors—just like me.
I took a measured step backward, hoping it looked graceful rather than fearful.
Even that small distance made it easier to breathe.
"My time is limited. If I don't return to my chambers soon, people will come searching."
I cast a glance toward the distant glow of the banquet hall.
Andrea wasn't there when I entered. I bought myself this much time—but by now, he's surely heard that I made an appearance.
A meaningless smile curved Callius's lips—not quite amusement, not quite threat.
His gaze remained as piercing as ever, giving nothing away.
"A deal. And what, pray tell, can you offer me? A disgraced princess of the Idelian royal family, spouting mad nonsense?"
I lifted my chin and met his eyes directly.
"Myself."
He let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.
But I pressed on, undeterred. Shame was a luxury I could no longer afford.
"I will marry you."
His eyebrows drew together, carving deep lines into his forehead.
"And in exchange, you will give me that gold mine as a wedding gift."
"So not only am I to marry the mad princess, but I must also surrender my gold mine for the privilege?"
I had expected precisely this reaction.
I shrugged with deliberate nonchalance—or at least, I tried to make it look that way.
"It's not as though that mine contains any actual gold at the moment, so why quibble over hypotheticals?"
"I haven't the faintest idea what nonsense you're spouting."
"But you do, Marquis Rodrian. You know precisely what I'm saying. You simply didn't expect that I would know, too—not when you've only just discovered the mine's existence yourself."
He went very still.
"Don't look so startled. We haven't even begun yet."
I held his gaze—steady, serious, unflinching.
"Are you beginning to understand that my worth far exceeds a few lumps of undiscovered ore?"
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