"If you want to run away, now is your only chance."
Callius's voice dropped to something quieter, more serious. His golden eyes held mine with uncomfortable intensity.
"If you take my hand and allow me to lead you from this palace, then..."
"Then what?"
He left the answer hanging in the air between us.
Instead, he smiled—but it wasn't the warm expression from moments ago. This smile carried edges.
Was he always this... playful? Yesterday he stood so rigidly I could barely breathe in his presence.
But now that stern warrior seemed to have vanished, replaced by someone who found genuine amusement in unsettling me.
So why does his smile feel so dangerous?
What exactly was he trying to communicate with that cryptic warning?
I swallowed hard and looked up at him, trying to decode the meaning behind those predatory golden eyes.
The truth was, I couldn't simply dismiss his cannibalism warning as dark humor.
History told me otherwise.
Long ago—though not so distant that the records had faded—members of the imperial bloodline had indulged in horrifying practices. Bathing in the blood of children to preserve youth. Offering human sacrifices to obscure gods in exchange for military victory.
Madness festered in royal blood.
Andrea and Kavala alone had orchestrated my mother's murder and disguised it as suicide. They'd systematically destroyed my sanity, convinced the entire court I was dangerously unhinged.
Growing up surrounded by such calculated cruelty had taught me one invaluable lesson: never assume the worst possibilities are impossible.
In this modern age, such barbaric practices would invite immediate social condemnation and political destruction—at least here in the capital, where noble eyes watched everything.
But that was among the aristocracy of the mainland.
How could I possibly know what happens in distant Ronheim?
Ronheim had only recently been absorbed into the Empire. It remained a mysterious territory, isolated and unknown, with minimal contact with the rest of civilization.
Could he have been staring at me earlier... because I looked appetizing?
When he first entered my chambers, I'd thought he resembled a wild beast stalking prey. Perhaps that hadn't been metaphorical anxiety—perhaps my instincts had been screaming a genuine warning.
I asked cautiously, choosing my words with extreme care:
"Marquis... if circumstances required it, would you eat me too?"
"...?"
His expression shifted to something unreadable.
"Are you threatening to devour me if I fail to provide sufficient value to you?"
I held his gaze with absolute seriousness.
"If that's your concern, you should know—consuming me would be extraordinarily unprofitable."
Because I fully intended to seize everything Andrea had greedily hoarded over the years. Every advantage, every resource, every carefully constructed alliance.
In that process, Callius would benefit immensely rather than suffering any loss.
At my determined expression, something flickered across his face. His lips pressed together as though suppressing some powerful emotion.
Then—abruptly—he released a long, heavy sigh.
What does that sigh mean?
I couldn't decipher the sentiment behind it.
"I will eat the Princess..."
He sighed again, deeper this time.
"...Nothing of the sort will happen."
Why does he keep sighing? Is he disappointed he can't eat me?
I insisted with renewed force:
"Exactly. It would represent a catastrophic loss for you to consume me. You'll understand soon enough. Besides—" I gestured at my admittedly thin frame "—as you can plainly see, I'm so undernourished there's barely anything to eat anyway."
He sighed yet again before responding:
"Ahem... I don't eat my business partners."
"Good. Then we understand each other."
Relief washed through me—though not complete relief. A thread of unease remained coiled in my chest.
But his answer made logical sense. It would be far more advantageous for him if I remained alive and cooperative. I didn't need to trust him specifically—I only needed to trust that fundamental truth.
He'll discover soon enough just how valuable keeping me alive will be.
It was unsettling, certainly. But as long as my safety remained guaranteed, I could tolerate considerable uncertainty about who—or what—Callius truly was.
The question of whether I should stop our arrangement to prevent potential cannibalism, or expose his true nature to save hypothetical victims, loomed uncomfortably large.
But that consideration exceeded my current capabilities.
It may be selfish, but right now I'm overwhelmed simply trying to escape this palace with my life intact.
He released his hold on me and stepped back, his demeanor shifting to perfect courtly politeness.
"If Your Highness's resolve remains unchanged, I will see you on the day of our departure—my bride-to-be."
His tone suggested absolute confidence. As though persuading the Emperor and Empress to approve our marriage would present no obstacle whatsoever.
The carriage bearing Callius away from the palace rolled through the gates and into the city streets.
The moment privacy enclosed him, laughter burst from his chest—uncontrollable, helpless laughter that he'd been suppressing for the entire visit.
"Ha ha ha!"
He laughed so hard tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. The coachman, hearing the unusual commotion, cracked open the small window connecting to the driver's seat and peered inside with concern.
Callius waved him away, still laughing.
"Marquis, will you eat me too if circumstances require it?"
"I'm so skinny there's barely anything to eat anyway."
The memory of those enormous eyes staring up at him with such deadly seriousness—while delivering that absurd declaration—threatened to undo him completely.
Why are those eyes so unbearably adorable?
From the moment he'd seen Chloe again after all these years, one thought had dominated his mind:
She's still exactly as endearing as she was when she was small.
He couldn't tear his gaze away from her.
Watching Chloe clench her small fists with absolute conviction while insisting that eating her would constitute a terrible financial decision—how many deep breaths had he taken to prevent himself from laughing outright?
I was only trying to frighten her slightly.
He genuinely couldn't determine what Chloe actually understood about Ronheim and its reputation.
Had she truly considered deeply what marrying him would mean? What challenges she would face? What society would say?
He didn't know her reasons for desperately wanting to leave the palace. But if she'd chosen him out of shallow desperation—grasping at the first viable option without understanding the consequences—he'd hoped his warning might scare her into reconsidering her partner.
Ronheim was by no means an easy place to live.
It was somewhere he never would have casually invited her to visit, had she not specifically requested he take her there first.
If she goes to Ronheim unprepared, she might end up crying and begging to leave.
That possibility worried him deeply.
He wanted her to be happy—as happy as the years he'd spent missing her had been long.
Callius's expression darkened slightly as doubt crept in.
Was accepting this arrangement simply my own selfishness? Should I have found another way to help her instead?
That question had haunted him throughout their entire conversation.
But rumors painted her as dangerously insane—completely at odds with the sharp, calculating woman he'd just spoken with.
More troubling still was her physical condition. She looked worryingly thin, almost fragile.
If she's proposing marriage to someone she doesn't even remember, it means she's in such desperate circumstances that she needs to grab hold of anyone willing to help her escape.
As surprising as it had been to learn how much strategic intelligence Chloe possessed, Callius had suspected something terrible was happening to her from the moment he saw her at the banquet.
That was why he'd accepted her proposal.
Those rumors about the Empress and Prince Andrea murdering the late Empress and targeting Chloe... they weren't just rumors, were they?
There had been whispers circulating about that approximately ten years ago.
But the rumors had mysteriously vanished when courtiers began testifying that Prince Andrea and Empress Kavala treated Chloe with exemplary care, and that Chloe followed them devotedly.
After that, he'd heard almost nothing about her for years. He'd assumed—hoped—that meant she was doing well.
Callius's expression hardened into something cold and dangerous as he recalled Empress Kavala.
I cannot allow Chloe to fall into that woman's hands.
Helping Chloe escape was more than justified—it was necessary.
Because he owed her an enormous debt from their past.
And because he had his own score to settle with Empress Kavala.
Rain hammered against the palace walls, drowning the night in white noise.
Two servants moved through the darkened corridors with practiced stealth, their footsteps deliberately silent against the marble floors.
Between them, they carried a wooden box—just large enough to hold a person.
"Another one's died."
One servant's whisper trembled with barely suppressed anxiety.
"Don't say anything. Just shut your mouth and move quickly."
"But this is what—the first time? The second? How many has it been?"
"Shh! Do you want someone to hear?"
They hurried down the hallway and slipped into the rain-soaked back garden, clearly desperate to avoid witnesses.
The soft crunch of their footsteps on wet grass dissolved into the sound of falling rain.
But behind a marble pillar in the corridor they'd just passed through, a figure emerged from shadows where no one should have been standing.
A man with a long scar bisecting his left eyebrow.
He watched the servants disappear into darkness, then turned and walked the same path—heading directly toward Empress Kavala's private residence.
The maid guarding the entrance recognized him immediately and opened the door without question.
"The Empress is expecting you."
The man entered Kavala's bedchamber as though he'd made this journey countless times before.
The room assaulted the senses—decorated in crimson brocade and black lacquered furniture, simultaneously opulent and oppressive. Intense. Passionate. Disturbingly old-fashioned.
Despite the rain, every window along the wall stood wide open, allowing damp wind to howl through the space.
The bedroom should have been freezing, filled with wet, chilling air. Yet inside, Kavala's attendants maintained perfectly blank expressions—working hard to conceal whatever they'd witnessed.
"Ah, you're here. Dnieper."
Kavala—freshly bathed—greeted the scarred man and dismissed her maids with a languid wave.
"I need to speak with the Margrave privately. Leave us."
Her voluptuous figure was barely concealed by a loosely tied bathrobe. Copper-colored hair flowed down her back like molten metal. She radiated an aura of dangerous sensuality.
She looked impossibly young—far too youthful to be the mother of a son in his thirties.
As she passed close to him, the man caught the unmistakable scent clinging to her skin—a pungent smell of blood that no amount of bathing could fully wash away.
No matter how thoroughly she ventilated the room, that same metallic stench permeated everything.
It emanated from Kavala herself.
"Sister."
The man who carried himself more like a hardened mercenary than a nobleman was Kavala's younger brother—Margrave Dnieper Blanco.
He spoke with quiet warning:
"You'll need to replace the servants who dispose of the bodies. They're getting careless. Speaking too loudly."
Kavala's face twisted with irritation.
"Are they running their mouths again? Those damned fools."
She released a short, sharp sigh. But the expression quickly melted back into relaxed indifference.
"Handle it the way you always do."
"Yes, Sister."
Kavala sprayed toner onto her face with practiced elegance, then asked:
"What about the information I requested?"
"I found it. Members of the Marquis of Rodrian's entourage were drinking at a tavern, talking louder than they should have."
"Did you learn anything useful?"
Dnieper stepped closer, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper:
"The rumors are true. There is a separate key required to awaken the holy relic held by the Saintess of Ronheim."
Kavala, who had been studying her reflection in the mirror, spun around abruptly.
"So it was true. No wonder nothing I tried for over ten years ever worked."
A sharp, hungry smile curved across her mouth.
"Where is this key? Who possesses it?"
"Callius Rodrian. He alone is said to know its location."
Kavala's voice dropped to something raw with desperate desire:
"I must have it. I will have it. Absolutely."
"Yes, Sister."
Dnieper bowed his head in acknowledgment.
As he did, his gaze fell on a dark crimson stain spreading across the hem of Kavala's bathrobe—still wet, still fresh.
Kavala followed his line of sight and noticed what he was looking at.
She smiled.
"I had a little fun today."
It was the kind of smile that sent ice down the spine.
The kind that promised horrors best left unspoken.
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