The wild, unquenchable passion had reached a point beyond endurance.
Calix was no longer certain he could survive another moment unless he found this woman and brought her before him *immediately*.
His crimson eyes flashed with predatory hunger.
"I'll go myself."
This woman had dared to venture into the treacherous, rock-strewn mountains in the dead of night—all to escape *him*. Even if his soldiers discovered her, it seemed unlikely she would meekly follow them back. She would fight. She would run. She would do anything to slip through his fingers again.
But the moment he imagined soldiers dragging his wife away by force, the blood froze in his veins.
He would not allow any man to touch her body. If any of them dared such a thing, they would lose both hands before they could draw their next breath.
"And not a single hair on her head is to be harmed." His voice dropped, rough and strangely soft. "When a wife returns home from a long journey... isn't the husband obliged to meet her personally?"
Raizen lowered his head in silence, though he did not miss the surprisingly tender notes buried within his master's muffled, broken voice.
The prince strode forward with grim resolve, his boots striking the mountain path like drumbeats.
"It's time to meet my wife."
---
The mountains proved far more treacherous than Calix had anticipated.
The higher they climbed, the more hostile the terrain became. Jagged rocks jutted from the earth at cruel angles, and the branches of wild shrubs bristled with thorns sharp enough to draw blood. The soldiers had already trampled a rough path through the worst of it—torchlight flickering ahead, voices calling to one another in the darkness.
*And what was it like for her?*
She had been running blind. A person cornered like a wild animal had no time to choose her footing, no luxury of caution. She would have stumbled through this nightmare landscape with nothing but desperation to guide her.
Calix considered this, but his judgment was warped by his own selfish longing. A strange, unbearable sadness crept through him—the realization that she would rather suffer in this terrible place than be captured by him.
He stopped abruptly.
*This...*
His crimson eyes had caught something—a scrap of fabric snagged on a thorny bush, pale against the darkness. He reached out and seized it greedily, feeling the soft texture of the precious cloth between his fingers.
*Asella...*
His fist clenched in fury. The fabric crumpled helplessly in his grip, but it wasn't enough. He wanted it completely hidden, utterly consumed by his closed hand. He squeezed until not a single thread remained visible.
*Soon, Asella. Soon, the same fate awaits you.*
*Once you're in my arms...*
His thoughts shattered as several dark figures emerged from the shadows. They approached in eerie silence—black silhouettes that seemed to materialize from the mountain itself—and dropped to one knee before him.
"Did you find her?"
"Yes, Your Highness. She's nearby."
Calix's mouth tightened into a hard line. Without another word, he moved forward, the silent footsteps of his elite shadow-unit trailing behind him. In the flickering torchlight, they looked less like men and more like otherworldly specters—ghosts summoned to hunt the living.
*How will she react?*
The question burned in his mind. Would she scream? Weep? Try to break free and run again?
It didn't matter. She was just a weak woman. There were many methods at his disposal—threats, persuasion, force. In the end, everything would unfold exactly as he desired.
Calix inhaled slowly.
He could already smell her—her scent carried on the cold mountain wind, faint but unmistakable. If he could, he would capture even that. Everything about her. Every last fragment.
*No.* He truly wanted to do it.
It was in this moment that Calix finally understood the true purpose of the secret chamber hidden deep within his ancestral castle.
A room concealed from prying eyes. A space so magnificent that one would not know where to rest one's gaze first. That chamber had always been the embodiment of every ruling ancestor's deepest desires—filled with impossibly rare objects, priceless works of art, treasures that could be admired for eternity.
But the heads of the Benvito family, who could obtain anything they wished, had never truly been fixated on *things*.
That room—more comfortable and luxurious than any other in the castle—had always been meant for something else. *Someone* else.
Its purpose was now clear as day.
*Asella Benvito.*
*Now that you've driven me to my absolute limit, the gilded cage that has stood empty for so long is ready to receive its new captive.*
A wife whose beauty would be accessible only to him. The fantasy unfolded before his eyes in such vivid colors that the mere thought made his head spin. Calix's pupils dilated with burning anticipation, and his steps grew even more impatient.
---
Soon, his men came into view.
The elite unit of Karma—specialists capable of the most brutal and sophisticated operations, including silent assassination—parted in unison at his approach. Without a sound, they dropped to one knee before their master.
And then he saw her.
*...!*
For a single, breathless moment, Calix's pupils flickered.
Her silver hair lay tangled and wild against the ground, strands splayed across dirt and stone. Her clothing hung in tatters—torn to shreds by thorns and rock. She could barely support herself, her arms trembling like thin branches as she slumped toward the earth. It seemed as though her fragile wrists might give way at any second.
The desire that had consumed him just moments ago vanished.
Gone—as if it had never existed at all.
Now his entire mind was filled with a single, overwhelming emotion: **worry**.
*Is she all right?*
He fought the desperate urge to rush toward her. His legs wanted to run. His arms ached to gather her up. But he forced himself to approach with slow, menacing deliberation—every step a battle against the instinct to abandon all pretense and simply *hold her*.
His titanic efforts were crowned with success. When he finally spoke, his voice emerged so cold and terrible that it sounded frightening even to his own ears:
"I have to give you credit. You held out for quite a long time."
Asella's blue eyes flickered—and then fell closed.
---
## — The Return —
They did not exchange a single word in the carriage.
From time to time, the woman moaned softly—small, pained sounds that cut through the silence like knives. Calix could not tear his gaze from his wife, who lay in a deep daze within his arms. He sat motionless, afraid to even breathe, lest he disturb her further.
He noted with bitter clarity that her face had grown terribly gaunt. It looked as though several weeks had passed since their separation, not a mere three days. And her body... her body was so weightless that it seemed a gentle gust of wind could carry her away entirely.
*...?*
Initially, his goal had been simple.
Find his runaway wife. Bring her back. It didn't matter what she felt—her emotions were irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was reclaiming what was rightfully his.
But now?
He couldn't understand. Why did he feel so... *uneasy*? What was wrong with him?
*This woman.*
*She's just my wife. That's all.*
A wife's duty was to remain by her husband's side. She was his property. Nothing more. No matter what she felt, how she thought, or what emotions flickered behind those blue eyes—she belonged to him.
The hunter had finally caught his prey. All that remained was to break her wings. Lock her in a cage that would never open again. Ensure that only *he* would ever be permitted to see her.
Once that was done...
But here, his mind stumbled.
It *refused* to continue.
Calix had always considered it his duty to care for those he claimed as his own—his subjects, his people. But he was merciless to traitors. This woman, Asella Benvito, had deceived him. Betrayed him. Fled. Of course she must pay for her actions.
But then *why*...?
The Archduke found himself utterly bewildered by emotions that defied rational explanation.
---
The carriage finally rolled to a stop.
After a moment, Raizen opened the door. They had arrived at the castle in the pale light of early morning, thanks to four swift horses that had raced through the shortest route all night without rest.
Calix glanced at the rising sun—soft gold spilling across the horizon—then down at his sleeping wife, still cradled in his arms.
"Bring a blanket."
The early spring air carried a sharp chill. He feared her exhausted body might not withstand it. She could fall ill.
A servant appeared moments later, carrying exactly what he needed. A large down blanket—light, soft, impossibly warm. Calix took it carefully, wrapped it around his wife's frail form, and lifted her back into his arms.
"Mm..." As the cold air brushed her face, Asella stirred and murmured. Instinctively, unconsciously, she pressed herself closer against his chest.
Calix's arms tightened around her.
He quickened his steps.
---
Meanwhile, everyone who had gathered at the mansion's entrance to greet the master—and witness the return of his *treacherous* wife—stood frozen in utter shock.
Their faces were masks of stunned disbelief. Some only managed to close their gaping mouths after receiving sharp elbows from their fellow servants.
Not long ago, when the master had discovered his wife's disappearance, his fury had been so catastrophic that even Benvito's highest-ranking officers had delayed their reports, terrified of his reaction.
It was not difficult for those who served in the castle—or indeed anywhere within the fortress—to imagine the scene that would unfold: the Grand Duchess dragged back by her hair, perhaps, or worse. Everyone had already surrendered the fragile hope that had briefly bloomed when the gentle, kind-hearted mistress first entered their household. That hope had seemed destined to last no longer than a single spring day.
When word arrived that the master was returning with his runaway wife, every inhabitant of Benvito Fortress had braced themselves for the nightmare that would surely follow.
But what they witnessed was something else entirely.
Even the weathered face of Fabian—who had served the Benvito family for more years than most could count—trembled with astonishment.
*How...?*
The master's gaze never left the woman in his arms. Not for a single second. He carried her with such exquisite care—as though she were the most fragile jewel in existence, something that might shatter at the slightest misstep.
The Grand Duchess slept soundly, her expression surprisingly peaceful. But her face was far too pale. Far too thin.
"Your Highness?" Fabian ventured carefully. "Where are you taking her...?"
"To my chambers."
Every eye widened.
Even Raizen stumbled for half a step before catching himself. Then, with practiced skill, he smoothed his expression and said simply:
"I will escort you."
The Grand Duke ascended the steps of the grand porch without slowing, his wife held close against his chest, and finally disappeared through the wide doors of the castle.
Only then could the assembled servants and guards release the breath they had been holding.
"What *was* that?"
"Who knows?"
"Is it truly possible that His Highness..."
Whispers rippled through the crowd—confused glances, raised eyebrows, tentative speculation that no one quite dared to voice aloud.
Finally, confirming their wildest suspicions, Manager Fabian cleared his throat and addressed them all:
"From this moment forward, we will exercise **the utmost care** in our words and actions toward Her Highness. Mistakes will not be tolerated. I trust everyone understands my meaning?"
Fabian had seen it with his own eyes. Heard it with his own ears. There could be no clearer proof.
This wise old man did not know precisely what the future held for Benvito. Whether fortune would smile upon them or disaster would strike—that remained shrouded in uncertainty.
But one thing he knew beyond all doubt:
**Change** was coming to the principality.
And he knew something else with equal certainty: all the keys to that uncertain future now rested in the hands of their new mistress.
---