Chapter 172

To Rezette, the way he bound himself to Elise, clinging to her as if his love were a lifeline, felt inevitable. But the reverse—that she might cling to him in the same way—seemed like an impossible dream. Even as he received her clumsy but sincere kiss, he could not be sure whether this moment was reality or some fragile illusion.

Then… is this her permission? That she’ll stay by my side from now on?

Her fingers, sliding down as they toyed with the buttons of his shirt, brushed against the presence still straining beneath the fabric. At once, every wandering thought vanished.

Rezette tore his lips away and straightened his spine.

“Elise!”

“I—I’m still lacking,” she stammered.

Catching her hand quickly, he opened his mouth to speak but no words emerged. She flushed scarlet, yet forced herself to meet his gaze with surprising boldness.

“You made me this way,” she declared. “So you have to take responsibility.”

Her eyes, unbidden, drifted downward like iron drawn to a magnet. When he had roused her moments ago, he had been behind her, and she had seen nothing of his expression.

She wanted—just once—to see him undone before her eyes, a man unable to restrain himself.

Even if she could not hold him until exhaustion claimed him as before, there were many ways to confirm that he was wholly, helplessly swayed by her.

“Don’t do it alone,” she whispered. “Let me—ah!”

But her small dream never reached fulfillment. Without a word, Rezette scooped her up and laid her flat upon the bed. For all the swiftness of the motion, there was no jarring impact—her head and back met the sheets with utmost care.

“Gods… no wonder I can’t think straight,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

With one rough sweep, he shoved her skirts high. Each time he closed his eyes and opened them again, something inside him seemed to break and mend, over and over.

“You began this,” he rasped, his voice suddenly thick with need.

He spread her thighs without hesitation, probing the place that had only just grown dry, and with his other hand he loosed his own belt.

“Haa—ah…” Elise gasped.

Her lips parted, dry with thirst. When she darted her tongue to wet them, he caught her mouth in an instant, his tongue sweeping in, their kiss noisy and unrestrained. The wet sounds reverberated in her ears, dizzying her further.

Rezette bit down hard on his jaw, struggling not to lose all restraint.

“I won’t put it inside you,” he ground out. “But if you dislike this, you must tell me. Immediately. Don’t endure it in silence.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she gave the barest nod.

I think… it’s all right. I want to hold you with no space left between us. If not for the baby, perhaps…

She buried her brow against his broad chest, bracing herself for the tide of bliss that only he could bring, that rose like a burning flower inside her. Her heart, once clouded, felt suddenly clear, as though the storm had passed and sunlight poured through.

***

In the first days within the encampment, Rezette had kept his purpose sharp: Elise must be taken swiftly to Riosa Castle, before the people of Ugel grew suspicious. This foul place, strewn with the corpses of dragonkin, was no place for her, not for a single moment longer than necessary.

But as two days stretched to three, he found the refuge oddly bearable.

Just as rumor claimed, the southern winter was warm—so warm, in fact, that for a northerner like Rezette it bordered on stifling. For Elise, who shivered easily, the heat radiating from his body was a comfort, and she spent most of each day curled in his arms. That alone made his original plan lose its urgency.

My wife’s safety lies at my side, not in some distant fortress.

By now, he reasoned, the allied forces he had led would have already seized Ugel’s last great city, Taro, and begun marching south. Ruben would know to pitch camp near Riosa. There was no need to hurry.

They had, at last, been granted rare, precious time together. Rezette found himself secretly pleased.

Elise, however, could not banish her lingering worries.

“Duke Bellator still hasn’t returned…” she murmured.

“Bellator?” Rezette’s expression hardened. Another man, then.

He must be dead, Rezette thought. None had survived along the route he had taken north. He felt no grief for a stranger’s death.

“He was like a godfather to me,” Elise whispered, her eyes clouded. “My late father’s dearest friend.”

“…Ah.”

That changed things. Rezette grudgingly adjusted his thoughts.

“Shall I search for him, then?”

The late emperor of Argan had earned no fondness from Rezette, yet he had at least brought Elise into the world. And if Bellator truly was like a godfather to her, then he was certainly preferable to someone like Baron Conrad. Perhaps, buried among the dead, the man might still be found.

“I could send ​​Barbin or Clava. Even Robinson.”

“No.” She shook her head firmly. “I don’t want to send anyone. Least of all you.”

She remembered the storm in his blue eyes when he had asked her, that first day, whether she feared him. Even a man who stood tall as a demigod bore the weight of his own self-loathing. Perhaps the world beyond these walls, littered with his mortal enemies, was more dangerous to him than to her.

“The duke told me, before he left… If he didn’t return, no reinforcements were to be sent. He said not to waste young lives.”

So all Elise could do was pray for his survival. She closed her eyes, whispered a prayer, then turned to Rezette.

“But… how do you know Barbin, Clava, and Sir Robinson?”

Without a flicker of hesitation, he replied, “We became close.”

“Close?”

“Yes. They were the only ones guarding you until I arrived. Their loyalty was commendable.”

To think he could grow close with anyone in so short a time—such words seemed utterly unlike Rezette. Elise remembered how the knights had addressed her as Your Highness, and realized, with some astonishment, that her husband could be surprisingly shameless when he chose.

So that explains why he was always sparring with the Argan soldiers. They were northerners too.

Her eyes narrowed. Another question tugged at her.

“Why hasn’t the carrier pigeon come? Nothing should have happened at the castle. But we can’t stay here forever…”

“Carrier pigeon?”

“Yes. A white dove that Andrei trained with magic.”

Rezette let out a noncommittal grunt. “I see. A pigeon.”

So the bird that had circled overhead last night without daring to land within his territory had been that very pigeon. Elise’s escape from Rotiara owed itself to such a meddlesome creature. Rezette silently vowed that no feathered beast would be permitted near her again.

“In time, word will come,” he said at last. “For now, Elise, I’d rather you stop worrying… and focus on me.”

“Ah—wait…” she gasped as he drew her back down beside him.

He laid his palm gently over the curve of her stomach, now rounder than it had been a week ago, and buried his face in the fragrant hollow of her throat. The wildflower scent of her skin could stir his blood into frenzy or calm his spirit into peace.

If only time would stop here forever.

It was not the best place for a woman heavy with child, yet what did it matter? He was with her. In this wilderness, where no one knew him and no one desired her, life seemed suddenly simple, even tempting.

Only return to Rotiara for the birth…

Raising the child would not be difficult. After all, he had grown up alone, and survived. In foolish narrowness, he imagined giving his own childhood to his unborn child as if it were enough.

That afternoon, while lost in this quiet fantasy, his eyes fell upon a small glass jar beneath the cot.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Oh—that…” Elise’s voice faltered.

She had hidden it away, thinking she might crave it later. Rezette lifted the jar, well out of her reach, and peered at the contents. Inside lay thick, dark-red preserves, the jar nearly empty, the sweet scent leaking faintly from beneath the lid.

“Jam?” he asked.

“…Cherry compote,” she admitted.

So she liked cherries? He thought back. She had always seemed to prefer sweets over proper meals. He remembered ordering the kitchen to increase the number of desserts after watching her closely for a time. But that indulgence, he had decreed, was only to come after she had eaten well.

He frowned. “This is not food. Eat properly first.”

“But…” Her eyes drooped in sorrow, making the craving worse.

“I even dream of it,” she confessed softly.

“That?”

“Yes. I don’t know why, but I think about it all day. I miss the desserts the chef made at Rotiara Castle, and—and…”

At that, Rezette recalled one of Lady Pettinson’s many warnings: “Especially meals—make sure she eats! When a woman is pregnant, she may crave foods she never cared for before. If she can’t satisfy those cravings, she may fall into melancholy. Her moods will change often, so for the love of heaven, be careful with every word you speak to her!”