Chapter 3
Alaisia followed Patricia into the drawing room and bit her lip.
Franz stood there in the humble drawing room of the Ambrose estate—a place that paled in comparison to the grandeur of the Imperial Palace.
Sunlight streamed in from the tall windows, scattering like golden dust across his hair and illuminating his elegant, flawless face.
His upright torso, shaped by years of martial training, and long legs were wrapped in a pristine navy uniform, not a single wrinkle in sight.
If one were to gather all the world’s most precious and beautiful things and sculpt them into a man, it would look like this.
And if all the world’s arrogance were molded into human form, it would look like this too.
“I’ve brought the lady and mistress,” the butler announced formally.
Franz, who had been standing tall and straight, turned gracefully at the sound.
“Baroness Ambrose. Lady Ambrose.”
“Greetings, Your Highness the Second Prince. May the glory of the Sun rest upon you.”
“Please rise.”
His graceful baritone. Alaisia swallowed quietly—once, that voice had made her heart tremble.
“Lady Ambrose.”
When Alaisia remained quietly bowed, Franz extended his hand toward her. She stared at his white-gloved hand, motionless.
In her previous life, she would have been overwhelmed with gratitude just to receive his hand.
But now, to her, he was a murderer. A betrayer.
I didn’t expect to face him this soon.
She hated him. As much as she had once loved him, she hated him—wanted to grab him by the collar, slap him, scream.
If he hated her, why hadn’t he said so? Why had he bled her dry and killed her?
But this Franz didn’t know that past. Her fury had no place to land.
So, she ignored the outstretched hand and rose on her own.
Franz silently lowered his hand as she straightened and looked away. Alaisia lifted her chin a little higher as she caught the faint crack in his polished expression.
What, did you expect me to swoon? Never been ignored before, have you?
As the Second Prince, he had likely never been brushed off.
But that was then. Alaisia planned to treat him the same way he had treated her—with cold indifference.
Exactly as he had done.
“I came to escort you.”
“Thank you for the trouble, Your Highness.”
She replied blandly, clutching her left wrist.
The first thing she had done upon awakening wasn’t to check where or when she was. It was to inspect her wrist.
In her previous life, it had been covered in scars.
Those disgusting, ugly marks had brought so many tears… and so much scorn.
“You harmed yourself again? Stay confined until further notice.”
Franz had been disgusted—and punished her.
But he had been wrong. She had never harmed herself. Alaisia had tried to explain, but he hadn’t believed her.
Worse, he had locked her away in the cold annex like a criminal.
If he had just listened once—if he had believed her pain came from him—maybe she would have cried less.
But he dismissed her words as pathetic excuses.
All those scars he blamed on her? They had come from him.
It started six months into the marriage, after their sixth contact.
Each time they touched to neutralize mana, red slashes began to appear on her wrist—deep, raw, like blade cuts.
Because that was the only part he touched.
To neutralize mana, they had to hold each other’s wrists. His mana left scars on her skin.
The first time it happened, Franz had visited her chambers in shock—the first time since their wedding night.
But upon seeing her relieved expression, he scowled, assuming she had caused the wounds for attention.
And from then on, it was the same. Every time they met, her wrists were left with painful reminders.
And every time, he laughed.
Seeing him dismiss her, the noblewomen and maids joined in the mockery.
“She’s country-bred, so her tricks are… unique.”
“She should spend less time cutting herself and more time fixing her face.”
“What’s the point? Her husband is prettier than she is!”
Alaisia had endured every humiliation in silence. The ridicule never ended—not even when her wrists looked ready to split open.
At some point, being near Franz only brought pain.
Yet she had stayed—because she had mistaken that pain for love. Just stubborn pride. Foolishness.
This time, I won’t let those wounds happen again.
When Alaisia rubbed her wrist, Franz’s gaze followed. The weather was still warm, and her wrist was fully exposed.
“Alle…”
“You came all this way. Would you care to stay for a meal?” Patricia interrupted excitedly. “We can prepare a banquet right away!”
But Franz shook his head lightly.
“They await Lady Ambrose at the palace. We must depart promptly. Thank you, Baroness.”
“…Of course, Your Highness.”
“Then, Lady Ambrose. Shall we?”
Franz extended his hand again, as if shielding her from Patricia’s view.
Alaisia stared at his hand.
That hand—offered only once a month, during mana neutralization.
Now he extended it twice in a day. What had changed?
“Yes.”
She answered politely and took his hand. Even through her glove, his chill seeped through.
It was ice-cold. His mana must be swelling uncontrollably.
The House of Eustace had always been known for their strong mana. Regardless of element—light, dark, fire, ice, wind—they needed someone compatible to balance it.
Otherwise, the mana would consume them.
In the Empire, perfect compatibility was called a “soul bond.” That’s how critical it was.
Neutralizing mana required only light physical contact. But the more incompatible the match, the greater the side effects—even death.
The First Prince, Crayton, was perfectly compatible with his wife Glenna.
Only Franz had failed to find such a bond into adulthood.
So the Imperial family had desperately sought someone who matched his mana.
Until now, Franz had kept it in check through sheer will. But he’d reached his limit—his first seizure, a sign of death, had begun.
So the Empress had hosted a grand ball to find a suitable partner for her second son.
Alaisia had been among the noble ladies invited.
Back then, she had been hopeful—dreaming of meeting the beautiful Second Prince.
But what greeted her wasn’t him… only a mana stone.
Franz refused to meet anyone in person. Instead, they had to interact with the stone that carried his essence.
Naïvely, she thought: He must be delicate and sensitive.
Looking back, he was just a germaphobe.
Regardless, Alaisia resonated perfectly with the mana stone.
And so, she was chosen as the Second Prince’s bride.
If only I had gone back two months further…
If she had, she would have skipped the ball entirely.
But she woke only after everything had been set. By then, preparations for the wedding had begun.
The only consolation was that her body bore no scars now.
“Let’s go,” Franz said, urging her along.
Alaisia looked at him coolly.
Why had he come in person?
In her past life, Franz had waited for her at the palace.
This life, it seemed, he was more impatient.
At least in the previous life, he had waited until the ceremony.
At this rate, she might have to pretend to neutralize his mana in the carriage.
This time, you’ll be the one to feel betrayal, Franz.
Glancing at his flawless profile, Alaisia smirked faintly.
She was going to the palace for one reason: revenge.
She would only pretend to neutralize his mana. He wouldn’t notice at first.
But eventually, when his heart began to harden, when his body froze—he would understand.
That his mana had never been neutralized.
And by then, it would be too late.
If the heavens favored her, he’d die before he ever met his lover, Lady Nyris.
Franz’s regret would come too late to beg for mercy.
Not that she’d give any.
Her only concern was whether she could keep up the deception for two years.
If he found out too soon, it would all be ruined.
Just withholding her mana wouldn’t be enough. If he suspected her… it could all collapse.
She had to find a new way to carry out her curse—one that had likely vanished when time rewound.
There’s still time. No need to rush.
As she stepped out of the estate, Alaisia took a deep breath.
Just as she reached the entrance, a male voice cried out.
“Resa!”
A young man sprinted toward her with a bright smile.
His silver hair and pale gray eyes, so unlike hers, resembled Patricia.
“…Caleb?”
Alaisia narrowed her eyes as she looked at her half-brother.
She didn’t notice Franz’s brow furrow as her lips spoke Caleb’s name.
