The second wife’s eyes widened in alarm as she looked between the minstrel and Ixor.
“This banquet was supposed to be a gesture of welcome, was it not, Madam?” Ixor asked icily.
“You misunderstand, Your Grace.”
“Then why allow such a song at this fine event?”
The minstrel stammered, trembling as he tried to explain.
“It’s… it’s not meant to insult! It’s just… a popular song about the goddess of spring…”
Ixor, already familiar with the song, feigned anger, his voice dropping to a cold murmur.
“This ruins the mood.”
At his words, the knights at the table placed their hands subtly on the hilts of their swords.
The air grew so heavy that the second wife and her administrators turned pale.
After a calculated pause, Ixor leaned back in his chair.
“The goddess of spring, you say? Come to think of it, I heard there’s a slave girl here in Drewbury who’s as beautiful as a goddess. I’d like to see her.”
The second wife bit her lip, hesitating. Rejecting his request was out of the question in such a tense atmosphere.
One of the administrators spoke up instead, trying to deflect the topic.
“She’s nothing remarkable, Your Grace.”
“Thank you for offering your opinion on my behalf,” Ixor retorted sharply, silencing the man.
The second wife finally mustered the courage to speak, her voice laced with defiance.
“Your Grace, surely you’ve seen countless beautiful women across the continent. I doubt you’d find interest in some vulgar slave girl from the countryside.”
“Vulgar?”
“That girl spent every night in the late count’s chambers. After his death, she practically lived in Alvin’s room until dawn. Even during the count’s lifetime, she was always at Alvin’s side—like a courtesan clinging to wealthy men.”
“I see.”
“She’s bewitching in some unexplainable way, enough to drive men to madness. I’m merely cautioning Your Grace to avoid falling victim to her charms. She’s not even particularly beautiful—men are just curious about foreign women.”
Ixor continued to stare at her, his gaze daring her to keep talking.
Flustered, the second wife finally averted her eyes and muttered reluctantly, “I’ll summon her, but don’t expect much. It won’t be a pleasant sight.”
The claim that it was ‘not a pleasant sight’ turned out to be true.
It seemed the second wife, unable to suppress her jealousy, had thrown the girl into the pigsty.
The stench, acrid and sour, hit them long before the girl appeared making some people pinch their noses and gag.
As the attendant stepped aside, a young woman who had been standing at the entrance walked forward with a composed air.
Ixor crossed his legs and let out a low chuckle.
Her slender figure and jet-black hair-it was her. The woman he had seen at the well the day before. The same Drewbury slave who had stood behind Alvin and fought against him.
Daon. That was her name.
Moving with smooth, deliberate steps, Daon stopped at the center of the banquet hall.
Her expressionless face was as blank as a doll’s, devoid of emotion. Yet, her elegance and dignity gave her an aura akin to an ice queen, leaving a striking impression.
Ixor glanced over the filth covering her clothes and skin before locking eyes with her once more.
No matter the degrading situation, it seemed this woman’s inner self remained unscathed.
“You’re beautiful.”
Ixor’s observation caused audible gasps throughout the hall.
Even his knights looked taken aback.
Truthfully, Daon was beautiful. Beauty is determined by the eyes, and Daon’s gaze held a clarity and depth untainted by her tattered appearance and the stink of pigs.
Among those present, only Ixor and his knight Zephar seemed to perceive her essence.
Zephar, after a careful examination, let out a low sigh-reluctant acknowledgment.
Ixor issued a command to Daon.
“As your ruler, I will have you in my bed tonight.”
The second wife’s teeth ground audibly as she interrupted.
“Your Grace has peculiar tastes. I suppose, having sampled so many women across the continent, ordinary beauties must bore you by now.”
Ignoring her entirely, Ixor addressed Daon again.
“I’d like to give you a small gift for entertaining me tonight. What do you want?”
“I’d like to know what happened to the young master,” she replied calmly.
An unexpected question. Did she genuinely care for Alvin? Or was she merely concerned for an ally’s safety? A strange pang of jealousy twisted in Ixor’s gut.
Slowly dragging his finger down his cheek, Ixor replied, “He hangs alone in the watchtower, waiting for the crows to feast on him.”
Though his words were cruel, Daon’s face remained impassive.
Ixor asked again.
“Anything else?”
“When will you kill the second wife and her son? Please let me know.”
“You wretch! How dare you-what nonsense are you spouting?!”
The second wife pointed a trembling finger at Daon, her face flushed with fury and her eyes bloodshot with rage.
The room fell silent.
When Ixor chuckled softly, the second wife flinched and turned toward him, fear flickering in her eyes.
“Why do you think I would eliminate them?” Ixor’s tone was cold.
Daon answered quietly but firmly.
“Ixor of Garion is a conqueror, not a ruler. You won’t govern this land yourself, but you cannot entrust it to someone as disloyal as the lady. Those who betray once will inevitably betray again. Especially after murdering her husband’s son- what citizen would trust or follow her?”
“I didn’t kill Alvin!”
The second wife blurted out defensively, but her voice lacked conviction.
She knew full well that she had orchestrated the act.
Ixor coldly confirmed Daon’s analysis.
“True. A ruler without trust is no ruler at all. Execute the second wife, her son, and Drewbury’s senior administrators.”
At his command, the knights unsheathed their swords, and soldiers poured into the banquet hall, ready to carry out the orders.
The second wife screamed as she pulled her young son into her arms. However, the soldiers had already blocked all the exits, leaving no escape.
Sir Rob, one of the knights, raised his sword and struck the second wife’s head. Her severed head rolled across the floor of the banquet hall, and a soldier placed it on a serving tray and set it on a table.
The young son immediately followed his mother, and several guards collapsed after being stabbed in the back or chest. The banquet hall was soon drenched in blood.
Amidst this, Ixor and Daon remained unmoving, locked in a steady gaze with each other.
Even when Drewbury’s young son collapsed with a frail scream, Daon didn’t even blink.
“Hang their heads at the city gates.”
As soon as the command was given, the soldiers began their work.
As the bodies were dragged through the blood puddles, Ixor lazily gestured for the minstrel to continue his song.
The minstrel, visibly frightened, soon began trembling uncontrollably but managed to mutter a few words. His voice was tinged with desperation, and Ixor was satisfied. Nothing fuels a song like desperation.
Once the minstrel finished, Ixor commanded that five silver coins be given to him.
The minstrel, seizing the coins, hastily fled the banquet hall. Watching him retreat, Ixor laughed as though witnessing a clown’s performance.
“His voice and tone are passable, but he lacks boldness. What makes an artist an artist is shamelessness.”
“We’ll begin internal organization. I’ll send the conquest confirmation request to the king, and once he approves, we’ll need your signature.”
At Zephar’s diligent request, Ixor slowly rubbed his thumb across his lips, then gestured with his chin.
“Not today. It’s going to be busy through the night. Take her and prepare her properly.”
Servants who had been hiding behind pillars rushed to stand beside Daon.
She followed them in silence, without resistance or compromise.
She was a woman whose true intentions were hard to fathom. But tonight, Ixor would learn what kind of cry she would utter.
***
“Ugh, ugh, ugh!”
The maids pinched their noses with one hand while they scooped water from a bucket with the other, struggling with the disgusting task.
They had to scrub off the filth, but it was so vile and nauseating that they couldn’t even bring themselves to touch it.
“You clean it yourself.”
The head maid, throwing down the bucket in resignation, declared her refusal, and the other maids retreated, arms crossed.
Daon silently washed her hair and cleaned her body. One maid, pulling her skirt up to her waist, swept away piles of rotting straw and mud with a broom.
She scrubbed with cold water, then hot water. Finally, she donned the finest of the second wife’s dresses.
The head maid stood with her arms crossed, spewing insults.
“After killing your master’s lady, you think you’ll enjoy life? Is there any more wicked woman than you? And you killed the young master too… So delicate in appearance, but a venomous snake in disguise. I wonder how long your luck will last.”
When Daon showed no reaction, the head maid, frustrated, yanked Daon’s hair and roughly brushed it.
She continued pulling her hair back tightly, lamenting.
“Men think they can find honey in a woman’s legs. They don’t realize that all women are the same. Oh, poor young Master Alvin. If only he had surrendered early, none of this would have happened. This woman stubbornly opposed him, and now the Drewbury family is finished. What will you do now?”
The other maids nodded in agreement. With Alvin dead and the second wife’s young son also gone, it was clear that the Drewbury family was no more.
As the head maid tied Daon’s hair with a ribbon and pinned it in place, she continued her muttering.
“Who knows, maybe the famous Ixor Malkuth himself was behind this, trying to destroy the family. If you’re human, give me some kind of excuse.”
“…”
“Dirty woman.”
With a cold voice, she jabbed a hairpin into the back of Daon’s head. When the pin snapped in half, the head maid, irritated, picked up another one.
One of the maids, who had been choosing perfume, hurriedly stopped her.
“Stop. What if she tells on us?”
“She won’t tell on anyone. Can’t you tell she’s sly?”
The head maid, still annoyed, slapped the maid’s arm away, but her expression shifted slightly, as if concerned. She then reluctantly stepped back.
After the preparations were complete, Daon followed the young attendant to Ixor’s bedroom.
As they climbed the spiral stone stairs, she glanced out a small window.
The mountains were bathed in the red glow of the sunset. Birds flying home dotted the darkening sky, and the early-rising moon was pale and small, like a cut fingernail.
“Let’s go.”
At the attendant’s urging, she continued walking in silence.
Ixor’s bedroom was the one that the elderly Drewbury count had used in his lifetime.
Once inside, Daon immediately made her request.
“I’d like to change my perfume. Please bring it.”
“What?”
“Lavender. Please.”
Having made her request neatly, Daon stared quietly.
The attendant, clearly uncomfortable under her gaze, blushed and shyly looked away.
Noticing his hesitation, Daon gave him a subtle hint.
“You can lock the door and go.”
“Understood.”
The attendant hurriedly left, locking the heavy bolt behind him.
Once she was sure his footsteps had faded, Daon approached the window and opened the thick shutters.
The window was narrow, barely wide enough for a small child or slender woman to slip through. In a hurry, she tied the bed sheets together and let them dangle out the window.
Though the height was precarious, she didn’t care. She removed the uncomfortable, fancy dress and tied it to the bed sheets. Then, in her thin undergarment, she climbed out of the window.
Ixor’s siege had already been lifted.
After living in this castle for seven years, Daon knew well enough where to escape.
The moment her feet touched the ground, she ran without looking back.
She always ran.
No matter where she went, at the end, she would always run again.
Perhaps she would live like this until the moment of her death. Though it might seem easier to die, she had to keep living-until she was old and her face wrinkled and her back bent.
That was the promise she had made with her mother.
Darkness was falling quickly. Daon slipped through a hole in the castle wall and left Drewbury Castle.
There was nowhere to rest.
No joy, no happiness.
Only fleeing, fleeing, fleeing. She didn’t know where she was going anymore.
***
Bang!
“She escaped?”
Ixor, who had slammed his cup down angrily, could not hide his fury.
“Release the soldiers and search the area thoroughly! Immediately! Find that woman no matter what!”
The knights, who had been drunkenly reveling at the banquet, suddenly jumped up and without hesitation put on their helmets.
Only Zephar voiced a dissenting opinion.
“This is actually a good thing. She’s nothing but a problem. If you’re not going to kill her, then forget about her.”
“There must be a clear reason when raising objections to orders,” the lord responded with a cold sneer.
Zephar, maintaining his seriousness, persuaded him.
“As you know, my lord, she is a clever woman. She has likely gathered information about our side and will likely sell it to the enemy. Her escape… it probably means she has judged that deceiving or using you would not be easy. She’s far more of a challenge than the second wife or Alvin.”
“Catch her.”
“My lord?”
“Do I need to say it twice?”
The cold, harsh glint in the lord’s eyes made Zephar bow silently.
The knights, who had been watching the situation, moved without further discussion. They asked the servants and maidservants where she might have fled to, but no one had any idea.
After living in this place for seven years, she had no close friends? This meant she had always been prepared to leave at any moment.
Ixor, leading the pursuit on horseback, was at the front.
The well-trained hunting dogs spread out, and the soldiers moved in perfect formation. It was a relentless, organized pursuit that blended hunting with warfare.
As night deepened, torches lit up in various locations. They scoured the area thoroughly, but by dawn, there was no sign of progress.
How far could a woman, without a horse, really run?
Despite the large number of people chasing her, they could not catch up. After a full night passed and the sun rose, Ixor’s lips twisted into a cynical smile.
She was something else. The knights he had carefully selected, and the soldiers he had raised and trained with care, were being outsmarted by this frail woman.
Fury and satisfaction bubbled up within him. She had proven, through her actions, that she was not a woman to be discarded after just a night. He would find her, no matter what it took.
Even if it meant turning the world upside down.
“A signal has come in! To the northeast, the Serbellis Forest!” A soldier urgently reported.
Ixor immediately turned his horse toward the forest.
The sun had fully risen, signaling the start of a new day.
Ixor raced ahead, his shadow stretching long behind him.
***
“Stop! I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Sir Ron, with a serious expression, lowered his tone.
Before them stood a woman in a white slip, her hair disheveled and her hands and feet covered in cuts.
As the soldiers pursued her, she had hastily fled through the darkness and stumbled over rocks, but she didn’t stop running.
The soldiers surrounded her from all directions, tightening the encirclement.
Ron frowned, understanding his lord’s mood.
If one looked closely, the woman’s eyes were deep and mysterious, capable of stealing one’s focus without warning. A woman who could be both innocent and dangerous at the same time.
Ron watched as she scanned the surroundings, looking for an escape route.
There was no way she could outrun so many soldiers.
He examined her, noticing the blood flowing from her wounds; they needed to be treated quickly, but he couldn’t approach.
Suddenly, Daon turned and ran into the dense forest.
The soldiers hesitated for a moment, then quickly chased after her.
Ron followed, getting close enough to grab her waist. She broke free from his grasp, but he caught her again before she could escape.
As she struggled in his arms, he tightened his grip, wary of underestimating her.
Knowing she was no ordinary woman, he decided to neutralize her with a swift blow to knock her unconscious.
Just before she passed out, she dug her nails into his arm. He could feel her resistance, a silent scream in her defiance.
She would be a problem. That much was clear.
Ron carried the unconscious woman to Ixor, who had just arrived. The tension in the air was thick.
Ixor stood still for a moment before taking Daon into his arms.
“That look on your face… if it were anyone else, I would have killed them.”
Ron silently nodded, agreeing with Zephar’s earlier assessment: Daon was a woman who would shake their world and their loyalty to their lord, Ixor.
***
Pitter. Patter.
The sound of water dripping at regular intervals echoed from the basement.
The stench of stagnant water filled the air, and the suffocating humidity made it hard to breathe.
A dim candle flame, the only light piercing the darkness, flickered a deep crimson as it burned, sending up tendrils of black smoke.
Daon grasped the rusted iron bars. They felt chillingly cold, sending shivers down her spine.
A portly man dressed in an opulent lace shirt with voluminous folds extending to his wrists leaned closer.
Rings adorned every one of his fingers, catching the faint light as he pulled a candlestick toward him. The flame wavered precariously, as if it would snuff out any moment.
The man’s glistening eyes gleamed as he spoke.
[How much I’ve loved you… And yet you reject this love?]
When Daon didn’t respond, he impatiently pressed further.
[Do you love me?]
She remained silent, her expression blank, her lips tightly sealed.
Speaking with this beast of a man in the language of humans was out of the question. He was no more than a creature, unworthy of any interaction.
Resolute, she refused to respond.
The portly man pulled a large key from his ornate jacket pocket. He licked his lips and hastily inserted the key into the lock.
[I must touch you. Tonight… you…]
He turned the pulley, lowering the iron cage containing Daon.
The metal creaked and groaned as it descended. With a resounding thud, the cage landed heavily on the ground.
Suddenly, everything went dark, and large, forceful hands lunged at her from all sides. The assaulting hands felt like a flock of cruel birds, impossible to fend off.
Splash.
It felt like being submerged in water—a slow, suffocating sensation, like drowning.
The filthy water surrounded her, leaving no escape. If she didn’t struggle desperately, she would be dragged into the depths and perish.
Summoning every ounce of willpower, she fled, running through the snow-laden forest and across the fields without rest.
But no matter how much time passed, no matter how she aged, her emotions remained shackled to that portly man. It was as if her heart was forever imprisoned by him, unable to escape.
Perhaps it always would be.
***
“Awake?”
Daon blinked, focusing her gaze. Before her was the face of Ixor.
Gwin Ixor Malkuth. The Conqueror.
Quickly assessing the situation, she realized she was lying on a bed.
Ixor, propped up beside her, smirked dryly.
“Most people would scream or blush in a situation like this. But you…”
She said nothing.
“You’re hurt.”
His sudden remark caught her off guard, his penetrating gaze probing for a reaction. This type of man was exceedingly dangerous.
“You were moaning in your sleep, like a dying bird,” he said.
When she remained expressionless, he looked bored and gestured toward her legs.
Daon, still lying down, raised her knees slightly to see bandages wrapped around them.
As she tried to sit up, Ixor gently pushed her back down.
He effortlessly positioned himself over her, pinning her wrists with his hands and pressing his weight against her to ensure she couldn’t escape.
Even as he lifted her slip up to her waist, she lay still, unresponsive, like a doll.
Ixor didn’t move, as if gauging her reaction. Suddenly, Daon parted her lips slightly, her gaze daring and provocative. Her wet, dark eyes gleamed with subtle temptation.
As her chapped lips parted, revealing a glimpse of her white teeth, Ixor, drawn like a magnet, lowered his head.
Their lips met and as she brushed past him, she lightly scratched him like a cat, and he let out a low groan.
At the same time, their body temperatures rose and the kisses and caresses became more intense.
He tightly gripped her thin slip, as if ready to tear it. The slip was lifted, exposing her bare skin beneath. The curves of her body were revealed.
She looked him in the eye with intense but dry determination, she gave in to his touch, her actions reflecting more of a resolve than desire.
Suddenly she pushed him away, rushed away from the bed and stared at him, unmoving, as he slowly approached.
Her hand reached for a nearby knife, stepping back to create distance. Ixor, sitting back in the bed with his arms raised, motioned for her to come closer.
“You know your weapon won’t help,” he said, his tone casual but menacing.
“There’s no way you can win against me.”
She held the knife close to her neck, her expression calm. She wasn’t making threats; it was a statement of resolve.
He smirked at her response.
“You’re not going to die today.”
She gave him a level look and spoke frankly.
“No. I will live.”
Ixor sat back, leaning lazily on a chair. His demeanor showed he had no immediate intentions to move forward.
She breathed a sigh of relief, taking a moment to steady herself.
Ixor’s gaze shifted to her torn slip and the bandages on her legs, slowly moving to the knife in her hand.
“Did you love Alvin?”
He asked, his tone quiet.
She remained silent, and after he repeated the question a second time, she responded softly, “I cared for him.”
“So, you are doing this to stay loyal?”
“No,” she said firmly.
“I can’t share a bed with a man I don’t love. That’s all.”
Ixor smiled, a cruel twist to his lips.
“Don’t say that around Zephar. He’ll never let you live it down.”
Ixor relaxed, the playful expression slipping into something darker.
“Then what should I do with you? I want you. You’re mine now.”
She met his gaze steadily.
“I will live as I have been till now. You can own me as a slave.”
“A slave? You’d prefer to work all the time rather than enjoy food and luxury?”
“Yes.”
Ixor laughed, but there was no warmth in it. He seemed to relish the challenge, and the power he held over her.
“Fine,” he said, his voice dropping into a more serious tone.
“Let’s play a game.”
She raised an eyebrow, confused. He leaned back, his posture confident as if he were a king at a negotiating table.
“You get what you want, and I get what I want. Let’s start with one rule. It’s simple.”
“What’s the rule?”
“You can never leave this estate,” he said coldly.
“If you disappear from my sight, I will fulfill my desires first, no matter what happens to you.”
She said nothing, her face expressionless.
He then picked up his shirt from the floor, tossing it on his shoulder as he made a final command.
“Clean my room first thing in the morning. Serve me tea every evening for thirty minutes. You will stay here tonight.”
With that, he left the room, not sparing her another glance.
She stared at the door, shocked by the abruptness of it all. She couldn’t believe how easily he had left, retreating so cleanly.
She moved to the farthest wall of the room and leaned against it, sitting down in exhaustion.
Her mind raced, but she stayed awake, the knife resting by her side, unable to sleep through the night.
