CMH Chapter 3.1

Volume 3 part 1

“No, it wasn’t me.”

Zephar denied firmly. Even so, when Ixor glared at him with sharp eyes, Zephar countered heavily.

“Do you doubt me?”

A light drizzle fell, shrouding the surroundings in a cold, misty haze.

The dim outlines of flickering torches danced eerily within the thick fog, held by cloaked figures searching for Daon.

Ixor’s face contorted with concern.

“Something’s happened. Find her before it’s too late.”

“She must have run away,” Zephar asserted.

“No.”

“She did. It’s too late. That woman has never been trustworthy. Do you believe her?”

“She knows I’m useful to her. She has no reason to run.”

Zephar’s expression hardened before he let out the frustration he had been holding back.

“Useful? Are you so infatuated with her that you’ve reduced yourself to a mere tool?”

Ixor’s eyes gleamed as he raised his head, and Zephar, feeling a shiver down his spine, broke out in a cold sweat.

Yet, despite his stiffened neck, he spoke candidly.

“I admit Daon is special, but she’s a foreigner and a slave.”

“So?”

“Falling for such a woman will only harm your future, my lord. You know this yourself.”

“So what?”

Ixor’s shout was so forceful that Zephar opened his mouth to retort but was silenced by Ixor’s harsh declaration.

“If god forced me to choose between her and the country, I’d choose her without hesitation.”

“My lord!”

“You know how stubborn I am when I decide whom to keep by my side. I made a beaten child like you my aide, and a hunter like Rob my knight. But now you say a slave can’t be accepted? Fine. How is Daon any different from you?”

“This is different.”

“How? Because she’s a woman?”

“She’ll destroy you.”

“If you can’t accept my decision, then leave!”

It was the first time Ixor had told him to leave, and Zephar was deeply shocked. He staggered and braced himself on the table.

The room’s atmosphere simmered with the heat of their confrontation. After a long silence, Zephar asked in a low voice.

“Do you love her?”

“Not yet… I don’t know. But I’m mad enough to tell you to leave over her, so that must count for something.”

Ixor, who had turned away and leaned against the window frame, let out a crooked laugh.

The burst of heat in the room faded as he regained his usual composure.

Zephar whispered painfully.

“She’ll never open her heart.”

“I don’t care.”

Ixor brushed his hair back with both hands, exposing his profile—cold, ruthless, and beautiful.

He continued with a chilling tone.

“As long as she’s mine, I don’t care about anything else. But if she falls into someone else’s hands, I’ll destroy her myself.”

“Found her!”

A soldier ran in urgently with the report, and Ixor immediately stepped forward, asking for the location.

“The barn used for storing grain?”

When he confirmed it, the soldier quickly nodded.

So close, within the castle grounds.

The crowd at the barn’s entrance parted as soon as they saw him approach. Their tired, rain-drenched faces reflected both fear and exhaustion.

Ixor stopped at the entrance, where the shadow of Daon lay curled up inside, like a wounded animal seeking refuge.

In an instant, conflicting emotions clawed at his mind: satisfaction that she hadn’t escaped, relief at finding her, fear that she might be hurt, and anger over the entire situation.

Suppressing it all, he calmed himself.

With an upbeat tone, he addressed the anxious onlookers.

“In recognition of your hard work, I order a feast with plenty of wine and meat. Take tomorrow off as well.”

Cheers erupted, their tired faces breaking into smiles.

It was a generous reward, but Ixor knew that if he didn’t allow them to rest, the resentment would fall on Daon.

He gave strict orders to keep everyone away from the barn and requested thick blankets and heated stones wrapped in cloth.

Inside the barn, he crouched beside Daon, who was drenched in sweat.

He checked her forehead—she had a slight fever. Her breathing, hot and irregular, brushed against his thumb as he touched her dry lips.

A deep frown formed on his face.

Watching her defenseless form, he realized just how thoroughly she trusted no one.

When her emotions couldn’t be concealed and her defenses failed, she retreated like this.

“So the only thing that can break you is your own pain.”

He murmured bitterly, brushing her damp hair behind her ears.

He lay behind her, wrapping her in his arms, and placed a hand over her stomach.

“Now you seem more human. Before, you were like a cold, flawless statue—beautiful but unreachable.”

As he whispered into her hair, her breathing shifted slightly, hinting that she was beginning to wake.

A servant quietly entered, leaving the blanket and heated stone before retreating.

Ixor pressed the warm stone to her abdomen and pulled the blanket over them both.

Outside, the sound of rain mingled with the earthy scent of straw. Pale moonlight seeped through the cracks in the barn’s wooden walls.

Leaning close, he placed a soft kiss behind her ear.

Slowly, her trembling shoulders stilled, her breathing evening out. Her delicate, sweat-dampened frame felt more fragile than ever.

“Miss.”

His voice was low and tender as he pulled her closer.

“I became a lord at twelve when my father passed. I nearly lost everything—my title, my land, my power. But that’s when I learned how the world truly works.”

“…”

“Rights belong to those who seize them. To enjoy them, you must fight for them, because rights aren’t fairly distributed to everyone.”

“Slaves have no rights,” she replied quietly.

Ixor smirked coldly.

“I hold the rights of a ruler, and I’ll take more by defeating others like me. So you don’t have to fight. I’ll do it for you.”

“What’s…?”

“You fight me. Just me, and only me. Win your rights that way, won’t you?”

Daon flinched as though struck by something.

Ixor loosened his grip on her arm when he saw her slowly turning her shoulder. Lying face to face with him, her confused gaze locked on his.

Ixor continued with seriousness.

“Doesn’t it intrigue you? The right to say you’re in pain when it hurts. The right to refuse when you dislike something. The right to stop pretending you don’t need freedom.”

He grinned, adding playfully like it was a joke.

“Fight me head-on.”

“…”

“Miss, I’ll break you down. I plan to make you laugh, cry, get angry, and throw tantrums.”

Daon’s black eyes trembled, like water rippling in a breeze. Her gaze was helpless, like a child on the verge of tears. But the wavering lasted only a moment.

Like ripples in a gentle breeze, the emotion quickly drained from her eyes, leaving them as empty and hollow as always.

She lowered her thick lashes as though avoiding his gaze. Then she whispered in a deep, sunken voice,

“I dislike you.”

“I know. I’ll see your anger before I ever see your smile.”

Ixor openly enjoyed himself, patting her back like a child and gently pulling her into an embrace.

“How long will you be unwell for?”

“About two and a half days.”

“Then sleep more.”

He yawned, closed his eyes briefly. He reopened them, only to meet Daon’s clear gaze.

Suddenly, the sound of rain intensified. Droplets dripped from the barn roof, creating ripples on the floor. Neither moved, locked in each other’s gaze.

Their breaths felt synchronized, their bodies tightly pressed together as the sound of rain poured over them.

Light seeping through the gaps in the wooden planks cast soft shadows on their faces.

Daon’s hand rose cautiously, brushing across Ixor’s lips as if compelled to touch something beautiful.

Realizing what she had done, she clenched her fist and withdrew it swiftly, seemingly startled by her own actions.

Ixor calmly helped her cover up.

“Was there a raindrop on me?”

“Yes.”

Her quiet answer brought a faint smile to his lips.

The woman who always declared her stance so clearly had resorted to an excuse. Perhaps her walls of defense were beginning to crack, even without her knowing.

Lowering his voice, Ixor spoke seriously.

“I want you. Physically, emotionally—I’m utterly consumed by you. So much so that I’m treating you, my slave, rather kindly.”

“…”

“I could take you by force, but I’d rather have you want me willingly.”

“I won’t have a physical relationship with a man I don’t love.”

Daon retorted coldly, turning her head away.

Ixor cupped her chin, forcing her to face him.

“Fine. Then love me.”

***

Ixor spread a series of kiss tickets like a fan across a chessboard. Daon silently counted them with her eyes: twelve in total.

“I was going to collect more, but I ran out of patience.”

Loosening his shirt strings, he continued,

“This should be enough for a whole night of fun. Come here. Or should I come to you?”

He tapped the spot beside him on the long bench. Slowly, Daon moved to sit next to him.

When he reached to undo her tightly braided hair, she immediately rejected him. That was when he noticed her tension, though he had no intention of accommodating her.

Ixor pulled her slender waist firmly into his embrace, leaving her no room to escape. Her soft chest pressed against his, and he could feel her heartbeat.

Daon provocatively looked up at him, her gaze daring him to bring it on. Between them, a cool yet fiery spark flickered.

Ixor’s eyes wandered over her face, savoring the sight.

“If I recall correctly… the rule was when my lips touch and part is once, yes?”

He murmured teasingly, his lips brushing her jawline.

“You know from experience, don’t you? That one kiss can last a long time.”

His lips trailed from the edge of her mouth to the plumpest part of her pink lips. Cradling the back of her head with his hand, he pressed down, tilting her head back.

Daon flinched, her shoulders trembling slightly.

“Just a kiss…”

“Who said it had to be on the lips?”

He kissed her ears, shoulders and chest, increasing the s*xual tension.

But ven so, her hanging hands were still cold, with her thumbs and index fingers bent.

She was counting numbers…

Daon lifted her chin and didn’t even blink. Her eyes were vivid with an elegant haughtiness that wouldn’t be easily conquered.

Ixor held up a ticket in front of her.

“I’ve accepted all the conditions you’ve proposed, so it’s not an unfair deal. I’ll continue. No objections, right?”

“Just a kiss.”

“I know.”

“My side isn’t taking off clothes, is it? So nothing will go all the way.”

He teased her mischievously, like a naughty boy, but his smile quickly disappeared as he noticed her flinch and retreat.

A woman who usually masked her emotions with an unshakable composure now had visible anxiety written all over her face. She was giving in faster than he expected.

His eyes darkened with internal conflict. Should he stop here for today? While he wanted to unsettle her, he worried she might be shaken too deeply.

Raising a quiet hand, he cupped her cheek and gently rubbed her cheekbone with his thumb.

He must have gone mad—fretting over her feelings, her psyche, even whether she might get hurt.

Ixor handed her a kiss ticket, then leaned in to give her a kiss full of tender affection.

It was short but gentle, devoid of desire—a kiss of pure emotion, like something shared between lovers. He had never kissed a woman like this before. He hadn’t even imagined himself capable of such a kiss.

When he pulled back and met her gaze, the firelight from the hearth danced in her dark eyes.

Her eyes, moist but shadowed, were captivating. Yet, cutting off his thoughts abruptly, Ixor turned her body sharply.

“So there’s a little mole here, huh?”

He noted a small brown mole near her left hip bone, where the reddish glow of the fireplace flickered across her smooth skin.

Daon, suppressing a gasp, twisted her upper body abruptly and reached for her clothes.

Reflexively, Ixor grabbed her arm and pulled her back beneath him. But her expression had already turned icy.

At last, he lazily glanced toward the door. Several nobles in autumn coats stood at the open entrance, watching.

Without missing a beat, Ixor shielded her behind his back and locked eyes with the prince standing at the forefront of the group.

Prince Dirk, with impeccable manners, offered an apology.

“We knocked, but no one answered…”

Ixor didn’t bother hiding his irritation, glaring at him sharply.

“Don’t you have eyes to realize we’re busy? Shut the door and leave.”

His frosty tone didn’t faze Dirk, who replied calmly,

“The infamous Ixor Malkuth, always entangled with women. You could at least warmly greet guests who’ve traveled far.”

In response, Ixor pointedly drew attention to his situation with the palm of his hand.

Eventually, Dirk tipped his hat slightly in acknowledgment and left, the nobles following with murmurs of disapproval.

While Daon quietly dressed, Ixor grabbed her wrist as she tried to step back. She planted her feet firmly, resisting his pull.

Her lips were swollen and red from the long kiss, and her flushed skin burned with lingering heat, but her eyes were cold as ice.

He released her and handed her the remaining kiss tickets. Her surprised expression didn’t faze him; he withdrew cleanly.

The chess game was over. She would surely refuse another game tomorrow, considering her rekindled wariness from today’s bold move.

Ixor sighed, the action surprising even himself, and let out a faint chuckle.

Turning away coolly, he poured himself a drink, his sweat-dampened back facing her.

“Go and rest,” he commanded.

***

Reclining on the long bench in the hunting lodge, his legs crossed, he bit into a strip of jerky with a dispassionate expression.

Outside, preparations for the hunt caused a lively commotion, while royal guards stood firm at the entrance.

Dirk spoke up jokingly.

“Road construction, you say… Don’t tell me the great Ixor Malkuth plans to found a kingdom in Orlank.”

“If you were king, would you build a palace on such cramped, worthless land?”

“Good point.”

Though Ixor’s sharp sarcasm was cutting, Dirk conceded easily—it was true, after all. Yet suspicion lingered in his eyes.

Chewing another piece of jerky, Ixor glanced at Dirk, who stood with arms outstretched as a small servant deftly adjusted his hunting attire.

Dirk attempted to offer advice.

“Aren’t you old enough to exercise some restraint? You’re squandering your vast inheritance and power.”

“Do you want to marry me?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Why else would you care how I spend my money? You’re not my wife.”

Dirk clicked his tongue at Ixor’s blunt reply, clearly annoyed, but pressed on.

“I’ve heard of paving roads in distant countries. But isn’t it natural for paths to form where people tread? Why waste time and money leveling roads and laying stones for commoners?”

“It’s fun.”

“Did you conquer Orlank for fun, too?”

“No. I conquered Orlank because the news of Drewbury’s slave being an exotic beauty was something I, as a notorious libertine, couldn’t ignore.”

Dirk shook his head in exasperation, raising his hands in surrender. His servant quickly exited the hunting lodge.

Ixor tossed the dagger he’d been holding, embedding it squarely into the center of a sturdy wooden table with a soft thud.

Dirk frowned at the audacity, clearly displeased by the casual display of weaponry in front of royalty. He chose to give a mild warning.

“Even your trivial actions are reckless.”

“That’s part of my charm.”

Ixor responded with a cold smirk.

At that moment, the hunting horn blared, signaling readiness. A wave of beaters surged forward as the group prepared to depart.

Ixor tossed aside the blanket he’d been lying on and stood.

At the lodge entrance, Dirk, now holding a riding crop handed to him by his servant, finally brought up the real issue.

“The king is deeply concerned about your conquest of Orlank. As am I. What’s your plan?”

“If he orders me to return Orlank, I’ll hand it back without a fuss. But…”

“But?”

“I’m taking one woman with me.”

“Who? Ah, the Drewbury slave everyone’s talking about.”

“She’s already mine.”

“Are you truly leaving Orlank?”

Ixor tilted his head nonchalantly. This small land, without an owner, wouldn’t last a year before war consumed it again. Better to keep it under his control.

At least there wouldn’t be any more battles in the south. The king knew this well.

However, his concern stemmed from his inability to trust Ixor’s loyalty to the royal family.

Ixor, meanwhile, cast a pleased glance at the hips of young maidens carrying laundry bundles. Watching this, Prince Dirk sighed and scoffed.

“Surely you’re not planning to turn Orlank into your personal pleasure palace.”

“Oh, now that’s an idea I hadn’t considered. Excellent suggestion. Once it’s established, I’ll be sure to invite you often.”

Chuckling, Ixor nodded toward Dirk’s white horse. Dirk accepted the reins from his attendant and mounted the horse.

“So, in the end, you took over the castle for a woman. I’m looking forward to tonight’s banquet. I’ll finally see what kind of woman could make the notorious Ixor lose control.”

With that, Dirk galloped away with the royal knights, cloaked in white mantles, leading the way out of the castle gates.

Ixor smirked.

Judging by Dirk’s tone, his visit was a calculated threat to the other nobles. They might tolerate Ixor for now, but the king intended to intervene directly in any future disputes.

Ixor’s eyes glinted darkly. Perhaps the king would soon command him to marry the princess.

Mounting his horse, Ixor signaled his knights with a mere glance.

The knights, like a pack of young wolves, charged ahead with vigor. Evidence must be convincing to support one’s claims, after all.

***

Before departing for the hunting grounds, Ixor ordered that Daon be dressed to perfection.

Zephar, usually full of complaints, complied without protest, understanding the gravity of the situation.

The Ixor family’s banquets were renowned for their opulence. Lavish spending brought forth famed beauties, esteemed bards, and renowned entertainers, stirring envy among the nobles.

“Announcing the arrival of Miss Daon!”

The servant’s loud proclamation filled the banquet hall just as the festivities were reaching their peak.

Heads swiveled toward the entrance in anticipation. Every guest eagerly awaited the appearance of the woman who had ensnared the kingdom’s most infamous rake.

A gasp broke the silence.

Daon stepped into the hall slowly. Ixor’s gaze remained fixed on her, a faint smile playing on his lips. Zephar had outdone himself this time. He had captured her essence perfectly.

Her lustrous black hair framed her pale, slender neck, cascading over her shoulders like liquid silk. Every inch of her glimmered with expensive jewels, and her crimson dress radiated luxury.

Her snowy, luminous skin contrasted with the vivid colors, and her delicate features exuded an ethereal grace. Daon looked as if she had been born adorned with such finery.

What set her apart was the icy dignity she carried, elevating her elegance to unparalleled heights. With each step, her exquisite gown rippled like blooming roses, and soft gasps of awe arose as she approached.

Her alluring and mysterious beauty awakened primal instincts, leaving the crowd spellbound.

Prince Dirk muttered in awe,

“She’s worth it.”

Naturally. The other nobles, too, abandoned the women at their sides, openly ogling Daon with lust-filled eyes.

Ixor frowned. A surge of irritation rose within him. Perhaps dressing her up had been a mistake.

“She’s my slave!”

A rough shout broke through the admiring murmurs. It was Viscount Zelgirk, standing abruptly, hands braced on the table. Daon didn’t even glance his way.

Ixor’s displeasure was evident.

“Viscount Zelgirk seems to have overindulged.”

“That face! It’s the face of my slave who fled seven years ago!”

Zelgirk exclaimed, addressing Dirk.

“By law, a slave belongs to their original master unless legally sold. She is my property! I demand recognition of my ownership here and now!”

Dirk frowned, looking between Ixor, Zelgirk, and Daon.

The viscount, belly shaking with anger, approached Daon, grabbing her neck and tilting her head back roughly.

“These eyes… Eyes that drive a man insane.”

“Viscount, take your hands off her if you wish to live.”

Ixor’s icy tone carried lethal intent. His knights rose menacingly in unison. The atmosphere turned tense. Dirk quickly stepped in to mediate.

“If the viscount’s claim is valid, the ownership is his. Until the contract is presented, no judgment will be made. Step away from the lady.”

Dirk’s tone was sterner than usual.

Reluctantly, Zelgirk withdrew, glaring daggers at Ixor.

“What if his claim is false? Contracts can easily be forged,” Ixor retorted sharply.

In response, Zelgirk revealed the right side of his face, scorched and twisted by old burns.

“See this? These burn marks are her work. Seven years ago, this wench inflicted them while escaping!”

“Ah, so it wasn’t an accident. You must have been so dreadful in bed that she risked everything to flee.”

Ixor’s mocking comment drew laughter from the crowd.

Humiliated, Zelgirk trembled with rage, but he couldn’t challenge Ixor, who outranked him by far despite their age difference.

Zelgirk continued his argument with a cruel tone.

“That woman has a small mole on her left pelvis, above her lower abdomen. There’s no need to bother bringing out the contract. If His Highness allows, I’d like to strip her right here and take her away immediately.”

Ixor’s expression darkened. He had confirmed the truth of Zelgirk’s words the previous night.

This time, it was Dirk who opposed him.

“Stripping someone publicly…?”

“She’s just a lowly slave, Your Highness. Stripping a pig wouldn’t cause anyone to complain, would it?”

Zelgirk retorted, sweeping his piercing gaze over the prince and the guests.

Technically, his logic was sound. A slave was nothing more than property. Dirk glanced at Daon, clearly uncomfortable. No matter how one looked at her, she did not appear ignorant or lowly.

After a moment of hesitation, Dirk found a compromise.

“She may be a slave, but she was once protected by Drewbury and is now under Ixor’s care. A woman’s status follows that of her master. Demanding her to strip publicly would be an insult to Ixor. Restrain yourself, Viscount.”

“Restrain himself?”

Ixor growled from his seat, his tone dripping with menace.

“A guest misbehaves in my house, and you expect me to let it go? If I hand over my woman simply because someone waves a questionable contract and claims ownership, what does that make of me?”

His clipped, venomous tone made it clear he was truly furious.

The guests stiffened, Zelgirk licked his lips nervously, and Ixor continued with icy resolve.

“Viscount, shall we settle this with a duel? If you claim ownership of this woman, you should be ready to stake your life on it.”

At that, Knight Rob stood abruptly, pulled a ceremonial sword off the wall, and thrust it into the ground before Zelgirk.

The Viscount stared at the blade, his lips quivering as he calculated his odds. Knowing he stood little chance, he turned instead to Dirk for aid, his voice pleading.

“Your Highness, uphold the kingdom’s authority. If property rightfully belonging to its owner is allowed to roam freely, there would be no need for contracts.”

Ixor stood, retrieving the sword from Rob. The murmuring guests watched intently as Dirk, now visibly irritated, tried to mediate.

“Enough! I understand your fondness for entertainment, Ixor, but this has gone too far. Zelgirk’s argument holds legal merit, so I cannot permit a duel. The King’s mood is already sour; angering him further would bring no benefit.”

Ixor scowled.

“So, you expect me to sit back and let it slide after he’s provoked me? Let him try if he dares.”

His defiant stance made Dirk frown, and the prince turned to Daon, the subject of the dispute.

“Daon, is Zelgirk’s claim true?”

Zelgirk chuckled darkly, answering for her.

“That woman is mute. I kept her for three years.”

Unconsciously, Ixor glanced at Daon.

Her face remained expressionless as she avoided meeting anyone’s gaze.

Revulsion churned in Ixor’s gut. If she had been silent for three years, it could only mean her situation was unbearable and she had no opportunity to escape.

Silence was her ultimate defense. God only knows what atrocities she had endured at that man’s hands.

His voice rang out sharply.

“If that’s the case, then Viscount Zelgirk’s slave and my slave must be two different people. Because this lady is no mute.”

Ixor strode to the center of the hall, standing before Daon.

She raised her head to meet his gaze, her large black eyes clear but dry, devoid of emotion. It was as though she hid behind an impenetrable wall, refusing to engage with the world.

She looked as though she would never speak, someone who trusted no one and preferred complete solitude.

Still, Ixor spoke gently, his tone firm.

“You are not mute.”

“…”

“Are you?”

“Yes, my lord,”

Daon whispered softly. Then, meeting his gaze, she repeated clearly.

“Yes, I am not”

***

Leaning against the doorframe, Ixor watched Daon from afar.

Her quarters were the very definition of a slave’s accommodations—a narrow, dark room with a pile of straw for a bed.

The worn wooden walls had gaps that let the cold wind seep through, and the dirt floor radiated a damp chill.

“I told you to rest in the evenings.”

Daon lowered the sewing in her hands to her lap and averted her gaze.

“It’s just to pass the time.”

Her answer was calm, as if nothing had happened. She was as poised and unshakable as an ice sculpture.

Ixor frowned but soon shrugged, his tone impassive as he addressed the matter that had brought him there.

“I need to know about your relationship with Zelgirk. I have to prepare a response.”

The revelation that she wasn’t mute had already undermined Zelgirk’s claim. Still, Ixor doubted that man would back down so easily.

Daon fiddled with her needle before speaking.

“I was sold to him.”

“To Zelgirk? For what reason?”

“My ship was wrecked during a storm.”

“Why were you on that ship?”

“There was a war in my homeland. My mother arranged for me to board a smuggling vessel.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. I was washed ashore and captured by pirates before being sold to Zelgirk.”

“How old were you then?”

“Ten.”

“So you escaped at thirteen and met Drewbury afterward. Correct?”

“Yes.”

Meeting Drewbury had been her salvation. None of the nearby nobles would have been as kind or merciful.

The fact that she had fled alone as a child gnawed at him. He could imagine many scenarios but chose not to probe further. Instead, he focused on what was necessary.

“Did Zelgirk mistreat you?” he asked pointedly.

Her reply was cold and detached.

“I feel no pain. I discarded all emotions long ago.”

Her words were like ice. Ixor stepped into the room, facing her directly. Crouching on one knee, he leaned closer.

Daon turned her face away, avoiding his gaze.