Volume 3 part 2
The woman, with her eyes lowered, whispered softly.
“Please don’t shake me.”
He traced her small chin with his thumb before gently kissing her lashes. Her eyelids trembled faintly before she continued in her characteristic cold tone. “Please don’t shake me.”
Her eyes, framed by long lashes, were as deep as an abyss—an enchanting abyss that bewitched anyone who gazed into them.
As he caressed the corner of her eye with his fingertips, her mesmerizing lashes stirred his heart completely.
Ixor declared in a husky, raspy voice.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I’ve come too far to cut this off coldly.”
“…”
“If, by any chance, you disappear from in front of me…”
He cupped one of Daon’s cheeks with his palm and kissed her passionately.
“I might just lose my mind.”
Still kissing her, he whispered hoarsely, but Daon replied in an indifferent tone.
“If you don’t want me to disappear, please maintain the distance I requested.”
Her gaze was fixed firmly on him in the darkness, unwavering.
Ixor curled his lips into a chilly smirk. His ice queen had returned to her usual composed demeanor, any momentary tremor entirely erased.
He chuckled lightly and asked leisurely.
“When’s your birthday?”
“…”
“Don’t know?”
“November 27th.”
“I’ll remember it.”
Dusting off his knees, he stood and arrogantly commanded.
“Move your residence. Next to my room.”
“This place suits me.”
“This winter will be cold. You wouldn’t want to freeze to death.”
Knowing she wouldn’t give in so easily, he dangled a tempting bait.
“One more thing. The items I’ve collected during my travels must be stashed somewhere. I’ll have them brought there. I think there may even be things from your homeland.”
Daon parted her lips slightly, blinking. Taking his time, like a mischievous boy, Ixor prodded slyly.
“I’m planning to organize and display them… Can’t quite recall. Do you have a break during lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll create a museum in the annex. Don’t use anyone else; organize the items yourself during your free time. Move your residence starting tonight.”
As soon as he finished speaking, he struck a ‘let’s go’ pose near the door, extending his arm outward.
Daon, who had been quietly seated, gathered her sewing materials and rose.
It seemed the terms of the deal pleased her.
As Ixor chuckled to himself, Daon glanced at him briefly before turning her gaze straight ahead.
Together, they headed to the castle, leaves crunching underfoot in the stillness of the deep night.
***
“Your Lordship was correct. Early yesterday morning, Viscount Zelgirk was seen lingering near Daon’s quarters.”
Zephar cautiously reported, carefully watching Ixor’s reaction.
Rubbing his hand across his icy glare, Ixor silenced Zephar’s attempt to advise.
“Taking him hunting and killing him quietly isn’t an option. He may lack rank or wealth, but he holds a fair amount of trust with the king.”
He already knew.
Tak Tak.
After a measured pause, Ixor tapped the table rhythmically before issuing a command,
“Assign a guard to Daon.”
“Are you referring to the chef?”
“She’s my woman before being a chef.”
“She’s not someone who needs protecting. Even in the banquet hall, where the eyes of high-ranking officials were upon her, she showed her proud, unflinching demeanor.”
“Does the king lack strength because he has guards?”
“Well…”
“No matter how strong someone is, there are times when they need protection. Even if I let her be normally, I’ll ensure she’s thoroughly guarded when necessary.”
After a quiet sigh, Zephar conceded.
“I’ll assign a few soldiers.”
“No. One of the knights. It’s better to prevent Zelgirk from bothering her in the first place. If something happens again, I won’t tolerate it.”
Zephar flinched at the tone of unresolved anger.
Acknowledging the truth that it was more effective to preemptively prevent issues than to clean up after them, he asked which knight should be assigned.
“Renaud.”
“Renaud… I’d recommend Rob instead.”
“Rob tends to draw his sword hastily. I need someone composed.”
“That’s true, but…”
Sensing Zephar’s unease, Ixor probed directly.
“Does Renaud harbor feelings for Daon? Since the day I brought her from the forest?”
“I haven’t asked.”
“Then don’t.”
“Are you testing Renaud?”
Ixor burst into laughter.
“He’s someone I trust as one of my subordinates. Doubting someone I’ve once trusted is disrespectful. I’m assigning Renaud to Daon because he’s diligent and calm.”
As Zephar nodded in agreement, he looked seriously at Ixor and confessed.
“To be honest, I’m uneasy. I thought I’d found a master worth dedicating my life to, but it feels like that master might collapse, swayed by a woman.”
“The others must think the same. Am I right?”
“…”
“Have I failed to earn your trust?”
Zephar’s face reddened with alarm as he vehemently shook his head.
“N-no! Not at all!”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
Zephar fell silent.
Ixor clasped his hands over his abdomen, exuding authority as he issued a final, commanding statement, leaving no room for further discussion.
“Daon is the first woman I’ve ever acknowledged. Learn to appreciate her.”
Without a word, Zephar bowed quietly and left the room.
‘This one is as stubborn as Daon. Why am I surrounded by such obstinate people?’
Though his mouth tightened into a hard line, he eventually broke into a smile.
The banquet hall was already buzzing with extravagant revelry. Only Viscount Zelgirk, with bloodshot eyes, gulped drink after drink.
When Ixor entered, Zelgirk gripped his glass tightly, glaring. A hush of intrigued silence swept among the nobles.
Ixor strolled leisurely to Zelgirk’s table and proposed a toast.
Though visibly wary, Zelgirk glanced at Prince Dirk.
He wanted to refuse but couldn’t risk offending the prince. Reluctantly, he clinked glasses with Ixor, looking sour.
As the prince turned his attention elsewhere, Ixor leaned in and whispered coldly.
“Don’t even glance at her.”
Surveying their surroundings, Zelgirk lowered his voice.
“What you currently have belongs to me. I’ll petition the king directly to take her.”
“If you survive after drinking that wine.”
Clatter.
Terrified, Zelgirk immediately set his glass down, trembling.
When the goblet toppled, spilling wine, Ixor clicked his tongue and raised his voice mockingly.
“The viscount seems to have terrible drinking habits. Do you suffer from tremors?”
Laughter erupted across the hall.
Thud.
Ixor pressed his palm on the wine-soaked table, leaning in menacingly close, and hissed,
“One day, I’ll kill you.”
His unwavering eyes etched the threat into Zelgirk, who stiffened in fear before hastily excusing himself to change his clothes and escape the scene.
“Pathetic scum.”
Ixor scoffed, returning to his seat.
Before he could even sit properly, a noble beside him leaned in eagerly.
“Won’t you show us that beauty tonight?”
“That’s right! It was so noisy yesterday that I couldn’t get a good look at the famous beauty.”
Even the other nobles nodded here and there, but he cut them off as if telling them to stop talking nonsense.
“If I keep showing her, she’ll wear out. She’s a woman worth keeping to myself.”
Prince Dirk grumbled, briefly hiding his regret.
“Even if you cherish her so much, how long will it last? A month? Two months?”
“I won’t hand it over to you no matter what happens, so don’t get your hopes up.”
Ixor responded smoothly, showing no signs of tension.
It was evident that he was drawn to Daon.
The famously composed Prince Dirk’s gaze darkened, though he quickly adjusted his expression, seemingly aware of the shift in his demeanor.
Ixor continued the formalities of the banquet but found himself increasingly bothered by the absence of Baron Zelgirk, who hadn’t returned to his seat.
As he traced his finger around the rim of his glass, producing a sharp, lingering tone, Ixor’s instincts were on high alert.
Though Daon was under the protection of Sir Renaud, the knight he’d assigned to guard her, the empty seat where Zelgirk had sat left him uneasy.
Zelgirk was not an ordinary man.
Despite outwardly submitting to threats and authority, he hid a tenacious and vile persistence beneath his exterior.
Considering whether to send someone to investigate, Ixor eventually decided to check on the situation himself.
The once-rowdy banquet had already begun to settle as the night wore on, with only a few attendees remaining to drink and make merry.
***
Meanwhile, Daon had finished her tasks in the now-empty kitchen, dismissing the drowsy maids who had been on their feet since dawn.
Relieved to finally escape, they hurried out like squirrels fleeing danger.
Alone in the warmth of the kitchen, Daon tidied up the last of the mess and wrung out a cloth before laying it neatly on the hearth to dry.
The warmth from the fireplace was soothing.
Turning toward the open door, her gaze met Sir Renaud, who was seated at the entrance like a statue, his watchful eyes never leaving her.
Daon poured a cup of warm water and placed it near him before retreating to her own seat. With quiet resolve, she wrapped her hands around her cup, savoring the small comfort of the moment.
The warmth against her chilled hands brought a sense of peace after a long day’s toil.
“Phew…”
She blew on the rim of the cup, letting the steam spread over her face.
The simple act of drinking warm water alone in the quiet of the night was, to her, a rare luxury.
It was all she desired—just to age quietly and die unnoticed, leaving no trace of her existence.
But Ixor’s intrusion into her life had shattered that.
His presence was bold, unpredictable, and unapologetically intense, leaving an indelible mark on her once-uneventful life.
A strong, dangerous man who kept her on edge and yet somehow made her feel safe within his sphere of influence.
Her thoughts swirled like the steam from her cup as her fingers played with its surface.
The push-and-pull between them was exhilarating. It was a new sensation—a pleasant tension that both terrified and thrilled her.
She had felt safety in his protection, even as he constantly pushed boundaries. Despite his unyielding advances, he had never broken the promises he made to her.
As her mind wandered, Daon was startled by the sight of Baron Zelgirk, drunken and disheveled, appearing at the entrance of the kitchen.
His face was flushed with alcohol and rage, and his gait unsteady. Sir Renaud immediately stepped forward to block the door.
“Step aside.”
Zelgirk growled, his voice rough with anger.
Renaud stood firm, silent and unyielding.
“Move!”
Zelgirk’s frustration erupted as he shoved Renaud’s shoulder, but the knight didn’t budge.
“Please let him through.”
Daon said softly, trying to diffuse the situation, but Renaud’s resolute reply was unwavering.
“No, I cannot.”
Zelgirk’s anger boiled over as he shouted at Daon,
“You conniving wench! Did you think you could humiliate me and get away with it? After all I’ve done for you—this is how you repay me?”
Daon’s calm gaze settled on him as he continued his tirade. The venom in his words didn’t faze her; she had heard it all before.
But when Zelgirk lunged toward her, Renaud moved to intercept him. At that moment, Daon quietly placed a hand on Renaud’s chest, stopping him.
“This is my decision.”
She said, her tone calm yet firm.
As Zelgirk grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the door, Daon allowed herself to be pulled along.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the hearth, silently picking up a small, sharp vegetable knife. She tightened her grip on it, her mind focused.
However, before she could act, a hand seized her wrist from behind, spinning her around.
The force of it made her stumble and fall to the ground, her knife slipping from her hand.
Raising her eyes, Daon looked up to meet the gaze of the man who had interrupted her. His imposing figure loomed over her, and his grip was unrelenting.
“Ixor.”
Her pupils dilated with tension.
The man who grabbed her roughly was Ixor. His eyes glinted dangerously under the cold moonlight.
Ixor moved with sharp, menacing precision. She stumbled forward, nearly falling, as he yanked her wrist.
Quickly, she reached out to brace herself on the ground. The small dagger slipped from her grasp, kicked by her foot, and disappeared into the bushes.
Thud!
A dull sound came from above her head. Simultaneously, the creature, Zelgirk, was flung away with a thud.
Daon steadied herself, rising unsteadily to her feet. Ixor’s expression as he glared at Zelgirk was chillingly murderous.
“I warned you not to even look at her,” he growled.
“She’s mine! My slave!”
Zelgirk spat blood as he stubbornly straightened his body, wiping his bruised jaw with the back of his hand.
Smack!
Zelgirk was sent tumbling backward, screaming, as Ixor’s ruthless kick landed square on his face.
Ixor extended his hand and with a grim expression, Renaud handed him a sword. He then pointed its sharp edge under Zelgirk’s throat, the blade poised to strike.
“If you can’t understand human speech, I’ll treat you like the dog you are.”
“Stop!”
A sharp voice rang out as Prince Dirk emerged from the darkness, his steps swift.
Ixor only shifted his gaze to glance at him, the blade still pressed against Zelgirk’s neck.
Dirk, visibly furious, entered the fray.
“You conquered Orlank by force, Ixor. And Zelgirk is one of the overseers personally chosen by the King—a royal envoy. Are you really going to kill him?”
“…”
“Stand down, Ixor!”
Ixor’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but after a tense moment, he stepped back.
Daon heaved a quiet sigh of relief, thinking the situation had deescalated.
But in an instant, with a blank expression, Ixor swung his sword, severing Zelgirk’s arm.
“Ahhhh! Aaargh!”
Zelgirk screamed, clutching his bleeding stump as he writhed on the ground. Blood sprayed everywhere, its metallic scent saturating the air.
Dirk’s face twisted in anger, his jaw clenched tightly as he glared at Ixor.
Ixor tilted his head mockingly and grinned.
“I won’t kill him. But I can’t forgive the hand that touched my woman.”
The menacing intent in his eyes was terrifying, a stark contrast to his composed smile. Even the royal guards instinctively stepped back, cowed by his presence.
Dirk and Ixor stood frozen, glaring at each other, tension crackling like a taut wire about to snap.
Sweat trickled down their brows.
Renaud cautiously observed the atmosphere, and the royal guards edged their hands closer to their swords.
Finally, Dirk broke the silence, his voice firm.
“Take Zelgirk away for treatment.”
The conflict eased slightly, though the underlying tension remained.
Zelgirk’s screams and curses echoed as he was carried into the castle.
Dirk turned to Daon, his gaze sliding to Ixor’s hand gripping her wrist tightly before meeting her eyes.
“Tomorrow morning, we’ll have a private discussion about this matter. Just you and me.”
It was a blatant declaration of his intent to meet Daon alone.
Ixor leaned closer to Dirk, his smile sinister, and hissed.
“Keep dreaming.”
Then he dragged Daon toward the castle. His rough pace forced her into an awkward, stumbling trot.
She stole a glance at his profile. Ixor’s face was cold and expressionless, like a mask forged from steel.
As they entered the castle, Zephar, who had been anxiously waiting at the entrance, stepped aside without a word, sensing Ixor’s volatile mood.
Storming through the castle, Ixor reached his chambers and pushed Daon inside, shutting the door behind him.
Panting, Daon leaned against the wall, her shoulders rising and falling. Ixor wasted no time, pinning her to the wall.
“Were you planning to follow him?”
His voice was sharp with anger.
Daon hesitated before answering.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“…”
“Why!”
She refused to respond, averting her gaze, but Ixor grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“Look at me.”
“…”
“Stop hiding in silence. Look at me! Now!”
Daon met his gaze, her expression blank. Their eyes locked in a battle of wills.
Ixor clenched his teeth, his voice rough and strained.
“I want to make you happy. To see you laugh, cry, and complain freely. But this path is harder than I thought.”
“I don’t want to be happy,” Daon replied flatly.
“And that’s why you’re choosing Zelgirk?”
Her honesty came quietly.
“There’s something I need to resolve with him.”
Bang!
His fist slammed into the wall near her shoulder. The vibrations made her flinch instinctively.
The unlit chamber was dark and oppressive, his fierce gaze glowing with barely contained rage.
He leaned closer, his voice chillingly steady.
“If you leave me for another man, I swear I’ll trample this land into the ground with my army.”
A faint smell of blood lingered on him—a sharp, ominous scent of possessive desire.
Daon’s voice trembled as she whispered.
“It’s just curiosity and possessiveness, isn’t it? Don’t make promises. I’ll never trust you.”
Suddenly, Ixor grabbed her face and crushed his lips against hers.
She struggled, shaking her head, but his strength overpowered her. His body was firm and unyielding.
His tongue invaded her mouth aggressively, biting and exploring without restraint. The metallic taste of blood filled her senses.
Her resistance faltered, and she gripped his forearm as if to plead.
Ixor devoured her lips with a ferocity closer to madness than passion, his hands tearing at her blouse without hesitation.
Rip.
The sound of fabric splitting pierced the silence, exposing her bare skin to the cool air.
His hands roamed possessively, his touch both electric and terrifying.
Daon’s fingers trembled as they rested on his arm. She couldn’t fight the overwhelming force pressing down on her.
Ixor finally pulled back, his breath ragged.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have promised.”
He murmured, his voice thick with unspent desire.
Though trembling, Daon steadied herself against the wall, barely managing to stay upright.
Her slender wrist was marked with a dark bruise, a result of being grabbed too roughly.
Ixor, catching his breath, gently pulled her torn blouse up to cover her collarbone.
“Even if you don’t trust me, just believe one thing,” he said.
“…”
“I’ll outlive you.”
Her gaze, hidden behind her disheveled hair, shifted to him in surprise.
“I’ll live longer than you. I’ll be the one to collect your remains,” he said coldly.
As his hand moved toward the nape of her neck, she instinctively stiffened. Meeting his intense gaze, she wondered briefly if he intended to strangle her.
Summoning her courage, she raised her head and stared back at him.
He pulled her firmly into his arms, his grip so tight it felt suffocating. Her chest rose and fell as she inhaled the raw scent of his presence—a mix of sweat, blood, and the primal musk of a man.
His grip radiated obsession and unrelenting possession, as though he wanted to crush her within his embrace.
With deliberate intensity, he spoke, each word carving itself into her memory.
“Remember this. Whether you’re young or old, alive or dead, even your corpse belongs to me.”
.
.
Bang!
The heavy door slammed shut behind him. In the corridor, Zephar hurriedly fell into step beside him, reporting.
“Viscount Zelgirk is furious.”
“So?”
Ixor replied coolly.
“He might appeal to the king. My lord, I urge you to allow tomorrow’s meeting between the prince and Daon. Straining relations with the prince won’t help. You could even lose her.”
“Wouldn’t that delight you the most, Zephar?”
Ixor sneered.
Zephar retorted, his tone flat.
“It might feel satisfying at first, but I’d go mad cleaning up the aftermath. You wouldn’t sit idly by, after all. Please, regain your usual composure.”
Ixor marched forward without slowing, turning sharply at the third-floor hallway.
He pushed open a closed door with both hands and strode inside.
“Pack your things,” he demanded curtly.
Prince Dirk clicked his tongue, seemingly unfazed.
“Quite the inhospitable host.”
“A guest who lays hands on his host’s woman is unwelcome. Take your lackeys and leave.”
“Right this moment?”
“As a gracious host, I’ll give you until morning. Early morning,” Ixor added sharply.
With a dismissive wave, he ordered the attendants out of the room. Once alone, Prince Dirk asked calmly.
“Was she… very frightened?”
It was an oddly excessive concern for a slave. Ixor raised an eyebrow skeptically, and Dirk continued with a somber tone.
“I’m more worried about you than Zelgirk. Are you mistreating or imprisoning her? Forcing her to stay when she wants to leave?”
“Dirk, don’t drool like a dog,” Ixor spat.
Dirk’s expression darkened with irritation at the insult.
“Gwin Ixor Malkuth. The king may tolerate you, but it’s not out of affection. He’s given up on you. Don’t lose respect for the royal family.”
Ixor tilted his head mockingly and gave an exaggerated bow.
“The kind of royal family worth respecting wouldn’t covet their vassals’ women, would they? Prince.”
“What—!”
“Tomorrow morning, 7 a.m. Ten minutes. That’s all.”
“Twenty,” Dirk countered.
“Ten.”
Ixor emphasized his terms before turning on his heel. Heading for his study, he suddenly paused in the dim corridor.
His shadow stretched long and foreboding, like a monster in the faint light. The sensation of her trembling fingers gripping his arm lingered on his skin.
He couldn’t forget the lifeless gaze in her eyes—a hollow expression devoid of emotion.
‘It’s just curiosity and possession. I won’t trust you.’
Her voice echoed in his mind, stirring his twisted desires.
The thought of possessing her, even through force, gnawed at him, the ache almost unbearable.
Clenching his eyes shut, he pressed his lips into a firm line, as if to suppress his emotions. When he opened his eyes again, they were as cold and unyielding as ice.
***
The small outer garden was neatly kept, blanketed in autumn leaves.
Despite the commotion of travelers preparing in the front yard, this secluded spot was quiet and peaceful.
Prince Dirk led Daon along the pathway with gentlemanly poise. Glancing back, he saw her following calmly.
Unlike a typical slave who might cower or tremble in such a setting, she walked with a natural grace, free from exaggerated deference or sycophantic behavior.
When they reached a spot overlooking the smithy, Dirk broke the silence.
“I heard that Count Drewbury was fond of you in his lifetime. Ixor, on the other hand, is a brutal conqueror. Is it true that you’ve chosen to stay in Orlank of your own will?”
“…”
“I understand it’s a difficult question. If not Ixor, you’d be handed over to Zelgirk. But my offer stands: if you wish, the royal family will take you in.”
Though phrased politely, his words carried the weight of a command. He expected her to accept, to pack her belongings and follow him immediately.
Daon lifted her head slightly, though she avoided meeting his eyes as she had with Ixor.
In this moment, she appeared every bit the slave, and the sight unsettled him.
Dirk studied her face more closely. Hers was the kind of beauty that would be enchanting when she smiled, but her expression remained as cold and rigid as an ancient fortress.
It was as if she had never known how to smile.
His gaze lingered on her lips—soft, full, and unguarded. Lips that Ixor had undoubtedly kissed countless times.
Ixor, a man who knew nothing of love, merely consumed women.
This fragile, delicate creature seemed fated to be tormented by him, discarded in the end. And yet, she would likely cling to him, unable to let go, just as Dirk’s sister, Princess Anna, had done with her own ill-fated love.
“Make a wise choice.”
Dirk urged, unable to mask the urgency in his voice. The ten minutes he had been granted were slipping away fast.
Daon’s response was calm and graceful.
“If you are giving me a choice, I will stay here.”
Of course. That’s what he had expected.
Suppressing his growing irritation, Dirk tried once more to persuade her.
“I understand that Ixor is an attractive and stimulating man, but surely you know that loving him will bring you nothing but trouble. He’s a notorious philanderer.”
“I am aware.”
“And yet you love him?”
“I do not.”
“Then what?”
“He’s simply… the only person I can trust.”
Dirk laughed hollowly.
“Trust? You trust no one else in the world but Gwin Ixor Malkuth?”
“Yes. He promised to take care of my remains.”
Dirk frowned deeply.
He couldn’t comprehend Daon’s words. To promise to take care of her remains—was that something you said to a young woman?
It didn’t make sense to him, though perhaps it resonated with a foreigner adrift in a strange land. It was, after all, a promise to look after her until her death.
Daon continued, her tone quiet but firm.
“He will keep his promise. That’s why I’ll stay here, by his side.”
***
‘Nothing related to Ixor has ever been pleasant.’
Suppressing his discontent, Dirk climbed into the carriage, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Ixor closed the carriage door himself, bidding him farewell.
Dirk had assumed Ixor would be curious about Daon’s decision to stay or leave, but he didn’t even ask.
Was it confidence?
Not in her trust, but in his ability to keep her near him no matter what.
Dirk gestured to the coachman to pause.
“Princess Anna is still rejecting every marriage proposal that comes her way, waiting for you.”
“Tell her to get married.”
“I thought you were courting her to solidify an alliance with the royal family.”
“Unlikely.”
“There were even rumors of her being pregnant after your scandal. Yet you didn’t so much as offer her comfort. Do you have any idea how deeply that must have hurt her? You’ve probably never seen her wasting away, losing weight as she grieves.”
Ixor chuckled.
“For the record, I didn’t even lift her skirt. I didn’t want to get tied down. I’ve got more fun to have before my youth slips away.”
Dirk reached out the carriage window and grabbed Ixor by the collar.
Ixor met his gaze sharply, gripping Durk’s wrist with equal force.
“You know so little about your sister. To you, she’s just a sweet little girl. The pregnancy rumor even caught me off guard—it felt like being blindsided.”
“Rumor?”
Dirk gritted his teeth, his frustration evident.
Ixor tightened his grip on his wrist, his tone laced with warning.
“Dirk, when you return to the castle, don’t mention Daon to Princess Anna. I’m guessing your visit here was at her request.”
Dirk’s eyes narrowed. It was true that his sister had tearfully begged him to investigate the woman keeping Ixor anchored in Orlank.
He decided to probe Ixor further.
“The king, too, often mentions that if Anna insists, he wouldn’t mind having you as a son-in-law. After all, aside from your wild antics, you’re a valuable asset.”
“Marry me off, and the kingdom will collapse in a year.”
Ixor replied nonchalantly.
Dirk smirked coldly.
“A wild beast can still be tamed. You’re a magnificent one, after all. If we leash you within the confines of the royal family, you could be useful.”
Ixor was an invaluable tool for suppressing the nobility, and he himself couldn’t afford to sever ties with the royal family. Who but Princess Anna could match his ambitions?
Dirk released Ixor’s collar, and Ixor let go of his wrist in turn. However, Ixor made one final demand.
“Dirk, Anna is sharp. If you let even a little thing out, she won’t sit idly by. Don’t say a word.”
“Move out!”
Dirk commanded the coachman, ignoring Ixor’s words entirely.
The carriage began rolling swiftly, its wheels clattering against the ground.
Dirk knew Anna’s fiery passion stemmed from her youth and gender. Once married, she would settle down and behave more appropriately. She was still young; it was fine for her to enjoy her youth a little longer.
As the carriage rumbled over the drawbridge, leaving Orlank behind, Dirk felt a lingering unease.
It was because of Daon.
Imagining her lifeless face being transformed by none other than Ixor stirred a bitter jealousy within him.
Grinding his teeth, Dirk thought to himself.
‘That woman… Maybe I should just hand her over to Zelgirk.’
