CMH Chapter 4.1

Volume 4 part 1

 

Ixor sat leisurely on the steps of the main building, watching the seemingly endless line of wagons carrying luggage roll in.

They were filled with items collected during his travels, and seeing them all together made him realize just how much wealth he had spent on his adventures.

Having traveled through many countries, he had observed various forms of governance and customs.

When he arrived at the annex, which had been left empty for this purpose, he found Daon already opening boxes and inspecting their contents. She was completely absorbed in her task, seemingly enjoying it.

Knock, knock.

He gave a casual knock on the open door before stepping inside.

“Would it be better to arrange them by country, or should we group similar items together, like dolls with dolls and accessories with accessories?”

“I think arranging them by country would be best.”

Daon suggested cautiously, placing an item down. She must have already considered this idea after their previous discussion.

Ixor opened the lid of the nearest box. Inside were luxurious gold-adorned tiaras, cheap rings, decorative daggers, bronze cups, glass figurines, and exotic animal-shaped ornaments.

No matter how many he took out, there was always more.

He handed Daon a large, oval-shaped wooden mask. She examined it with an indifferent gaze, but despite her detached expression, she handled it with the enthusiasm of a child who had just found a new toy.

Was she fascinated by the almond-shaped eye holes? 

She traced the edges with her fingers, then unconsciously bit her lower lip. Her pink lips pressed against her white teeth, turning red and taut. They looked tempting to touch.

Ixor put on the mask himself and, for effect, added a dramatic tribal chant while shaking his head wildly.

“Oooooooooh!”

“Pfft.”

The colorful feathers dangling from the mask swayed wildly, making her cover her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh. She quickly averted her gaze.

Her eyes lowered and then lifted, finally meeting his. A sweet smile played on her full lips.

She no longer seemed as tense around him as before, but she wasn’t entirely comfortable with him either.

From behind the mask, Ixor gazed at her directly.

After the chaos of dealing with Zelgirk, his feelings toward this woman had become clear.

A woman he could hold and still crave more.

A woman he wanted to give his body and soul to.

A woman he wanted to possess entirely—her body, her heart.

The woman he loved.

She was within reach, yet when viewed through the mask, she felt far away.

Well, she had always been distant.

“Masks are quite convenient,” Ixor chuckled wryly.

Removing the mask, he stood up and rummaged through the boxes until he found what he was looking for.

“This is from your homeland, correct?”

He handed her a small red pouch adorned with red and blue tassels. Daon immediately extended both hands to receive it.

She ran her fingers over the peony embroidery, as if it brought back memories.

“Yes, it is.”

“You seem familiar with it.”

“It’s something a mother makes for her daughter when she gets married.”

“What’s it used for?”

“It’s a sachet. A scented pouch. It symbolizes a fragrant, harmonious marriage.”

“Seems like I picked well. Take it.”

“…What?”

“Didn’t you say your birthday is on the 27th? It’s a bit early, but there’s no harm in getting it ahead of time.”

“…”

“Do you not like it?”

“No, no! I do! I love it.”

She emphasized her words, her cheeks slightly flushed—an unusual sight for her.

“Thank you. I’ll cherish it.”

It was the first time he had seen her look so happy.

Had he known she’d love it this much, he might have picked an even better gift.

Her soft, peach-colored cheeks were tempting. He wanted to reach out and touch them—but he didn’t.

Instead, he sat down on a nearby box and spoke.

“I won’t touch you anymore.”

Daon’s eyes widened in surprise.

The day he cut off Zelgirk’s arm, he had been rough with her. The fact that she, always so composed, had done nothing but tremble in fear meant he had truly scared her.

He wanted to have her, but not by breaking her.

With a detached tone, Ixor continued,

“I’ve decided to stop forcing things. Let’s keep things clean. From now on, I won’t kiss you. That’s what you want, right?”

Even if it took time, he decided to wait until she opened her heart on her own.

She was worth it.

Daon hesitated, then, regaining her usual calm, answered,

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Ixor coldly dusted himself off and stood up.

“Decorate however you like.”

That was the end of the conversation.

As he strode out of the annex, he glanced back.

Daon stood still, holding the pouch over her heart, staring at the tips of her shoes, lost in thought.

He memorized the side of her face.

It would be a while before he’d see her again.

Winter was approaching.

There was much to take care of before it arrived.

.

.

Leaving Zephar in charge of Orlank, Ixor took only his knight, Rob, and departed for his original territory, Garion.

Not wanting the hassle of dragging along people and supplies, he simply strapped a small food pouch to his horse, as usual.

The sky was gray.

The autumn wind rustled fallen leaves, carrying a sharp chill.

Determined to cover as much distance as possible before nightfall, Ixor urged his horse forward.

Rob, as always, silently matched his pace.

Rumble.

Sometime past three in the afternoon, the dark clouds overhead rumbled ominously.

As expected, before long, sleet began to fall.

Ixor pulled his thick cloak’s hood down to his nose.

The biting wind made his horse snort and paw at the ground.

The sleet showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. It seemed they’d need to take shelter and regroup at a nearby hunting cabin.

With a simple hand signal, he directed Rob toward the forest’s entrance.

The thick woods were dim, with the scent of damp earth rising from the ground.

“Wait.”

Ixor narrowed his eyes.

Something felt wrong.

Rob must have sensed it too, as he sharply scanned their surroundings.

Shh.

Along with a whistling sound—

A sharp pain exploded in his shoulder.

Ixor glanced at his wound with mild irritation.

“Well, this is a first.”

An arrow was embedded in his shoulder.

An assassination attempt.

“Uaaagh!”

Rob, charging forward to shield him, unsheathed his sword with a roar.

The wind howled through the dry branches.

The cold sleet blurred their vision like mist.

More arrows flew toward them, but the strong winds threw off their aim.

Rip.

Tearing his cloak, Ixor quickly tied it around his wound.

His voice was cold and composed as he gave his order.

“The arrows are poisoned. We need to finish this quickly. Kill them all—except for one. I need to know who sent them.”

Because whoever it was would pay dearly.

As soon as he firmly secured the temporary bandage and gripped his dagger, Ixor ground his teeth and charged toward the assassins.

Sweat dripped from his brows. The poison had begun to circulate rapidly, making Ixor’s vision blur and distort.

Biting down on the end of the bandage, Ixor consciously tensed his thigh muscles. Through his dazed state, the clashing of blades, screams, and the chaotic sounds of battle reached him sporadically.

He had performed a quick first aid using his dagger, but he could feel the poison spreading through his veins, confirming his worst fears.

The toxin on the arrowhead was potent—an unmistakable testament to the hatred directed at him.

He clenched the extracted arrow tightly in his fist as if preserving evidence.

“Haa…”

His breaths came slow and deep, but his vision was already failing, his senses growing dull.

His breath thickened, and his heartbeat pounded at an alarming rate. Even so, Ixor straightened his back and waited in silence, his expression cold.

“Lord!”

It seemed the battle had ended. Rob, his face deathly pale, rushed toward him, calling his name.

Ixor, despite the cold sweat dripping from him, spoke in a steady voice.

“I told you to capture at least one of the assassins alive. Did you?”

“We cut off his leg, but he took his own life. My apologies.”

“Take the body, at least.”

Swallowing the blood rising in his throat, Ixor kept his gaze fixed ahead. But as the blood welled up in his throat, speaking became impossible.

His head tilted weakly, his forehead eventually resting against his horse’s mane.

“Hyah!”

Rob seized the reins and spurred the horse into a mad dash.

Ixor’s vision wavered relentlessly, and he blinked slowly. The cold wind and white sleet stung his face. The ground split open under the pounding hooves.

For a moment, a chill ran down his spine, and the howling wind seemed to vanish. Then, at last, his vision faded into darkness.

The autumn wind carried the scent of death—the smell of rotting, rain-soaked leaves.

The thick scent of blood wrapped around his entire body. As his consciousness slipped away, his bloodshot eyes slowly closed.

What a shame.

Daon.

He had hoped, at least once, to see her smile…

 

***

 

Zephar hurried forward with quick steps. The gray sky, heavily overcast, began to release white flurries of snow.

The season’s first snowfall.

He exhaled a warm breath into the cold air as he turned a corner and stopped abruptly at the sight of Daon sitting at the kitchen entrance.

She was crouched with her knees drawn up, gazing blankly at the sky. Her hands rested limply on her ankles, her posture fragile, like an abandoned child.

Zephar had been meaning to speak with her alone, so he cleared his throat and cautiously initiated conversation.

“Ahem…winter is truly upon us now, Miss.”

“You don’t have to be so polite.”

Daon’s reply was quiet as she clenched her fist slightly.

Now that he was closer, he could see the pale, delicate skin of her feet peeking out from her worn shoes.

The back of her small hands was cracked and rough. He already knew that no matter how arduous or difficult a task was, she would execute it flawlessly.

“Since you have the lord’s favor, you don’t have to work anymore.”

“If I stop working when I have his favor, I will have to start again once it fades.”

“…”

“In that case, it’s better to always have work of my own.”

It was a valid point, but such thoughts were dangerous for a woman like her—especially for a slave.

This woman was not meant for a quiet life. Ultimately, that could become a liability for Ixor.

If only she had been born a man, Zephar wouldn’t have objected so much.

Daon hesitated before cautiously asking,

“When will he return?”

Her expression was completely devoid of emotion.

Was she asking because she was worried? Because she missed him? Or was it mere curiosity?

Zephar had no way of knowing what she truly felt. After a moment of silence, he tested her with a lie.

“He will not be returning.”

Daon did not move.

Zephar shamelessly continued,

“He’s always traveling, and he’s finished his business in Orlank. Did he not bid you farewell?”

“…”

“Men like him are always like that. They have lovers in every town. Perhaps he’ll visit you again when he’s bored.”

“I see.”

Her response was calm and elegant. Daon gazed at the falling sleet, her expression tinged with a quiet sorrow, lost in thought.

A sudden realization struck Zephar.

She had only attempted to escape once—on the first night she was ordered to serve Ixor in bed.

Not once after that.

Perhaps…

Perhaps she had never intended to run in the first place.

As long as her life wasn’t in immediate danger and no one crossed her personal boundaries, she might not have even considered escape.

That would explain why she had endured seven years in the Drewbury estate.

She had only fled from Zelgirk because his oppression and abuse had been unbearable.

Even so, she was too ambiguous to trust completely.

Just then, a commotion erupted from the front courtyard, followed by a scream.

“Ahhh.”

Something had happened.

Annoyed at the interruption, Zephar reluctantly rose to his feet.

At that moment, a soldier ran in, stammering.

“T-The lord… The lord…!”

Zephar’s face turned deathly pale.

Without another word, he followed the soldier at a near-run.

In the front courtyard, Rob stood with a devastated expression.

“Where is he?”

Zephar’s urgent question was met with a silent nod toward the castle’s interior.

His heart plummeted.

Rob, usually so jovial and carefree, was too distraught to even speak.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He bolted inside, rushing into the bedroom.

Ixor lay face-down on the bed, a bloodstained white cloth draped over his shoulder.

Beside the bed, on a small table, lay an arrow with a pitch-black, poisoned tip.

“It’s poison.”

Muttered Sir Renaud, the knight who had carried Ixor inside, his voice hoarse.

Zephar rushed to the bedside.

Ixor’s nose and lips were smeared with darkened blood, and his body was as cold as a corpse.

“Stay with us, please!”

He gripped the sheets desperately, pleading in vain.

Fighting back tears, he roared,

“A doctor!”

He turned his head, voice hoarse from shouting, only to meet Daon’s gaze.

She stood in the doorway, staring blankly at Ixor.

For the first time, Zephar saw emotion on her face—shock and fear.

She stood frozen, pale as a sheet, her wide eyes locked onto Ixor’s unconscious form.

Inside the castle, the air was tense, yet everyone moved swiftly and discreetly.

Zephar was already formulating a plan.

Ixor was on the brink of life and death.

Orlank was a concern, but the greater issue was his original domain—Garion.

If word spread that Ixor was critically ill, enemies would seize the opportunity to invade.

He immediately dispatched knights and soldiers to reinforce Garion and prepared a small force to defend Orlank.

The people of Orlank had not yet fully accepted Ixor as their lord. If unrest spread, rebellion could break out.

He issued strict orders for secrecy, commanding the servants and maids to act as if nothing had changed.

 

***

 

There was still no significant movement, but the situation was not one to be taken lightly.

The enemy might simply be holding back because they didn’t know the extent of Ixor’s injuries.

Zephar, struggling with sleep deprivation, rubbed his dry eyes and forced them open again.

Ixor had kept his composure and treated himself as best he could.

Sir Rob, who had accompanied him, acted quickly, and a skilled doctor was called in to administer partial detoxification.

The poison had been extracted from a spider, and Ixor had been incredibly lucky.

His thick leather outerwear, worn beneath his cloak, had helped significantly, and the strong wind had prevented the arrow from embedding too deeply.

Zephar, despite his busy schedule, kept an eye on Daon’s every move, wary that she might leak internal information.

However, she showed no sign of suspicious activity. She simply went about her usual kitchen duties and, during her free time at midday and after finishing her work in the evening, would stand silently in front of Ixor’s room for a long time.

Yet it didn’t seem like she was there out of concern for him. Her expression remained impassive, and what stood out most was that she hadn’t spoken a single word since the day Ixor was brought back.

Even when spoken to, she remained silent, like a mute.

Zephar had expected her to step forward and offer to care for Ixor, so he began to doubt his own instincts.

Thump, thump.

As he absentmindedly tapped the work table beside Ixor’s bed, lost in thought, a quiet voice broke the silence.

“It feels like I’m in a desert.”

Zephar quickly turned his head. Ixor had opened his eyes and was grumbling hoarsely.

“It’s hot.”

The worse the situation, the more nonchalant he became—that was just how Ixor was.

Zephar bit his lip to suppress an unexpected wave of emotion before smiling. Then, in a grumbling tone, he scolded him.

“This is what happens when you ignore me and wander around without guards. You got ambushed.”

“I know. An arrow wound doesn’t cause memory loss.”

“Very well done. Truly, exceptionally well done.”

Ixor, attempting to sit up, soon gave up and flopped back down, extending his right arm instead.

“Documents.”

“Read them later.”

“Then give me a verbal report. I need to sort my thoughts before I sleep.”

Zephar sighed and provided a concise update.

“Garion and Orlank are both stable. We haven’t identified the mastermind behind the attack yet, and no one in the kingdom is aware of your condition.”

“There’s one person who does.”

“Yes. The one who ordered the assassination.”

“Should I hold a funeral? Pretending I’m dead?”

Zephar tilted his head, considering the idea, then casually offered a counterpoint.

“Then Princess Anna will come rushing in.”

“Forget the funeral.”

“Haha. The fearless lord is only afraid of Princess Anna, it seems.”

“She’s her father’s beloved only daughter. There’s no benefit in provoking her. Now, if no one knows whether I’m alive or dead… that ***** must be anxious.”

“He must be panicking.”

“Send responses to any invitations for balls, concerts, or tea parties as soon as they arrive. Express regret that I am too busy to attend. Then, keep track of anyone who replies to our response.”

“Understood.”

Zephar lifted a cup to Ixor’s lips, carefully helping him drink.

After taking a few sips, Ixor turned his head and asked,

“What about her?”

Zephar had expected the question. He answered plainly.

“She’s the same as always.”

“That’s a relief.”

Ixor’s lips, dry and cracked, curved into a gentle smile.

Was it really a relief? He had barely survived, yet the woman he liked hadn’t shown any concern.

Would it have been better to let Daon nurse him? But then, if she didn’t do it willingly…

“Shall I call her?”

Zephar asked cautiously.

It was about evening now, so she was probably standing outside the door.

Ixor shook his head tiredly.

“No. I don’t need to show her this side of me.”

“Then please rest.”

Zephar gathered the documents and moved toward the door. Just before leaving, he turned back and commented,

“Now that I think about it, she has spoken less lately.”

“Who? Daon?”

“Yes. She hasn’t said a single word since you collapsed.”

Ixor let out a short, very brief chuckle. But it was a happy one.

“If you see her, ask what kind of herbs she would like in the sachet for her birthday gift. If she refuses to answer, send her to me—I’d like to hear her response directly.”

Zephar quietly closed the door behind him.

In the hallway, Daon stood there.

The moment their eyes met, Zephar realized she had been waiting the entire time.

She had been watching his expression every time he came and went, trying to gauge Ixor’s condition—whether he was still alive or recovering.

She hadn’t insisted on nursing him because she understood the severity of the situation and recognized that she was an outsider here.

She was, as always, level-headed and pragmatic.

Zephar glanced down at her feet. Her worn-out shoes were soaked from the snow, her feet pale with cold.

And from that, he finally understood her feelings.

The sudden weather change should have prompted her to wear winter shoes, yet she had been too preoccupied to notice.

She hadn’t even realized her feet were freezing. That was how much she had been worrying about Ixor.

Zephar acknowledged her.

She was the type of woman who, even if her husband were captured by the enemy and used as a hostage, or if he went missing on the battlefield, would still stand tall and fulfill her duties.

That was the kind of lady he had always envisioned as an ideal mistress of the house.

But he had never imagined that such a woman would be a foreign slave.

Zephar spoke gently.

“Lord Ixor asked you to choose a herb for your birthday sachet.”

Daon blinked, parting her lips slightly.

It meant Ixor was awake.

Her gaze shifted to the closed door.

Before she could speak, Zephar politely stepped aside and opened the door for her.

“Go in and tell him yourself.”

Ixor was sound asleep, his breath warm but shallow.

His face was deathly pale, his large hand lying limply on the sheets.

A dull ache spread through Daon’s chest.

She sat by his bedside, her hands folded in her lap, motionless.

Outside, hidden by thick curtains, snow was falling heavily.

She simply watched him.

For a long time.

Until the snow covered the earth, layer upon layer.

Midnight passed in silence.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, forming a long, golden rectangle. It grew brighter and brighter, almost blinding.

Like a door opening.

And in that moment, she heard the sound of her heart opening toward him.

His smooth forehead, his sharp nose.

His beautifully shaped cheekbones and graceful lips.

His strong, masculine jawline.

The soft light traced over every contour of his face.

The world had gone silent under the thick snow.

And in that pure, radiant space, only the two of them remained.

A faint smile touched Daon’s lips.

“Rosemary. Please make it with rosemary.”

 

***

 

Ixor unfastened the buckle of his thick cloak, exhaling a white breath into the cold air.

The world gleamed brilliantly, covered in a thick layer of snow.

Draping the cloak over his arm, he leisurely descended the stairs and sat beside Daon.

When he wrapped the large, man-sized cloak around her small shoulders, she became completely buried in its folds like a bundled-up sheet.

Finding it amusing, he let out a chuckle.

Ixor lightly tapped the tip of her nose before pulling up the loose fabric of the cloak around her neck.

“I’m not cold.”

Daon immediately protested, trying to return the cloak. But Ixor simply fastened the buckle tightly, securing it around her.

“The snow is really coming down.”

He murmured, gazing into the distance. His vision was clear—this winter seemed like it would be a snowy one.

Thick snowflakes drifted down from the frozen, ash-gray sky. He exhaled deeply, releasing a warm, dry breath, still feeling the lingering effects of the poison.

Turning back to her, he noted the same expression as always—calm, unreadable. But there was something different now.

The way she looked at him had softened, her gaze warm and gentle.

So, she wasn’t entirely expressionless.

When he curled his lips into a playful smirk, her eyes grew velvety soft. It seemed the thought of possibly losing him had shaken her more than she had let on.

He could see it—she had opened her heart. The trust and cautious closeness she now showed him… he didn’t want to lose it.

Rather than physical intimacy, he wanted them to grow closer by sharing emotions.

This kind of relationship was unfamiliar to him, making him feel as giddy as a boy experiencing his first romance.

Springing to his feet, he stepped into the middle of the front yard. With a cocky wave of his hand, he beckoned her over in an almost teasing manner.

Daon approached, dragging the oversized cloak behind her. She stopped right in front of him—the kind of distance that only someone who had abandoned all wariness would allow.

A space she granted only to him.

Ixor packed a ball of snow tightly in his hands, shaping it into a small snowman before handing it to her.

Squatting carefully, Daon placed the tiny snowman neatly onto the pristine white ground.

Facing her, Ixor grinned.

“Shall we build a house for Mr. Snowman?”

The two of them busily scooped up snow, smoothing and patting it down to create a miniature home.

It was a sizable house with three rooms, complete with a leaf bed and twig chairs.

“He’ll be lonely by himself.”

Ixor quickly made another snowman and placed it right next to the first. Then, with a mischievous grin, he stacked them on top of each other.

“******ry position.”

Next, he flipped the snowmen upside down.

“****** position.”¹Well, I am the one feeling uncomfortable with what he said ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ*

“….”

“Most people would either get flustered or scold me, you know.”

He remarked, unimpressed by her lack of reaction.

Shrugging, he placed the two snowmen side by side inside their house like a married couple.

“Hand,” he ordered succinctly.

Without hesitation, she extended her hand.

Ixor grasped both of her hands and tucked them inside his coat, pressing them against his body.

Her small fingers were icy cold from playing with the snow.

Startled, Daon tried to pull away, but he firmly held onto her wrists, adjusting his coat to keep her hands warm.

Amused, he teased,

“How’s that? Makes for a decent heater, doesn’t it?”

“My hands are very cold,” she mumbled.

“I know. You need gloves. And lined boots too.”

“Those are too expensive,” she said hesitantly.

“Just take what you’re given. I don’t want you to be cold or in pain.”

Daon lifted her gaze, locking eyes with him. Her deep, clear black eyes were mesmerizing, like a rare and precious gemstone.

They stood in silence for quite some time.

A snowflake drifted down, landing on her forehead before sliding down her cheek.

“Did you learn to be silent because of the war?” he asked in a low voice.

For a fleeting moment, Daon seemed unsettled.

Ixor whispered, “Are you still trapped there?”

“….”

“But your body is here now. And there’s someone beside you with whom you can share warmth. Just try to remember that sometimes.”

Once her hands had warmed up, he gently pulled them out of his coat, breathing a warm breath over them before letting go.

Daon clenched her hands and tucked them inside the cloak, responding cautiously,

“The war… was nothing.”

“Alright,” he said, humoring her.

“Besides silence, what else did you learn from that ‘nothing’ war?”

“….”

“What kind of world do you want to build?”

Sensing her confusion, he clarified,

“The world you wanted to create through politics. Land, people—what do you see?”

The snowfall thickened slightly.

Daon slowly reached out and brushed the snow off Ixor’s hair with careful, affectionate movements.

After a long pause, she finally answered.

“A world where children can laugh.”

“And?”

“A world where adults don’t have to grieve.”

“And?”

“A world where the elderly can be at peace.”

A world where people could live as human beings.

“Shall we try it?”

Ixor asked, straightening his shoulders.