Aeren harboured no feeling for her, and he knew she felt nothing genuine for him either. Yet Aeren had gained a freedom he treasured deeply—one that came with a significant price. So long as Olivia did not restrain him at every moment, he could exist without shackles. When she did restrain him, his irritation would fester, and he had nearly killed Gayle in his fury earlier. Only luck had kept the man alive and breathing.
Aeren despised restraint in any form. Even when he attempted to restrain himself, his consciousness would not allow it. His consciousness always yearned for freedom—not merely to see it, but to feel it in every fibre of his being.
Aeren locked his gaze on Olivia, a genuine smile crossing his face as he looked at her. She met his eyes with confusion, uncertain what to make of his obvious happiness. Though he seemed pleased to see her, she felt nothing comparable in return. Her mind kept returning to that haunting image—his body covered entirely in blood, shining brilliantly with it. Her heart had skipped in that moment. At first, she had thought it was panic, but as clarity came, she understood the terrible truth: she loved the blood. The beauty of it had awakened something primal in her.
Desperate to recapture that intoxicating sensation, she had begun cutting her own hand, and later, the hands of those around her—people she could control, people who wouldn't resist. But the feeling never returned. The blood never shone as it had on Aeren. Not on her own skin. Not on her friends. Not on anyone she had killed desperately trying to replicate that singular moment.
That was why she needed to see his blood again—why she craved it with an intensity she couldn't name. It was the only reason she had accepted the marriage proposal without hesitation. Beneath the surface of propriety and arrangement lay something far darker: an obsession with the beauty she had glimpsed on him, a hunger that only his blood could satisfy completely.
"Princess Olivia, try this. This—"
Silence broke as Olivia's friend came into view. Both Aeren and Olivia turned their eyes toward her.
The young woman halted abruptly, confusion flickering across her face as she noticed how close Aeren stood to the princess.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her gaze hardening with immediate suspicion.
There was something deeply unsettling about Aeren—his eyes, calm yet profoundly dangerous, radiated a quiet menace that made her entire body tense. She could feel the danger emanating from him, like a blade poised to strike without warning. Her hand moved instinctively to her sword. She was ready to attack… but she didn't move just yet.
While her attention stayed locked on Aeren, Olivia raised a hand slightly, sensing her friend's violent intent.
"Calm down, Philia," Olivia said gently but with firm authority, her tone carrying quiet power.
She could see Philia was moments away from cutting Aeren down, but Olivia didn't want his blood spilled—not yet. She had already decided she would witness it for herself, in private. That was the only reason she stopped her. Otherwise, she would have let Philia act as she pleased.
"Who is she, Oli—"
Before Aeren could finish his sentence, Philia moved with sudden violence. In an instant, her sword flashed, slicing through the air toward him. Olivia's eyes widened in shock, realising far too late what her friend had done.
"Stop, Philia! He's my fiancé!" Olivia's voice rang out, desperate and commanding.
But her cry came too late. The sword had already reached Aeren—its edge glinting coldly as it closed the remaining distance to his neck. Aeren could see it coming, every motion slowed by instinct and perfect focus. In Philia's eyes, he saw fear, panic, and the devastating realisation that she had acted purely on reflex—a mistake she couldn't take back.
He exhaled softly, almost disappointed.
Then, in one swift motion, Aeren's foot shot forward, slamming directly into her abdomen.
"You should've known your place, peasant," he said coldly.
"Ugh—!"
Philia gasped violently, her body folding as she fell hard to her knees, the air knocked completely from her lungs by a single, precise kick.
Olivia's eyes widened in shock as she saw Philia's sword graze Aeren slightly. For a heartbeat, she froze completely—then guilt surged through her chest like a knife.
Was this the last time she would see him?
The sight of his blood… it shimmered under the light mesmerizingly. The color—rich, vivid, and alive—made her heart ache in a way she couldn't understand. It was the same beauty she had always imagined whenever that moment haunted her thoughts relentlessly.
How could something so wrong look so beautiful?
Ashamed, Olivia closed her eyes, trembling visibly. A single tear slipped down her cheek as she silently wept, cursing herself for feeling such twisted admiration.
Then—
"Who is she, Olivia?"
The familiar voice snapped her eyes open.
Aeren stood before her, his gaze cold and sharp as he looked down at Philia. The girl lay motionless on the ground, her sword fallen beside her, blood spilling from her mouth along with the remnants of her last meal. She was unconscious—defeated in a single devastating blow.
Olivia stared, utterly speechless. She had never imagined Aeren could even touch Philia in a fight, let alone bring her down so effortlessly.
"What… what happened?" she finally asked, her voice shaking as her gaze darted between the fallen girl and the unflinching boy before her.
Aeren looked at her calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "Nothing," he said flatly. "She tried to attack me. My body just reacted on its own."
His words were simple, but they sent a profound chill down Olivia's spine.
Aeren glanced once more at Philia, then back to Olivia. He could see the disbelief still written clearly across her face.
"Hmm," he murmured, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve casually. "You can stay here with her. I'll go shop for some clothes and meet you afterwards."
He turned away, his tone casual, almost indifferent—as though the unconscious girl at his feet was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Olivia looked at Aeren, still struggling desperately to grasp what had just happened. Her voice came out softer than she intended.
"Sure. If you need any help, just telepath me."
Aeren gave a brief nod and turned away without another word. His calm, measured footsteps echoed for a moment before fading into complete silence. Olivia watched his retreating figure, her eyes following him until he disappeared entirely into the crowd beyond the rows of garments.
She turned back to Philia, kneeling beside her unconscious form.
"How… how is that even possible?" she whispered.
Even Philia—one of the strongest knights she knew—hadn't been able to draw a single drop of his blood.
If she can't… how could I ever hope to?
The thought clawed at Olivia's mind relentlessly. She had underestimated him—his strength, his composure, his terrifying precision. Yet the image of his blood still burned behind her eyes vividly.
That day—his birthday—the sight of it had seared itself into her heart permanently. So bright, so alive, so alluring that it almost felt divine.
She bit her lip, trembling as the same forbidden fascination crept back in.
That blood… it wasn't ordinary. It was born different.
And she wanted to see it again.