Morning crept into the ruined mansion with pale light, its touch seeping through the cracked window panes. The man stirred beneath it, his breath uneven, eyelids fluttering open. His first sensation was the faint warmth of sunlight across his face. His second was pain.
Blinking slowly, he let his gaze wander. The ceiling above was fractured, wooden beams bowed under years of neglect. For a moment, he wondered how this place hadn't already collapsed. The smell of mold and dust clung to the air, heavy and damp.
Then his eyes shifted—and landed on her.
A petite woman sat slumped in a rickety chair beside the bed, her golden hair catching stray threads of sunlight. She was sleeping lightly, head tilted, lips parted just enough to show the weariness of someone who had not truly rested.
He studied her in silence, his thoughts sharp despite his wounds. Did this fragile woman… drag me here?
Attempting to sit up, he was immediately punished by a searing wave of pain that tore through his chest. A groan escaped his lips before he could stifle it.
The sound woke her.
Her crystal blue eyes blinked open, startlingly clear. She sat upright in an instant, gaze sharp. "Don't move," she said firmly. "Your wounds haven't healed yet."
The man exhaled slowly, resigned to stillness. His voice, though weak, carried authority. "Who are you… and where am I?"
"I am Beatrice," she replied evenly. "The hundredth concubine of the emperor. You are in the residence given to me. On the outskirts of the royal palace."
Something flickered across his face—shock, disbelief—but it vanished as quickly as it came. His gaze locked with hers, crystal meeting steel. There was something unnerving in her eyes, a weight that felt… unnatural.
She broke the silence first. "And you? What is your name?"
For a moment he hesitated, then answered, "Edward." A pause, then softly, "If you don't mind… may I ask you something?"
She gave a faint nod.
Edward's voice lowered. "You are truly the emperor's concubine? Then why… why do you live like this?"
Beatrice scoffed, her lips twisting bitterly. The anger in her eyes flared like fire. "Yes. I am his concubine. And it is because of that wretched emperor that I rot in this crumbling mansion. His neglect, his disdain… this is his gift to me."
Her words dripped with venom, the raw hatred in them startling. Edward had expected sorrow, perhaps resignation—but not this seething fury.
She leaned back slightly, folding her arms. "You'll stay here until your wounds heal. After that, you may leave, or not. It makes no difference to me."
Edward stared at her in silence. Something about her didn't add up. Her kindness—if that's what it was—felt strange, edged with something else. Still, he inclined his head slightly. "You've shown me mercy. I won't forget it."
Tentatively, he reached inward, calling upon the ability that had never once failed him. His mind brushed against hers… and recoiled. For the first time in his life, he could not read someone's thoughts. Her mind was a fortress, impenetrable, vast. He withdrew, unsettled. Interesting… very interesting.
Across from him, Beatrice watched quietly, her expression unreadable. Inside, Kora's thoughts coiled like smoke. I didn't save you out of mercy. You're my shield, my blade, my pawn. Your loyalty will belong to me, whether you realize it yet or not.
Edward, unaware of the creeping vines tightening around him, began to feel something else instead—gratitude. Days slipped by, his wounds slowly mending. The silence of the mansion no longer felt suffocating. He found his eyes drawn to Beatrice more often than he intended, her presence strangely grounding.
Fondness crept in, unbidden and dangerous.
Meanwhile, Beatrice wove her plans with delicate precision. Every word, every act of feigned kindness was another thread wrapped around him. Slowly, inevitably, Edward's will was being bound to hers, like ivy claiming the stones of an ancient wall.
She had made her move. And with it, she had taken one step closer to the throne.