He regarded the woman before him with an unreadable face.
She stood as always—upright, proper, immaculate—every detail faultless. Sleeves gathered, back straight, she faced him without a ripple of expression.
And that infuriated him.
She looked at him calmly, her gaze tracing his features, and when she spoke again there was a faint, almost imperceptible fragility in her voice.
"Even a pretense should be seamless enough that no one can tell. Especially tonight at the Spring Gala, with so many mouths watching, Your Highness should at least be mindful of your conduct."
"Is the Princess Consort lecturing me on how to behave?"
Ethan Hayes cut her off impatiently, a mocking curl at his lips, but his words were venomous.
"Your title comes from your mother’s clan—don’t tell me you still expect I would treat you with respect?"
As soon as he said it, Ethan watched with satisfaction as the woman’s composed facade wavered, like a perfect mask cracking.
He took a perverse pleasure in watching the flawlessly measured woman disintegrate before him. He wanted to see her humiliated, to see her unmade.
"…Your Highness."
Claire Bennett parted her lips softly. For a moment, her eyes dimmed.
"We went through the three engagements and the six rites—we were married properly. Everyone in Riverton knows."
Ethan remained expressionless until he saw the pale wash that crept over her usually flawless face. Only then did his fingertips twitch.
"You should respect me and love me, as I have treated you."
Uttering that sentence seemed to drain her of strength; she had no energy left to wait for his reply.
She turned and, slightly unsteady, began to walk away.
From behind her came a cold snort.
"Never."
1. Everyone in Riverton knew that Prince Ethan Hayes had grandly wed Claire Bennett, eldest daughter of the Bennett household.
The bridal procession that day had painted the city red for miles—his favor made obvious. Ethan Hayes had slowly built Claire a life of prominence in Riverton.
The noble young women of the city envied the Bennetts: their eldest had become a prince’s consort. Even jealous tongues didn’t dare challenge the match.
Everyone understood the Bennetts held military power. Henry Bennett and his elder brothers were household names for their battlefield victories—quelling border unrest, rooting out traitors. Henry Bennett himself had once ridden alone into the enemy camp, silver spear in hand, saving the sovereign at the cost of an eye.
The emperor showered the Bennetts with trust and favor. He hadn’t even offered multiple candidates for the prince’s bride—he’d simply appointed Claire.
Had Claire been plain or ill-educated, the city’s noblewomen might have been less envious. But Claire Bennett was the model of a cultivated daughter—educated, composed, beautiful in a reserved way, taught manners from childhood. She was the sort of girl everyone pointed to as an example.
Claire and Ethan had known each other since childhood. Their engagement felt like destiny compounded by fate—matching talent and beauty, two families well aligned.
But Claire knew the truth beneath appearances.
Beneath the praise that followed her everywhere, what remained for her was the night of the wedding when, after her veil was lifted, Ethan Hayes gave a cold laugh.
She should have been shy—that was what a girl in love would be. On their wedding day she had followed the housekeeper’s instruction and fasted the whole day. Though her headdress was heavy, she held herself upright and moved through each ritual flawlessly.
They passed through the city, crossed the fire bowl, bowed in the hall. The crowd’s laughter dispersed, the maids retreated and closed the shutters. Candlelight flickered. She sat amid the newlywed bed’s ceremonial fruits; her veil lifted, and the only thing she heard was Ethan’s cold snort and careless words: "Enough. Stop pretending. Don’t you find this disgusting?"
Those words crashed over Claire like waves, leaving her nearly breathless. Her upbringing kept her from losing composure; she steadied herself and lifted her chin to look at her husband gently.
"The night is late. Why not have the nuptial wine now, my lord, and then—"
Before she could finish, Ethan frowned impatiently. Disgust was written across his handsome face.
"Still performing for others? This marriage was never about your feelings. Why keep acting? Bennett girl, don’t overstep."
Perhaps the phrase "overstep" rang with a contempt so strange it made Claire’s face go pale.
To him, marrying her must be a burden so great that even a proper wedding was too much. Was performing the expected rites really "overstepping" to him?
Silence stretched. Ethan, dissatisfied with her quiet, spoke again.
"I wouldn’t harass you unreasonably. We’ve known each other since childhood—we were playmates. I treated you like a sister and often thought kindly of you. We should have remained as siblings and married others, each living happily."
"But you—your worst offense—was that after you learned about my relationship with Janelle, you shamelessly used your family’s influence to force this marriage."
He framed it as righteous and reasonable, his words edged with cruelty that stabbed at her.
Claire lowered her eyes; her lips trembled.
She remained silent, long and stubbornly, as if unwilling or unable to argue.
The more she said nothing, the more Ethan’s eyes filled with derision. He convinced himself she’d weaponized her family’s power to bully him into marriage.
Even when they were children, he had seen Claire’s feelings weren’t merely filial. Her eyes had followed him in a way that hinted at another kind of affection.
That feeling had been raw and obvious when she was young—hot and exposed—and had unnerved the young Ethan.
In his memory, the one who had truly stunned him—the blush, the sunlit unconstrained smile that had taken his youthful breath away—was Janelle. The girl he loved for ten years.
Madeline "Maddie" Sinclair.
2. Claire took on the running of the household swiftly and efficiently—managing major affairs and the smallest domestic details without error.
Even when she presented herself before Empress Margaret, she had chosen appropriate gifts and conducted herself with a protocol so exact the palace maids could find no fault. She conversed with the Empress for nearly an afternoon.
The Empress pried gently about the wedding night. Claire’s blush and demure lowering of her eyes—just the coyness of a young woman—spoke for her.
The Empress understood and relaxed.
"Good… I’m a woman; these things matter. If you could bear a child soon, it would greatly strengthen your position."
She reached out with an affectionate hand and smoothed a stray curl at Claire’s temple, her eyes showing an expression Claire didn’t quite understand.
"Claire, I have watched you grow; I treat you like a daughter. Let me advise you: if Ethan intends to take a concubine, go with him willingly. Don’t make a fool of yourself over trifles. You are the Prince’s consort now—mistakes are not allowed. Many eyes watch you, waiting for you to slip. You mustn’t give them that chance, understand?"
Claire met the Empress’s gaze and swallowed the words on the tip of her tongue—that she and Ethan had not consummated their marriage. She swallowed them and nodded instead.
That small nod seemed to relieve the Empress like a great weight; she leaned back, tired, covering her eyes.
"Good… very good. You have always been a level-headed child. I’m weary—go home for today."
A palace maid bowed and led Claire out through the red walls. Only when the carriage passed the gate and the heavy doors clanged shut did Claire finally feel herself reel, the ache in her chest sharp and sour.
The weight in her chest left her breathless. Alone in the cramped carriage, tears brimmed and blurred her vision, but she bit her lip and used a handkerchief to wipe the marks away before the wet trails could show.
Ethan’s rejection—abandoning her on their wedding night, leaving in front of the gateskeeper maids—had humiliated her. If it hadn’t been for Anna, her maid who had accompanied her, the gossip might have devastated her reputation.
Word must have leaked somehow to the emperor, because the next day when Claire and Ethan went to pay respects to the emperor and empress, Ethan was summoned away.
No one knew what was said or for how long. When Claire returned to the Bennett residence that afternoon, Ethan had already come home early.
Servants whispered that he came back flushed and grim, his lower lip bitten pale, and then barricaded himself in his study, smashing things.
Claire had her maids bring food to the study several times, and she had lamps lit around it through the night. In front of so many servants, she returned to her chambers and copied sutras by lamp light all through the night, steadying herself.
The next day, Anna told the servants the story: that at court the emperor had mentioned the floods in Southshire that had collapsed dikes and drowned thousands, that gold meant to aid the people had been eaten by corrupt officials; the prince was heartbroken, tormented that he could not personally change their fate, and so he had stayed up in his study reading and thinking through the night, while Claire—clad in plain clothes—knelt and copied sutras to pray for the flood victims.
The rumor spread from the house into the market, growing stranger and more elaborate as it went, transforming Ethan Hayes into an image of the dutiful, benevolent prince—concerned for the people, a man of virtue. The tale painted Claire as pious and self-sacrificing, too.
The whole city fretted about the floods, and suddenly Ethan Hayes’ star rose higher than the Crown Prince’s. People began calling the two of them a perfect match, as if fate had woven them together.
Ethan knew this was Claire Bennett’s doing, but he wasn’t about to let her hand him a golden chance to polish his own reputation.
He may have despised Claire—loathed her even—but there was something in his heart greater than love: power.
Riding that wave of good press, Ethan’s aides quietly stirred the pot. They used the momentum to clamp down on the Crown Prince’s faction and, in Ethan’s name as a royal prince, personally sent aid to the flood zones—food, blankets, clothing.
Praise for Ethan swelled.
Then, a month later.
Madeline Sinclair, the third daughter of the Sinclairs, married this year’s top scholar, Daniel Reed.
Ethan, however, vanished the very night Madeline wed.
That evening Anna slipped into the main courtyard to tell Claire the prince wasn’t in his study, and he hadn’t issued any orders to go out.
Claire nodded, signaling Anna that this couldn’t be common knowledge. Seal the eyes and ears, she ordered.
After Anna left, Claire sighed softly and sat in the courtyard, unmoving.
Her teacup had gone cold, petals from the peach tree drifting down over her shoulders.
His madness that night—now she knew—had been sparked by what the Emperor had told him.
The Emperor, likely wanting Ethan to finally give up on youthful infatuations so they wouldn’t jeopardize greater plans, had spoken. But no ruler could truly grasp the foolish courage it takes to throw yourself at love.
Claire inhaled deeply and gripped the cup tighter.
No losing composure. No mistakes. No hint for others to seize.
Today… should have been her birthday.
3. Claire Bennett had been unlucky from the start.
A master at Willow Temple cast the infant girl’s fortune and foretold a life of hardship—many stumbles, frequent danger, even the threat of bloody calamity if she acted carelessly.
Her impatient father nearly lunged at the master with his cane; her mother wept bitterly.
The Bennetts had only one daughter. Now to be told her fate was cursed—how could they accept it?
After much deliberation, the master muttered incantations, drew talismans, sprinkled wine, then proposed a plan.
They were to announce a false birth time publicly—an auspicious hour, a favorable fate. Privately they’d write the true hour on yellow paper, burn it to ash, have the baby drink the ashes, and raise her strictly as a demure girl: no weapons, no fighting, stay to the study and the inner chambers. Only by living this restrained life could she possibly change fate.
Claire’s parents agreed at once.
As a child Claire couldn’t understand why her mother hired the sternest governess, why every move was measured as if by ruler; one misstep brought sharp scolding and a sting on the palm, leaving Claire in tears, stifled and miserable.
Once, driven by childlike stubbornness, Claire slipped out during a bustling festival.
That day stayed with her—bright, vivid, everything a child’s senses could devour. Later she would pass those same stalls and streets without ever recapturing that feeling.
That day she gaped, greedy for everything, reveling in forbidden freedom and tasting pure joy.
But a lone little girl in a crowded market draws the wrong kind of attention.
Before she could react, someone’s hand seized her arm, gripping so hard it hurt, hauling her along. A haggard woman snarled at her, "Runaway brat, where do you think you’re going? Come home with your mother!"
Claire’s tears threatened to spill. She stammered refusal, but words were no match for the woman, and she was dragged helplessly away.
Then someone pulled her the other way.
He was only a half-grown boy in fine clothes, all boldness and swagger.
Pulling Claire by the other hand, he sneered at the woman. "This girl is fair and lovely—how could she be your child, you shriveled hag? Are you some child-stealer?"
The woman shrieked for him to mind his business and even feigned raising her hand to hit him—until a group of guards pinned her.
That was Claire’s first time seeing Prince Julian—only nine years old then, the one who would be Ethan Hayes.
He rescued her, walked her home, and smiled as he warned, "The outside is dangerous. Little miss, don’t wander off."
Claire remembered staring after him, numb, as if she couldn’t process anything.
Back home, her mother cried and punished her for a long time. It was the first time Claire saw her mother fall apart—crying, scolding, threatening to abandon her. Terrified, Claire clung to her mother’s leg, begged forgiveness, and sobbed together until they were both spent.
Later, her mother explained things a child couldn’t yet understand. The clearest truth Claire kept was that her real birth hour was the kind of secret everyone wanted to hide.
As she grew, she grasped her parents’ motive. She held no resentment—on the contrary, she thought they had done the right thing.
Claire sat long beneath the peach tree, guarding the cup of tea gone cold.
Footsteps—disordered and heavy—approached. Someone suddenly wrapped their arms around her from behind; the sharp smell of alcohol hit her.
Ethan had returned to Hayes Manor at some unknown hour and slipped into the courtyard.
Claire was still worrying whether many people had seen him and how she’d cover for him tomorrow.
His lazy voice, laced with drink, breathed in her ear. "The Seigong crescent—nice taste."
His words came with a tipsy warmth that made her lower her eyes and recoil a fraction.
"If Your Highness wants to taste it, I’ll brew another pot; this one is cold—drinking it would—"
She didn’t finish before he snatched the cold tea and downed it from the spout in one gulp.
Tea dripped from his mouth across Claire’s shoulder, chilling the silk.
"Cold tea’s fit for latecomers. Fits me fine."
He laughed bitterly, tossed the teapot aside, and before she could react, scooped Claire up and strode toward the house.
Claire gasped but dared not cry out. She gripped Ethan’s neck, afraid of drawing attention.
Inside, he ripped away the bed curtain and pinned her down.
He didn’t immediately move further. He lingered for a moment, half-drunk, then asked with a strained calm, "What do you want from me?"
Claire looked down.
"Your Highness commands the Emperor’s favor—you’re the only suitable heir. The Bennetts have guarded the borders for generations. I—" Her voice trembled as she recited the script she had been taught, "—would marry you to show the family’s loyalty and to—"
Before she could finish, a hard slap landed on one side of her face.
Perhaps Ethan hadn’t meant to strike so forcefully—or perhaps to him it wasn’t hard at all—but the blow stunned Claire, leaving a red handprint on her cheek.
She turned slowly and met Ethan’s bloodshot, anger-slimmed eyes.
"Because of those ridiculous reasons, you tear lovers apart and wreck lives. Do you think about feelings? Am I some tool for you to climb for favor? The girl I love is going to another tonight, and I can’t even spend my life as her man!"
His voice rose, fury spilling out so hot it couldn’t be contained.
Ripping at Claire’s clothing as if to vent, he left her in a hollowed, aching shell.
She stared at the gently swaying curtain above, tears cooling and disappearing into her hair.
How had things come to this?
Claire remembered the second time she saw Ethan as a child—across a banquet table, he winked at her.
She remembered nervously confiding her true birth hour to him, fearing he’d think her cursed. Days later, on that true birthday, he came with a gift he had chosen himself.
A simple peachwood hairpin—plain, elegant.
He shoved the gift into her hands with that bold, shining look. "I won’t let anyone treat you like that. There’s no such thing as bad luck—nonsense! Your birth is wonderful. The peach blossoms say so."
To her, he had been a glowing little hero.
Soon after, he whispered to her with conspiratorial delight that he’d fallen for the Sinclair girl. "Claire," he said, "I’ll marry her when I’m grown."
Tonight, the capital glittered with lamps. Madeline Sinclair and Daniel Reed consummated their marriage, joined in wedlock.
At the Prince’s residence, the Bennett family daughter had, for the first time, lost her virtue.
4. After that night of madness, Claire avoided Ethan for months.
Perhaps he avoided her on purpose; perhaps she purposely avoided him. Under the Emperor’s decree to handle the flood relief, they began a tacit, silent cooperation.
Ethan handled the fieldwork—inspecting flood sites, repairing levees, rooting out corruption—while Claire shored up the manor’s reputation. She fasted a few days, handing out porridge to refugees who’d fled to the capital outskirts.
Ethan’s fame soared. After he helped resolve the flood crisis, the Emperor honored him with a title, naming him the Warden Prince.
When Ethan hurried back to the city to fetch some scrolls, he bumped into Claire at a corner of the house.
Neither spoke. They were husband and wife yet colder than strangers.
Ethan took her in—she looked thinner, more fragile; his gaze lingered on the side of her face where no trace of that night’s mark remained.
He remembered his own madness that night and the shame of fleeing the next day. He remembered how badly he’d behaved. He wouldn’t forget it easily.
What scared him most was that, in that moment, the guilt and pain he felt toward Claire Bennett far outweighed any feeling of betrayal toward Madeline Sinclair.
He had always thought himself grand — which man wouldn’t keep himself pure for a woman he couldn’t have?
But when he finally broke his vow, he found he felt little remorse for Madeline. Instead he only turned inward, asking himself why he had treated Claire like an animal.
Soon after, an imperial decree arrived and he was hurriedly summoned away from Riverton.
He threw himself into work, desperate to numb himself with busyness.
Still, he couldn’t help asking after news from the capital.
When he learned Claire was managing the household well, he felt an unexpected thread of relief and satisfaction.
Her presence meant he didn’t have to worry about the city while he dealt with crises elsewhere.
He heard Claire had been fasting and praying, so he secretly sent medicines to restore her strength; he heard she had been helping refugees outside Riverton in the name of the prince’s estate, and quietly assigned extra guards to ensure her safety.
Maybe it was conscience, or maybe because she was his wife — Ethan Hayes found himself unable to be cruel to Claire.
And now, standing in the manor with her before him, Ethan studied Claire, not sure how to begin.
After a moment’s hesitation he managed, awkwardly, “How have you been lately?”
“By the grace of Your Highness, my health is stable,” she answered, formal and composed as always. She’d adjusted the address perfectly.
Silence fell, heavy and awkward.
Ethan cleared his throat but hadn’t yet spoken when Claire continued, “The Spring Gala hosted by Empress Margaret is coming soon. Attendance isn’t mandatory, but the event will invite the envoy from Jin Province to showcase friendly ties between our nations. I ask that Your Highness consider attending.”
“…I know,” Ethan replied absentmindedly, then asked, “Is there anything in the household that needs my attention? Speak plainly.”
Claire inclined her head slightly. “Thank you, Your Highness. There is no shortage at present. However…”
“However?” Ethan’s brow twitched.
“The lists of eligible women in the capital have arrived. Based on family background, appearance, and conduct, I have selected a few for Your Highness’s consideration. But if you wish to make the final choice, you should review them yourself.”
At that, Ethan’s face darkened.
“How long has it been since I married? Not even a year and you’re already stuffing the house with women? I must have overestimated how much you care about family reputation. Are you not worried people will gossip?”
Claire’s face did not change. “While you were away managing the floods, I cultivated trust among the capital’s notable families, relying on my maternal family as vouchsafe to preserve Your Highness’s good name among the people. You needn’t fear that early additions to the household will sully your reputation. I selected the candidates according to proper standards of virtue and etiquette. The capital will see Your Highness as impartial and open-minded — willing to hear wise counsel and accept virtuous women. Even my choice of concubine demonstrates the Bennetts’ upright household, where women are without jealousy; others therefore have no grounds to criticize.”
She delivered a perfectly reasoned list of benefits — every argument clear and airtight. Ethan found himself without a retort. What remained lodged in his mind was the last phrase: “women are without jealousy.”
He stared at Claire’s face, searching for a tell, any flicker of feeling.
There was none. Not the slightest change. Even the curve of her mouth was immaculate, like a finely crafted mask. He couldn’t find fault.
Frustration rose in Ethan, then a stubborn irritation he couldn’t shake.
He waved a hand impatiently. “I know. Is that all?”
Claire looked at him. “Nothing else, Your Highness.”
Ethan turned to leave. A few steps later he stopped, came back, and looked down at Claire with an almost domineering air.
She didn’t move, head bowed, still appearing to wait for him to go. Ethan felt that he’d meant to speak kindly to her — he had planned to, during those months away. But the words that came out were poisoned.
“You hurried to put women into my bed,” he said, low and clinched, his voice meant for only them. From a distance it might have looked like lovers murmuring.
“You think you covered every angle, but to me it feels like needless embellishment. I don’t need you, and I don’t need the Bennetts propping me up. Remember that.”
He strode off in large, angry steps.
Behind him, Claire remained poised, bowing slightly in farewell. Her fingertips pinched her skirt; they were pale from the pressure.
Maybe, for a moment, Ethan had hoped she would call him back — scold him, cry, make a scene. Anything would have been better than her current wooden silence.
But she stood composed, dignified, letting him go.
Ethan eventually chose a girl from the booklet Claire had provided.
She was from a minor official family — the kind of young woman raised to read, play music, a textbook proper lady. Her surname was Lily Park.
Claire knew precisely why Ethan picked her.
She looked much like Madeline Sinclair. In ordinary light she was seven or eight parts similar; in a darkened bedchamber she would be nine parts. Ethan’s mind was predictable.
After Claire finished inventorying the pieces and closed the box, she drew a deep breath.
Her constitution was poor; she lacked vitality. Simply standing and taking a long breath made her dizzy, her vision darken. Anna steadied her, worried.
“Miss…”
“Silence. I am the princess consort,” Claire hissed.
Anna resented changing the form of address. She had disliked calling her mistress the prince’s wife, and she disliked calling her princess consort now.
Seeing Anna bow her head, unwilling, Claire sighed. She could not scold the maid much further and spoke softly, “So many eyes watch our every move. If you give others cause to gossip, what then?”
Reluctantly, Anna murmured assent, then turned her face away where Claire couldn’t see, and the maid’s eyes glinted with secret tears.
Her mistress had always kept her back straight. Even if she suffered, she would never let others see it.
Since Lily Park entered the household, Ethan had not behaved in the way Claire had feared. He stayed the night once, on the girl’s first evening in, and then seemed consumed by duties, often absent from the manor.
When Lily Park came to meet Claire the next day, Claire noticed an unmistakable disappointment across the young woman’s face. It seemed Ethan had not done what Claire had worried.
Claire lowered her gaze and took the tea Lily offered. After a short conversation, Lily hesitated before speaking. “I’ve heard Your Highness is very busy. If the princess consort is ever lonely, I would be honored to keep her company — to play the zither or compose poetry.”
Claire blinked. “…It is kind of you.”
Lily lowered her eyes. “Princess consort, I can see there is deep feeling between you and Your Highness. I do not crave his favor. I only seek a stable life.”
Claire’s eyelashes fluttered. What had Ethan told Lily to give the impression that they were a loving couple? She wouldn’t shatter the illusion. She smiled with composed dignity and nodded. “You need not worry. The manor will provide for you.”
She offered no excess information, no promises. She would not make a slip of the tongue.
In the following days Ethan returned to the manor at night, but he did not go to Lily’s rooms — and he certainly did not come to Claire.
If they never saw each other, there could have been no conflict. But under one roof, avoidance was impossible.
A few days later Claire prepared to visit Willow Temple to offer incense. It was meant to be a humble, private day. Before she left, she ran into Ethan.
He paused on seeing her; they always did this — she spoke first.
“Good day, Your Highness.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to Willow Temple to burn incense.”
Silence. Claire lowered her eyes, waiting for him to dismiss her so she could go.
Unexpectedly, Ethan said, “I will go with you.”
She looked up, startled. His motives were unreadable. He gave no more words — only dispatched servants to prepare, then headed toward the carriage. Claire followed, feeling slightly unsure.
Before she mounted, Ethan stepped back and reached out to steady her into the carriage. His hand was broad and warm, callused from swordwork.
At the contact she flinched instinctively.
She remembered, as a child, his hand reaching for hers to lead her. Then she remembered that night — the same hand had struck her without mercy.
Her whole body seized. She climbed into the carriage and quickly withdrew her hand.
The ride was wordless. Claire closed her eyes and pretended to nap; Ethan sat restless, unable to settle. He hadn’t expected to blurt out that he would come with her and felt annoyance at himself.
Maybe it was reports he’d received the night before about all Claire had done for him in Riverton, or maybe it was the dawning recognition that this woman was, in fact, his princess consort.
Madeline had been married for half a year. She must be entwined with her husband every night, perhaps living better than Ethan imagined. He couldn’t keep living in the past.
Still, he glanced at the woman pretending to sleep across from him. Why did she never look vulnerable, even when resting? Madeline was vivid and candid; Claire was like wood, always poised.
Yet it was precisely because she kept that poise that she managed his household so well. Ethan rubbed his forehead, torn. The conflict made him want to flee.
When they arrived at Willow Temple, Ethan jumped down and, notably, did not look back to help Claire from the carriage.
Claire hesitated, but she didn’t make a fuss.
They followed the stone path and were led by the junior monk to a small reception room.
The monk clasped his hands and said, "Please wait," then closed the door and left.
Alone again.
Claire didn’t speak, and Ethan didn’t either.
Maybe the silence was just too much; it made the air feel thick and uncomfortable.
After a moment, Ethan couldn’t hold it in.
"Do you come here to burn incense often?" he asked.
He remembered in the weeks he was overseeing flood relief hearing that Claire visited the temple frequently.
"This place calms the mind," Claire replied.
"…Right. It does," Ethan murmured.
"We seemed to have come here together once before."
Without his usual formal address, Claire looked up and met Ethan’s eyes.
That had been when they were children—so long ago she assumed Ethan might have forgotten.
No. How could he forget? Of course he remembered.
He had met Madeline here.
Ethan drifted into the past, his expression softening as he spoke quietly. "You don’t recall? We—"
He was cut off. One of his attendants hurried in, bent close and whispered a few words in Ethan’s ear.
Ethan stood quickly, tossing out, "I’ll be right back," and left with his man.
Alone in the room, Claire sat back on her heels, knees folded beneath her, and let the memory come.
She saw that childhood day again.
Ethan had brought her to the temple, claiming there was a fat, glossy raccoon near the shrine he wanted to show her.
The boy had struggled to set a net and bait it. While they waited, he climbed a tree for fruit, broke branches for flowers, chased insects—a bundle of restless energy.
Claire had squatted beside him with wide, bright eyes watching everything.
When the trap snapped, the boy clapped his hands and shouted, "It’s caught!" and ran over to check.
But the thing caught in the net wasn’t a raccoon.
It was a little girl, filthy and indignant, glaring back at them.
She was mud-smudged and furious, shouting in as much spirit as any of the boys. "What the hell is this?"
The boy protested. "I made this trap to catch raccoons! Why did you ruin it?"
The girl only laughed. "Catch raccoons? Do I look like a raccoon to you? Let me out. I want to see what this thing’s supposed to catch."
At that first meeting, the boy’s gaze was completely captured by her.
From then on he seemed never to look back at the girl behind him.
In her memory Claire felt like an observer, quietly remembering someone else’s story.
What happened to her that afternoon? Was she scolded by her mother for wandering off? So tired the next day she could barely walk? She couldn’t recall.
The room’s hidden door opened and an older master entered. Claire rose and bowed.
The master returned the courtesy, hands folded. "No need to be so formal."
"It is proper respect and etiquette. Please do not think us rude," Claire replied.
Once he sat, the master studied her face and sighed softly. "…So many years."
Claire froze, waiting for him to continue.
He fell silent, smiled faintly, poured her a cup of tea, and steered the conversation elsewhere.
"You seem burdened, Princess Consort," he said.
"My health has been off lately. Perhaps it’s nothing serious," Claire answered.
"Troubling yourself and holding it tight only harms you in the end," the master said, wrinkled face creasing into a wry smile as he ladled hot water. "Big problems are only small problems piled together."
Claire lowered her eyes.
"I know you have been under pressure, but perhaps it’s time to consider letting yourself go a bit."
He sobered. "…What are you holding on to, Princess Consort?"
The question stopped Claire cold.
What was she holding on to?
Maybe she couldn’t face the truth. Maybe too many things sprang from that single source. With faltering steps she claimed a sudden bout of illness and fled without answering, embarrassed and shaken.
Left alone, the master sipped his tea and muttered as if speaking to the departing figure, "Even the reading I did back then—so much time has passed…but the fate hasn’t changed."
Claire returned to Hayes Manor alone.
Ethan was gone; she waited in the carriage for over an hour before quietly telling the driver to take her home.
She didn’t ask where Ethan had gone.
A few days later, the Empress, claiming a bout of poor health, summoned Claire to the palace to keep her company—likely a subtle probing, Claire thought, and she went without fuss.
In the palace the Empress half-reclined on a fainting couch. Claire had started to bow, but the Empress waved it off. "No need for formalities. Come ease my mind."
Claire hesitated, then sat without asking why the Empress hadn’t called any of the other consorts.
The Empress studied her with an inscrutable look. "You don’t look well."
"I’ve been a little stifled with the heat. Thank you for worrying for me," Claire said.
"I’ve heard your father and I are acquaintances," the Empress continued, dismissing Claire’s hesitation with a wave. "Relax. We’ve had dealings in the past. Speak more casually."
Claire frowned—she’d never heard her father mention any close ties with the Empress, and the connection surprised her.
"Marrying Ethan must have been hard on you," the Empress said suddenly.
"I don’t feel wronged," Claire denied reflexively. "Prince…I mean, His Highness is…good."
"Is he?" the Empress snorted, neither confirming nor denying.
Cicadas murmured outside. Though aged, the woman on the couch still carried traces of her younger self in those eyes.
The Empress reached out, pinched Claire’s hand, then dismissed the attendants. Once the room cleared and the door shut, the Empress looked Claire in the eye and spoke earnestly.
"Ethan is ambitious. He’s not a bad man, just often unclear about what he truly wants. His reputation among the ministers now even edges out the Crown Prince’s, which is why the Emperor named him a prince in such haste…"
Claire stiffened, but the Empress pressed on.
"The palace is full of watchful eyes. I won’t say much, but a little advice. You’re a sensible girl; you’ll know what to do. Just remember one thing."
She leaned close and whispered into Claire’s ear.
Claire left the palace in a daze, watching the carriage window as the gate swung closed behind her.
She missed her mother fiercely in that moment—she missed the careless days at home before so many burdens had to be shouldered.
But things were different now. From the day she had first spoken to her father and agreed to this path, she should have known what lay ahead.
Back at Hayes Manor, Ethan was unexpectedly in her quarters.
Before Claire could greet him he grabbed her arm. He frowned. "No need. I just came to have dinner with you."
She didn’t ask why and had the servants prepare the meal.
Dinner was odd. Ethan clearly wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to. He ate sullenly, awkward and tight-lipped. Claire served him without a flicker.
When the main course was nearly finished and the digestive tea was brought, Ethan finally spoke.
"What did you say to the Empress?"
Claire frowned. "She wasn’t well. I just kept her company."
"Good," Ethan relaxed for a beat, then after a moment added, "At the Spring Gala in a few days, the Jin envoy will attend, yes?"
"Yes."
"Good." Silence fell between them again.
Claire couldn’t hold back any longer. "Do you have something to say, Your Highness?"
Ethan looked like he wrestled with how to begin, then forced the words out. "The Emperor hinted recently he may send troops south to assist General Ji in suppressing the southern barbarians."
"I—need that chance," he continued. "I want the Bennett support to recommend me for this."
Claire stared at him.
He looked awkward—rightly so. He had once scorned her reliance on family power to force the marriage. Now he lowered his head and begged for the Bennetts’ help.
He had to have the opportunity: a way to consolidate power, to draw alliances. With his water-relief success his name was rising; this could be the next step—
"Sorry, Prince, I can’t agree to that reason," Claire cut in.
Ethan was stunned. He hadn’t expected refusal from her. In his mind she owed him; using the Bennetts to further his ambition seemed natural. Now she declined?
He swallowed and snapped, "Can’t? What do you mean by that?"
Claire met him steadily. "Your rising fame makes the Crown Prince and his faction wary. The Crown Prince has yet to make any misstep grave enough to prompt the Emperor to change the heir. If you push forward now, you’ll draw the Crown Prince’s hostility—or worse, the Emperor’s displeasure.
"As the woman who’s married into the Hayes family, people will assume the Bennett forces will support you. The Bennetts are known for their generals—if you gain this chance to go south and ally closely with General Ji, how do you think the Emperor will see it?"
Ethan sat silent for a long time.
"That’s my opinion," Claire said more slowly, "You should temper your prominence for now. Let others take this particular chance. Flood relief is one thing; getting close to a powerful family like the Ji’s is another. There will be other opportunities—don’t pin everything on this one."
Ethan pressed his lips together.
Those were the same words some of his advisors had urged days ago. Yet there were also louder voices pushing him to seize the chance, fanning his pride. Coolly, Claire’s logic cut through the heat of his ambition.
Why had he let his blood boil at the thought of grabbing this opportunity?
Ethan Hayes’s face visibly darkened.
There were men among his aides with crooked intentions.
It wasn’t until Claire Bennett called his name that he snapped back to himself.
He looked at the woman before him—his wife—and felt, aside from relief, a belated, sudden fear.
Why, the instant he heard her refusal, had he almost said those vicious things again in a blind rage?
That cutting tone—no one should have to hear it, not even a gentlewoman like Claire. Even Ethan himself would have been hurt by it.
And yet it also made him realize: Claire was a proper wife.
A very, very proper wife.
The girl he’d once cherished wasn’t his anymore—and never would be.
But the woman in front of him could be his. Always his.
Why not try to accept her?
Thinking that, Ethan’s expression softened for the first time.
“…The Princess Consort is right.”
He said it quietly; approval and satisfaction shone in his eyes.
“Truly a talented woman of Riverton.”
When he teased her at last, Claire only smiled faintly and looked down.
By candlelight, the slender column of her neck seemed especially pale.
Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed; his voice roughened a degree.
“…Claire.”
Claire’s instinct, as a woman, immediately read his intent.
She chose to step away.
“My lord,” she said, slipping back a bit.
“Unfortunately, I’m feeling unwell at the moment…”
Ethan cleared his throat and rose.
“In that case, have the little kitchen bring her some warm porridge tomorrow. I… will take my leave.”
In Riverton, men customarily kept a respectful distance while a woman was in her month.
Claire stood to see him out, watching Ethan, his attendants, and guards disappear into the night.
She didn’t know why she’d refused him.
Maybe that night had been too painful—she’d grown afraid at the thought of doing it again.
She tightened her fingers on her skirt.
Hadn’t she already told her father she would marry Ethan and accept whatever came? Why was she pulling back now?
But once bitten, twice shy.
She didn’t ask for much. She knew Ethan had been infatuated with Madeline Sinclair for years; if fate had allowed, they might’ve ended up together.
All she wanted was mutual respect. That would be enough.
Claire had never been a grabby person; she lived by a simple rule.
Know when to stop.
8. The Spring Gala.
After Ethan left Claire’s chamber that night, the two of them had eased into a more peaceful routine.
He would dine with her now and then, and sometimes stay in the little study. The silence between them was rare—and comfortable.
Whenever Lily Park came by to pay respects, she’d cover her lips and tease them, clearly misunderstanding things.
Claire didn’t bother to explain much.
This was fine—the two of them had the basic respect required. That was enough. Most married couples were like that.
On the day of the Spring Gala, Claire dressed carefully. She fussed over her hairpin and gown, afraid of being laughed at for dressing too plainly, but also afraid of outshining others for no good reason.
When she and Ethan arrived at the palace, things began calmly enough.
Claire sat among the other ladies, poised and proper, her conversation elegant and measured—nothing anyone could fault.
Then a familiar voice called from behind, threading a mixture of small joy at a reunion and something harder to name.
“Claire…!”
She paused and turned slightly.
A woman in a bright gown, her hair swept into an older married style yet still brimming with youthful charm, strode up like a shaft of sunlight.
She brightened at the sight of Claire and reached to link arms.
“It’s been so long…!”
Her arm found only air.
Claire drew back coolly.
“Madame Reed, have some restraint.”
For a beat, Madeline’s smile stiffened.
The other ladies kept smiling on the surface, but their expressions had sharpened into something more mocking.
One quick-tongued woman couldn’t resist.
“This is the Princess Consort—how can she be so casual?”
Madeline’s face flushed, but she kept smiling through it.
“I’ve known Claire since we were children. She knows my temper. All these rules are stifling to me, but she won’t mind.”
She hadn’t changed at all.
Claire lowered her eyes.
Then she heard her own cool voice ring out.
“Times are different now, Madame Reed. Now that you are married, you must observe some decorum. Especially at a public gala—do not call me by my name. Address me as Princess Consort.”
Madeline bit her lip. Something in her eyes dimmed; her grievance was plain.
She answered—words on her lips—but the look she shot Claire was full of accusation and reproach.
If this had been before, Ethan surely would’ve felt pity.
But Ethan wasn’t here.
Madeline bowed and left, her spirits clearly lowered. Maybe she went in search of her husband—Claire thought.
One of the ladies let out a derisive laugh.
“I heard Madame Reed is outspoken, but I didn’t expect such a lack of manners.”
“Indeed—calling the Princess Consort by name like that, and seeming put out about it. Who taught her to be so wronged?”
They laughed again. Claire merely twitched the corner of her mouth and said nothing.
Soon it was time for the banquet to begin. The ladies rose and returned to their husbands. Based on rank, Claire’s seat was high—near the Emperor and Empress.
She noticed Ethan’s inattentive air, his gaze drifting often toward the lower tables.
He hadn’t thought about her until someone unexpected appeared, and now that he’d seen the one he loved again, his attention kept getting stolen.
Claire pursed her lips.
A Jin envoy stepped forward to present gifts to the Emperor. His manners were gracious and the Emperor looked pleased.
Claire studied the envoy.
Tall and well-built, he wore clothes different from Riverton’s—black garments embroidered with gold that tailored him well. His features were sharp, aggressive even, with thin lips that hinted at a smile.
Most striking were his long, pale eyes.
Claire had rarely seen light-colored irises in Riverton and couldn’t help but look again.
She met the envoy’s gaze unawares and he gave a sly little smile. Claire hurriedly looked away, embarrassed.
After the exchange of gifts and courtesies, the envoy was invited to sit and the feast began.
From the moment Ethan sat, he seemed distracted—looking toward the lower tables with increasing frequency. It was annoying.
But her worry wasn’t that he kept glancing; it was that others might notice.
Their seats were too close to the Crown Prince and the Second Prince. Only Ethan and the Second Prince held princely titles; the rest were seated further away.
The envoy sat beside the Crown Prince, opposite Ethan.
The men raised their cups and shared customary words. The Crown Prince’s consort and the Second Prince’s consort listened and only nodded now and then.
When the envoy rose to toast the table, he made his way to Ethan’s side. Ethan stood and drank; Claire lifted her cup to follow.
The envoy cleared his throat, stopping her motion.
“This wine is a Jin specialty,” he said with a smile. “Princess Consort looks young—perhaps you’re not used to this.”
Claire blinked and met his pale eyes.
“Don’t worry about being rude—many Jin women do not drink. The prince will take care of that for his lady.”
The envoy smiled.
Ethan glanced at the cup in Claire’s hand and, seeing nothing wrong, nodded and took it, drinking it down on her behalf.
“A prince with spirit,” the envoy praised.
“Overstated,” Ethan muttered.
After the envoy moved on, they sat again. Claire lowered her voice to ask Ethan.
“That Jin envoy doesn’t look like an ordinary subject.”
Ethan nodded.
“No, he’s not ordinary. Jin sent their Second Prince to show how much they value this alliance.”
Claire nodded. No wonder—he was a prince.
9. The banquet wound down.
Ethan seemed slightly tipsy but not enough to be out of control.
Still, his gaze toward Madeline’s direction grew more obvious. When Madeline left her seat, Ethan rose too, offering a clumsy excuse that he’d step outside to clear his head—and followed after her.
Claire felt the Empress’s concerned look and pressed her lips together.
Ethan followed, and in the gallery he finally saw Madeline.
She sat alone, waiting for her attendants to fetch something to wipe or change the stain of wine on her gown. Ethan stood not far off, looking at her with a complicated expression.
Since the night she married—since he’d seen her in the red wedding dress from a distance—he hadn’t seen her again.
He’d been restraining himself from asking about her, from seeking her out.
But now that he’d seen Madeline, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
The person he fell for in his youth—the one he’d loved for so many years—how could he possibly let go so easily?
He watched quietly, careful not to startle her.
Madeline noticed him and brightened, rising to her feet.
“Ethan…!”
Then, realizing the situation, she forced a bitter smile, lifted her skirt, and bowed.
“Your Highness.”
Ethan waved his hand and hurried over to help her up.
“You needn’t be so formal with me—never did, and you don’t after this.”
“But our ranks are different now—”
“Not necessary.” he murmured.
“If you wish, just call me Ethan.”
He stopped, but he still couldn’t bring himself to say “my beloved” in that old pet name.
He looked at the married-style coiffure on Madeline and felt his chest tighten.
Perhaps it was the wine, but his eyes reddened.
"Ethan’s still the same as he used to be. I thought everything would be different," Madeline said with a bitter smile.
"Different?"
Ethan paused.
"Now that Ethan has married… Claire, and I’ve married Daniel, things must be different from the past."
Madeline’s gaze dropped, a little lonely.
"I’m doing well, and Ethan looks well.
That’s enough. I believe Claire treats you very kindly—she always has been…"
"Enough."
Ethan cut her off.
"There’s no need to say all that. Times change."
Madeline blinked, then forced a smile.
"Yes… Claire said the same."
Ethan watched her.
Madeline said no more. She gently freed her hand from his grasp and performed a proper curtsey.
"The Princess Consort is well-mannered and virtuous; she and Lord Ethan are a perfect match.
I ask for nothing more than Lord Ethan’s wishes to come true, and that he and… the Princess Consort find long-lasting happiness."
She looked up. Ethan caught the faint sheen of moisture at the corner of her eye.
Something stirred in him; he almost reached for her.
But Madeline turned and hurried away, her steps betraying a desire to flee.
At the same time, Claire stepped out of the banquet hall into the garden for air.
The evening was cooler; the night breeze eased the stuffiness from inside.
She didn’t know where Ethan had gone—probably chasing after Madeline, she thought with a touch of scorn.
Hopefully no one saw them pulling at each other like that.
A soft sound came from her side.
"Is the Princess Consort here alone because the banquet was too loud?"
Claire looked up to meet a pair of light-colored eyes.
She froze for a moment, then straightened and bowed.
"Your envoy-ship."
He returned her bow.
"Princess Consort."
Claire shifted a little, subtly putting some distance between them.
"Just needed some fresh air. Why is your envoy here?"
"Same as the Princess Consort—out for a walk. I thought I’d study the moon and, perhaps, compose a poem or two."
Claire glanced at the sky. A faint crescent moon hung dimly.
"Tonight’s moon might disappoint you."
She looked back at him and saw the man also glance up casually, as if only just remembering the sky.
"The moon won’t do much tonight—no inspiration."
"Then?"
"If it won’t work tonight, I’ll wait until dawn and write about the full moon."
Claire couldn’t help a small, incredulous smile.
"Indeed, many scholars wait days for a perfect full moon to compose their best work. It’s free of that stubborn poet’s temper to not be bound by waiting."
The envoy offered a slight smile but no comment.
Claire felt uneasy being alone with a foreign man—especially a envoy—and feared gossip. A woman’s reputation in these times was fragile; if slander started, it could ruin her.
She moved to take her leave.
But the man spoke again—this time not teasing.
"It seems fate brings us together, Princess Consort. You needn’t call me ‘your envoy’—that sounds distant.
The Crown Princess and the Princess Consort are acquainted with my name. I will introduce myself so that how you choose to address me later depends on how you weigh our acquaintance."
Claire reflexively wanted to refuse—what audacity for a foreign envoy to insist on familiarity? Even if he said others knew his name, she didn’t want unnecessary complications.
But she hesitated. His light eyes were oddly compelling, fixed on her without blinking.
He bowed, keeping the most proper distance.
"I am Prince Julian of Jin, meeting the Princess Consort."
Claire didn’t linger in the garden.
Maybe his smiling gaze made her blush, or maybe she was simply uncomfortable being alone with any other man, let alone a foreign envoy. She hurried back into the banquet hall.
But in the corridor she stopped dead.
Two figures pressed close together in the passage were unmistakably familiar—so familiar it stabbed.
Ethan held Madeline tightly; she seemed to be sobbing quietly, face flushed, eyes closed.
They embraced as though the corridor belonged only to them.
A few palace maids stood nearby with bowed heads, visibly uncomfortable.
Claire narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on her skirt.
She moved toward them before she could calm herself.
"Lord Ethan appears to have drunk too much. Seeing an old friend has upset his judgment. It’s late—time to return to the manor."
Her voice startled them both. Ethan shoved Madeline away and turned to meet the coolness in Claire’s eyes.
He felt oddly exposed, as if caught, and for a moment sheepish.
He cleared his throat and began to explain.
"Claire—"
"Madeline."
Claire didn’t listen to him. She faced the tear-streaked Madeline.
"Drink less. Don’t do foolish things in public."
Madeline looked wronged, furrowing her brow, wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and hurried off without proper farewell or etiquette.
Claire watched her go, then turned to the nearby maids.
"The lord was drunk and confused. If any of you gossip about this, mind your tongues."
They bowed and retreated.
Claire never looked back at Ethan.
He stood there watching his wife—who suddenly seemed unfamiliar. He knew he’d done wrong, but his mind immediately leapt to excuses and then blame.
"What are you doing now? It was just old friends catching up; you’re acting like we did something shameful."
Claire turned to him, expression calm.
Her attire was immaculate, hair perfectly pinned, standing flawless beneath the banquet’s candlelight that haloed her in faint gold.
Ethan should have felt guilt. Instead, he resented her composure—the way she followed rules, the infuriating perfection of her.
"Even pretending should be convincing. Tonight’s banquet is full of tongues; you should watch yourself."
Claire replied evenly.
Ethan stared, an unnamed anger flaring.
He should apologize—he should beg her pardon for his behavior. Instead, seeing her so unruffled, so unaffected, he lashed out cruelly.
"Am I supposed to be taught how to behave by you? You obtained your title through your family—don’t delude yourself that I owe you reverence."
He sneered, satisfied when he saw the almost imperceptible crack form in her flawless mask.
For reasons he couldn’t explain, seeing her unravel gave him a thrill of control.
"—Your Highness."
Claire’s voice was soft; her eyes clouded for a moment.
"We completed all the formal rites and announcements—we are lawfully married, known throughout Riverton."
Ethan remained expressionless.
Claire’s complexion blanched; her fingers twitched slightly.
"Your Highness should honor and love me, as I have treated you."
Those words seemed to drain everything from her. She had nothing left to wait for his reply. She turned and walked away, wavering a bit.
Behind her, she heard Ethan’s cold laugh.
It dragged her back to that night he lifted her veil—there was the same tone, the same cruelty.
She wasn’t sure how she returned to her seat, but when she did she sat there in a daze.
The Empress had left early claiming illness; the Emperor, drunk and flushed, was preparing to depart. Ethan never came back.
After the Spring Gala, Claire and Ethan’s relationship plunged again.
The fragile harmony they’d had proved an illusion; once the thin ice cracked, a bitter current followed.
The southern mission was assigned to the young sixth prince.
Court affairs kept Ethan so busy he was late returning more and more, sometimes not coming back at all.
In the vast manor, only Lily and Anna could keep Claire company.
Lily had likely learned bits from Anna. Clever as she was, she grasped the state of their marriage, but could only sigh—words were useless.
Then something finally demanded Claire’s attention.
One day out in town, her carriage nearly collided with ruffians at the roadside. The startled horses almost bolted, the driver nearly thrown.
Amid the chaos, a clear whistle cut through and someone calmed the horses.
After a brief exchange, Anna lifted the window curtain and Claire saw the smiling man again, lips curved, eyes amused.
"Princess Consort, what a coincidence," Prince Julian said.
"Prince Julian," Claire inclined her head.
"Thank you for your help. I can’t repay you—someday I’ll offer a proper gift."
He smiled, then casually added, "No need for lavishness; it was nothing. If the Princess Consort wishes to thank me… I haven’t had lunch yet."
Before Claire could decide whether he meant to dine at the manor, he continued.
"I hear the dishes at Lanyu Pavilion around the corner are excellent."
"Of course, it just so happens I didn’t bring much silver with me this time…"
Claire Bennett sighed helplessly.
A flimsy excuse, but she had no choice but to pinch her nose and step into the trap.
A little while later, in a private upstairs parlor at the Lan Yu Pavilion.
Prince Julian didn’t bother with pretenses — after ordering a few dishes, he turned that pleasant smile back to Claire again.
Those unusually light-colored eyes left her staring.
"We haven’t met since the Spring Gala. How have you been, Princess Consort?" he asked.
Claire almost wanted to reply that by rights their positions shouldn’t have her seeing him often, but out of courtesy she swallowed it.
"Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. My health is fine."
Julian nodded and said nothing more, though he kept looking at her.
How could an outsider stare so boldly at another man’s wife like that? Claire wondered whether that was just how people in Riverton behaved.
"Why do you keep staring at me?" Julian asked suddenly, drawing Claire’s gaze back to his eyes.
Realizing how blatant her earlier scrutiny had been, she felt embarrassed. She cleared her throat and dropped her eyes.
"I’ve simply never seen eyes quite like yours before; I found them…intriguing. I meant no disrespect. If I’ve offended you, Your Highness—"
Julian chuckled softly.
"Not at all. I’ve heard others say the same. They are an odd color, to be sure, and it draws attention. No wonder people look twice."
Claire frowned.
"It isn’t just the color that draws attention," she said. "It’s because they’re handsome. People notice for that reason alone. Please don’t misunderstand, Your Highness."
He Lost the Wife He Ruined
She had meant only to clarify, thinking Julian had assumed she was subtly calling his eyes strange. Instead the comment made him pause, then burst into laughter until the slender curves of his eyes bent.
"Is that so? I actually think the Princess Consort's eyes are prettier."
Claire flushed at the compliment and looked down.
"You're too kind, Your Highness."
The atmosphere suddenly felt awkward.
Just as Claire began to feel uncomfortable, the dishes arrived, which mercifully shifted the conversation. She just wanted to take a few bites and leave. But Julian spoke again slowly, thwarting her exit.
"Though I said you needn't repay me with ceremony, if you don't mind, there is one thing I'd like."
Claire glanced at the spread, then swallowed the retort about who had invited whom and forced a smile.
"…Please say it, Your Highness."
"I've heard Riverton's few celebrated talents compose poems and paint beautifully. If you could find a painting of a steed in full gallop for me, that would be perfect. You've lived here in the capital—do you know where such a work could be found?"
Claire frowned.
"The few celebrated talents…do you mean me?"
Some of the capital's noblewomen had called her talented before, but that was empty flattery. What merit did she have?
She almost began to protest. But looking into Julian's smiling eyes, she couldn't bring herself to refuse. That night she left in a daze, not understanding why she'd agreed.
She hadn't painted in a long time; her earlier works remained at the Bennett home. Deciding to retrieve them, she set off.
This was, she thought, probably the first time she had visited her family since marrying Ethan Hayes.
In Riverton there was no custom of returning to your parents' home after marriage, so brides seldom went back — to avoid people assuming they'd been wronged.
Before leaving she notified Ethan in his study as a courtesy. As expected, he gave no reply.
Lately she didn't know what he was sulking about. He refused to explain or speak with her. Maybe he was still upset over the incident involving Madeline Sinclair the other day. Claire didn't press it.
She'd warned her family she'd be returning. When she stepped into the familiar house, she felt a pang so sharp she nearly cried.
Her father looked wearier, a lot more gray at his temples. Her mother hadn't changed much.
They were naturally thrilled to see Claire, fussing over her and studying her face.
"You've lost weight," her mother said, worry evident.
Her father merely nodded.
"It's to be expected. Being Princess Consort isn't as easy as you thought. But your health is alright."
Claire covered her mouth and smiled.
"Where's my brother?"
"He's at the barracks."
Her mother's concern was plain. "Your brother is well, but you mustn't ruin your health. Does the Prince treat you well?"
Claire lowered her gaze. "He treats me well…we are respectful to each other."
Her mother looked even more worried. "Girl, if only—"
"Don't bring up the past. Now that you're Princess Consort, do your best," her father interrupted.
Claire listened quietly and answered softly. Her eyes drifted past the windowsill to the courtyard stone where she had knelt begging their father to petition the Emperor for her marriage. At that time Ethan was only beginning to show promise as a prince — a real threat to the Crown Prince's faction. The Crown Prince, paranoid about Ethan's rise, wanted to strike early. Fate had placed the place the Crown Prince planned to act within Claire's brother's awareness, and so Claire had begged for the marriage to be arranged to protect Ethan.
"You realize what this means?" her father scolded, furious at her perceived immaturity. "If you throw away your future for him—"
"I'm not asking Father to pick sides," Claire said. "I only want to do my small part to help Prince Ethan."
She had accepted that marrying Ethan wouldn't necessarily bind the Bennetts to his faction, but even a hint of association might caution others against moving against him.
Her father had railed at her for a long time; she had knelt as long. Eventually he sighed.
"I don't want you to live your life full of regret."
"You saved me as a child," she had replied then. "From the moment I was rescued, I felt I owed you. I will not regret it. Please, Father."
Her father, a once-vigorous man who'd seen many campaigns, now looked old. "All for such a small debt?"
"Please."
What she hadn't said was how long she'd nursed a secret crush on Ethan since they were young — a feeling she'd pressed deep down. That tenderness had grown over years into an unrequited, stubborn love. She knew Ethan loved Madeline, that he'd told her the one he intended to marry was Madeline. In the end, Claire couldn't tell if she loved Ethan to the bone or was just unwilling to never have tried.
She took a breath. Her mother watched worriedly. Claire smiled.
"I'm truly doing well. The Prince treats me properly. Do not worry."
Her father studied her squarely. Claire met his eyes calmly. "I'm only back to retrieve some old paintings."
She tried but couldn't produce a worthy steed painting. She set down her brush, lifted it again, then set it down yet again. Ink bled across the rice paper; night fell and inspiration wouldn't come.
Rubbing her temples, Claire told Anna to keep dinner light — she wasn't hungry. Then an unexpected guest arrived.
Ethan Hayes pushed the door in against the night air, face drawn and pale. He hadn't spoken with Claire properly in days, swallowed by matters that overwhelmed him.
She knew what he'd been busy with. Even if she didn't directly involve herself in power struggles, rumors still circulated in the capital. The Emperor's health had declined. The Crown Prince's faction was stirring; even the usually uninterested Prince Julian had begun to move.
Ethan had been swamped. Still, Claire had never seen him look so stern.
She set down her teacup. "Your Highness, so late—what's the matter?"
Ethan's expression was tangled. After a long pause he sat, rubbing his brow.
The Emperor's condition had worsened since the Spring Gala. The imperial physicians had prescribed many medicines, but the Emperor's vigor was not returning. If things continued, a transition of the throne could be near. But the Crown Prince's seat appeared secure; breaking through felt nearly impossible, especially with Ethan's usually nonambitious second brother also watching hungrily.
Ethan's only route to the throne now seemed to be forcing the issue.
But he knew his forces were insufficient.
He stared at Claire without blinking.
If the Bennett family would back him, and with a powerful ally…he remembered the man with the light eyes from the other day and the offer he smiled and made. Ethan weighed his options; the rehearsed excuse caught in his throat. Looking at Claire, he couldn't force the words out. His Adam's apple moved; he swallowed his shame and hesitation.
This was something she owed him, he told himself. When she insisted on marrying him, she hadn't considered his feelings either.
With that flimsy comfort, he hurriedly blurted, "I need you…to go with the Riverton envoy to Southshire."
Claire's eyes widened slightly.
Before she could ask, Ethan quickly looked away, embarrassed. "It's the only way that will help me now, Claire…If you go to Southshire, they'll aid me when the time comes to seize the throne."
"Claire, you must help me."
When he finished, she sat very still. The room felt overwhelmingly quiet.
After a long moment she finally spoke, voice steady.
"But I am Your Highness's wife."
One sentence from her nearly shattered every psychological defense Ethan Hayes had fought to build tonight.
He couldn't bring himself to meet Claire Bennett's eyes.
Even Ethan could see what he'd become—everything he despised: weak, useless, someone willing to trade his own wife for power.
But Prince Julian of Jinhaven had given him no room to bargain.
The prince had said it clearly: if Ethan "gifted" the Princess Consort to him, Jinhaven's forces would help him seize the throne, and the Bennett House, with such a hostage, would become his ally.
Ethan had asked why Claire.
The prince had seemed to think about it for a long time, then merely smiled and told him that every deal required a deposit. It was protocol.
Ethan had no choice. With the Crown Prince and the Rival Prince watching him like wolves, he had no time.
In that moment he almost hated himself.
Why was he so helpless, even ready to sell his wife to achieve his goals?
He kept insisting to himself that Claire owed him—that she should consider him—but a small, stubborn shard of conscience still perforated his chest and made it ache.
He dared not look at Claire; he had neither the right nor the courage to meet her gaze.
He was afraid he'd see just how base and shameless he'd become; afraid she'd look at him with nothing but disappointment.
But after a long, awful silence, Claire said quietly,
"I understand."
He jerked his head up—and crashed into her clear, steady eyes.
But there was no storm there. No disappointment, no panic, no disgust.
She simply looked at him—calm, calm as a winter pond.
"Claire."
Ethan murmured, "You won't stay long in Jinhaven. Once everything's settled, I'll bring you back immediately."
"What I'm doing, I will never forget. Claire, after you do this for me, when you return, I will treat you well. I will never fail you again."
Claire lowered her gaze.
Ethan watched his nominal wife and felt a bitterness rise in his throat.
He reached out to pull her close.
"But, Your Grace—"
The woman before him spoke simply.
"I am Your Grace's lawful wife. We were married with the proper rites."
"You, as my lord, ought to treat me well. You owe me a lifetime of that."
Ethan's hand stopped midair.
That night, he'd fled from her room in disgrace.
That same night, under cover of darkness, a small carriage had slipped out of Hayes Manor's back gate—silent and swift.
14.
Before she left, Claire had little time to pack.
She'd told Anna only that she needed to go somewhere, maybe for a while, maybe briefly. Not to worry and to live as normal—act as if nothing had changed.
Anna worried; Claire shut her mouth and said no more.
A few hours after Ethan had burst out the door, someone tapped at her window.
That night, sitting in a modest, inconspicuous carriage, Claire slipped quietly out of Riverton.
She didn't know how she had left without making a sound. She smelled something strange in the carriage and then drifted into a drowsy sleep.
When she woke again, the capital was far behind. She'd joined a returning convoy and was seated in a large sedan heading to Jinhaven.
Across from her sat Daniel Reed, head bent over a book.
He looked up the instant she opened her eyes, smiling gently as he leaned forward to pour her some water.
"Awake? You feel all right?"
Claire said nothing. She sat up, rubbed at a dizzy temple, and glanced at the man opposite.
She didn't know what fate awaited her, or what circumstance Ethan had put her into.
Maybe she'd become a prisoner, maybe things would be awful—she couldn't say. So she watched Daniel in silence and didn't touch the cup.
He gave a rueful smile.
"The water isn't poisoned. I won't do anything to you."
"That's far from certain. To me, the Jinhaven prince is just a thief who stole another man's wife."
Maybe Claire had truly given up. Her words came without the usual decorum; she only wanted to vent.
Daniel set the cup down.
"Shouldn't the Princess Consort be grateful to me? I heard your marriage with Ethan wasn't so happy."
"Ridiculous. Everyone in Riverton knows Ethan and I are formally respectful of each other. What talk of discord?"
Daniel arched a brow. "If that's true, then why did Ethan hand you over?"
Claire laughed coldly. "That would be a question for Prince Julian—what tricks he used."
"I used no tricks," Daniel said, closing his book and setting it aside. He looked at her. "He came to me asking for help. I proposed a trade; he agreed to my terms."
"So I'm merely a pawn you and he passed between you?" Claire could not contain the anger any longer. "Despicable. Shameless. Unworthy of the name 'gentleman.'"
Daniel smiled faintly and lowered his eyes, not replying.
Claire didn't want to talk more. She turned away and stared out the window.
The scenery blurred by; the carriage was traveling fast. How long until they reached Jinhaven?
After a while, Daniel said softly, "…seems you've forgotten."
Claire looked back, meeting his gaze.
There was something complicated and almost imperceptible in his expression. But Daniel just pursed his lips at her, then looked out the window as well.
"Roughly half a day more and we'll be in Jinhaven. I've arranged everything. You simply need to settle in comfortably. I won't mistreat you. I will not cross any lines. You'll be safe—don't worry."
Claire frowned slightly.
She studied his profile, then asked the question she couldn't keep in.
"Why me?"
Daniel seemed unsurprised by her confusion, but he didn't answer directly.
"We'll be there soon—Jinhaven," he said. His face was composed. "You needn't worry."
15.
Putting aside the fact that Daniel had stolen another man's wife, he hadn't lied about everything else.
In Jinhaven, Claire stayed where Daniel had arranged: a somewhat secluded house, quiet and lightly populated. The maids and servants moved quickly and efficiently. They never spoke unnecessarily, yet they kept everything in perfect order.
Claire didn't have to manage anything. She was idle in the way of a noblewoman—more idle, even. She didn't have to go out or meet anyone.
Daniel came by every night. He ate with her, kept her company, asked how she was, and whether anything made her uncomfortable or if she wanted anything.
Even though Claire insisted she wanted nothing, Daniel brought small things each day to entertain her—novel embroidery, unusual treats—little distractions.
As he'd promised, he never overstepped. Time passed, and Claire grew perplexed.
She'd braced for the worst, but life here felt almost leisurely. Except for being unable to leave the property, her days were pleasant.
She asked Daniel if anyone in Riverton would wonder at her disappearance and what they'd do.
He told her not to worry—he'd already handled it.
She wanted to ask more questions, but he seemed to have resolved everything ahead of time, which left her unnerved.
That didn't mean she forgave him. He was still a cad who'd abducted another man's wife.
About two weeks into her stay in Jinhaven, one night grew chillier. Claire sat alone under a peach tree in the courtyard, wrapped in a fox fur cloak edged with gold, quietly brewing wine at a stone table.
For some reason Daniel knew she liked peach blossoms and had planted a peach tree in the yard.
Claire looked up at the bare branches, lost in thought.
Her fondness for peach blossoms had once come from Ethan. Now she found she didn't much care for them. They brought her back to the memory of that wedding night—too sharp to bear.
She must have been staring too intently; she only realized Daniel had sat across from her when he cleared his throat.
Embarrassed by her lapse, she kept her dignity and nodded to him.
"Your Highness."
"You know I told you not to be so formal."
"I won't abandon etiquette," she said.
Daniel chuckled but didn't insist. He followed her gaze upward.
"It's not the season for blossoms yet. Such a pity."
"No loss. Trees have their seasons. You can't force them."
Claire refilled a cup and poured a small taste for him.
"Try it."
Although she despised his method, she didn't have to wall herself off from him entirely. After all, one hand can't clap alone—Ethan was the one who'd passed her to another.
Daniel narrowed his pale eyes and tasted the wine.
"Good."
A mischievous impulse hit Claire.
"Aren't you afraid I'll poison you?"
"If given the chance, would you?" he asked.
Claire covered her mouth with a smile and shook her head. Even if she killed him, what would it solve? She didn't want to carry a life on her conscience.
"I make this wine every season. Anna praises my skill," she said, pouring herself another half cup. "I wonder how Anna is."
"If you miss her, I can bring her to keep you company," Daniel offered.
Claire declined. She didn't want Anna dragged into this; the fewer who knew, the better.
Daniel didn't push. He stared into the thin reflection on the wine's surface and seemed lost in thought.
For a time they sat in silence, both nursing their own private cares.
Then Daniel spoke as if casually.
"The Prince is very important to you, isn't he?"
These days he no longer called her 'Princess Consort' so formally; Claire didn't mind.
She thought a moment.
"Yes," she said. "He's important to me."
If it was her imagination, Daniel's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second after she said it.
"But—" she added.
"The more I look back, the more confused I become. I can't tell whether my past obsession was bone-deep love or the stubborn unwillingness to accept being denied."
"The prince was kind to me when I was a child. He saved me and, when I was at my lowest, he was the one who affirmed me.
To me back then, that was the only thing I wanted to hold on to.
Maybe I forced myself onto him. But now I can say with a clear conscience that I don't owe him anything."
Declan Ward watched her quietly.
Then he spoke.
"My situation isn't so different from yours."
"My mother was a foreign dancer given to the king. She became pregnant by accident.
Since I was born, I've had the same pale eyes as hers. I never fit in with the other princes and was even looked down on.
Those eyes were a constant reminder of my origins — a brand of shame and the start of every mistreatment."
"When I was young, I was sent as a hostage to another kingdom. It was only a year, but it made me painfully aware of how expendable I was in my father's eyes.
Although I was the second prince, because of my mother's background I was treated like a pawn who could be discarded at any time."
"But when I was at my most desperate, someone saved me."
"She never saw my face properly, never looked directly into my eyes, but she never asked why I flinched or why I spent my days sullen and full of self-pity.
She told me that even if she hadn't seen my eyes with her own, they should be beautiful. She said unique things are beautiful — which is why people covet them."
"She did me a favor when I was destitute. She affirmed me when I was shattered.
And now, I too want to return that favor."
Declan finished and stared at Claire Bennett again.
Without waiting for her reply, he rose and left.
Claire watched his retreating figure, a sourness tightening in her chest.
Not sorrow for his story, nor pity for what he'd endured.
Just an inexplicable flutter of anxiety.
As if she'd forgotten something important.
16. In the blink of an eye, Claire had been in Riverton for over two months.
Perhaps life had been too comfortable — her days were easy, and she found herself thinking less and less about Southshire.
During that time, Declan came to see her often. They talked easily, and their relationship thawed.
Then came the season's first snow in Riverton.
She loved snowy days.
The little cold flakes that landed on her nose and cheeks felt like gentle kisses from heaven.
She finished an early meal, wrapped herself in a silver-fox cloak, and stood in the courtyard.
Dusk came early; only a small lantern rested on the stone table.
Behind her, a hearth glowed through the paper window, casting warm amber light and long shadows over her.
Claire closed her eyes, tipped her face up slightly, and let the fine snow settle on her forehead and shoulders.
The air she drew in was sharp and stung her lungs a little, but it was delightful.
Peace. She felt utterly at peace.
After a while, Claire opened her eyes.
She sensed a burning gaze on her and turned.
Declan stood at the courtyard entrance in a black robe with gold embroidery, motionless. She couldn't tell how long he'd been watching.
The man's face was half-shrouded in shadow; his tall frame lent him an unmistakable presence.
He looked at Claire as the lamp gilded her in warm light, silent and still.
Claire returned his stare.
After a long moment, she softened and smiled at him.
"Come over. Aren't you cold out there?"
Declan's eyes widened slightly.
His throat tightened as he stared at the woman in the light.
He stepped forward, reached out, and brushed the thin snow from her hair and shoulder.
Claire didn't stop him. She nodded and felt the tips of her ears go pink from the cold.
For a beat, everything was silent except their breaths.
Perhaps realizing the impropriety, Declan stepped back half a pace and coughed into his shoulder.
"…Are you cold?
I'll go fetch a handwarmer."
Claire shook her head. "I like it a little colder."
"I see."
He did not seem surprised.
They fell into silence again.
Then Declan spoke first.
"Emperor Victor of Southshire… has passed away."
Claire jerked her head up and looked straight at him.
He seemed to measure how to tell her.
"The crown prince was supposed to ascend, but Prince Alden brought troops into the capital. It's clearly a rebellion."
Claire listened quietly, then asked in a low voice, "What about the prince?"
Declan's tone turned vague.
"…He plans to let the crown prince and Prince Alden fight one another first, then strike when both sides are weakened."
Claire nodded and said no more.
Declan couldn't help staring at her, then finally asked softly, "Aren't you… worried about him?"
"I already told you. I have a clear conscience. I don't owe him anything."
Claire's voice was calm.
"When he agreed to hand me over, I let him go."
Hearing that, turmoil flickered across Declan's eyes.
He bit his lip, turned his head away, avoiding her gaze.
"When this is over, I'll send you back to Southshire.
Bringing you to Riverton was my selfish act. I'll end this… don't worry about your reputation. I swear I won't let your name be sullied even a little."
He spoke hurriedly and then tried to leave.
At the gate, he stopped, turned his back to her, and breathed deeply several times with his eyes closed.
"Thank you… for all this time."
He said it and left without waiting for Claire to reply.
Snow fell thickly and soon blanketed the courtyard in white.
Claire stood there watching his retreat for a long time, unmoving.
That night she dreamed.
In the dream she returned to childhood — to the day she snuck out to play.
She walked filled with excitement; everything seemed new, everything fun.
On her way toward the market, she paused at the gate of a secluded courtyard.
She heard faint sobbing inside.
She knocked.
"Is anyone there?" Her voice was thin and far away.
The crying stopped instantly.
After a long moment a child's timid voice called from within.
"Who are you?" It sounded misty and vanished quickly.
"I'm the Bennett family's eldest daughter. Who are you?" she heard herself say.
"I'm… I'm…" the child behind the door stammered.
But the child couldn't finish.
She asked again with patience.
"Why are you crying?"
"My father doesn't want me. They all hate me. They say I'm different because… because I…" the child's voice faltered until it was barely a whisper.
"Because the color of my eyes isn't the same as others'…"
"Are you a red-eyed monster?" "No… not red…" "What color is it?" "It's… a pale gray…" She pictured it and exclaimed with surprise.
"That must be beautiful." No sound came from behind the door.
She continued to speak for the unseen child.
"Those eyes should be beautiful. Why would they hate you?
Most people don't have such unique eyes. Rare things are precious — maybe they think you're valuable."
Still no answer.
"Even though you're behind the door and I can't see you, I feel like you must be very pretty." She patted the door gently.
"If you stop crying, next time I'll make you a painting.
My teacher says my horses are very pretty; you'll like it." "I'm leaving now, don't cry." She walked away from the secluded yard toward the bustling market.
Someone in the courtyard seemed to open the door, but she didn't look back.
The dream ended in the market with Ethan Hayes — the man who would save her — striding in with the same bravado.
The child who cried alone was swallowed by the dream's fog and buried deep in memory, left in a dusty corner.
At dawn, Claire woke slowly.
Tear tracks stained her face and she hadn't noticed.
She'd been someone else's salvation without even realizing it. It had been such a small thing to her that she couldn't remember it until that moment.
She sat up and stared at the bed.
She felt she needed to see Declan.
17. But she didn't see him for a whole week.
Only when the dispatches reached Riverton did she learn the turmoil over the throne had ended.
Ethan Hayes had indeed become emperor.
But when the news arrived, Claire's only concern was Declan's whereabouts.
She looked everywhere for him but did not find him. Instead, the last person she wanted to see showed up.
He walked into the courtyard in silver-white armor, snow crunching under his boots.
He looked triumphant, the joy of victory written over his features.
Ethan Hayes beamed at Claire sitting in the courtyard; his emotion was real.
He had won. He had taken everything he wanted.
With secret help from the Riverton crown prince and support from the Bennett family, he had struck when the crown prince and Prince Alden were weakest and won decisively.
And he owed much of that success to Claire's sacrifice.
If Ethan wasn't moved, it would be a lie. Inflated by joy, excitement flooded him.
Looking at Claire, he mistook gratitude for love.
In the time she had been gone, he'd come to appreciate all the good she'd done.
The manor ran smoothly, even without the lady at its head; the people of the capital remembered her kindness, spoke highly of the Hayes estate, and that public goodwill had helped his ascendancy.
During the chaos, Daniel Reed — aligned with Prince Alden — died in the turmoil, leaving Madeline "Maddie" Sinclair a widow.
Ethan admitted he sincerely admired Madeline, but he was also concerned for Claire.
It was a strange feeling: he felt as if he loved two people at once.
Maddie was his moonlight, his red mark on the heart, the one he'd loved for a decade; Claire was his wife, the one who had sacrificed most for him, the woman most suited to be empress.
He'd already planned it all: Claire Bennett would be his empress, and Madeline "Maddie" Sinclair would be the noble consort.
He had everything now—he only needed to welcome his empress.
Ethan Hayes looked pleased and strode toward Claire.
"Claire, I'm here to take you home."
But when he was still a few paces away, he stopped.
He saw the coldness and distance in Claire's eyes.
That obvious rejection stunned him for a moment, but Ethan told himself it couldn't be—maybe she still resented him for sending her away, but she wouldn't hold a grudge forever.
With that thought, Ethan reached out.
"Claire…?"
Before his hand could touch her sleeve, she rose coolly and stepped back several paces, avoiding him.
"Respect yourself."
That was all she said.
Ethan frowned.
"What do you mean by that? Claire, if you still blame me, if you're angry with me, I understand. But let's go back—I'm here to take you home. I told you I'd make it up to you."
"Your Highness… I think His Majesty has made a mistake."
Claire's voice was calm.
"The moment the emperor sent me away, that place stopped being my home."
Ethan froze.
"Don't be ridiculous. I was wrong before; now I'm making it right. I've won—come back with me and you'll be the most honored woman in Southshire—"
"We have nothing to do with each other anymore."
Claire cut him off. "I won't go back with you, and I don't want any of your compensation."
"What do you mean, nothing to do with each other? You're my wife."
"On the night I left, I put a divorce note in my jewelry box."
She didn't look at Ethan; she kept her distance between them.
"I and you are finished. Please leave, Your Highness."
Ethan blinked, then his face darkened and his voice hardened with anger.
"Stop this nonsense. Come back with me."
He looked at Claire standing just a few steps away and didn't want this stalemate. He strode forward to grab her wrist.
He hadn't taken many steps before a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Declan Ward.
Declan pinned Ethan's shoulder, pulled him behind himself, and stepped between them.
"What were you about to do?" Declan's tone was flat, unreadable, but his eyes were frighteningly cold.
Claire looked at the man standing before her. He wore black armor that contrasted sharply with Ethan's silver-white attire.
For some reason, she felt profoundly safe.
Ethan glared at Declan, who was a little taller than him, and sneered.
"This wasn't how things were arranged."
"She said she didn't want to," Declan replied evenly.
"That's none of your business!"
Ethan finally snapped.
"Claire, come here!"
Claire stayed rooted behind Declan.
After a tense moment, Ethan exploded in rage and accusation.
"Claire Bennett, what are you doing? I always suspected you two were up to something dirty. Now you're protecting him? Just because you care for him a little bit, you're going to do this? Don't you have any shame—"
His words were cut off by a heavy punch to his cheekbone from Declan.
Declan hit hard. Ethan's face swelled instantly; his lip split. He staggered back several steps, nearly falling onto the ground.
"Apologize."
Declan's voice was terrifyingly cold.
Ethan went slack for a second, then fury flared again.
"How dare you—"
"You're in Riverton now." Declan fixed Ethan with a look that carried a kind of ferocity Ethan had never seen.
"The new emperor's about to ascend. If anything happens before that, who can say what will happen. So watch your words."
Ethan glared at Declan, then turned his gaze to Claire standing behind him.
She stood perfectly straight, looking down at him with an implacable coolness he couldn't read.
He felt a jolt in his chest. After struggling to his feet, he pleaded in a low voice.
"I misspoke earlier—Claire, come back with me. I said I would make it up to you. I said I'd treat you well. Don't speak in anger, come with me…"
Claire only regarded him with disdain.
"I already gave you the divorce note. We have nothing to do with each other. Don't say it again. I will not go with you."
"I never agreed to the divorce!"
Ethan's voice rose in agitation. "If I didn't agree, it doesn't count!"
"Then consider Claire Bennett dead," she said indifferently, and turned to go back inside.
"Claire, you said you loved me!" Ethan shouted at her retreating back.
Claire paused. She turned slowly and looked at him.
"I don't anymore."
Her tone was so calm, as if stating something trivial. The cold in her face left Ethan unable to respond.
Love's opposite—the thing more terrifying and hopeless than hatred—is being strangers, complete indifference.
Plainly, Ethan could find no trace of himself in her eyes anymore. That terrified him.
He watched her go into the house and shut the door. The door closed firmly.
Ethan Hayes left in the end.
Southshire had many matters that required his attention; he shouldn't have come here in the first place.
After he left, the place felt quieter.
Declan Ward came to see Claire, paused at the courtyard gate, hesitating about whether to go in.
Then he saw Claire standing in the yard looking at him. Her expression showed none of the sadness or loneliness he expected—only calm, even a hint of relief.
He hesitated a moment, then stepped into the yard.
"You're here." Claire said as if nothing had happened. "Want some tea? I brewed some this morning."
Declan blinked, then slowly nodded and took a seat at the stone table.
He watched Claire pour hot tea, words forming on his tongue but he didn't know if he should ask.
Claire handed him the cup.
"How are my parents doing?" she asked.
Declan was taken aback for a moment.
"They're fine. My people are watching them quietly. If anything happens, I'll let you know immediately."
"Good."
Claire lowered her gaze.
Declan stole a glance at her, then finally spoke.
"Are you really not going back, or are you just saying that in anger?"
"Do you want me to go back?" she asked.
"Of course not," Declan answered instinctively. "I only wish for your happiness and well-being."
He realized how blunt that sounded; his ears flushed and he awkwardly looked away.
"That's not what I meant—" he started.
"What do you mean?" Claire grinned, playful.
She propped her chin on her hand and watched the man who was unusually at a loss, teasingly assuming a bratty tone to needle him.
"If someone overheard you, they'd think His Highness is lovesick over me."
Declan pressed his lips together, neither denying nor admitting it. Instead he looked up and met Claire's eyes.
Caught in that steady gaze, Claire hesitated.
After a moment, she dropped her eyes.
"…I'm sorry."
"Why apologize?"
"I shouldn't have forgotten."
She inhaled deeply. "I shouldn't have forgotten. I should have remembered much earlier."
Declan watched quietly, a faint smile betraying his feelings.
"It wasn't something important. At first it was only my one-sided hope that got you into this situation."
He spoke softly, his gaze lingering on Claire, reluctant to look away.
"I don't ask for anything, nor will I force you. Even if I didn't want you to leave, if you change your mind and want to go back, I'll let you."
A subtle plea threaded his words—vulnerable, but not pleading.
Claire nodded and looked at the bare tree in the yard.
After a long while she said softly, "Cut down that tree."
"I'm tired of looking at a tree that doesn't bloom."
At the same time, in Southshire—
Since the new emperor ascended, Ethan Hayes had been swamped with endless crises and decisions. But even at such a critical time, he sat sullen in a separate palace wing, his face clouded.
The room was a mess: shattered teacup shards and torn paintings and books littered the floor.
Before him stood a woman with red-rimmed eyes. Though dressed in fine clothes, her face was streaked with tears. Hurt and grievance filled her expression as she stared at him stubbornly.
"Ethan Hayes, how could you treat me like this?" Maddie nearly screamed.
"Treat you how? What have I done?" Ethan shot back, weary of her tantrums.
"I told you it's not the time. I can't grant you the consort title yet, but I didn't say I don't want you. The empress hasn't been decided—giving the noble consort now is perfectly reasonable."
"What about me?" Maddie cried. Big tears rolled down her cheeks. "What am I now? I was already a widow, and you keep me in the palace without status. Do you know how people will talk? What they'll say about me?"
Ethan frowned. "I said the timing is wrong. I will give you a title later. Who would dare gossip?"
"And her? That woman—what about her?" Maddie shouted.
Ethan frowned again. "Who?"
"Lily Park, that woman. Why do you keep her in the palace too?"
"She's just a concubine in Hayes Manor," Ethan said.
Maddie laughed, bitter and mocking. "Concubine… does no one notice how much she looks like me? Ethan, your intentions are too obvious—everyone sees through you."
Maddie didn't want this fate. She thought being brought into the palace meant she'd be made noble consort. But days had passed and she still had no status. She lived in a rear palace wing—not even the best one.
Ethan came by occasionally but never mentioned making her consort. Ever since that trip he took, he'd changed, and it made Maddie anxious.
With Daniel Reed dead, she had no family power to rely on. If Ethan abandoned her, Maddie couldn't bear to think about her future, nor could she risk displeasing him.
Faced with the palace women whispering and casting scornful looks, Maddie often bit her lip until it bled, holding everything in.
Until this morning, when a palace maid told her that Lady Li—who’d been brought into a different annex—had also been granted the title of Imperial Noble Consort.
Granted by the Emperor himself.
She didn’t know how the rumor had spread, but that was the final straw that broke Maddie’s back.
All the resentment she’d been holding in for days poured out at once, and she erupted in a tantrum.
Maddie had always been unbound by ceremony; she didn’t care whether her behavior was proper. She broke a few things, smashed several fine tea sets, and only then did Ethan come to see her.
Tears streamed down her face.
No matter how she cried and poured out her hurt, she couldn’t get Ethan to give her a single affirming word.
He kept telling her to wait, that the time wasn’t right.
That made Maddie feel all the more wronged.
“Ethan…”
She choked on the syllable and wiped her cheeks with her sleeve.
“You… you really resent me, don’t you?”
Ethan watched the woman he had once adored so fiercely—now crumpled and fragile in front of him.
In the past he would have gone to her without hesitating, holding her tightly out of pity.
Now, though, he kept thinking of that forever-elegant, forever-composed figure.
If it had been Claire, she wouldn’t have made such a scene.
Ethan felt worn out by the thought.
Claire would have helped him handle matters, relieved him of worrying about harem affairs.
Claire was always sensible.
By contrast, the blot Maddie represented now looked like an unreasonable mosquito bite.
Maddie didn’t understand it—why the brother she loved so obsessively could treat her like this.
Even if their marriages had been arranged, Ethan had married Claire first.
She wasn’t the first to betray feelings; Ethan had always been the one who couldn’t forget. So why was he acting like this toward her?
Claire had been sick for months, staying in her room and seeing no one. Lately, no one even knew where she was.
Maddie clenched her fists and lowered her eyes.
She had taken Ethan for herself, and she expected to become empress. She had already backed down so many steps—was Ethan’s heart no longer with her?
She had a plan. If Claire was made Empress, so be it—Ethan loved her, she was sure of that.
Maddie didn’t want to play the role of mother of the nation; she only wanted the imperial favor.
But now… everything was uncertain.
She didn’t know why.
What she didn’t know was that the more she made a scene, the more Ethan would instinctively compare her to Claire.
And Ethan didn’t realize that in the past, when he had Claire in his life, he longed for the unattainable Maddie; now that he had Maddie, his thoughts were consumed by Claire—the one who would not return to him.
People always yearn more for what they can’t have. Humans are ridiculous that way.
19. Today there was no snow; what had accumulated a few days ago had melted considerably.
Declan had already ordered the peach tree uprooted and replaced with a plum sapling.
Claire changed into a new plain fox-tail cloak and carefully tended the little tree, which came up to about her waist, a faint smile at her lips.
Footsteps sounded behind her. She turned and a hand warmer was slipped into her hands.
Declan bowed his head and watched her.
“The weather’s still cold. Be careful not to catch a chill.”
Claire tucked the hand warmer in and glanced up at the man who stood taller than she did, teasing, “You’re thoughtful.”
He seemed unusually embarrassed, stealing a shy look at her expression.
“Feel a bit of pressure?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It’s nice.”
Claire squeezed the warm hand warmer and smiled, then repeated softly, “It’s nice to be cared for.”
Declan only smiled. His narrow eyes curved as he stared at Claire without blinking.
“By the way, I have something I need your help with.”
“Tell me.”
Claire reached into her sleeve and handed him a letter.
“I want to ask you to deliver this to my parents. They must be very worried about me.”
Declan nodded and tucked the letter away. He started to step off, but the corner of his cloak was gently pinched.
The small grip brought him to an immediate halt.
He stood frozen until the woman behind him teased, part annoyed, part amused, “You’re more impatient than I am.”
Declan moved his fingertips and slowly turned to look down at her.
Her skin was pale, a touch of rouge on her lips; her slender fingers still held the cloak’s edge.
Her cheeks were like spring flowers and her eyes never blinked as she looked at him—full of affection and playful warmth.
She was impossibly beautiful.
“You rush off like a foolish boy,” she said with a laugh.
In the next instant, Declan bent and pulled her into an embrace.
He didn’t know what came over him—when he turned and met her eyes, the surge of love that had been building in him boiled over, and he couldn’t restrain his impulse.
He wanted to hold her, to take her hand, to do every little thing that would make her genuinely smile.
He berated himself for the impulse but didn’t regret it.
He cradled Claire, careful not to hurt her, yet desperate to hold on tight.
It felt both like a moment and an eternity.
He spoke, his voice hoarse by her ear. “…Sorry… did I startle you?”
“No.” Claire answered softly.
A long time passed and he still hadn’t let go. His chin rested on her shoulder as he continued.
“Claire, I…”
“Declan.”
She cut him off, suddenly serious, her voice threaded with her usual steady gentleness.
“You deserve someone better.”
Declan flinched, then slowly raised his head, loosening his grip bit by bit. He lowered his gaze, his light-colored eyes fixed on her.
She met his look and spoke slowly.
“You’re the second prince of Riverton. You should go find a better woman, someone worthy of you.”
“I don’t want someone ‘better.’”
Declan’s teeth trembled with the strain of his suppressed feelings. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for ten years. I don’t want ‘better.’ I want the best. I want you.”
Claire reached up to straighten his collar, but he grabbed her wrist.
She looked up to find the corners of his eyes reddened; his stare was fierce and aching, like someone abandoned.
He pulled her close again, his arms trembling.
“Don’t push me away, please.” He murmured.
“Declan… I’m not untouched anymore.”
Claire sighed slowly, the words tasting bitter.
“I’m married. I’m not worthy of you. You’re so good—maybe too good. I don’t want you to make decisions you’ll regret. Go find a better girl.”
Declan was silent for a long moment. His forehead pressed to her shoulder, his hands gripping her arms.
Finally he said, muffled, “Claire, I won’t lie to you—I can’t pretend it doesn’t sting. I admit, every time I think about it, I’m jealous to the point of madness. It’s unbearable—worse than any physical pain. But it’s not because of you. I’m jealous because someone else made your heart flutter once, and that man wasn’t me. That hurts more than anything.”
“I used to have no power, no standing. Now that’s changed. I have the means to protect you. I thought I could be content just watching you from afar. But you were unhappy. You married him, yet you weren’t joyful. My selfishness and greed made me unable to bear it; I used methods to bind you here. I only meant to give you a few happy moments and let go—but I was too greedy. Now I can’t let go.”
Claire froze, feeling the hands on her arms tremble. There was a faint wetness on his shoulder.
“Don’t denigrate yourself. Don’t speak of yourself as worthless. I’ve been striving to be worthy of you—so don’t give up on me so easily. Give me… give yourself a chance.”
“In the ten years since I met you, you’ve been part of every plan I’ve made for the future.”
After a long while, Claire lifted a hand and cupped the back of the man’s head bowed on her shoulder. She gently brought his face to hers so they could meet eyes.
Declan’s eyes were rimmed red, and a sheen of moisture clung to his light irises. Perhaps ashamed, he tried to look away, but Claire pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his eye.
He widened his eyes in surprise and stilled.
“Growing up, aside from my mother, no one has ever shed tears for me like that,” she said gently, forcing a smile even as tears slid down her cheek. “Don’t fail me, Declan.”
She fell into his warm embrace. A kiss landed on her crown and his voice trembled with joy above her head. He spoke each word as if engraving it into bone.
“I will never fail you in this life.”
Claire closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his waist.
It felt like it had been a very long time since she’d been this happy.
20. Ethan stood outside the Dowager Empress’s chamber, hesitating to enter.
When the Dowager summoned him, Ethan had thought a long time before coming.
He guessed she meant to talk about his delay in naming an empress, but he didn’t know how to explain it.
How could he say he’d handed the empress title to someone else and, in exchange for power, couldn’t bring her back? He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
But dragging his feet any longer wouldn't do. Ethan Hayes grit his teeth and stepped inside.
The Dowager Empress half-reclined on a divan. She'd been meticulously preserved—the years had left no mark, and she still carried an air of lingering charm.
She watched Ethan approach and kneel in front of her.
"Have you come to see me?" she asked.
Ethan kept his head bowed. The Dowager regarded him for a moment, then motioned for him to sit before her.
"I have something to tell you," she said.
Once Ethan sat, she continued.
"The ministers out there are growing restless about the Emperor's delay in naming an Empress. Rumors spread quickly.
"What's more, this is the Bennetts' eldest daughter. If His Majesty refuses to appoint a consort, he'll invite sharp criticism from the court."
Ethan said nothing, head bowed.
"I know the Emperor does not like that girl," the Dowager said, studying him.
"But the Bennett family has given the Emperor great service. The Emperor must not become someone who repays ingratitude with ingratitude."
Ethan stayed silent for a long moment before answering awkwardly.
"It's not that I don't want to name an Empress… it's that I can't—"
The Dowager frowned, then suddenly her expression cleared.
"I see," she murmured. "The child has made her choice. Very well. That may be for the best."
Ethan looked at her, puzzled.
She sipped her tea, then said, "The Emperor remembers—once, when I was unwell, I sent for a Miss Bennett to come and keep me company."
Ethan nodded.
"That day I spoke with her about many things," the Dowager continued, gazing out the window with calm eyes. "Most importantly, I told her I would not let her make the same mistake I did."
"A mistake…?" Ethan asked, confused.
"I told her, years ago I foolishly married the late emperor out of one-sided devotion and left the man who truly cared for me. I became Empress, mother of the realm, but I was locked inside these vermilion palace walls and had to share an emperor's love with others."
Her tone was flat, like she was recounting someone else's tale.
"I had many things—status, power—but I was not happy. Not happy at all."
"I told her not to waste her life down the same wrong road."
Ethan froze, staring at the Dowager in disbelief.
"That's not true… Claire marrying me wasn't a mistake. I promised to treat her well!"
"Only treat her well?" the Dowager countered.
Ethan couldn't answer.
"Clearly she's made her choice. So, Your Majesty, do not go on looking like some lovesick man. It's unbecoming. Let her go."
A moment later Ethan rose without a word and stormed out.
When he reached the imperial study he hurled ink stones and brushes to the floor. The senior eunuch nearby had servants clean it up at once.
"Get out! All of you—get out!" he roared.
The study emptied immediately, leaving Ethan alone. His face was dark; his fingers curled so tightly his knuckles cracked.
He slammed his fist into the desk until his skin split and bled.
Why—why call it a mistake?
Claire had been the one who wanted to marry him. She had insisted. How could she be the one to leave now?
He refused to accept it.
Only Claire Bennett could be Empress.
He kicked the heavy doors open and barked, "Prepare the carriage. I'm going to the Bennetts!"
By the time Ethan reached the Bennett residence, the family was already on their knees.
He strode in with the house following behind. At a flick of his brow, the guards cleared the room of servants, leaving only Ethan and Claire's parents.
The elderly couple exchanged helpless looks. They had already heard word from Prince Declan and understood the situation. They had supported Ethan during the succession, but they resented that he planned to give their daughter away.
The Bennett patriarch spoke first. "Your Majesty—what is the purpose of your visit?"
Ethan's face was brooding. "About your daughter."
Both parents looked across at each other.
"Claire isn't here in the residence—"
Ethan slammed the table. "I know she's not here. I want you to write to her. By any means necessary—bring her back!"
His voice was fierce. He leapt to his feet, rage everywhere.
"She schemed and forced her way into marrying me—how dare she just leave?"
Claire's mother pinched the hem of her robe, brows tight. Despite fear in the Emperor's presence, a mother's instinct to defend her child overrode everything.
Before her husband could stop her, she spoke. "Your Majesty, that is not true… Claire did not force it."
Ethan started. The patriarch lunged to quiet his wife, but it was too late.
"When she heard the former Crown Prince planned to harm Your Majesty, Claire insisted she marry to give your house a reason to fight on your behalf," the mother burst out. "She knelt in the courtyard for hours, begging her father—only to protect you. How is that scheming? She meant only to do right for His Majesty."
She trembled as she finished, spent with fear yet unwilling to let her daughter's reputation be smeared—even by the Emperor. She bowed her head, prepared to accept any punishment to defend Claire's motives.
Ethan stood like a statue, dumbstruck. What did she say? Claire had married him out of gratitude for something he had done for her?
"…Why would she do that for me?" he asked, voice raw.
"Your Majesty once saved her when she was a child," her husband said. "Claire has loved the Emperor for years—she wanted to repay kindness, and to answer her own heart."
Saved her? Ethan strained to recall. A vague memory surfaced from when he first met Claire—a small, seemingly insignificant rescue. To him it had meant little. But she had held onto it for years.
Memories swarmed him: the cold jibes on their wedding night, the first night in the bridal chamber, the fights over Madeline Sinclair, sending her away for power—each memory cut through him like ice.
"No, you're lying… it's not like that. She… she wouldn't…" He couldn't force the words out.
The brutal truth was plain. He had been wrong in so many ways. Those irreparable acts drove Claire away from him. He could never get her back.
—————-
Claire Bennett asked Declan Ward what he planned to do next. He answered plainly: he intended to marry her.
He said it so matter-of-factly that Claire had no reply. It obviously would not be that simple, but Declan carried himself like a man who could solve every obstacle.
Claire moved out of the small courtyard and into Declan's household. Only then did she begin to understand the state of Riverton's new royal family. The Crown Prince was weak and incapable; the Emperor had already decided to pass the throne to Declan, the second prince. It was practically settled—only a matter of time.
She couldn't imagine what Declan had endured over the past decade to go from an unloved prince to the only viable heir.
Lost in thought, she was brushing her hair before the mirror when someone gently took the comb and began to smooth her hair for her.
"Why don't you have a maid do it?" she said.
The mirror showed Declan's reflection; his tone was gentle. "I prefer to do it myself. It’s enjoyable."
He smiled lightly as he ran his fingers through her dark hair. "You're beautiful."
"Riverton men are especially blunt," Claire teased, and couldn't help laughing.
"That makes you blush."
"It's our custom here," he said, feigning casualness. Their closeness felt natural.
When he finished, Declan produced a folded letter from his coat and handed it to her. "This is the reply from your family to the note you sent."
Claire hurriedly opened it. It was her mother's handwriting. The letter said they were in good health and not to worry; the new Emperor was busy handling state affairs; that the Emperor's delay in naming a consort had stirred private criticism; and that rumors about a widow kept in the harem had damaged his reputation.
Her mother also mentioned Ethan had visited the home; after hearing her, he had stood there stunned and left without outburst or scandal. "Do not worry about us," her mother wrote. "We are fine. Stay healthy and safe."
Claire folded the letter and slipped it into a box. She felt puzzled. Why wouldn't Ethan name Madeline as Empress? Wasn't that the sensible choice? Claire thought with Ethan’s obsessive way about Madeline, he would be glad for her to leave. Now she couldn't make sense of it.
Lost in thought, she only snapped back when Declan's fingertip brushed her cheek. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Your brows are so furrowed. Do you need me to help with anything?"
She shook her head. "I was just thinking why Ethan won't make Madeline Empress."
Declan's displeasure was obvious. He muttered, "Because he's fickle and refuses to admit it. I don't think he loves that woman as you think."
Claire smiled. "I'm not upset for him—just making an idle remark, don't sulk."
"Would sulking put pressure on me?" he countered.
She thought a moment, then shook her head. "Then sulk honestly. I don't like that man either, and I don't like seeing you preoccupied by him."
Declan adopted a mock-honorable tone, then a roguish one. "Think about me more, Claire."
She sighed. "I do. I think about you all the time."
"What exactly do you think about?"
"How you survived these years." She brushed his stray hair back. "You must have been exhausted."
This time Declan didn't reply. He lowered his eyes, silent.
Just as Claire feared she had said the wrong thing, he spoke softly, "Yes. Exhausted. There were many times I thought I might die somewhere along the way."
The words tightened Claire's chest.
"But I knew it would all be worth it, so I held on."
Declan smiled at her. "Turns out I was right."
"Rascal."
Claire scolded him, and he only smiled and took it.
Meanwhile, in Southshire.
Maddie was worried.
Ever since Ethan Hayes went to the Bennetts' house, he'd shut himself in the imperial study. He ate, slept, and lived there—only leaving to attend court. He'd had only one visitor in all that time: Mrs. Li.
According to a young palace maid Maddie had discreetly questioned, the two had talked for a long time in the study. Ethan grew agitated and smashed something. After that, Mrs. Li left.
Maddie felt increasingly uneasy.
She hated the feeling of something she once held tightly slipping away. She needed to act.
So she asked for an audience with the Emperor.
Ethan didn't want to see her at first, but Maddie stood outside the study as if she'd freeze there all day in the cold if he refused.
He had no choice and let her in.
The moment Maddie stepped into the study, she dismissed all the attendants.
Ethan stared at her with an icy look.
"Brother Hayes, I haven't seen you in a while. I heard you've been staying here. I was worried about your health, so I brought you something."
Maddie set a small box of snacks on the table, opening it to reveal several delicate little pastries.
"I made these myself. Try one."
Ethan didn't answer. He just watched her.
Maddie panicked inwardly but forced a bright smile on her face.
"Brother Hayes, don't be like this… your health matters—"
"Do you remember the first time we met?"
Ethan cut her off suddenly.
Maddie stared at his handsome face in confusion and nodded on instinct.
"Outside Willow Temple… I accidentally broke your hunting net."
"That was the first time I saw you. I fell for you at first sight."
Ethan spoke calmly, as if reciting someone else's past.
"Soon after that day, as I told Claire, I decided I would marry you."
"Brother Hayes, even now—"
"I haven't finished."
Ethan gave her a look and stopped her mid-sentence.
"My first impression of you was that lively, spirited charm."
"In the ten years that followed, I stubbornly convinced myself that you returned my feelings. I thought we'd have a perfect ending."
"But when I look back, you never once told me you felt the same."
"You were always so elusive, giving me mixed answers and shimmering hope, making me a fool who misread every little sign. I took it as the coy tricks of a young lady. I welcomed it, and I fell deeper."
"Everyone thought I was devoted to you alone. I even believed it myself."
"Your unpredictability made me fall for you… but you forgot I'm not a patient man."
"You thought I was so deeply entangled that I'd do anything for you. You used my affection like leverage, and I hate that the most."
Maddie's face drained of color. Her mouth opened but no words came.
She had indeed liked Ethan once, but she also had to admit she reveled in the ambiguous attention and the gray area between them.
She never directly reciprocated him. Instead, when convenient, she offered tantalizing little gestures that made him believe she loved him too.
Maddie used that method to make many men fall for her and never forget her.
Being pursued and adored intoxicated her. Even though she felt guilty and didn't tell anyone, she couldn't stop herself.
So on her wedding day she had been afraid Ethan—whose affection ran deep—might come to make a scene.
He didn't, and that made her oddly displeased.
Was his devotion only this much?
Her resentment peaked at the Spring Gala.
She disliked Claire's lofty manner and hated being embarrassed in public.
So when she realized Ethan had been watching her, she deliberately lured him out to the corridor.
It was both revenge and a chance to hold on to him.
Not being with Ethan didn't mean she didn't enjoy being chased.
Sure enough, he followed—just like she wanted.
When Claire discovered them, Maddie only needed to push Ethan away with tears; it wasn't her fault. Ethan's passion was on him; what had she done wrong?
Even though Daniel treated her well and their marriage was steady, Maddie couldn't shake her little habit.
She couldn't explain the feeling, but she longed to be the center in others' eyes—pursued, adored, and enjoying ambiguous flirtation.
She'd always been a good actress. People thought their love at first sight was irresistible. Now Ethan had seemed to puncture that private secret she'd guarded, bluntly exposing it.
Maddie's face went deathly pale.
She forced a strained smile, tears welling.
"Brother Hayes, you must have misunderstood… I never treated you like a fool. You matter to me…"
But Ethan looked at her coldly.
Now that he had clarity, everything felt wrong.
If Maddie truly loved him, why had she never openly accepted his pursuit in ten years?
He'd always inexplicably assumed she loved him back—Claire believed it too. But in hindsight, Maddie had never given him that promise.
Ethan couldn't define the feeling, only that it felt humiliating—as if he'd been toyed with.
He didn't want to watch her weep. He waved to the eunuch at the door to take her away.
The woman left the room with tears in her eyes.
"Seven days from now, I am going to Riverton."
The chief eunuch looked surprised.
"The Emperor personally?"
"Yes."
Ethan clenched his fist.
"I will go myself."
The new Emperor of Southshire going to Riverton in person was sensational.
When Declan learned of it, the first thing he thought about wasn't strategy but Claire's safety.
He hesitated, then told her.
"Mm."
Surprisingly, Claire's reaction was simply a calm "mm"—acknowledgment.
As he considered how to bring it up, Claire asked, "You'll be busy then. Do you need me to help with anything?"
Declan blinked and shook his head.
"I can manage the house."
"What a gracious lady you are."
He couldn't help teasing, the laugh lighting his eyes.
"I might be busy for a few days… don't miss me too much."
"I'll try not to."
Claire shot back playfully.
Declan laughed, then dropped his head to hide the feeling in his eyes.
A few days later, Southshire's carriage arrived.
The Crown Prince and Declan, the second prince, went to greet them and escorted them to the palace.
After they were settled in one hall, the Crown Prince left, leaving only Declan and Ethan inside.
The two men sat in silence.
After a moment, Ethan dismissed the remaining guards.
"You can't keep her by your side forever."
He spoke suddenly, venom and sarcasm clear.
"Do you think she stays here willingly? She's just my substitute. You don't really believe Claire fell for you, do you?"
Declan's face darkened; if Claire had seen him then, she'd be shocked that this man was the same one who always had a smile at the corner of his mouth.
Declan narrowed his eyes; a predator's sharpness flashed in his pale irises.
"Claire chose me," he said evenly.
"It was her decision. You can't force her to do anything… If you don't want her to spend the rest of her life hating you, I suggest Your Majesty give up."
"You're now carrying the sin of imprisoning Southshire's Empress, Prince of Riverton."
"You've always been a master of burning bridges when convenient. Need I remind you it was you who first sent her to me?"
The two men stared each other down, the air thickening.
Only when the chief eunuch announced the arrival of the Riverton king did the standoff ease.
The talks went smoothly and amicably. Ethan expressed eagerness to maintain friendly relations with Riverton; both sides conversed pleasantly.
Before he left, Ethan gave Declan a look full of meaning.
It sent a chill through Declan's chest.
He had a very bad feeling. After leaving the palace, he hurried straight back to his residence.
But when he reached Claire's courtyard, what met his eyes was chaos.
For a moment Declan felt like his blood had frozen.
At the same time—
After Claire had been drugged with a perfumed handkerchief and taken, she woke in a carriage.
She didn't panic. She simply looked at Ethan sitting across from her.
The scene felt familiar.
Claire thought: just like that carriage with Declan.
Ethan brightened when he saw her awake.
"Claire… don't worry, we're on the way home."
Claire looked at him steadily.
Suddenly she ripped the hairpin from her head and lunged to stab him in the face.
Ethan panicked, grabbed her wrist, and squeezed. The hairpin fell with a crisp sound and snapped.
"Claire, you—"
He stared at her in shock, hardly believing it.
Claire was calm.
"I told you, don't come after me. I won't go with you. We are done."
"I told you I won't grant a divorce!"
Ethan roared.
"It was my fault back then."
Claire said it suddenly.
The words stunned Ethan into silence.
He watched her, his voice caught in his throat.
Claire went on.
"It was my fault. I knew you loved Maddie, but I stubbornly believed that if I could give you the power you wanted, you'd accept me in the end and we'd have a good outcome."
"But, Ethan."
She looked him straight in the eyes.
"Clinging to something doesn't mean it will answer you back."
I'm tired. I've done everything I wanted to do. I've tried.
I don't owe you anything. As far as I'm concerned, I have a clear conscience.
Let me go. Don't make me hate you."
That last sentence made Ethan Hayes shiver all over as if he couldn't hold it in.
"…But you were always meant to be mine."
For the first time his eyes went red. His voice was hoarse as he said it.
"I married you first. I was the one who taught you how to love. You were always supposed to spend your life with me. You were supposed to love me!"
He screamed until his throat hurt, gripping Claire Bennett's hand so hard it was as if he feared that the moment he let go the woman before him would vanish for good.
How did it come to this?
Ethan didn't understand it himself—maybe he didn't want to.
Claire kept her gaze down and did not speak for a long while.
After that long silence she finally spoke, softly, like a sigh and like release.
"Too late."
She said each word as if she were carving a bloody wound across Ethan's chest, exposing him to humiliation under the open sky.
"You're right… we grew up together, playmates from childhood. By all rights we should have called each other brother and sister, married other people, and lived out our lives happily apart.
Ethan Hayes, I've fallen in love with someone else. The rest of my life can't be about you.
I'll live well. You should too."
His fingers slowly loosened.
Ethan panted, dizzy. He looked like a drowning man—pale, gasping.
The day was warm, but he felt an ice that cut to the bone.
Those words—"live well"—were the same ones he'd told Claire on their wedding night with his own lips.
Live well?
Without her, how could he possibly shoulder all of this and live well?
At that moment the carriage jerked to a sudden stop.
Ethan's lips went blue. He trembled and couldn't speak.
Claire sat across from him, calm and still, her expression unreadable.
"Claire…" Ethan's voice came out low and pleading.
At that instant the carriage door was yanked open.
Light spilled in from outside, and the tall figure at the doorway cast a shadow that framed him in a halo.
Declan Ward had one hand on the doorframe and the other grabbing Claire Bennett in a fierce, single motion.
She was pulled from the carriage, stumbling out of the shadow and falling into a sunlit, slightly sweaty embrace.
So warm.
She blinked and wrapped her arms around him without thinking.
"I'm late. I'm sorry," Declan said overhead, his voice trembling.
"It's me who's late," Claire murmured, burying her face against him.
"You're here. That's what matters. If it's you, being a little late is fine."
Ethan stayed inside the carriage and did not come after them. He watched the two of them clinging to each other in the open, a silhouette swallowed by light.
His voice was husky now, the edge of despair and pleading barely contained.
"…Claire, are you really set on going with him? I know you have a kind heart. Don't I deserve another chance?"
Claire lifted her head and looked at him.
Declan's body stiffened at once.
Don't say yes.
He thought frantically, tightening his arms around her.
Please don't say yes.
Feeling the pressure of the embrace, Claire smiled, a small, serene curve.
"My mind is made up," she said, light and certain. "I cannot betray him in this life."
At that moment—maybe it was the tender kiss of early spring sunlight against her cheek, or the gallop that had brought him racing to the carriage—Declan's ears flushed from pink to neck in an instant.
23. Two years later, Riverton's new emperor ascended the throne.
People praised the new emperor's past achievements and care for the people. Although the emperor and his wife had been married only a year, their devotion was famed; they had no concubines, no secondary consorts.
Empress Margaret was upright and elegant.
Rumor had it she came from a prominent house, that she and the emperor fell in love at first sight and had been blissful ever since.
Inside the palace.
Claire Bennett sat grooming her long hair as usual. In a moment, a pair of hands reached for the brush and began tidying her hair with practiced ease.
"You just love my hair that much?" Claire asked, smiling at her reflection.
"How could I not? It's beautiful," Declan replied, bending to kiss the side of her neck. His hands were gentle.
Claire's lashes fluttered and she looked down.
They had been married a year.
Declan had not lied—he’d made arrangements so that everything was taken care of. He staged magnificently so Claire could marry with honor.
He had even managed to bring Anna into Riverton to continue serving as her maid. The poor girl wept the moment she saw Claire again.
Everything had been handled well, perfectly.
Only… they had never consummated their marriage.
It wasn't because of some hidden secret; every time Claire thought about it she was reminded of that shadowed night that had left a mark. She was hesitant.
She knew it wasn't fair to Declan. But intimacy can't be forced.
Declan didn't press her. He said only that she'd do as she pleased.
Claire clenched her fist.
Tonight—tonight she should take the step.
It was late. Declan, as always, stayed over at her rooms.
There were no other consorts left in the inner palace besides her.
Claire poured Declan tea and teased, "Maybe you should take a few consorts. Then you wouldn't always have to come running to me."
"No need. Besides, you like that I come to you," he said with a grin, puncturing her little lie.
Claire's cheeks warmed. She set down the teapot in mock grievance. "Rascal. Who said I like it? It's tiring to serve you. Somebody else could share the burden."
"Pouring tea and rubbing your shoulders is tiring?" Declan feigned indignation. "Our empress is so delicate."
"If not delicate, then how should I serve?" she countered. If Declan didn't get the hint now, he might find himself sleeping on the steps from then on.
He paused, startled, then asked softly, hopeful and careful, "I don't want to force you into anything you don't like."
Claire nodded, flushed.
A lantern went out.
They tumbled into bed, and Declan kissed her again and again. He kissed her brow, her cheeks, finally her lips—almost with a kind of reverence.
Their breaths grew ragged and tangled, heat mingling between them.
In the haze of desire Declan murmured, "Claire… have I ever told you how beautiful you are? How much I love you?"
"You have. Many times," she said, laughing quietly in her voice.
He kissed her again, genuine affection and happiness and a shy, excited streak sounding in his words.
"Then I'll keep saying it. Every day, for the rest of my life."
Behind the curtains of the bedchamber, their breaths wove together, the mattress rocked. Claire drifted in and out of sleep with a small, surprised thought before she fell fully under: perhaps this could be… comfortable.
The next day the palace buzzed with whispers that the emperor was especially bright and cheerful. No one could say why.
Meanwhile, in Southshire.
After Ethan Hayes returned from Riverton two years before, he soon installed a general's daughter as a new consort.
People couldn't understand why the emperor had abandoned his original wife for another. Rumors that he had grown tired of his first wife spread, and his reputation plunged.
Madeline "Maddie" Sinclair and Lily Park were both given consort positions, but Ethan visited Lily more often and paid less attention to Maddie.
Maddie couldn't stand such cold treatment. She tried every trick to win Ethan back, but to no avail.
More concubines were brought into the palace over time. What card did she have left? Nothing but daily, futile waiting.
Ethan went to see Lily again today.
The woman before him resembled Maddie in looks but moved and spoke with Claire's gentle ways. For two years he'd kept thinking of Claire, trying to see her in Lily.
But Lily was not Claire.
He asked Lily about Claire; she only shook her head with a smile.
"She hardly talks about the emperor. She quietly does her duty… I don't know what she thinks."
Ethan walked in a daze, lost.
What did she think?
Two years had left the memories clinging to him like ghosts, waking him up at night.
Those faint childhood recollections returned in dreams. The more he remembered, the more it hurt.
What had he done?
Now Ethan could only try to be kind to the Bennetts, hoping that time and goodwill might earn forgiveness.
He paused outside Maddie's bedchamber but didn't go in.
His real destination was Willow Temple.
The master there would soon set off on travels. Ethan wanted to see him one more time before he left.
The monk looked old, stooped with age.
"Your Majesty." The master folded his hands in greeting.
Ethan nodded, distracted. He and Claire had come here together before.
"Your Majesty seems troubled. Is it because of the Bennetts' daughter?" the master asked.
Ethan snapped back to attention, bewildered.
The monk bowed his head. "Do not be surprised. She often came to the temple for fortune-telling and would bring Your Majesty's birth details. So this humble monk has guessed a few things."
"She came here often? To have her fortune read?"
"The Bennett daughter was born with a difficult chart; her life was destined for hardships. I, with my limited skill, could not remove every obstacle. I only advised her to be cautious, to avoid mistakes, so she might barely get by."
"I later learned that connecting someone's chart to another's can change their fate. But by then the young lady had already married Your Majesty, and she kept coming."
Ethan felt his breath quicken. "What did your readings say?"
The master glanced at Ethan and bowed. "I told her many times: if the fate doesn't change, it means the other is not a good match. But she did not listen. Fortunately, recently I calculated again and found the young lady's fortune has clearly improved—it's moving in a better direction. It seems she encountered a good man who altered her fate."
The master left, and Ethan stood motionless for a long time.
Those words—"not a good match"—kept ringing in his ears.
How could that be?
How could he not be the best destiny for Claire Bennett?
He couldn't accept that Claire was living well now, but reality kept battering him with that one painful truth.
In the vast, empty temple, Ethan Hayes found himself without realizing it standing at the corner wall where he and Claire had first met Madeline.
There was no raccoon servant there anymore, and there wasn't a clumsy little girl trailing behind him with bright curious eyes.
This was where he started down the wrong path. This was where he began to lose Claire.
Too late—Claire had been right. It was too late now.
It was a clear, windless day.
Some people fell in love; some people lost the loves of their lives.
Some would spend the rest of their days happily married; some were destined to be alone.
Everyone had their own life to live.
People kept moving forward.
—The End.
Extra 1: He’d always been considered a shameful, lowly thing.
Declan Ward learned a lesson very young: everyone carried malice.
He'd seen his mother bullied, both openly and in whispers, by the other concubines. He'd seen her silently shed tears at night.
"If only you hadn't inherited eyes like hers," his mother had said through tears, her sharp nails nearly digging into his arm.
"If only you looked more like the Emperor."
But Declan didn't dare cry out.
The boy simply sat quietly and wanted, more than anything, to reach out and hug her.
The woman turned away.
Even then, Declan understood: he wasn't loved. He wasn't needed. He was only a nominal second prince.
At eleven, Declan was sent to Southshire as a hostage.
They tore him from his mother's side and shoved him into a sedan chair.
He heard her voice outside the chair.
"Does the Emperor truly mean that? He wants to see me again?" The chair lifted, and his mother's muffled voice faded until it was gone.
That was the last time he had been with her.
Life in Southshire was hard. As an unloved prince, he was often tormented by the other princes and had to endure it in silence.
One day, the crown prince and the third prince—boys his age—lured him to a remote courtyard for a joke. After pushing him inside, they barred the door with a wooden stick, leaving him pounding and screaming at the door in terror. Tears blurred his vision as he begged to be let out.
They just laughed and left.
The courtyard was dilapidated, barely touched by sunlight, full of mildew and rot.
Declan was still a child. Fear and despair swallowed him. For the first time he entertained a terrible thought.
"If I were dead…"
He felt utterly hopeless, curled against the door with his knees to his chest, and finally let himself cry the way he'd been forbidden to—to sob without restraint.
His mother had told him never to shed tears; that would make people see him as weak and pathetic. She'd told him not to show that expression with those eyes.
But Declan felt he no longer had the courage to keep living this way. He wanted one honest, thorough cry.
Then a knock came from the other side of the boarded door.
"Is someone there?"
He heard the voice ask.
That tiny kindness stayed with Declan for a decade.
He treasured that memory because the girl's gentle words made him feel that despite being denied and scorned, despite being harshly treated, there was at least one person in the world who'd ever spoken to him like that.
The Bennetts'… eldest daughter.
He was summoned back from Southshire after only a year when word reached him that his mother had died.
At that time Declan didn't fully understand palace schemes, nor whether his mother's death bore a sinister hand.
But when someone offered to back him—made pointed gestures of support—he accepted without hesitation.
Even if they meant to use him as a discarded crown prince, even if they planned to install him later as a puppet emperor—anything that offered a way up, he'd climb. Even if it was a rope woven with thorns that would shred his hands bloody, he'd bite it and hold on.
Power—he needed power.
At first it was difficult. Because of his eyes, his father treated him with cold disdain.
But that sort of contempt had long ceased to surprise him.
Palace rumors said his mother died of an illness, yet no one told him where her grave was.
The chief eunuch of the Eastern Bureau always smiled at him with slitted eyes, stinking of lacquer and powder, and spoke with cruel indifference.
"Second Prince, you don't have time for trivialities. You have more important things to attend to, don't you?"
More important things…?
Declan didn't answer. The eunuch wasn't offended; he sipped leisurely and continued.
"Once you hold power, you can do as you please, right? Be patient now. Don't stir up trouble. The Emperor won't disclose everything—no matter how hard you search, you won't find the truth."
The eunuch sneered, but Declan knew the words were true.
He had to obey.
He knew the Eastern Bureau chief had ambition, but he'd never expected they would recruit him. There were plenty of princes to use—why pick the one with no favor or backing?
Years later, when Declan purged the Eastern Bureau, the old chief would sigh with a twist of resentment and mockery.
"Precisely because you were unloved and lacked a mother's clan behind you, you were the perfect choice."
"You think you've grown… but you're still the same—a pawn destined to be discarded."
The old eunuch breathed shallow and triumph glinted in his eyes.
"You betrayed us; you'll be betrayed in turn."
"You used me first," Declan said coldly, and then drove a sword through the old man's throat.
"Killed by a pawn you raised—die with that humiliation."
The eunuch gurgled but made no sound. He clawed for air and died, his eyes bulging, fixed on Declan.
Declan drew a slow breath.
Days later he finally received word that his father would send him to Southshire as a special envoy.
His men had just taken over the Eastern Bureau; this should have been his busiest time.
Still, he accepted without hesitation.
Southshire was where she was.
Declan's eyes narrowed.
The thought of seeing her again set him shaking—excited, nervous, and a little ashamed.
She probably wouldn't recognize his face—she'd never seen it. But maybe she would recognize those eyes?
He fretted over the possibility.
When his spies reported casually that the Bennett eldest had married the third prince of Southshire, something snapped. Declan shut himself in his study—unusually restless. He paced, broke two cups in anger, and couldn't calm the storm inside.
No. Impossible.
He'd waited ten years. He wouldn't let someone else beat him to it.
Who did that man think he was? Did he deserve her?
People hit five stages on hearing a blow like that: denial, anger, sadness, bargaining, acceptance.
Declan took nearly a week moving through his rage and sorrow.
He wasn't ready to accept. In a fury, he imagined dozens of brutal ways to seize her back. But every one would make her hate him.
If he couldn't have her, he at least wanted one more look. To know she was happy would be enough.
At the Spring Gala, ten years later, Declan saw that little girl face-to-face for the first time.
She was beautiful—every smile and glance perfectly measured.
Nothing gaudy, nothing plain; just being there nearly overwhelmed him.
He used the ritual of toasting with all the princes as an excuse to stand before her.
So close he could smell her.
In that moment he hated himself—still shy like a foolish boy—but he couldn't stop looking. He even warned her that the wine was strong.
He'd spoken to her.
As he left, delighted, his men reported that the prince and another woman were arguing in the corridor while the princess consort walked in the rear garden.
That whisper set something scrambling inside him.
He went to the rear garden and "happened" to see her.
Beneath the dim moonlight and their guarded conversation, he greedily watched her. Inch by inch his gaze lingered.
He subtly guided her back toward the corridor, ensuring she would witness what was to come, then slipped away.
Sure enough, his hidden men reported everything that happened in the corridor.
Declan had mixed feelings—joy at seeing a rift that could be exploited, and fury at whoever had treated her so.
He kept telling himself he wouldn't chase her—she was married to the king now.
Still, the thought crept in: what if that man wasn't a good husband?
He rescued the startled horse from a frightened carriage in the street, then tried to revive a childhood recollection by mentioning the horseman's painting, hoping to spark memory.
It did nothing. His efforts felt useless.
Just when decline threatened to take hold, he realized he still had one last move.
He let his spies leak to the king's confidants that Riverton would support him in a bid for the throne.
Sure enough, the prince took the bait.
Sitting across from the prince brought Declan close to losing control.
"Of course," Declan said, "this help won't be free. Your Highness will have to pay a price."
"Name it," the prince said.
"I can help you," Declan said, "on one condition: you must… give me the princess consort."
Ethan Hayes' brow knotted. He refused without a second thought.
"She's my wife. How could I—"
When Declan heard the words "my wife," he nearly crushed the teacup in his hand.
He forced a smile and kept his voice steady.
"I advise you to consider carefully. This may be your only chance."
Ethan hesitated for a moment.
It happened in that instant—Declan Ward caught him.
Declan continued, voice steady.
“This is just how a deal works. Your Highness has to give me something reliable to hold onto.”
After a long, drawn-out negotiation, Ethan Hayes relented.
Declan got what he wanted: on the carriage back to Riverton he found Claire Bennett sleeping.
He couldn’t help reaching out to brush a stray curl from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear.
With his fingertips he traced the curve of her cheek, drinking her in greedily, as if afraid time might slip away from him.
He dared not let Claire know how obsessed he’d become—he was afraid it would frighten her.
When she woke, Declan couldn’t resist a few tentative questions.
As he feared, she seemed to have forgotten.
He exhaled.
Life in Riverton was good. For the first time in a long while, Declan felt genuinely happy.
Every day when he returned to that house, exhausted, seeing the warm lights glow in the windows made it feel worth it.
Declan had done everything right—he’d arranged everything so Claire needn’t worry.
Before each trip back to the house he bathed carefully, scrubbing away the scent of blood and sweat, always presenting himself in the best state for her.
Like a clumsy peacock, he floundered, trying in his awkward way to win her heart.
So when he had to tell Claire about Southshire, his palms nearly bled from the grip he kept on himself.
He was terrified she would demand to be sent home.
Luckily, she didn’t.
When Ethan Hayes came for her, she still didn’t leave with him.
All of that eased Declan slightly.
Did it mean she trusted him a little?
But when Claire spoke those words curled against him, he couldn’t hold back.
He had tried so hard—so, so hard—and panic still crashed over him in an instant.
That familiar choking sensation of drowning returned.
His head swam, and the words of that old eunuch flashed through his mind.
No. He couldn’t let her go again.
A rush of hurt and fear filled him; Declan’s rarely-seen eyes turned red.
When had he last cried?
It seemed like it was when he was still a hostage, the first time he truly met her.
Embarrassing. Shameful.
His mother had told him never to let those eyes show tears—people would look down on you, it would expose weakness.
But Claire had kissed the corner of his eye.
She’d told him, Don’t betray me in this life.
Long after, when they were married and she lay in his arms, Claire asked him once.
“Why were you crying that day?”
Declan thought for a long time; images flickered through his mind.
He only smiled and shook his head, pressing a light kiss to the bridge of her nose.
“Maybe I was just too moved.”
What he didn’t say was the truth: the panic he’d felt—fear she’d push him away again, fear the old eunuch’s words would come true, fear she’d scorn his pathetic, humbling behavior.
He’d feared he’d end up like his mother, degrading himself in an unequal love and clinging to a ridiculous scrap of dignity.
Was the woman he loved only an echo? He had never dared be certain his feelings would be returned.
But she chose him in the end.
If she would come to him, he would throw himself after her without hesitation.
“You’re such an awkward boy.” She kissed the corner of his eye.
“Forever young, forever passionate,” he teased.
“You’re hopeless,” she laughed, and the sound filled the ten years of emptiness at once.
Everything had been worth it.
Extra 2: Ethan Hayes understood one thing from a very young age.
His mother didn’t love his father.
She never acted like the other women in the palace who fought for his father’s favor. She carried a cool detachment, looking down from above at the melodramas around her.
“What matters is what you can hold in your hand,” she taught him, her pupils reflecting the small boy he’d been.
“Don’t chase after something ephemeral. Learn to hold tight to what’s in your grasp.”
But aren’t most of the things people chase—fame, reputation, knowledge, love—precisely the ephemeral things?
Ethan didn’t know.
He told no one, but he fell in love at first sight with a Sinclair daughter.
From the start, he felt Madeline Sinclair was different from other girls—alive, bold in love and hate, carefree.
Who wouldn’t be drawn to someone so singular?
He found himself following her wherever she went.
The memory that stayed with him most was from a Lantern Festival.
He’d gone with the Bennetts’ eldest daughter to cover up a secret meeting with Madeline.
In the crowded festival he couldn’t find Madeline and grew anxious, craning his neck to look for her.
They had agreed to meet nearby—was she late?
A small surprised cry came from behind him; Ethan turned instinctively and grabbed the girl behind him—Claire Bennett.
Like a responsible older brother, with the awkward pride of a boy just starting to grow, he shielded Claire from the crowd.
“Be careful,” he said, keeping one hand on her shoulder while still scanning the crowd.
“…Mm.” She answered softly, but his gaze never landed on her, so he missed the pink flush rising over her ears.
“How strange. We were supposed to meet here. Where is she?” Ethan muttered, releasing his hold on Claire slowly. He grew impatient.
“Let’s—wait a little longer.”
Claire softened her voice to soothe him, pointing toward another lantern with bright eyes that shone either from excitement or simply from the myriad lights. She gripped the corner of Ethan’s sleeve.
“Do you want to—try solving a riddle first?”
Ethan barely looked at her, still agitated. “No. If we leave, what if she can’t find us?”
“Oh…right.” Her voice grew faint. She was young and only knew how to hide her emotions clumsily. The awkward boy didn’t notice her unease and stood waiting.
“If we wait too long, we’ll miss the parade.”
“She’ll come,” Claire said with her head bowed.
Ethan felt some small relief at that hollow reassurance. He turned to say something, and then happy voices rang out nearby.
“Brother Sheng—did you wait long?”
The parade had begun, and confetti drifted in the air. Warm lantern light painted Madeline Sinclair’s cheeks in a tender glow.
Her figure was just maturing; the faint curve of her body inflamed a longing in the inexperienced boy. His ears burned.
Her smile was so sincere that the world narrowed to a hum; all he could hear was his own heart pounding like a drum.
He stared at Madeline, wanting to walk to her without thinking.
A tug at his sleeve stopped him. Looking down, he saw Claire standing beside him, straight-backed, fingers pale and small clasping his sleeve. From this angle he could see the faint peach fuzz on her cheek, her lips slightly pursed—every emblem of girlhood.
Softness flooded his chest for a moment.
He’d always seen Claire as a sister and believed he’d cared for her. He could speak to her about anything.
He stopped and leaned toward Claire to whisper.
“Claire, I’m going to marry her someday.”
His eyes flashed in the night with a look of absolute certainty.
“You’ll bless me, won’t you?”
Claire stared at him, stunned and silent.
Ethan didn’t wait for her reply. He swept her hand away gently and went to Madeline.
As they grew older, Ethan learned more about the palace intrigues.
As the son second only to the Crown Prince in his father’s favor, he’d received certain “lessons” from the emperor. He came to understand that every move he made shaped how others saw him.
Spending time with the Bennett girl might make the Crown Prince wary; visiting a certain lord would have his actions reported to other princes.
But if he did nothing, his power would be squeezed and diminished. Eventually the Crown Prince might dominate everything, oppressing him his whole life.
Would he accept that?
Of course he wouldn’t.
Still, he fantasized about abandoning it all and running away with Madeline—just the two of them, finding a hidden place to live.
The dream shattered.
When the imperial edict arranging his marriage came, Ethan froze as if struck by lightning.
He’d been keeping his distance from the Bennetts to avoid suspicion. He’d thought he had a plan—he shouldn’t be wed to Claire; he should marry someone else.
Memories flooded back: the little girl trailing after him, the one who watched him and Madeline. Didn’t she say she would bless him?
Why had things turned out like this?
A hot surge of betrayal rose in him.
If he married Claire, would Madeline still accept him?
Fueled by this anger, he abandoned Claire on their wedding night and slipped out to the Sinclair residence to see Madeline.
Madeline was surprised to see him. For a moment, Ethan thought he saw a flash of delighted triumph in her eyes.
Maybe she’d been waiting for him too.
That thought sustained him. In the night he embraced her and murmured,
“Let’s run away together, Jiao-jiao—just the two of us. Leave it all behind. I only want you, and you only need me.”
Such a confession should have swept any woman off her feet.
But Madeline was silent for a moment, then resolutely pushed him away.
“Brother Sheng, wake up.”
Those words shattered most of the hope in Ethan Hayes’s chest.
He had summoned all his courage to tell Maddie those things, only for her to tell him to wake up.
She was very awake—so awake she’d even been ready to give up the throne.
“I’m serious. I only want you.”
He said it again, looking into her eyes with that aching tenderness.
“We love each other. That should be enough.
I’m willing to abdicate the crown, give up power—just say you’re willing.”
But Maddie turned away in silence, avoiding his gaze.
In the growing, hopeless quiet, he heard the girl before him speak softly.
“…Prince Julian, you should go back.”
That sentence almost broke him.
Ethan put all the blame on Claire Bennett—if not for her, none of this would have happened.
Why did she do it?
Rage and resentment swelled in him; he had even dared to oppose his father, to no avail.
When he heard Maddie was getting married, he still went, but he kept his distance—he stood far off and watched the festivities.
A passing maid's praise floated to his ears.
“What a perfect match! They’re made for each other!
I heard Miss was overjoyed about the marriage!”
Joyful? Satisfied?
That man should have been his.
Ethan clenched his fists.
Later he tried to let Maddie go, but he couldn’t forget how she looked that night beneath the lanterns.
He obsessed, unable to pull free.
So he let himself do terrible things.
When he learned Maddie’s husband had died in the unrest, before Ethan could act, she sought him out herself.
“Ethan…”
Her eyes were swollen and red, heartbreakingly beautiful.
“What am I supposed to do now?”
By then Ethan had already secured the throne, waiting only to be crowned.
He looked down at the woman he loved—or had loved—and felt a pang of pity despite everything.
In the end his fantasy of possessing what he once couldn’t have was stronger than anything else.
He promised her the title of imperial consort.
But people change, or maybe he’d never really understood human hearts at all.
The more time they spent together, the more he realized Maddie had an agenda.
She wanted the consort’s rank, the legit standing—afraid he might not want her either.
After countless fights and tears, Maddie finally lost it in one argument and cried out.
“You always loved her! Why are you acting like you can’t let Claire go now!?
Wasn’t it me you loved?
Even if you give me the consort’s title, it’s just because she coveted your position and stole my place!”
For a moment it was as if the air itself froze.
Ethan repeated, “Stole my place?”
Maddie, startled, realized she’d said too much—but it was too late.
He swept out in a fury, stumbling through the palace, ignoring Maddie’s panicked calls as he rushed to Lily Park.
He didn’t wait for a servant to announce him and flung the door open; Lily was pouring tea.
His chest heaved, pupils contracted, and he strode to her. Then, to Lily’s astonishment, he fell to his knees and grabbed her hand, burying his head in her lap.
He trembled, gasping, the image of Claire embracing Declan Ward at the carriage door replaying in his mind.
“Say you love me. Say you love me and you won’t leave me.”
His voice shook with emotions he couldn’t name.
“Claire… Claire…”
After a moment of silence, the woman gently freed his burning hand and rested cool fingertips against his ear.
That soft, restrained touch—so like Claire’s.
But what she said next was ruthless and plain.
“Sire, I am not a Bennett daughter.”
“Claire left long ago.”
Even without knowing all the details, Lily could guess what had happened.
She was intelligent—perhaps too intelligent. That was why Claire had chosen her.
She’d seen Ethan’s nature early on; she would never love him.
All she needed was a title and position. She knew precisely what Ethan hungered for from her.
But out of a woman’s sympathy—and respect—Lily would not indulge him.
She stroked the back of his head with pitying tenderness.
“Sire, let go.”
Ethan buried his face into her lap, ignoring her words, drunk on that gentle pressure at the base of his skull.
Claire, Claire, Claire.
If you still loved me, would you still be this gentle?
He clutched Lily’s skirt so hard his veins bulged on his arms, not noticing, only breathing heavily and begging for an answer.
“Will anyone be as sincere with me as you were, Claire?”
He murmured through gritted teeth; tears welled despite his effort.
“I was wrong—please forgive me.”
Only then did he understand his mother had been right.
He shouldn’t chase illusions; he should hold fast to what he had.
Now he had nothing.
“Please…”
A reigning emperor prostrated himself at a woman’s knees, eyes bloodshot.
Lily didn’t answer—she only kept stroking the back of his head.
She didn’t mind being a substitute. Oddly, Ethan no longer seemed to look at her face; he only wanted to hear her voice.
Poor man.
She wondered how Miss Bennett fared now.
Maybe it was a woman’s intuition. Lily believed Claire was probably very happy.
“Sire.”
She looked out the window and spoke quietly.
“She won’t hear such devotion.”
“For past things, perhaps the only one who feels regret is you, Sire.”
Her voice was soft, but she cut through to the truth for Ethan to see.
He offered no reply; his trembling hands betrayed everything.
If a thousand pains could atone for his sins, if severing his fingers or breaking his arms could win Claire’s forgiveness, Ethan would do it all.
But Claire didn’t want his atonement. She didn’t need anything from him.
The pain was like a blade; it made breathing hard, made him black out at times, tormented him through sleepless nights.
But Claire would never pity him again.
After a long silence the young emperor sighed and tears dampened Lily’s skirt.
“Why…”
Why had he come to this? Why, having gained everything, had he also lost everything? Why had he become like this?
No one would answer him now.
End of epilogue.
Celebrating 5,000 likes—Declan Ward special for 10,000 likes—Ethan Hayes epilogue.
—Author’s note: The characters’ moral views don’t improve over the course of the story. If you don’t like it, no need to announce it in the comments—you’ll just make me think you have too much free time. I didn’t write fifty thousand words just to hear you complain; typos and plot issues have been fixed.
Thanks for reading to the end. My writing is a bit clumsy—I’m a science major, please forgive me. Other works welcome you to join; they’re fun too.
