COTP 07

Chapter 7

Such is the irony of life.

When a noble did something, it became a display of elegance and charm. But when someone like me—a half-blood—did the same, it was seen as nothing more than crude behavior born of gutter filth.

It wasn’t as if I chose to be born this way. And yet, the constraints of my birth weighed doubly heavy on me compared to others.

Even so, I couldn’t brush off the maid’s words as lightly as I would have liked.

Like someone flailing in a river, not knowing when I might be swept away, I too wanted desperately to cling to even the smallest twig.

So that night—

Just as he finished his business and was rising coldly to his feet, I reached out and stopped him.

“…Your Highness.”

“Hmm?”

“Could I… speak with you for a moment?”

Though short, those words had come after much turmoil and hesitation on my part.

At my voice, he paused.

And in that brief moment of him responding to me, I drew a strange kind of courage.

“I was worried I might be interrupting you needlessly… but a fine wine was just delivered to the Queen’s Wing. I thought it might be nice to share it with Your Highness, and so I dared to mention it.”

At my quiet suggestion, he let out a short laugh.

Then, slipping on his outer robe, he repeated my words with a chill in his tone.

“‘Dared to,’ you say.”

“If I’ve offended you…”

I couldn’t find the right words to follow up.

Because I couldn’t bring myself to say what I should have—that he was free to refuse and walk away.

Because that wasn’t how I truly felt.

Because if he were to coldly slap away the hand I extended, I knew I’d be hurt. I knew that all too well.

Maybe, at some point, I had started to long for this time with him—just a little more.

The warmth of a person touching me.

The comfort and peace I felt in his arms.

All of it was new to me. All of it was precious, because I was just discovering it for the first time.

But I didn’t know how to hold on to that fragile shelter. I didn’t know how to nurture it.

“…That’s quite a thought-provoking thing to say.”

The faint courage I had harbored crumbled at the chill in his voice.

Beneath the dim candlelight, his black shadow wavered violently.

He looked dangerous—and instinctively, I clutched my chest.

My trembling lips barely formed words.

“May I… ask what you mean?”

“I’m not sure if you’re speaking to your husband, or to the man who sated your desire. I simply can’t tell.”

His words—almost brutal—echoed in my ears for a long time.

Frozen blue with fear, I looked up at him.

I didn’t know why, but he was clearly angry.

“It seems you’ve misunderstood something, Consort. If you had simply clung to me, I might have allowed myself to be caught.”

His voice was like that of someone who had given up—someone swallowing down the fire in their heart.

I just looked at him for a while, swallowed by the dark.

It sounded like he had been about to surrender—but was angered by the words I said instead.

What had I said that provoked him?

Was “dared to” such a grave mistake?

I turned it over and over in my mind, unable to find an answer. But in the end, I realized—

Words aren’t about the speaker’s intent. They’re about how the listener receives them.

And I realized it too late.

“I must have… overstepped.”

As always, I lowered myself in apology.

And, as always, I followed it with what was expected of me.

“I ask for Your Highness’s generous understanding.”

Click. I heard him click his tongue softly.

The shadow cast behind me seemed to grow darker still.

I realized, too late again, that I’d made a mistake.

That apology wasn’t what he wanted.

But even now, I still don’t know—what exactly upset you that night?

“You truly are… a curious person.”

Before I knew it, his shadow was looming right in front of me.

A hand reached out and touched my chin. The calloused fingers were cold.

“So composed, aren’t you?”

A cruel, biting tone.

I blinked once. His face looked misaligned, like it wasn’t quite the one I knew.

And for some reason, the words spoken once by the King flashed through my mind.

“You know your place too well—it leaves no room for sympathy. If only you cried and begged, I might have pitied you.”

“I could believe you were the Queen herself.”

I loved my mother more than anyone.

But she was also the one who branded me with the stigma of birth.

I had often wondered if things would have been different had my life begun as a queen’s daughter instead.

So to me, those words—spat like a curse—were especially violent.

By now, he was clad in his nightrobe.

He, ever-beautiful, looked all the more cruel because of it.

His brilliance etched a scar in me—deep and unforgettable.

“…Is that a compliment?”

My lips, my voice, my fingertips all trembled as I looked up at him.

That was the fullest extent of emotion I could muster—me, the fool who didn’t even know how to be angry.

His cold hand slid down, from my chin to my cheek.

His eyes, staring down as he gripped me, were ice-cold.

Frozen under his gaze, I couldn’t move.

“Consort.”

“…Yes.”

“You never truly let anyone in, do you?”

“…Excuse me?”

“No, forget it. I had expectations. That was my mistake.”

He let out a bitter smile, followed by a quiet sigh.

It was absurd.

Even now, I didn’t understand his words—but I couldn’t forget the shadow cast by the candlelight, swaying with his breath.

“Perhaps you and I will always be like this.”

His hand, which had touched me like it was fate, let go.

He turned his back to me.

And this time, I reached out.

My hand, flying uselessly through the air, managed only to brush against the hem of his robe.

“Wait…”

“I still don’t know. How our fates ever became entangled.”

His voice trembled as it came from beyond that blackened back.

A voice filled with disappointment and regret. I wanted to shout back.

You were the one who claimed to want me. You were the one who wove a fleeting encounter into something more.

“What meaning is there in a bond formed like that?”

“Your Highness—”

“It’s fine.”

He cut me off, casting words cold as rain.

The wounds they left were bright crimson.

“You don’t need to do anything. Just don’t expect anything from me, either. As you’ve always done. That way, nothing will change.”

His back looked so distant—like the sky itself. Untouchable.

I didn’t even think to lower my outstretched hand.

“But at least, fulfill the role you’ve been given. I intend to do the same.”

With that, he left. Leaving me behind—still and hardened.

The distance grew, stretched, and then became unfathomable.

The subtle gap I had once felt between us had now become a sheer cliff, impossible to cross.

Time passed, endlessly.

Grand Duke and Grand Duchess. The legitimate prince and the bastard princess. Husband and wife. Man and woman.

A world where I had no right to ask for anything.

Just as you said.

Nothing changed—just those dry, unchanging facts.

Only disappointment and resignation held firm between us.

And then, one day, long after time had worn us down like flowing water—

Even I, who had learned to surrender and abandon everything, faced something I could not accept.

“Your Highness?”

The maid who was helping me change clothes called to me.

“What is it?”

“This… What is this?”

Her trembling finger pointed to the back of my neck—usually hidden by my loose hair.

It wasn’t the kind of concern that came from a mere scratch or irritation caused by a necklace.

Normally, I would’ve brushed it off, told her it was nothing.

But for some reason, I turned to the mirror to check.

And there, reflected clearly—

The mark of the divine, intricately woven in dark ink.

A sacred script, etched upon my neck, readable only to me in this world.

The “Brand” that the gods had placed upon me.

“…Ah.”

Seeing the divine mark, I let out a dumb, involuntary breath.

My Largo.

And so now—I write you.