C
Chapter 13
After the Frost family sent Elvira into the palace, Alistair had indeed taken out all his fury on her at first.
But ever since he mistook her for Isabeau and took her into his bed, everything had changed.
Only he truly knew–that night, he wasn’t completely out of it.
At some point, he came to his senses, yet he chose to lose himself in desire anyway.
With every reckless night after, the deeper Alistair sank, the more unease gnawed at him.
His mind warned him not to care too much for Elvira, but his heart wouldn’t listen.
For five years, he had been fell in love with her, while Elvira remained detached, always planning her escape.
Why had she never cared about him, not even a little, after all this time?
Alistair resented it. But he hated himself even more for developing feelings he knew he shouldn’t have.
The border cities fell back under his control like clockwork–yet somewhere along the way, he’d long stopped scheming to drag Isabeau into his palace.
Whatever obsession he’d harbored for her had frayed with time. But now? Letting go of Elvira was beyond him.
A bitter laugh coiled in Alistair’s chest. How absurd, to catch feelings for the very woman he’d once used as a plaything for his wrath.
He tightened his grip on the dagger. Without hesitation, he pressed it against his chest.
The moment the blade split his heart, the pain was so intense he nearly blacked out. But he gritted his teeth and forced himself to endure it.
“Elvira… when you return to me one day, you must repay this debt.”
His breath was shallow and labored. As the drop of heart’s blood fell, his face turned as pale as paper.
The physicians rushed to his side.
Meanwhile, Silas had already retrieved the article of clothing Elvira had once left behind in the palace.
The undergarment was burned completely, and Alistair, lips tightly pressed together, could not shake the growing unease in his heart.
Would this ritual truly bring her back?
But he had no other way.
Alistair was helped back to the palace, where he drank the bone broth that would help him recover.
He took a single sip, instinctively furrowed his brow, then pushed the bowl aside.
“This broth tastes dreadful. Elvira, you can have the rest.”
He tried to sound cold and indifferent, but his voice was weak.
For a long while, the room was silent, until finally a maid gathered the courage to speak.
“My king… Elvira is no longer here. Shall I take the bowl away?”
Alistair froze for a moment, then shouted angrily, “Get out!”
The maid fled.
He stared blankly at the bowl of broth, momentarily lost.
In his mind, he could see Elvira’s quiet, obedient face as she sipped soup beside him.
He reached out instinctively, but his fingers touched only the lukewarm surface of the bowl.
Perhaps… Elvira held far more importance in his heart than he had ever admitted.
So he thought.
In the end, Alistair finished the entire bowl of broth.
Late into the night, the emptiness beside him felt colder than ever–no warmth could chase it away.
As if Elvira had never existed.
Chapter 13
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Every time he closed his eyes, her face appeared in his mind.
She had never smiled at him–always unhappy, always reluctant.
She could smile at any servant, but never at him.
Countless times, Alistair had wondered bitterly, ‘Was it really so hard to smile at me?‘
Maybe, just maybe, if she had smiled at him once, he would have softened. He might have granted one of her requests.
But in the end, the only thing she had ever asked for… was to leave.
Frustration flared in his heart, yet there was no place to release it.
Because she was no longer there.
What did it matter how many emotions he felt now? She couldn’t see them. Alistair didn’t sleep a single moment that night.
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Chapter 13
