Chapter 1.2

On the large marble desk lay gilded knightly medals, trophies, and neatly stacked newspapers.

Esha carefully picked up the one resting at the very top. Her own face stared back at her, printed boldly across the front page.

Below it, the headline read: “Esha of Elendor Released After Three Months of Confinement in the Tower.”

‘It’s only been two days since I was freed, and there’s already articles…’

Her eyes drifted shut.

It was only through this newspaper that she fully grasped the fact that three months had already passed since she’d been dragged to Atlan.

[Let me speak to Johan—I mean, Johannes.]

[His Highness will not see you.]

When she had first been locked in the tower, Esha had begged the servant who brought her meals once a day to let her meet with Johan, but not once did he come.

The man who had annihilated their enemy and returned as a war hero. She was certain he would come, if only to demand a divorce. After all, there was no benefit in keeping his marriage to a princess of a defeated nation. On top of that, Esha’s reputation in Atlan was nothing short of ruinous.

Every day, she would listen for footsteps climbing the stairs, her heart leaping with hope that it might be Johan, only for it to be crushed again and again.

And every time she lay her head on the cold stone floor, she would remember her father’s severed head and the day it had been displayed on the castle gates.

Esha shuddered violently. To be sent back to the tower would be a fate worse than death.

“Where is the princess?”

“As ordered, she is waiting inside.”

Two voices spoke outside the door. Then Johan entered.

He frowned at the sight of Esha standing stiffly in front of his desk.

His cold gaze swept her from head to toe, and Esha felt as though she had become nothing more than another trophy displayed atop that marble surface.

“…Why have you called me here?”

Esha asked tautly.

She fought the violent urge to grab the nearest object and hurl it at him.

To see the face of her husband, the man who had destroyed her country, betrayed her, and emerged as a hero celebrated by all. It stoked a rage within her she could hardly contain.

“Hah.”

Johan let out a sniding laugh.

Then, with his imposing frame, he strode toward her in long, deliberate steps.

She stumbled backward under the weight of his presence. When her back touched his desk, she realized there was no room left to flee.

Johan seized the neckline of her dress with his gloved hand and gave a sharp tug.

The seams tore with a harsh rip, exposing her pale skin, and with it, the marks Damian left two days ago, Johan’s elder brother and the young king of Atlan—no, now the newly crowned emperor.

After triumphing in the war against Elendor, Johan had taken Esha, the only imperial princess of Elendor, as his prisoner and locked her away in the tower. But after three long months, she had been released into the world again.

“My brother was awfully generous to let you out so suddenly.”

Esha swallowed hard.

“I couldn’t understand why at first. But now, it’s all perfectly clear.”

Johan pressed in closer, his words coming out in a low growl.

“Tell me, my wife, why did you spread your legs for my brother? Were you so starved for a man’s touch after a few months in the tower?”

Crack!

Her hand flew across his cheek, snapping his head to the side. He ran his tongue over his teeth, then spoke again as if nothing had happened.

“I see you still haven’t broken that habit of striking first when you’re angry.”

Esha stood trembling, her hand still raised, her breath coming fast and shallow.

“Well,” she said, her voice dripping with scorn, “your Elendorian has improved immensely. One might mistake you for a native. Did I teach you that, I wonder?”

She forced the barb out with practiced poise.

Since her release from the tower, she had practiced her expression countless times in preparation for this moment. She believed keeping her face calm and detached would be the easiest way to provoke him. But it was all for nothing.

The moment Johan’s hand touched her body, her carefully constructed composure crumbled entirely.

“Answer the question first,” Johan said, staring down at her. “I asked why you slept with my brother.”

He was no longer the boy who used to curl up in her arms. He had changed beyond recognition. Two long years on the battlefield had left their marks, not only on his body, but in the hardened edge of his voice.

“Are you carrying his child as well so you can try and secure your place as his mistress? What a quick change of loyalties. Very fitting for you, my wife…”

She raised her hand again, but this time Johan caught her wrist midair.

With his other hand, he gripped her jaw roughly and forced his mouth onto hers.

“Mmph—!”

Esha bit down hard on his lip, but Johan didn’t flinch. Instead, he pushed his tongue in deeper.

No matter how much she struggled, he didn’t budge. In desperation, Esha slammed her fist against his shoulder.

At last, he pulled away. Esha spat a mixture of saliva and blood onto the floor. His blood.

“How could I possibly be pregnant?”

Her water-colored eyes locked onto him, filled entirely with his presence. Forcing one corner of her mouth up into a mocking smile, she went on.

“You made me barren. How could I carry a child?”