Chapter 3

I attended what would be my last Mid-Autumn banquet in my homeland.

By the time I arrived, the great hall was already alive with low music and candlelight—and with tears.

Elara stood at the center of a circle of noble ladies, her eyes rimmed red, her voice trembling just enough to draw sympathy without breaking entirely. She clutched a silk handkerchief as though it were the only thing holding her together.

“So after the festival, Princess Elara will be sent beyond the northern border…” one lady sighed loudly.

“How tragic,” another murmured. “And the Crown Princess does nothing—nothing at all—except chase after General Adrian’s favor.”

“At least Elara understands duty,” someone added. “Such devotion to the realm…”

Elara’s shoulders shook. Beneath the sleeve that hid her face, a flicker of something else passed—brief, sharp, satisfied.

Then she saw me.

Her breath caught.

I had never liked these gatherings. In previous years, I rarely attended the Mid-Autumn banquet at all.

She had counted on that.

I met her gaze from across the hall, curved my lips into a faint, unreadable smile, and took my seat without a word.

The murmurs sharpened instantly.

“What was that look supposed to mean?”

“How heartless—looking down on someone about to be sent away.”

“If she’s so proud, why doesn’t she go marry the northern king?”

“Just because her mother died young, she acts as if the whole kingdom owes her…”

I didn’t respond.

In my previous life, when the enemy breached the capital, many of these voices had screamed just as loudly—only then, no one had come to save them.

A few cruel words now were lighter than ashes and blood later.

I left the hall alone, wine untouched, and walked toward the moonlit pool to clear my head.

“—Elise.”

I stopped.

Elara approached me slowly, her steps careful, her expression gentle in a way that never reached her eyes.

Her chest rose and fell sharply.

Then her gaze slid past my shoulder—and curved.

Before I could react, her hands flew to my throat.

We fell together into the water.

“Help!” she screamed the moment we hit the surface.

“Elise—why would you push me?!”

I couldn’t swim.

Water rushed into my lungs, stealing my voice, my strength. I flailed blindly—

And then I saw him.

“Adrian—!”

I tried to call out. Only choking sounds escaped.

He didn’t look at me.

He dove straight toward Elara.

I reached for him—my fingers brushing empty water—as he lifted her effortlessly onto the stone edge. She was unharmed. Barely shaken.

Only then did my maid scream.

Guards plunged into the water and dragged me out.

I was soaked through, shivering, barely conscious.

Elara was sobbing against Adrian’s chest. He shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders without hesitation—then turned to me.

His face was rigid.

Not disgust.

Not hatred.

Anger—raw, restrained, barely held in place.

“Have you lost your mind?” he demanded.

“Killing her—what do you think that would accomplish?”

His voice dropped, sharp with disbelief rather than cruelty.

“If she were gone,” he said, “do you honestly believe you wouldn’t be the one sent north in her place?”

As if the thought itself offended him.

As if the idea of me being sent there was something he couldn’t bear to imagine.

I coughed violently, water burning my lungs.

“Adrian… I—”

“Enough.”

His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping once beneath his skin.

“I thought you were merely spoiled,” he said coldly.

“But I see now—you’re jealous, cruel, and vicious.”

“You lack her sense of duty, yet you’ve mastered every skill of a shrew.”

Each word struck harder than the last.

“You disgrace your title,” he continued.

“The people deserve better than this.”

“And thank the gods your mother didn’t live to see what you’ve become.”

“Adrian.”

Steel rang.

I drew my blade as I rose unsteadily. He answered in kind—just as he had years ago, just as he would again in a future neither of us yet understood.

Eight years of marriage in another life.

Eight years of drawing swords over Elara.

Never striking. Never yielding.

My strength failed.

My legs gave out—and I fell forward.

Strong arms caught me.

For the briefest moment, panic flickered across his face.

“…Elise?”

I clenched his collar with the last of my strength.

“You have no right,” I whispered fiercely,

“to speak of my mother.”

The world tilted.

I felt myself lifted, carried.

Behind us, Elara’s voice trembled:

“General… I—”

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t turn back.

He carried me out of the banquet hall, leaving her standing there in borrowed sympathy—and a truth that had not yet caught up with him.