Chapter 12
“Only you would dare to gamble on a certainty. How spineless.”
Robert held the unique distinction of knowing Ejnar intended to grace Elfreda’s chambers on their wedding night. Among all the King’s inner circle, he alone understood the monarch’s strategy to dissect and exploit the true motives of the Makaeri.
“Even so, treating a new bride with such coldness is practically an invitation to war with her people.”
“The general consensus is that Your Majesty welcomes a fight.”
Was that actually the case?
Despite the Machi people’s legendary appetite for combat, Ejnar leaned toward tranquility.
This preference didn’t stem from a lack of confidence in his military might, but rather a profound aversion to loss. He could no longer stomach the sacrifice of even a single Machi soul. Seeking justice for Anders and his uncle didn’t require spilling his own people’s blood; he was certain the fallen would agree.
Besides, since the Makaeri had already resorted to underhanded tactics, he felt no obligation to maintain a facade of nobility.
Just then.
“Your tea is served, Sire. Verona blend.”
A servant set a steaming porcelain cup on the desk. Ejnar gave a distracted nod, prompting the man to retreat instantly. Robert, however, offered a mocking round of applause.
“Your attention to detail remains impeccable.”
“….”
Ignoring the jab, Ejnar took up the hot beverage. He hadn’t expected to develop a taste for this particular drink despite his privileged upbringing, yet the fragrance was surprisingly pleasant.
The responsibilities of her debut day as Queen were staggering, pinning Elfreda to her writing desk long after the evening meal. The clock had already struck ten by the time she finally cleared her workload.
Drained of energy, she prepared for rest.
As her ladies-in-waiting assisted her into a nightgown, her mind drifted back to the previous evening.
He wouldn’t return tonight, she reflected.
She assumed his visit the night before was merely a diplomatic formality to prevent scandal. It was standard practice for those in political unions to become virtual ghosts to one another once the first night concluded.
A small, self-deprecating laugh escaped her.
She was being incredibly naive.
When had she become so terrified of feeling something for him? When had she decided that being a discarded queen in a hollow marriage was the safer path?
The prospect of his total apathy suddenly hit her with a wave of grief and isolation. It felt as though she had drifted across a wide, irreversible gulf, and the weight of it pressured her lungs. After a somber interval, pressing a hand against her heart, Elfreda shook her head to clear the gloom.
It was fine, she told herself.
He simply didn’t need to know. She could handle the pain as long as it stayed hers alone. Solitary suffering was a familiar companion. Perhaps, over time, the sting of his neglect and the dampness of her own tears would simply fade away. And so…
“His Majesty is approaching the Solar Palace at this moment.”
…The reassurance she was building for herself shattered instantly.
Elfreda stared blankly, stunned by the sudden announcement, while her attendants looked on with equal bewilderment.
“Shall I inform him you are indisposed?”
Finding her voice first, Elfreda shook her head with a touch of desperation.
“No, I will receive him.”
As the maid departed, Elfreda struggled to regulate her pounding heart.
“What—what am I supposed to do?”
“Control yourself and don’t make a scene.”
Though the maid’s reprimand was sharp, Elfreda’s face remained flushed as she took a shaky breath. She tried to reclaim her earlier resolve, but the sound of approaching boots made every effort at composure fail.
Everything felt ruined. Her pulse was racing so violently it hindered her breathing.
When Ejnar finally stood before her, he wore the same uniform as the night before. It suggested his stay would be brief, a realization that sparked a hidden flicker of sorrow. Nevertheless, she masked it and offered a polite, welcoming expression.
“I offer my greetings to the Great Sun—”
Their gazes locked. In that split second, her thoughts vanished, and her head dipped low instinctively.
“…of Machi.”
Her voice trailed off into a faint whisper. Ejnar observed her bowed form before cutting his eyes toward the handmaids.
The servants clearly frowned upon the King’s frequent visits—or rather, the physical intimacy they implied—but they lacked the courage to show their disdain to his face.
Once the room was cleared and they were alone, Elfreda kept her eyes on the floor. Ejnar’s patience snapped as he studied her silence.
“You seem to have more manners than your staff.”
Flustered by the comment, she slowly looked up.
“I believe I’ve mentioned this: a queen should not be so quick to lower her head.”
“…But.”
She offered a soft protest.
“You are the King.”
“…And?”
“Is it not permissible… to show such respect to Your Majesty?”
“Hah.”
A dry, mocking sound escaped him.
“Do you reserve this humility only for me?”
“I have no reason to do so for anyone else.”
Is that the truth? You certainly seemed eager to bow before your own sister.
The sarcastic retort stayed behind his teeth. In the quiet, Elfreda spoke up tentatively.
“Why have you come…?”
“What reason do you think I have?”
He closed the distance between them as he spoke.
“A man visiting his wife’s chambers.”
“…Oh.”
She hadn’t asked out of ignorance. But she had wondered if there was some other motive behind his presence.
Her heart began to thud painfully against her ribs.
She realized, with a surge of heat in her cheeks, that she had been anticipating this throughout the day. The shame of that desire hit her like a wave. Ejnar’s eyes settled on her left cheek; it looked unblemished now, making the violence of the previous night seem like a fever dream.
…Last night.
Irritated by the memory, he let out a heavy sigh. Elfreda flinched, watching him with visible apprehension.
“…I didn’t mean to drive you away.”
He gave her a questioning look, and her face deepened to a darker shade of crimson as she tried to clarify.
“I mean… I wasn’t questioning your right to be here…”
Ejnar didn’t let her finish. He moved in and took her mouth with his. Caught off guard, she froze for a heartbeat before her eyes fluttered shut, and she yielded to him.
She was far more receptive tonight, showing a willingness that hadn’t been there before. He found her quick adaptation pleasing and deepened the kiss, unwilling to break the contact.
“Nng…”
They fit together perfectly, as if their bodies had always been intended to match.
A quiet sound of protest or pleasure escaped her as she shifted.
Ejnar felt a sudden, fierce possessiveness toward her small frame. He locked one arm around her waist and used his other hand to stroke the cheek that had been struck.
A soft, low sound followed.
“Mmm…”
“Tonight.”
He pulled back slightly to look at her. His muscles tensed when he saw her glazed, dazed expression. He traced his thumb over her slightly swollen, reddened lips. She blinked up at him, and the trace of fear in her eyes—as if she were guarding a secret—irritated him even as it sparked a darker hunger.
“You don’t look particularly tired.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Your face has recovered well.”
The mention of the confrontation with Serena brought a flash of pain to her eyes.
Seeing that flicker, Ejnar was haunted by the same question that had plagued him since the night before.
Why would a woman who held the titles of both Princess and Queen allow herself to be brutalized by her own blood?
