I watched as the pale-haired woman recoiled, her face etched with fear and a hint of accusation. Her eyes darted nervously between me and the girl who had been accused, as if the very air carried danger.
"Your Majesty," she began, her voice strained, "it's not safe to speak with someone who has smallpox for a long period of time—"
I cut her off, my tone firm and decisive. "She doesn't have smallpox."
Lucina froze, her words hanging unfinished in the tense air. I caught a flicker of panic in her eyes—a mix of fear and the ingrained readiness to blame the vulnerable. It was familiar, a pattern I had seen too often. I needed her to calm down, to speak clearly.
"Calm down, Lucina," I commanded gently, leaning in slightly, my voice steady. "Take a deep breath and tell me what you want to say. I'll listen until I understand."
Her shoulders trembled as she inhaled shakily, the words beginning to form again. Before she could speak, a guard stepped forward, worry etched across his face. "Your Majesty, it's not safe to speak with someone who has smallpox for a long period of time—"
I fixed him with an unwavering gaze. No hesitation, no doubt. My expression alone told him this was not a matter to be questioned.
Lucina, reassured by my protective stance, tried again. "Huh?"
I explained the medical signs clearly, deliberately, so that both she and the guard could follow. "Smallpox patients usually develop a rash only after their fever subsides. But in this case, her rash appeared while she still had a fever."
I stepped closer to the girl accused of illness. She stood defiantly, sword in hand, her posture radiating strength despite the spots on her skin.
"And on top of that," I continued, addressing both Lucina and the guard, "smallpox patients often suffer from oral rashes and nausea, making it hard to eat. But she has a healthy appetite." The girl's resolute nod confirmed my observation.
I turned to Lucina, my voice calm yet firm. "Her symptoms do not match smallpox at all."
The tension drained from Lucina's shoulders, replaced by reluctant acknowledgment. "I see… you're right, Your Majesty."
A soft gasp came from a blonde woman observing the exchange, and I shifted my attention back to the core issue: the cause of the false symptoms, not the illness itself.
I allowed a rare, gentle smile to grace my lips, softening the room's charged atmosphere. "Don't worry. You can speak freely. No one here will get angry at you."
I pressed Lucina on the thought she had abandoned earlier. "What were you trying to say before? Something about sulfur and hair dye?"
Her words stumbled out, tentative but urgent. "Sulfur is yellow… they used it as a dye…" She gestured toward the blonde woman. "They used sulfur to create a blonde hair dye."
The blonde woman nodded quickly, almost frantically. "YES!"
Lucina, accused of having smallpox, looked at her in disbelief. "Does that mean this isn't her natural hair color?"
"The Baroness told me to dye my hair!" the blonde woman explained, her voice rising with panic. "The Old King likes blonde hair!"
I turned to Lucina. "They dyed your hair blonde because the Old King favors women with blonde hair?"
The blonde woman nodded again, adding hurriedly, "That's why there's a rash on my forehead! But then it rained—!"
Pieces finally clicked into place in my mind. "The rash appeared because the hair dye was toxic," I concluded.
I glanced at the guard, Turan, whose initial fear had interrupted Lucina's attempt to speak. I gently stroked the blonde woman's hair, prompting a slight flinch. "Look, Turan. The rash is most severe on her forehead and scalp, exactly where the dye was applied."
I addressed both Lucina and the others, confirming the theory. "Sulfur is toxic and can cause these symptoms if it comes into contact with the skin." The sound of armor clinking filled the silence as they processed this.
I held the blonde woman closer, my voice soft and reassuring. "Her rash likely worsened after she got a fever from being caught in the rain. Is that what you were trying to say, Lucina?" The blonde woman gave a small nod.
To dismiss any remaining fears of contagion, I spoke aloud for everyone. "If Lucina truly had smallpox, then you would have to burn me too for kissing and touching her."
The blonde woman looked up, her expression a mixture of surprise and worry.
"And that applies to all of you," I added, glancing around the group. "Since you all drank with me, you would all be at risk."
Relief washed over the guard and others. One of the men finally spoke, his voice shaky but sincere. "I—I don't think she has smallpox. I trust your judgment, Your Majesty!"
The tension in the room finally broke, leaving behind a cautious calm and a new understanding.
---
"The kidnappers have finally confessed, Your Majesty!" the soldier announced breathlessly, the tent flap snapping open as he rushed in. His armor rattled with the urgency of someone who had sprinted the entire way.
I halted mid‑step, still guiding the feverish blonde woman—Lucina—toward the shelter. Slowly, I turned back to the soldier. "They've decided to talk, huh?"
The soldier nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir. They admitted that the Baroness was the one behind the raid. It appears to have been an attempt to reclaim her daughter."
The words struck the air like a blade.
Beside me, Lucina stiffened. Her fingers tightened on the fabric of my sleeve before she whispered, faint enough that only I heard, "The Baroness isn't my real mother. Should I tell him that I'm an illegitimate child…?"
But her whisper barely reached me—because something far darker was already stirring inside my chest.
My jaw clenched. A low, simmering heat rippled through me, the kind that could ignite an entire forest if left unchecked. I had spared the Baroness, spared her household, spared her bloodline—all because she bore a connection to my bride.
And yet—
"I spared their wretched lives since they're my bride's family…" I growled, the words grinding out through clenched teeth. The sound was heavy, like stone scraping against stone. "Grit."
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Even the soldiers seemed to feel the temperature rise, their faces paling under the crown of my anger.
"How dare they look down on us?" My voice cracked through the tent like a lightning strike, raw and thunderous. "We're heading back to that castle immediately!"
The fire roared up inside me, no longer contained. "I WILL INCINERATE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM SO THEY CAN SERVE AS A WARNING TO OTHER PEOPLE!"
Armor clattered in alarm. Several soldiers flinched as if expecting flames to burst from the ground itself.
Lucina seized my arm with trembling hands. "A-all of them?!"
"I'm sorry," I said coldly, my expression hard as blackened steel, "but I can't make any exceptions for your family, Lucina." My gaze narrowed with righteous fury. "Not only did they defile the sacred tombs of Tayar, but now they have also dared to lay their filthy hands on my bride."
Lucina's lips parted in horror. "That may be true, but you can't just kill all the innocent people…"
Her voice shook, pleading—yet not for herself. Not even for the Baroness. For the nameless, powerless people who would be caught in the aftermath of my wrath.
I paused, staring at her. Her face, her posture, even her fever‑flushed eyes—everything in her seemed fragile yet fiercely sincere.
"Wouldn't most people ask for their families to be spared?" I asked quietly, searching her expression with a new intensity. "Wouldn't you be upset if I were to kill your mother and brother?"
Her breath caught. The strength in her eyes faltered.
"Oh…"
The single syllable slipped out—soft, aching, and weighed down by a private pain she could no longer hide.
Here's the expanded and polished version of your passage, keeping the emotional depth and tension intact, and stopping exactly at the point you indicated:
My demanding question hung in the air, my gaze unwavering. "Wouldn't you be upset if I were to kill your mother and brother?"
Lucina's face contorted with confusion and distress. "Oh…"
Her eyes dropped to the ground, wrestling with a secret she had buried deep inside. The Baroness isn't my real mother. Should I tell him that I'm an illegitimate child? The memory of cruel whispers clawed at her mind: Her mother was well-known in the entertainment district. Can someone like her even get married? She should be grateful that she has the opportunity to be the King's toy.
Her heart hardened against the woman who had given her nothing but misery. I don't want to go back. I should pretend that she's my real mother.
The fear of exposure warred with the primal need to protect the only family she had ever known, however abusive they were. Suddenly, she collapsed to the ground at my feet. The thud of her skirt against the dirt was dull, desperate, a punctuation of anguish. "NO!"
Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up at my imposing figure. "Please don't kill… my mother and brother! They are… my precious family." Her plea, raw and contradictory to her inner thoughts, carried a sincerity that cut through the anger in the air.
I looked down at her, my initial fury softening in the face of her distress. I couldn't understand why she clung to people who had treated her so poorly, yet the pain on her face was undeniable. My voice, though still firm and dominant, became gentler, protective.
I knelt, taking her hand in mine. "Get up. You're in no condition to be sitting on the cold floor." I pulled her to her feet, guiding her toward me.
"I may be angry, Lucina, but you are still unwell. We must address your fever," I said, my gaze lingering on her. "Let's go inside, Lucina." I gently steered her toward the tent, my hand at her back for support. "You still have a fever, so you need to lie down somewhere warm."
As we moved, the weight of her secret pressed silently between us, a quiet reminder of the life she had endured and the choices she had been forced to make.
Her shoulders slumped slightly, but her grip on my hand remained firm. The storm of her inner conflict was unspoken yet palpable, a fragile tension that I would have to navigate carefully.
The rumors called her mad—a limping, drooling woman, a curse I had been saddled with for my meritorious deeds. Miesa, my bride, had her quirks, her moments of oddity. But behind those vacant eyes, I glimpsed shrewd understanding, a secret she kept hidden. And I was determined to uncover it.
One evening, I found her looking particularly troubled. I couldn't burden her further while she was ill; I would deal with the intruders later.
I leaned down, patting her head—a small, unexpected gesture of tenderness.
"Do you really mean that?" she asked, eyes wide and hopeful.
"Y-yes…" she whispered, a blush rising to her cheeks.
A rare smile curved my lips. The infamous Black Wolf, softened in the presence of his bride. An idea sparked, mischievous and daring, testing the boundaries of our strange arrangement.
"Didn't you say that you'd do anything?" I murmured, leaning in, my voice low and teasing.
Her eyes lifted to mine, questioning, uncertain.
"Then give me a kiss."
The words hung between us like a delicate challenge. Her eyes widened in shock, a question mark in her expression.
"WHAT?" she squeaked, a deep blush blooming across her face.
I pressed, the corner of my mouth twitching upward. "Well, I want a kiss from my bride."
BA-BUMP. Her heart hammered against her chest, a frantic rhythm that mirrored my own.
BA-BUMP.
BA-BUMP.
I moved closer, my dark hair brushing against her blonde waves, our faces mere inches apart. Her breath hitched, caught between fear and anticipation.
BA-BUMP.
Then, our lips met. Soft, tentative, a spark igniting deep warmth that spread through me. The world around us seemed to blur, bathed in a hazy pink glow, scented faintly of roses.
I deepened the kiss, a clear confession of desire, and she responded, her hands hesitantly finding my chest.
Finally, I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close against the hard steel of my armor and the warmth of my fur-lined cloak.
HUG.
I buried my face in her sweet-smelling hair, holding her tight. This woman, my bride, remained a puzzle, yet for the first time, I felt something undeniably real—something worth fighting for.
My fury burned like a tempest. Those wretched mercenaries dared to touch my bride. They would pay the ultimate price.
"Tell the Wyverns to execute the mercenaries and bring their heads back to Velk," I commanded, my voice cold and unwavering, the background of my mind dissolving into a roaring inferno.
I didn't care for political consequences; only the lesson mattered.
"Once the castle sees it, burn their heads and deliver this message," I snarled. "If they attempt this again, everyone in that castle will meet a similar fate."
A loyal soldier, barely able to contain his awe, stepped forward. "YES, YOUR MAJESTY!" He turned to carry out the order without hesitation.
With that matter settled, my focus returned to my true concern: Lucina.
"We'll set off once Lucina's fever recedes," I instructed the others, cradling her gently. "Prepare remedies for her fever and food that's easy to eat."
"One of my men responded, "As you wish."
Later, alone with Lucina in the tent, I knelt beside her resting place, carefully pulling the covers over her.
"I'll stand guard outside your tent tonight, so don't worry and get some rest," I said, offering a rare, gentle smile.
She looked up at me, touched. "Thank you…" she whispered.
I leaned in, eyes teasing. "If you're grateful, then how about you give me another kiss?"
Her cheeks flared crimson, an unspoken confession of her fluttering heart.
A soft chuckle escaped me. "I'm just joking. I won't disturb you any longer, so rest well." I turned, imprinting the image of her shocked, flushed face in my memory.
I stepped outside into the cold night air, the crispness a stark contrast to the warmth of the tent. No one would dare approach her while the Black Wolf stood watch.
"Is it because I kissed him?"
I turned my head slightly, catching a glimpse of Hakan's profile. He was staring… at something? Or maybe at nothing at all. A quiet hum of notes seemed to float above his head, a delicate, unseen melody that made my chest tighten.
He looks like he's in a good mood. I wonder why?
My heart skipped a beat, then raced erratically. I probably look really ugly because of the rash on my face right now… I muttered to myself, cheeks burning. My thoughts tangled, unable to make sense of the fluttering chaos inside me. My head felt warm, as though it were full of static electricity.
I groaned, lifting the back of my hand to cover my eyes. My heartbeat hammered a frantic rhythm against my chest: BA-BUMP, BA-BUMP.
PLOP.
A cold, soft cloth suddenly landed over my eyes, completely covering them. My breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping me. Ugh.
I slid the compress down slightly, peeking out from under it. My eyes met Hakan's, and the look he gave me was… intense. A strange, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
He's so strange…
My chest tightened further, my heartbeat accelerating as if trying to escape. BA-BUMP, BA-BUMP.
He raised his hands, movements partially obscured by the frame, framed by an explosion of beautiful, glowing flowers that seemed to bloom just for us. I couldn't tell exactly what he was doing, but the combination of his proximity, his gaze, and that mischievous smirk made my stomach flutter uncontrollably.
BA-BUMP, BA-BUMP, BA-BUMP.
Every beat echoed in my ears, each one louder than the last, as if my heart were trying to tell me something I didn't fully understand yet.