The night wind brushed over the grass, and the sound of hooves struck a steady rhythm against the stone path.
Megri sat atop the horse, her back straight, though her hands were slightly unsure of where to rest.
It was her first time riding.
Aaron walked ahead of her, holding the reins, his steps steady and unhurried. The horse was gentle, and beneath the veil of night, only breathing and footsteps could be heard.
"Don't be nervous," he said without turning back, his voice low but dependable.
"She's well-trained. She won't bolt."
Megri nodded, even though he might not see it. The wind swept past her ears, carrying the coolness unique to nighttime. A smile crept onto her lips.
"I've always wanted to ride a horse," she said suddenly. Her voice was soft, but sincere.
"Before… I never had the time."
Aaron's steps faltered, just slightly.
"Now you do."
The words slipped out before he could stop them. He froze for a brief moment, then continued walking as if nothing had happened.
Moonlight fell over her figure. Thin, slight—yet quiet and unyielding.
And suddenly, Aaron realized—
She wasn't fragile in the way that needed protecting.
She was the kind of person who, if she fell, no one else would stand up for her.
That realization tightened something in his chest.
As they neared the castle, Aaron slowed his pace.
"About today…" He hesitated, then spoke.
"I heard about what happened at the market."
Megri's fingers tightened for a heartbeat, then relaxed.
"It's nothing," she said calmly.
"I'm used to it."
Those three words made Aaron stop.
He turned to look at her—not with the eyes of a patrol captain, but as a man looking at another person.
"That's not something you should ever have to get used to," he said.
Megri froze.
Aaron said nothing more. He simply reached out to help her down from the horse. His movements were restrained, but firm, steady.
"Go inside," he said.
"It's late."
Megri stood there, watching him turn and lead the horse away. And suddenly, the night no longer felt so cold.
Walking back into the darkness, Aaron realized—too late—
The words he had spoken had already crossed the line of "rules."
Back in the house, the two men left behind—
Kai and Chino—stood in the kitchen.
The dishes were still unwashed. The pot still held residual warmth.
But the person who had filled the room was gone.
Chino spoke first, his voice low and sullen.
"…She didn't used to leave like this."
Kai didn't answer. He picked up a plate, then set it down again.
"When she was sitting here," Kai said quietly,
"this place felt like home."
Chino fell silent.
After a moment, he muttered, almost reluctantly,
"I just think… when she's happy, she looks really nice."
The words hung in the air.
Both men froze.
Neither denied it.
Because they both knew—
What they had grown attached to wasn't just the food anymore.
And tonight,
she had been walked away by someone else.
[Inside the Castle]
Megri slipped quietly through the back entrance of the castle—only to spot a familiar figure lurking in the shadows of the corridor.
Loya leaned against a stone pillar, idly playing with an unlit flint in his hand. His eyes were dark, unreadable.
"You're back late," Loya said, his voice rough with something unspoken.
He could smell it—
Not just the scent of oil and cooking smoke clinging to her clothes, but something unfamiliar. The crisp chill of the outdoors. The faint leather scent of a horse.
"Where I go is none of your business," Megri said calmly, attempting to walk past him.
Loya's arm shot out, blocking her path. The flint between his fingers gleamed coldly under the moonlight.
His gaze locked onto her face.
Once upon a time, this girl would flinch the moment she came near him—shoulders hunched like a frightened rabbit, breathing carefully, afraid to take up space. That weakness had irritated him, driven him to push harder, to see her crumble completely.
But the Megri standing before him now—
Her back was straight.
"Move," she said.
Her voice was even, emotionless—yet carried undeniable force.
Loya froze.
Her eyes were bright. Not the dull gray of self-doubt, but a resilient light, tempered by something like hope.
"You used to be afraid to look me in the eye," Loya leaned closer, his voice dropping so low only the two of them could hear. There was an edge of agitation he didn't even recognize himself.
"So who gave you this courage? That landowner who defended you at the market? Or the guard who just brought you home?"
Megri didn't retreat.
Instead, she stepped forward.
They stood close enough to feel each other's warmth.
"Loya," she said softly, the corner of her lips lifting into a smile that looked unfamiliar—dangerous, even.
"What do you think gave me courage?"
She met his gaze without flinching.
"It's because I realized something."
"The cold words in this castle can't actually starve me to death."
"And the world outside… is warmer than you think."
Loya's heart lurched. His arm trembled as he blocked her.
"Y-you—"
"If you have so much time to loiter here," Megri cut him off, her gaze flicking to the flint in his hand,
"you might want to worry about yourself first. If Lady Natta finds out you're awake in the middle of the night waiting here for a 'disgusting skinny girl,' what do you think she'll say?"
The words struck home with brutal precision.
Loya recoiled as if burned, his face darkening.
Megri didn't spare him another glance. She turned and walked down the corridor, her skirt brushing softly against the stone floor.
Loya stood frozen, watching her disappear around the corner.
He looked down at the hand that had blocked her path—his palm still seemed to carry the faint, living warmth of her presence.
"…Damn it."
He cursed under his breath, clenching the flint tightly.
He hated this feeling.
Hated the sensation that even though she had been right there—
She had already gone somewhere he could no longer reach.
Back in her sparse attic room, Megri shut the door behind her and let out a long breath.
"Soon," she whispered, her eyes calm and resolute.
"Natta. Gray. Loya. Kiki…"
"I'll show you what real 'bitterness' tastes like."
That night, in her dreams—
She smelled chocolate.
Rich. Silky.
And laced with a deadly temptation.