Chernea looked down at her hem, caught under Riorem’s military boot.
With the heating off due to the chaos, and her bare legs exposed, she felt a bit cold.
But seeing Riorem’s reaction, it seemed he had done it on purpose to humiliate her, so she didn’t bother pulling the dress down.
A cruel smile played on Riorem’s lips.
“I’ll take you to my estate. I’ll tie you to the bed and not give you a moment of freedom. So to speak.”
Thud.
His boot stomped harshly between Chernea’s legs.
Riorem bent forward, bringing his face close enough to feel her breath—he wanted to flaunt his victory.
“You’re going to become the lowest of slaves now, my lady. A bedroom slave.”
Her red-painted lips parted slightly.
As if something had just occurred to her, Chernea stared blankly at Riorem’s face.
‘…a way.’
A quiet whisper echoed from the depths of her memory.
Chernea quietly searched her memories.
The bloodline that had traded humanity for intelligence quickly traced the source of that voice.
A long-buried memory rose swiftly to the surface.
It had happened late one night.
In her memory, Chernea sat on her bed, looking down at the floor.
The room was silent.
There were no sounds from the hallway either.
The maid who was supposed to be guarding the bedroom must have dozed off.
The visitor must have known that and sneaked in—just like on the nights she had previously turned a blind eye.
At the end of her gaze, a slave was prostrating himself.
It was Riorem, her personal foot-washing slave, who never dared to climb into her bed, even when permitted.
Riorem trembled as he bowed, his shoulders shaking.
Chernea watched him for a long time.
Then the silence broke with a soft click.
Riorem raised his head.
His blue eyes shimmered faintly in the low light.
Though he had just come of age, his face still bore traces of boyhood—like his delicately shaped lips.
Those lips parted to speak.
‘I will find a way. Not like this… but…’
The Chernea in the memory tilted her chin slightly.
Mirroring that, the 28-year-old Chernea tilted her head in the same way.
Then the memory sharpened into a vivid scene, and the half-remembered words returned as a clear sentence:
‘Not sneaking in under your tacit approval like this, but a way to lie beside you.’
Yes.
He had said that.
On that night, when she had whispered that she would open her legs just for one night—so that he would no longer desire her from afar.
How dare a slave defy their master’s words.
“Mmm.”
A quiet sound escaped Chernea’s throat.
That was when everything came flooding back.
Her golden eyes locked directly onto Riorem’s.
It was a rare moment of emotional reaction.
Chernea asked,
“So all this chaos… was just to have me?”
Riorem didn’t answer.
He simply looked at her with cold eyes.
Because he was certain his master—who had always been cruelly generous—would say something to crush him once more.
And just as he expected, Chernea returned yet another allowance—so indifferent, it was almost merciless.
“You could’ve just asked for one night.”
“…Ha.”
Riorem let out a dry laugh.
He hadn’t expected her to scream, cry, or hurl curses at him.
He thought she would raise her chin with that aloof dignity, just like the most precious treasure of the palace should.
But these words—he had never imagined them.
“Of course. That’s just like you.”
Riorem reached both hands toward Chernea’s neck, as if ready to strangle her slender throat.
But though his large hands trembled in the air, they couldn’t bring themselves to clutch her neck.
To ask her to open her legs for him?
Such vulgar, outrageous words had never crossed even his dreams.
Chernea Antonietta del Feroa—she was the most highly valued among the Grand Duke’s three daughters.
The fact that she hadn’t married by age twenty-eight, or that she’d broken off six engagements, meant nothing.
None of that diminished her worth—not in the slightest.
That’s why no one had been able to claim her until now.
And someone like her… was impossible to possess.
Not in his arms, not in his heart.
Riorem furrowed his brow in agony.
A lump of emotion kept rising in his throat, more violently than all the pain he had endured in this palace.
Honestly, it hurt.
Before he could even name that feeling, Riorem sprang to his feet.
The chair clattered loudly behind him as it toppled, but he didn’t care.
He grabbed Chernea by the wrist and marched toward the door.
Noticing how his hand was trembling, Chernea slightly relaxed her brows—but Riorem didn’t notice.
He just kept walking, like he was fleeing.
Several knights were waiting outside the drawing room.
They saluted as soon as they saw Riorem, but their expressions twisted in confusion when they noticed
Chernea following behind.
Riorem dragged her toward them.
“Take her to Dynamis.”
The knights’ faces distorted with strange expressions.
“The Lady of Peroa… you mean?”
“She’s not the Lady of Peroa anymore. Just take her there first. I’ll follow after finishing up the remnants.”
“But…”
The knights exchanged bewildered glances.
The King of Arete was a man obsessed with conquest—but he wasn’t a warmonger.
If a nation surrendered peacefully, he would depose the royal family and turn it into a vassal state.
But if they resisted, he would crush them completely—exterminating every noble house with even a drop of royal blood.
That was why the Grand Duke of Peroa and his entire kin had been slaughtered.
So, the second princess of Peroa should have died here too.
The only reason she still drew breath was because of Riorem’s orders.
When the command not to kill the princess was issued, the soldiers naturally assumed that General Riorem would execute her himself.
It made sense.
After all, how deep must the hatred have been for a man to flee the duchy and become a mercenary—only to return now?
And yet, not only was he sparing the woman, he was planning to take her to Arete?
No wonder the order caused such confusion.
Watching the scene unfold, Chernea muttered softly,
“Sending your bed slave in a carriage with other men… You’re awfully generous with your subordinates, Riorem.”
Riorem’s face twisted in irritation.
No one would dare touch what belonged to him.
Still, it was true that putting a bed slave—one he hadn’t even used yet—into the same space with other men was displeasing as her owner.
“…How many of the remnants are left?”
“Only the young duke and a few of his lackeys. We should be able to catch them before dawn.”
“Then we’ll finish this tonight.”
With that decision, Riorem swiftly struck the back of Chernea’s neck.
Her rich red hair scattered like flower petals as her body collapsed limply into Riorem’s arms.
He turned to the knights and shouted,
“We leave to hunt the young duke in thirty minutes. Once his head falls, we head straight to Arete. Prepare now.”
The knights watched in stunned silence as Riorem walked away toward the supply wagons, carrying the breathtaking woman in his arms like a treasure.
I woke up on an unfamiliar bed.
The moment I opened my eyes, I realized I was bound.
My arms and legs were tied tightly with silk ropes, each one fastened to a bedpost.
No matter how much I strained, the knots wouldn’t loosen—the silk cords only grew tauter.
“So this is what he meant when he said he’d tie me to the bed.”
I recalled Riorem’s words.
I’d never had a bed slave before, but I could guess this wasn’t a standard way to restrain someone.
To use me as intended, my legs would need to be fully spread—so this awkward tying…
It meant Riorem had never had a bed slave either.
I moved my eyes to scan the room.
Everything in this bedroom was unfamiliar.
The architecture, with its pillars carved from smooth marble instead of wood, made it clear I was somewhere I’d never been before.
Even so, I could tell this bedroom was luxurious—its owner clearly someone with great power and influence.