“Isn’t dying your role”
To die and give Silvanus an excuse to break the truce.
That is precisely Aristine’s duty.
“If you understand, then hurry up—”
“There’s a misconception.”
Aristine’s cold tone cut off Rosalyn.
“This is Irugo, not Silvanus.”
Rosalyn recoiled as if struck by a hammer, standing dumbfounded in shock.
When Rosalyn did not answer, the other maids advanced.
“Hah So it’s all just hot air over nothing”
“I was worried but I never thought she’d be this oblivious”
“Even if this is Irugo—”
“You really are worse than dogs. Hard to imagine how you think to conduct yourself”
Aristine’s emotionless voice silenced them.
She rested her cheek on her palm and surveyed the maids.
“I only allow house dogs inside. What shall I do with you lot?”
The maids shivered under her vivid violet gaze.
When had the princess ever shown such eyes Had they ever made eye contact before They had no memory of it.
Under invisible pressure, the maids glanced at one another.
“What happens to wild beasts you don’t tame…”
Aristine murmured leisurely, her expression unreadable—no anger, no annoyance, no amusement.
That unnerved the maids further.
“Are they hunted or devoured by predators?”
Either way, the outcome is the same.
“Your Highness!”
Unable to withstand the pressure and fear, the maids shrieked louder.
“I will report this to His Majesty the Emperor!”
“Just wait and see what happens then!”
“Didn’t you see how the Irugo royals reacted? Do you really think they’ll favor someone like you?”
“You truly are an idiot.”
Aristine muttered, horrified by their stupidity.
Had they grown weak in wit from her meek compliance thus far They focused only on the shock of this insolence.
‘Whatever.’
Aristine had joined hands with the formidable Tarkan. That meant she could move freely in this palace from now on.
Dealing with these fools by words had grown tiresome. Perhaps it was time to remind them of reality.
Then—
“Woof woof”
Rosalyn, who had fallen unusually silent, suddenly dropped to her knees at Aristine’s feet. And barked like a dog.
“L-Lady Rosalyn?!”
“What are you doing?”
The other maids cried out in alarm.
Rosalyn’s face blazed crimson with shame, yet she lifted her gaze to Aristine with the gentlest, most obedient eyes—like a dog looking to its master.
“Oh my.”
Aristine’s eyes went wide. But she forced herself into a smile. She had learned from the Emperor’s Eye that one must never show surprise in such moments.
More than the canine mimicry, she was astonished by Rosalyn’s abrupt change in stance.
Having spent most of her life in solitude, Aristine’s mind rationalized it as effortlessly as thinking, People hungry enough will eat dirt, so someone desperate enough might imitate a dog.
“How cute.”
Aristine scratched Rosalyn’s chin deliberately.
Rosalyn’s blush deepened, but she remained kneeling and allowed the touch.
“There was a stray dog among you.”
Her gentle, soft voice sounded like a benevolent mistress doting on her pet.
Despite her shame, Rosalyn did not break her posture. The other maids recoiled in shock, but she paid them no mind. Life was more precious now.
This was Irugo, not Silvanus.
That fact alone sobered the maids. They’d thought they could handle her at their leisure.
“But if the princess’s meekness was just hidden claws…”
None of these maids had any ties to Irugo. They had mocked Aristine, but their own fates were far worse—exiles in a hostile court, abandoned royals bound for death.
The illustrious families had all declined this posting. These were the nobodies from insignificant houses, those who took sadistic joy in pocketing the meager funds meant for the princess.
They tormented and ignored her to soothe their own anxieties by belittling one they saw as inferior.
But the situation had changed.
“One knight was beaten by Prince Tarkan and dragged off to prison.”
‘No need for dogs that bite their master.’
Aristine claimed she only kept dogs she raised. What if she discarded those that showed their fangs?
‘Then they must become dogs.’
Rosalyn had been her greatest tormentor—mixing gravel into her food, stomping filthy shoes into her torn clothes. She’d shouted that death was the princess’s duty.
Now this sudden affection meant nothing.
‘When it’s time, be thorough.’
“Woof woof.”
Rosalyn barked obediently under Aristine’s hand.
“How charming, my little puppy.”
Aristine looked down at Rosalyn with satisfaction. Until this morning, it had been Rosalyn mocking her from above. But now—would the princess’s pitiful face be judged better than a sewer rat?
Shame threatened to grind her teeth. But Rosalyn relentlessly tried to relax her jaw under Aristine’s scratch. She would know the teeth-gritting sound in an instant. Then even this degrading dog act would crumble.
‘I can’t let that happen!’
Rosalyn pressed her face against Aristine’s soft-clad calf, eyes meekly gentle.
“Are you mad…”
“Yikes…”
The other maids recoiled from Rosalyn. They didn’t care how they looked, but they couldn’t stand soiled filth. Rage that couldn’t harm Aristine turned on them instead.
As if sensing their fear, the mistress’s voice sang commands.
“I want you raised as a hunting dog.”
Rosalyn’s emerald eyes flickered.
Hunting dog.
She loved it.
“Woof!”
‘Very well. Since I’m to be a dog, I shall be a dog that rips the prey’s throat out in one bite.’
Her first prey was the maids before her—the very ones who had laughed with her minutes ago.
Rosalyn’s gaze turned savage.
‘You fools who can’t read a situation dare look at me like that?!’
Her teeth ground together, just like a snarling dog.
She did not hide her gnashing. A hunting dog obeys its master. It hunts, tears, and rips until the prey lies still.
And what remains afterward is only one thing.
Aristine.
‘My final prey will be you.’
Rosalyn grinned obsequiously at Aristine. She could play dog all she liked. But at the end, the princess would feel her jaws clamp around her neck. Even if Aristine begged, barked, crawled on all fours, or ate dog food—
‘I will never forget this day…!’
Aristine withdrew her hand from Rosalyn’s fur. Rosalyn flinched as if her heart had been read. Aristine spoke calmly.
“Shall we test your hunting skills?”
White steam curled from Tarkan’s bare back like heat haze.
Sweat droplets slipped down his sunken spine.
With eyes closed, he suddenly snapped them open. A beastly gleam flickered in his golden gaze.
He swung his sword in a wide, horizontal arc. The blade’s trace resembled a crescent moon.
His long black hair streamed like a predator’s mane.
Until he slid the sword back into its scabbard, nothing stirred around him. All the stone figures stood at least twenty paces away—beyond reach of his blade.
Yet—
KUGUGUGUGUNG—!
With a thunderous roar, the statues split in two and collapsed.
“My lord.”
Durante, watching from outside the training ground, approached and handed Tarkan a towel.
“It’s almost time for the council. Everyone’s gathered.”
Tarkan wiped the sweat from his thick neck, nodded, and strode toward the hall.
“Your Highness.”
“My lord.”
“You’ve arrived, Your Highness.”
Tarkan acknowledged his officers’ salutations with a nod. They were all exceptional warriors.
“Let us begin with the report on disposing of the beast carcass we captured yesterday.”
As soon as Tarkan took his seat of honor, the council cut to the chase—he abhorred wasting time.
The meeting continued at length.
“…Therefore, I propose a large-scale purge before winter. In waging war against Silvanus, we neglected the plains.”
Silvanus. At that word, the warriors, who had been discussing beasts, all thought of one person.
“By the way, what of the princess?”
“No matter how I asked Durante, he wouldn’t answer. Dry fellow.”
“His men are the opposite. They parade about saying they fancy the Silvanus princess.”
“Ridiculous, to like some Silvanan princess. Preposterous.”
“She’ll be my lord’s bride. Watch your tongue.”
Durante’s quiet admonition backfired.
“What need have we to guard our words with a Silvanan! We don’t know her designs!”
The hall, which had been a steady drumbeat of reports, erupted in uproar. Warriors are quicker with steel than words. This was only to be expected.
Tarkan watched the commotion before speaking.
“Jacalen.”
At his low voice, the war-torn hall fell silent.
“My lord.”
Jacalen, a superb fighter but an even greater strategist, was the lone scholar among these heavily muscled warriors.
“Why did you not report that the princess had been confined? It’s a simple fact you’d uncover with minimal inquiry.”
Tarkan’s reproachful golden gaze struck Jacalen like thunder. He flinched as if whipped.
Yet he felt unjustly accused.
“I intended to report it, my lord.”
“Intending is not enough. The question is, did you report it?”
Tarkan’s mild rebuke sounded cataclysmic to Jacalen. His resentment deepened.
“I did speak of it… but you said it was unnecessary and would not listen.”
Tarkan fell silent. He recalled that indeed he had dismissed such reports. He’d thought the Silvanus princess came only to fulfill the bare minimum for peace—nothing more.
His father, Nefter, sought not only an end to war through this marriage but also to bolster his son’s political standing with noble blood.
Knowing that, Tarkan had refused to know about the princess. Her lineage could never affect him.
He had never been ashamed of his blood. The idea that a woman’s noble blood was needed to bring him closer to the throne was insulting.
His father must think him a fool.
‘Or perhaps he wants to force me forward as heir.’
He wanted to eliminate every disqualifying trait in Tarkan to make him heir, while Tarkan himself had never desired the throne.
He neither sought nor refused it—he had made no decision.
He disliked court intrigue and had no lust for power. Yet his half-brother Hamir, once king, would cut down everything related to Tarkan.
Now one more target had emerged: a princess with silver hair and dawn-colored eyes, so uncommon among Irugo.
Yet Tarkan still could not decide. He clung to the hope of another path.
“I did prepare the report before the princess arrived. However—”
Jacalen’s voice trembled with anxiety as he reported his otherwise flawless handling of duties.
“And?”
“You burned it, calling it good kindling.”