I had boarded the carriage again with exasperation. Ambrose had not yet stepped inside. In the meantime, I found myself wondering why my personal maids had laced my corset tightly enough to steal my breath, even for a journey. And then he asks why I dress so lightly... Freezing in a nightgown was far better than suffocating beneath layers of fabric. I suppose they truly believe I will never bear a children. Otherwise, they wouldn't squeeze a newlywed Princess this tight.

When Ambrose boarded, I involuntarily gathered myself and shrank a little. There was no need, really... But the less space I occupied, the safer I felt. When the horses began to move, I locked my eyes on the window. The scenery didn't change much: first thick trees with dark trunks, then more delicate ones with thin branches, and then massive trunks again... It was as if even the forest was breathing in an orderly rhythm.

I, however, amid all this oxygen, was struggling to breathe. A tight corset, a heavy layered dress, and constantly sitting up straight— shoulders back, chest up!.. God. Help me. I might faint any moment now.

"Are you alright, Princess?"

I had already been looking at him, but I was so lost in my inner world that I hadn't even realized my intense gaze upon him.

"I am fine."

"You don't look very well... I will tell them to stop for a break."

"N-No, there's no need. It's just... my corset is a bit tight. If I had known, I wouldn't have eaten..." I made an excuse, but it would have been better if I hadn't. When it came to skipping meals, he didn't offer not eating as an option.

"Come here. Let me loosen your laces."

"Here? H-How will you do that? Don't trouble yourself," I said, waving my hands in embarrassment.

But he didn't answer at all. He reached for my waist, pulled gently, and in one motion drew me close to him. When my back rested against his chest, my body tensed involuntarily. I was now sitting in his lap. The carriage swayed slightly, but he held me as steady as a rock.

When he brought his hand to my back, I instinctively kept my face facing forward, as if I had no right to look behind me.

Then—his fingers slowly undid the back buttons of the dress. In the silence, only the sound of horses' hooves, the rustling of fabric, and my occasional breath could be heard. When he reached the thin laces of the corset, his fingers began to carefully untie them. Every movement was slow, patient, and measured. He neither rushed nor stopped. Occasionally, when his breath brushed against my skin, I shivered. But neither did I move, nor did he say a word.

It was as if in that moment, there were only the loosening laces and... me.

After a while, the tightness inside me began to ease. My chest—for the first time, I was able to take a full breath. I tried not to show my greed for breathing. My hands went to my breasts, to prevent the corset from slipping while he worked on it.

"How many laces are there..." he murmured, though not out of frustration.

As Ambrose undid the remaining laces, my breath caught in my throat for a second.

As the corset loosened, the physical tension inside me eased, but... another kind of tension was growing. With my body this close to him, feeling his heat so directly... both my mind and my heart were restless. But he was still so calm.

Even as his fingers carefully untied the final laces, his breathing remained steady. I, on the other hand... couldn't control my own breath.

"Is that better?" he whispered. In his tone, there was neither mockery nor affection. Just... clear attentiveness.

"Yes... I think so," I said, turning my head to the side. My voice was shaky.

It was surprising that he could untangle that mess of a corset tied tightly with sharp knots. He took one of the laces between his lips. A few more came undone. When his fingers began to glide over my skin, I realized he was tying it back up, but he wasn't squeezing at all. He masterfully preserved the space he had left for me to breathe. My heart was beating so fast I thought it could be heard at any moment. My breaths came in short, shallow gasps. No matter how still I tried to remain, I couldn't stop the rise and fall of my chest. I was certain Ambrose felt something. He felt it. He must have understood.

But he said nothing. He only placed his hand on my waist, steadying me. So I could compose myself. Or... for himself.

Right at that moment... A sound came from outside the carriage. The horses had stopped. And then—

The door opened. The knight standing at the door startled for a few seconds. His eyes took in our position—me on Ambrose's lap, my dress half undone, a flushed astonishment on my face... And Ambrose's arm still holding me.

He let out an awkward cough.

"Ex... excuse me. Whenever you are ready, we can continue on our way, my Lord."

Even the sound of the door closing sounded embarrassed. I... couldn't breathe or swallow. My face was flushed red. Ambrose, however... first raised a single brow. Then a faint smile touched his lips. He wasn't mocking me, nor was he apologizing. He was merely accepting what was, as it was. While I wished the ground would swallow me whole, he remained calm. He fastened my dress with the same slowness.

"I suppose you are more comfortable now," he said.

I couldn't say a thing. But my heart... was beating faster than the wheels of the carriage.

"I need to look outside, to find out why they called me. You catch your breath here," he whispered this into my ear without letting me off his lap yet. I got up while I still could and moved back to my seat. My eyes didn't dare look at him. Even as he stepped out, I couldn't bring myself to look at his behind...

***

When Ambrose stepped out of the carriage, his eyes quickly darted to the knight. The young man had his head bowed, acting as if he hadn't seen a thing. But Ambrose had already read the shift in his expression. He knew what he saw, what he assumed, and what he would promise upon right now. Yet, he said nothing.

The outward calm sat upon Ambrose's face like a mask. But in his inner world—everything he had felt while Deyanira's body trembled and her breaths grew erratic—he still carried it in his fingertips. While holding her, grasping that slender waist... he had felt both the young woman's fear and another emotion she tried to hide even from herself.

"My Lord... There is someone in the middle of the road. Preventing us from moving forward."

He heard the voices of his knights. "This could be a trap!" one of them said.

"Is this a new tactic for highwaymen?" grumbled another.

"A bandit?" Ambrose asked, but his tone sounded more like disappointment.

"No... A woman. Elderly. Acting as if she's gone mad. But she isn't moving. She just stands right in front of us, shouting and screaming."

Ambrose furrowed his brows. He gave a signal. Without allowing anyone to reach for their swords, he moved forward. A short distance ahead of the carriage, right in the middle of the road... stood a woman with scraps of cloth braided around her head, her clothes torn to shreds, her bare feet caked in mud.

Her eyes were as dull as milk. It might have even been her natural eye color. She was old, but her voice—though trembling—was equally clear.

"Son of the Verena!" she cried out. "Here you are! Where have you been?"

Ambrose stopped where he stood. "Who sent you?"

"The same one who sent her to you!" Her eyes were so white it seemed she wasn't looking anywhere at all. But from the shift in the woman's expression, Ambrose realized Deyanira had stepped out behind him.

''Majesteleri... çok güzel... sen çok özel...'' She tried to take a step, but Ambrose blocked her path.

"You will not get near her."

''Sen de ona yaklaşamazsın.''

Deyanira approached with curiosity. Her large brown eyes shone with intrigue.

''İşte güzel cadı'm gel buraya...'' the seer opened her arms. "You did not die, you will not die; you were not born, you will not be born. You exist to kill!" she continued, switching back to the language of the Empire so the others could understand. Ambrose had not understood what she said before, despite the multitude of languages he knew. But anything that fixed its gaze upon Deyanira was a threat.

"If you do not wish to die, hold your tongue," Ambrose hissed in anger. "Stay out of our way."

Unable to hold herself back, the Princess stepped even closer. "Ambrose..."

"Deyanira, get inside."

"She is trying to tell us something, can't you see?"

"Have you not heard enough prophecies?" he furrowed his brows, and there it was, he had raised his voice at the girl.

''İşte sen doğruyu dinliyorsun... Al onu ve kavuş ruhuna. Ölümdür senin doğurganlığını alan!' the seer continued her ravings.

Deyanira's attention was fixed on the old woman rather than her husband. Ambrose, on the other hand, was determined to put a stop to it, like a husband jealous of his wife's attention shifting to this woman. "Speak one more word in that language of unknown origin, lady, and I will have your tongue cut out," he warned with absolute clarity. He then turned his back on the woman, grabbed Deyanira by the arm, and pulled her toward the carriage.

The seer shouted after them, "You will kill her with your chains!"

Shoved inside through the open door, Deyanira furrowed her brows. "Did you hear that?"

"Why did you come outside?"

"Why shouldn't I? I heard voices, I was curious."

"It isn't just rocks, deer, and merchants that cross our path on campaigns. Madmen, looters, and monsters like this appear as well. That is why you will not come outside."

"It's not as if I was going to die right there on the spot. Beside my own knights, by my husband leading." The Princess furrowed her brows as well. She was being stubborn, using softening words but with a dark tone.

"That woman could have been a witch. We don't even know the extent of their powers. What would it cost you to not constantly throw yourself in front of trouble?" He sighed, rubbing his forehead.

The young woman crossed her arms and punished the General by refusing to look at him.

The journey took longer than expected and was exceedingly exhausting for the Princess. An urge to squirm from side to side welled up inside her, but this was hardly behavior befitting a Princess. Thank heavens her corset was loose, slightly lessening her discomfort. She persistently remembered not to look his way.

The General, however, continued to study the girl across from him with his eyes. Inwardly, he wanted to call for a break, to even tell her that lying down wouldn't be a problem, but his stubbornness was no less than the Princess's; it was more fitting to say it was greater. The Princess continued to sit with her knees pressed together, occasionally bringing a hand to her rose-dust lips to hide a yawn; her dark brown lashes were dampened by sleep, but the rocking carriage simply wouldn't let her drift off. Her long hair framed her beautiful face, but its softness offered her no pillow. Perhaps this would be a punishment for the Princess, perhaps she would understand that next time she needed to listen to her husband, that these places were not suited for Princesses.

***

I thought I had closed my eyes for only a few seconds, but when I opened them, light was no longer filtering inside. A heavy fabric and a familiar scent lay over me. The owner was sitting across from me with his legs manspread, his eyes closed, sleeping(?). With a lurch of the carriage, my head bumped again. Seizing the opportunity, I made no sound, lest he throw it back in my face. The demon Neven was one thing, but perhaps the palace truly was a better idea— Knock knock.

"My Lord, we have arrived at our destination!"

This time they weren't opening the door for us; they were taking precautions, just in case. Ambrose opened his eyes effortlessly, as if he hadn't been sleeping at all. He stepped out of the carriage before me, and I followed without waiting for assistance. The sky was quite dark, but we had arrived in one of the outskirts of the NVerena Empire, the Sylvarath province, and it was freezing. The ground was made of stone paths. It was famous for its spring gardens, but because we had come for political reasons, we had arrived in its more rural, yet green and cold section. The knights of the Whisper of the Night acted before I could, draping my cloak over my shoulders. I found no time to thank them; Ambrose led the way with harsh strides. I stayed silent and listened to his conversation with Liam.

"The local governor found a way to gather the traitors who are not of NVernian descent, but..."

"But?"

"One of our provoked knights killed them en masse."

"Under whose orders?" he practically snarled. As if he were the only executioner who could give the order for the death. He was going to kill them himself anyway...

"We don't know what his motive was." Liam was accustomed to his ferocity, answering calmly. "Supposedly, he is one of the mutineers himself, but he is NVernian."

The sound of the crowd ahead reached us more clearly now. I knew we were getting closer, and inwardly, I was glad I hadn't been tossed aside, that they had forgotten to shoo me away.

"My General, what shall we do with the Princess?"

Oh, damn it...

"Attend to the Princess. Settle her in a palace with a hot bath. Ensure she eats something." Rote instructions... "Do not leave her side. Let our knights go with her, not the royal knights."

"We are outnumbered; if we send our own knights with the Princess, it will not end well."

But why..? Knights are knights, whether they belong to the Palace or the Whisper of the Night. What difference does it make? Both are under Ambrose's command.

"Do not leave her side," he said, entrusting me to Liam.

His strides carried him further ahead of us, and when the gathered knights saw him, their voices ceased. The silence and order the Governor had been struggling to establish for hours hinged on a single look from Ambrose. The group had already split into two. On one side stood our own knights who had been persuaded to mutiny; on the other, the Governor and the royal knights tasked with suppressing the rebellion.

"Who is the mortal traitor who fancies himself an executioner?" Ambrose raised his voice.

Liam turned his gaze to me to see if I was afraid of him, I felt it, but to witness the impending chaos, I didn't take my eyes off Ambrose. The opposite of my prediction occurred; instead of staying silent and hiding, that knight stepped forward. I only heard the sound of his footsteps first; my vision from the back was limited.

"It is I, my General."

And this voice... was far too familiar—more so than it should have been.