Chapter 19: Imprisonment

She wandered around aimlessly, surprised to find she could still move freely within the palace, though her magical abilities remained sealed. Suddenly, the heavy rhythm of iron hooves sounded behind her.

Solene lightly touched her pale, chilled face. In an instant, the Imperial Guards had surrounded her. Leading them was the young man she had seen speaking with Ian at Count Dana’s estate. They stood tall in the sunlight like righteous heroes, looking down upon her.

"Countess, it has been a long time." The man’s voice was thick with disdain; he looked at her as if staring at a defeated wretch.

Solene looked up at the blazing sun in the sky. The man was bathed in its light.

The apprentice you trained yourself is indeed extraordinary,

Solene sighed inwardly. She gave a small smile and a polite nod. "Hello, new Commander of the Imperial Knights."

The man frowned. "Where is my master?"

"She returned to her hometown to recuperate," Solene replied calmly, indifferent to his arrogance and contempt.

The man strode away, and Solene turned to walk back, trying to recall his name. She remembered Sylvia mentioning him—Wesil, a knight of commoner origin who was exceptionally hardworking.

Sylvia should be doing well now,

she thought,

just as she had hoped—owning her own little wooden cabin and a patch of land, living a quiet, peaceful life.

"Countess Solene." Hearing the call, she stopped abruptly and looked back. Ian was there, surrounded by a crowd, restored to his former glory as the center of the world’s attention.

"The nation’s land no longer belongs to the nobility; it belongs to the citizens of the Empire." Ian held a session report and moved to hand it to her.

Solene did not take it. She merely waved her hand with a detached expression. "Since there are no more nobles, I am no longer a Countess. I needn’t participate in these matters; I am not a member of the council."

Under the stunned gazes of the crowd, she turned and walked away.

"She is a criminal; why does His Majesty still listen to her opinion?"

"Indeed, she killed so many people. She’s a lunatic—why keep her around?"

Wesil stepped forward. "Your Majesty, once matters here are concluded, I wish to request leave to go find my master."

Ian nodded, his gaze fixed on Solene’s retreating back. He had expected a fierce battle between them, but everything had gone more smoothly than he could have imagined. At the time, his stunning magic had struck her neck with ease, as if she had no protective mana surrounding her body at all.

Solene lay in a wicker rocking chair, leafing through a best-selling travelogue. Her father’s pocket watch was wrapped around her wrist. The warmth of the fireplace enveloped her, the firewood crackled, and the rocking chair gave a soft creak—all sounds forming a hypnotic melody.

A rare sense of happiness surrounded Solene. She remembered the days before her father fell into debt. Every winter, the family of three would huddle by the fire; her father would teach her to read while her mother crocheted lace nearby. The clicking of the needles was crisp and pleasant, the fire popped occasionally, and her father’s voice was warm and gentle.

Propping up her head, she held a quill—an old item of her father’s. It was of excellent quality and so light it felt as though she weren't holding a pen at all. Gradually, her eyes closed, and she drifted into a dream.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself lying in bed. Moonlight spilled across the bedside through the window. Her unfinished book sat on the nightstand, with the pocket watch acting as a bookmark between the pages.

A sound came from behind her, and a pair of strong arms pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Why did you run out again?" The man’s voice was deep and resonant, his body warm and powerful. Feeling a chill on Solene’s shoulders, he crossed his warm palms over her chest and rested them gently on her shoulders.

It was Ian’s scent—a thick, noble fragrance of roses surrounding her. Solene closed her eyes and remained motionless, pretending she was still asleep. She noticed the restraint on her wrist had been removed, but her remaining mana was insufficient to support an escape. Besides, she was too tired to move.

The first light of morning crept through the window, gently waking the sleeping Solene. Though snow had fallen last night, the sun had emerged by dawn.

"Good morning." Ian’s voice carried a hint of morning lethargy; he had maintained the same position as last night without moving.

Solene struggled to sit up, her hair a messy bird's nest atop her head, looking playful and endearing. Ian, wearing matching white pajamas, was carefully helping rescue her face from the tangled strands of hair. Solene’s gaze was hazy, as if she were still savoring her dream; it had been a long time since she had enjoyed such a peaceful sleep.

Ian suddenly pulled her close into his arms, his cheek pressed against hers, and whispered, "Our wedding date has been set for early spring. By then, you only need to drink a disguise potion, and no one will discover your true identity. I will announce to the public that you are a woman I encountered in the Lowlands who once saved my life."

Solene frowned slightly, confused. "Shouldn't there be an engagement first?" Simultaneously, she felt something burning hot press against her spine from behind.

"Because I cannot wait any longer." Ian buried his head in the crook of her neck, pressing a devout kiss there.

Solene clenched her fists, saying with some unease, "I don't want to be Empress, and I don't want..."

Before she could finish, Ian turned her head and kissed her deeply, sealing all her words between their lips. Their pajamas were as light as cicada wings, coming undone with a single tug.

Solene gasped for breath, feeling a suffocating sensation as if she were drowning. Her body was burning hot, and her legs were so weak they could barely hold any strength. With trembling hands, she managed to pull her nightgown over her shoulders, straining with all her might to reach for the bell on the table—but the hand behind her suddenly yanked her back.

Only when her strength was completely exhausted did Ian tenderly pull her into his embrace and gently ring the bell on the table. A maid Solene found somewhat familiar walked in. Wasn't this the same maid who had fed her the memory-erasing potion before?

Ian carried her out of the room. The original palace servants were gone; only this maid remained. He carried her into the bathroom and gently placed her in the tub. He meticulously helped wash her body. Solene’s hair, soaked with water and plastered to her cheeks, made her look exceptionally fragile. Ian’s fingers trembled slightly, the restraint he imposed on himself becoming painful.

After accompanying her for lunch, Ian hurried away. Solene returned to the room and found the pink magic stone sitting quietly on the mantelpiece, shimmering with an alluring light. If she absorbed the mana from this stone, she could cast a teleportation spell to escape this place.

Solene slowly reached her hand toward the stone but made no further move. Ian was stronger than she had anticipated. Eventually, she withdrew her hand and picked up her book, sitting in the rocking chair as she had yesterday, as drowsiness began to take hold.

When she opened her eyes again, she found her rocking chair moving slowly. Looking to the side, she saw Ian holding the chair steadily with both hands.

"Did I wake you?" Ian asked softly, looking down.

Solene shook her head gently, her tone flat. "You could have woken me. I can walk myself." She was still clutching her book tightly.

Since yesterday, the smile had vanished from her face. There was no sadness, no displeasure; it was as if she were simply someone who was not inclined to smile by nature. And now, she felt an unprecedented sense of relief instead. She no longer had to force herself to laugh; whether he wanted to kill her or lock her away, she was at his mercy.

Ian led her to the other side of the room, which had clearly undergone meticulous renovation. Inadvertently, her gaze drifted out the window, catching sight of a woman who looked exactly like her being escorted out. The one executing the task was Wesil. There were dark circles under Wesil's eyes, and as he stared at the woman who looked identical to Solene, his eyes flickered with a deep-seated hatred. Solene instantly sensed something was wrong.

"What exactly happened to him?" Solene asked in a low voice.

"Sylvia is dead. It was suicide—poison," Ian replied succinctly, not mentioning the letter found by Sylvia’s body.

Solene’s face turned deathly pale in an instant, and she closed her eyes in exhaustion.

"He wants you dead," Ian added.

Solene merely gave a faint "Mhm" in response, appearing not to care.

"Who exactly is that woman?" Solene asked indifferently.

Ian gently set her down and pushed open a door. "She is a female knight who admired you. Learning that the Commander intended to harm you, she rushed here, intending to take you away. I found her and made a proposal... she accepted. She asked me to pass a message to you: Your achievements will never be forgotten by the people."

Solene turned her head slightly, so Ian could not see her expression. The door opened slowly to reveal a study that had been specially organized—quite different from the one on the fourth floor that was far from Solene’s room. Ian settled Solene by the fire, then closed the door and began handling the affairs on the desk.

It turned out his haste at noon was all for the preparations of this moment. Now, she no longer had to toil day and night over these trifles; she was light and at ease.

Solene continued leafing through the travelogue in her hand when, suddenly, a single tear slid down silently. Her hands began to tremble involuntarily, and a buzzing rang in her ears. A sharp pain in her head caused her to knit her brows tightly. She closed her eyes and gasped for breath, as moments from her past flashed through her mind like a rapid film.

In the final moment, she gazed at Ian’s panicked and anxious eyes, and an indescribable metallic sweetness surged into her throat.

This winter was exceptionally cold. Even being so close to the fireplace, it was difficult to dispel the bone-chilling frost.

When she opened her eyes again, she was lying safely in bed. Outside the room, a doctor was speaking in low tones with Ian. Ian’s voice was laced with angry growls, sounding extremely agitated.

As the door pushed open, Solene saw Ian—his eyes bloodshot, his expression bleak—staggering to her bedside.

The doctor told her that depression had plagued her for many years, and her long-term reliance on painkillers had resulted in severe drug side effects. Based on this, he estimated the illness had a history of over ten years; otherwise, the side effects wouldn't be so violent.

Ian gripped her cold hand tightly, his heart full of pity and pain. Without hesitation, he shed his outer coat, climbed onto the bed, and pulled her firmly into his embrace. Solene’s gaze was vacant, allowing him to warm her this way.

"You need to rest properly. Your body is far too exhausted," Ian’s voice was soft but firm, as if everything were truly that simple. Solene gave a soft hum of agreement.

She understood her own physical condition better than anyone.