The music and dance had yet to fade.

A grand banquet filled the palace’s side hall.

Mia stood on her bedroom balcony, reaching for snowflakes drifting from the sky. *So beautiful*, she thought. *What must the world beyond look like right now?*

Unlike her energetic younger brother Percy, Mia had suffered from an incurable illness since childhood. Her father, King Gill, imposed strict limitations on her—especially forbidding her from leaving the palace.

To many, the palace was a place of dreams. To Mia, it was merely a cage.

Gill loved her fiercely, yet his protection became chains. During the last Birth Festival, she’d slipped past guards to escape outside. Two soldiers nearly faced the gallows for her recklessness.

*Though perhaps Percy shares the blame?* He’d raved about his mentor, sparking Mia’s curiosity. *What kind of person could tame my arrogant brother?* Yet Alastor seemed ordinary—plain-faced, even awkward with words. Only his courage impressed her: facing Alastor head-on. The arrow that shattered the statue? Likely magic. A simple rune equation inscribed on the shaft—anyone versed in basic thaumaturgy would recognize it.

Albion’s capital hugged the sea, but Mia knew its shores only from books. After endless pleading, Gill finally permitted her monthly walks to the harbor. Standing by the colossal sluice gates, gazing at the distant horizon, Mia was awestruck. Like a caged bird yearning for open skies, a fierce longing burned within her. After years of pain and despair—times she’d wished for death—the ocean’s vastness reignited her will to live. Gill, seeing this change, realized his mistake. True protection wasn’t locking her away. Now, on feast days or palace balls, he let her attend whenever her health allowed.

The Dragonfolk had begun treating her. Recovery would be slow, but hope existed.

*Once I’m well, I’ll finally see the world.* Every place from her books, every landscape in her dreams—Mia longed for them all.

*And he’ll come with me.*

*Lord Alastor.*

Her first meeting with Lupin left little impression—except his swordsmanship. Only someone extraordinary could match Aria, let alone hold back. But their second encounter changed everything.

A single crimson apple clung to the highest branch of a palace courtyard tree.

Mia stood beneath it, straining upward. A servant had gone for a ladder. The wait felt endless.

“Want it?”

A voice startled her. Before she saw his face, she’d already murmured, “Mm-hmm.”

“Then allow me.”

He stepped under the tree, whispered something—and the apple tumbled into Lupin’s palm.

“Here.”

He left her standing alone. That moment reshaped her view of him.

Yet the next night, Lupin appeared on her balcony.

“What are you doing here?” she gasped.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” he countered.

“What… do you want?” As Albion’s princess, an unauthorized man—even a foreign envoy—risked execution. Mia tensed.

“I want to take you out,” he said.

“What?”

“I’ve heard how you long to see beyond these walls.” He smiled, extending his hand. “Let me show you.”

Mia hesitated, then placed her small hand in his larger one.

Lupin blindfolded her, leading her to the harbor walls. Sea breeze lifted her hair. Twin moons shimmered on the water’s surface. In that instant, Mia understood: both the world and her life held wonders worth living for. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Do you like it?” Lupin whispered near her ear.

“Yes… thank you, Alastor. Thank you…”

After that, except on Dragonfolk treatment days, Lupin visited her balcony nightly.

He spoke of an older sister he’d promised to travel the world with—a promise broken by her death. Seeing Mia, he confessed, reminded him of her. A fragile connection, born of grief.

Perched on the walls, Lupin shared his past.

Slowly, Alastor wove himself into Mia’s life.

They learned each other’s hearts.

In just half a month, Mia developed feelings she’d never known for this much older knight. Her pulse raced at his presence; warmth flushed her cheeks. She even asked a young maid—newly engaged and close to her age—for advice.

“That’s love, Your Highness,” the girl replied.

*Is it… really?* Mia wrestled with denial, but her heart refused to lie.

Albion’s saintly princess had become a love-struck girl.

Today, she’d arranged for that same maid to stay close—eager to hear more about romance.

*Ah-choo.*

Mia sneezed. Snow fell thickly; the cold bit deep. *I’ll catch a chill.* She turned toward her room. In three days, Alastor would leave for Angora. *Then I’ll confess.* Her hand pressed against her fluttering chest.

“Mia.”

A voice came from behind.

She spun around. Lupin stood on the snow-dusted balcony.

“Alastor! What are you doing here? It’s still early—someone might see!”

“I missed you.” He stepped inside.

“Eh… Alastor, you—”

*Does he feel the same?* Panic fluttered in her throat.

Then, shockingly, Lupin pulled her into an embrace.

“Stop! Alastor, wait—Alva will be here soon, you—”

“It’s fine,” Lupin chuckled. “He’s already here.”

“What? Where?” Mia twisted free, scanning the room.

“In my hand.”

Relief washed over her. *He’s teasing me.*

“You scared me!”

“I never lied.”

Only then did she notice his right hand hidden behind his back.

“What are you hiding?” She reached toward him.

“Alva.”

Lupin tossed a round object onto the floor. In the dim lamplight, Mia leaned closer—and gagged at the coppery stench. A wrinkled face, drenched in blood. *It really was Alva.*

Mia turned ashen.

“See? It’s him,” Lupin grinned.

“Why… why would you do this?”

“I merely killed a lizard. A repulsive creature.”

“Alastor, you—” She faltered.

“Don’t mourn him. Because next… it’s your turn.”

“You… want to kill me?”

“Yes.”

Mia didn’t flinch. Someone had taught her: *When death comes, stand tall. Only then do you keep your dignity.*

“Why?” She met his eyes. “You drew close to me only to kill me. You’ve had chances before.”

“Him.” Lupin’s gaze dropped to Alva’s severed head. “He healed you instead of my sister.”

“But you made me—” Mia choked.

“You fell in love with me, didn’t you?” He stepped closer. “Because I want to torment you. Make your death… beautifully tragic.”

…

Lupin’s pupils glowed with unnatural light. Ancient words spilled from his lips.

Mia’s body went limp in his icy embrace.

His towering frame lifted her effortlessly onto the bed.

Fingers traced her skin. Slowly, deliberately, he stripped away her clothes.

Soon, the sleeping princess lay bare—her slight breasts, the soft curve between her legs exposed to the chill air.

Lupin studied her. Then he bit his finger, drawing blood. Starting at her forehead, he painted two crimson lines down to her collarbone, connecting them across her chest in a grotesque symbol.

More ancient words filled the room.

A foul wind howled. Invisible currents swirled around Mia. Potted plants withered instantly. The gray cat curled in the corner closed its eyes forever. The corruption seeped beyond the room, blackening the courtyard grass.

This was a branch of magic—a life-draining forbidden art.

But excess stole life instead of granting it.

Mia’s frail body couldn’t contain the stolen vitality. Blood trickled first from her nose, then her mouth, finally her ears.

*Enough.*

Lupin ceased the ritual. No human veins could withstand this—not even a healthy one’s.

He leaned close, checking for breath, for a heartbeat.

*Warm skin. No pulse. No breath.*

Princess Mia Pendragon of Albion was dead.

*Perfect.* Lupin had witnessed Alva using forbidden arts to heal Mia. He’d read of such rituals in banned tomes. Once he erased all traces and vanished, the crime would fall squarely on the Dragonfolk. By dawn, Hero King Gill would purge these “monsters” himself.

*Clang.*

A washbasin hit the floor in the silent room.

Lupin whirled.

Helen stood frozen in the doorway.