An entire day had passed since their forces left the Wind Empire’s capital.

The Wind Dragons wore devastation on their faces. Every single one of them still looked haunted after watching their ancient citadel fall so easily, swallowed by darkness as if thousands of years of pride meant nothing. Most of them finally understood there was no path left for them to escape. Their only choice was to follow the new king, even if that path led them straight to death.

Max rode atop the ancestral beast alone, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

He sighed heavily.

Rosalia still hadn’t spoken to him ever since she saw him carrying another woman. He couldn’t understand her at all. He hadn’t cheated. He had barely done anything wrong, at least not in any way that mattered to him.

All he had done was bring Gertrud out alive. In that chaotic moment, he might have let his hands roam and grab exactly what he desired. Truth be told, he genuinely didn’t know any other way to carry her out of there anyway.

The whole thing left a sour, bitter taste stuck in his throat.

If Rosalia wanted to act cold, then fine. Max had already decided to give her the same treatment, officially starting their first silent fight as newlyweds.

Gertrud herself was unaware of any of that.

She woke up several hours later, when the forces were already far from the capital. From then on, she walked beside her siblings, staying close enough that the younger ones could reach for her whenever fear overcame them. She knew she had no real power against the tyrant leading them, but she still kept herself between Max’s army and her family, as if her body alone could become a shield.

When night came, the army finally stopped to rest, throwing together a quick camp beneath the open sky. Fires were lit in small circles, and exhausted warriors dropped wherever they could find a patch of ground. No one laughed loudly, nor celebrated. The Wind Dragons sat together in silence, still carrying the ashes of their fallen pride on their faces.

Max rested inside his makeshift tent of leaves and beast hide, with only pale moonlight slipping through the gaps and painting the inside in a cold silver glow.

He couldn’t sleep.

His irritation toward Rosalia kept twisting inside his chest. She still hadn’t spoken to him. Not once. She acted as if he had betrayed her, as if carrying Gertrud out of a collapsing dungeon was some unforgivable crime. Max turned from one side to the other, trying to force himself to rest, but every time he closed his eyes, he remembered Rosalia’s cold glare and felt his mood sour all over again.

A bitter taste gathered in his throat.

"Fine. If she wants silence, I can give her silence too." He muttered bitterly.

Suddenly, his head lifted as soft footsteps approached the tent.

Max looked toward the entrance with quiet expectation, his chest tightening. For one brief second, he thought Rosalia had finally come to make things right. But when the shadow stopped outside and the face appeared beneath the moonlight, his expression hardened.

It was not Rosalia.

"Not who you were waiting for?" Agnia asked softly.

She wore a faint smile that looked gentle at first glance, but her eyes were much too calm. She kneeled at the entrance of the tent, not entering yet, waiting for his permission like she knew exactly how to make herself seem harmless.

"What do you want?" Max replied coldly, barely bothering to hide his annoyance.

"I came to talk," she said, her voice low enough that no one outside would hear. "But if I’m disturbing you, I can leave."

She lowered her gaze as she said it, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make the words feel wounded.

Max stared at her with annoyance.

"Speak."

His cold reply only made her faint smile return, shining mysteriously.

"Can I come in?"

The look on her face was like that of a wounded puppy searching for shelter, but something about it felt too perfect and practiced. Her shoulders were slightly lowered, her voice gentle, her eyes soft, yet the way she watched him from beneath her lashes made Max feel as if he was the one being studied.

"Fine."

He shifted to the side, making space for her.

Agnia slipped inside slowly, brushing past the hanging leaves as if afraid to disturb him too much. Yet she did not sit across from him. She chose the small space beside him, close enough that her bare knee touched his leg the moment she settled down.

Tonight, her body was wrapped only in a thin gown, loose enough to look careless, yet fitted enough for the moonlight to trace the shape beneath it. Her bare legs folded beside his, smooth and warm against the rough bedding, while her exposed shoulders carried a sweet, faint scent that drifted through the cramped tent.

Max tried not to react, but Agnia noticed anyway.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting her fingers linger near her neck for a moment before she looked at him again. Her smile was softer now, almost shy, but her body stayed angled toward him, her thigh still resting lightly against his as if she had no idea what she was doing.

"Are you going to speak, or should I kick you out?"

Max could feel something wrong with the whole situation. He hated Agnia to the bone. Her presence alone inside the tent made the air feel heavier, almost suffocating, as if her very scent crawled into his throat and tried to choke him.

Agnia, however, did not look angry tonight.

She sat close beside him, close enough that her shoulder pressed softly against his. She made no attempt to move away. If anything, she leaned a little closer, letting the thin fabric of her gown brush against his arm whenever she breathed.

"I am only a servant to my king," she said softly.

Her voice was gentle, almost obedient, but her eyes were far too calm for that act to be real.

"I came tonight to make you feel better. Soon, we will face a difficult battle, and a king with bitterness in his heart cannot lead an army properly."

As she spoke, her fingers lowered to his thigh.

Slowly... Carefully...

They rested there for a moment, warm through the fabric, before sliding upward just enough to make the touch impossible to misunderstand. Her dark brown eyes locked with his, soft on the surface, yet full of quiet calculation underneath.

Max’s gaze dropped to her hand. Then it returned to her face. Agnia smiled faintly, as if she was just an innocent kitten.