TIHYGR CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 8

As the truth—which should not have been revealed—escaped from Grace’s lips, Walter sprang toward her like a predatory beast. His murderous intent undisguised, he snarled as he grabbed her.

“Where do you think you’re pulling this stunt?”

But Grace remained unfazed by the lethal aura even his longtime retainers found overwhelming. She widened her eyes and continued without hesitation:

“For the past thirteen years, Your Highness, you’ve hidden yourself completely. Three years under the protection of the Richmond Matron, the remaining ten years behind the Walls of Death—where no one would seek you.”

Grace was certain Walter was kindred to her. Like her, he’d remained hidden until the world forgot him—and grown stronger.

“You must reclaim Richmond and hand it back to the Matron, then return to the position that befits you.”

She extended the crest—an emblem she’d held onto.

“Traveling to offer condolences for the Crown Prince’s death, heading to the capital with my parents, we encountered a dying knight. Before he passed, his final words summarized are this:”

Walter’s gaze deepened as he studied the crest. Quietly, she whispered:

“‘The real Crown Prince is hidden away under the protection of the Richmond Matron.’”

A chill rippled from the crown of his head down to his toes.

“And that same day… my parents were turned to ash by assassins sent by the Empress.”

Grace stepped back and then knelt before Walter, presenting herself as a knight would his sword—pledging her loyalty.

“Take me, and use me as you see fit. I will be the sharpest sword guarding your secret and the most tempting bait to draw out the wolves of Richmond.”

A heavy silence followed. The lethal tension, once raging like a torrent, fell into ice-cold stillness. Walter took the crest from her hand.

The roaring black tiger emblem returned to its rightful owner after many years.

That knight had gone missing—but perhaps he’d delivered that crest to the Duke of Taylor, injured. Walter remembered the knight’s face, smiling at the young child—an image like a memory.

And yet, Walter was alarmed—as though caught in a landslide. It wasn’t the time to reveal everything. He looked down at the kneeling Grace, conflicted. She had never been part of his plan—and he barely even knew her.

After a moment, he asked coolly:

“So… how should I wield this sword you call yourself?”

Grace met his gaze and answered steadily:

“Your Highness, simply love me publicly—for all to see.”

Walter burst into a frosty laugh.

“Why? If we’re to endure everyone’s ridicule, why not just marry me?”

Grace rose, unhesitating.

“No. Marriage is… tedious. I only need a reason to stay by your side.”

Walter’s smile vanished entirely.

“To claim your place, you need both Richmond and Taylor. Take me—I am the only heir left of the Taylor house. Let me help you reclaim both houses and together we will crush our enemies.”

Walter was silent, then spoke in a low, rumbling voice:

“You speak so casually. Everyone knows Taylor House is in the Duke’s loose grip, that you have lost everything and have been cast out. Even Taylor itself has long since lost its former glory.”

“As you have waited and prepared, so have I.”

“…Yes.”

“A sword isn’t always something you can see.”

Bold words, delivered without hesitation. Walter’s gaze traced the line of her face.

A milky, round forehead; brows with a touch of brown; eyelids like fans, eyes pale as green grapes; a straight nose, a shallow philtrum, and softly pink lips.

For thirteen years, he hid and waited. He secured survivors of the Walls of Death as allies, unveiled those plotting against the Emperor, and gathered secrets.

Yet the battle ahead would be far from easy. A strategic sword might matter less than a blade—but you can’t just seize any blade.

The Taylor house strained under lavishness and gambling debts. Though the cause was noble, as a discarded princess she could never serve as heir.

Could this fragile-looking woman truly be ready to stand by his side?

Walter’s eyes darkened. Without warning, he seized her neck in his hand. Her body bent under his grip as if she were a dainty flower. As soon as he released her, darkness enveloped them.

His breath, warm and lingering, brushed her lips. As a veil fell, Grace froze. His obsidian eyes consumed her sight; his wild scent filled her lungs. She felt utterly stripped of words.

She shouldn’t falter—she must remain a sharp blade, strong and poised.

Clenching her fists, Grace braced herself. At the same instant, Walter parted his lips inches from hers.

“I won’t pretend about anything.” His voice was a whisper, laced with fervor. “Once I pretend—there’s always a crack.”

Feeling her neck stiff beneath his hand, he gently released her. His touch, firm yet oddly formal, betrayed the part of him still bound to reason. His face, however, remained cold and unfeeling.

“Lover? After boldly declaring you had a hidden partner in a sacred cathedral, we’re past any romantic decoration. And above all…”

“….”

“If you prove useless, I will discard you without mercy. But do you truly have that resolve?”

His low words struck Grace with force.

Resolve?

In an instant, her shield of composure cracked. Memories surged—of watching a crumbling house and burying parents turned to ash. She had made her vow—so this is nothing.

Her bright eyes flared with defiance. Grace lunged and cupped Walter’s face in her trembling hands. Though weak, her strength pulled him forward irresistibly.

If she was darkness, Walter felt the wildness of the forest surge in response. As his eyes widened, her soft lips pressed against his.

They were pink and shockingly warm. His breath brushed the edge of her lips—so alive, like a playful whisper. Walter, the one who had pressed her back moments ago, froze.

When he halted, Grace stepped back like a breeze escaping the forest. Only her lingering scent remained.

“Are you prepared, Your Highness?”

Her cheeks—sharp and refined—were tinged pink, but in her eyes burned a warrior’s fervor. Walter stared for a moment, then let out a soft laugh.

He’d almost forgotten—because of her fragile appearance. Like a general burning his ships and charging forth, she had destroyed every place she could hide and emerged beyond ruin.

Walter adjusted his posture, acknowledging the blow.

Grace Taylor.

He brought his chin higher and narrowed his eyes like a beast closing in.

“Very well. Tell me your plan. How will you use my love as a curtain for taking control of Richmond and reclaiming Taylor?”

Too late to test her—he would listen first.

He reached up and slowly wiped the lingering scent from his lips as he listened.