Episode 3. I’ll Come for You
The relief work and inspection finally ended.
As the camp was being packed up so we could return to the estate, Ryan came back.
He ordered Baron Christie to keep checking on the slums more often, then turned and stared straight at me.
His blue eyes looked unusually sharp and intense.
“If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
“Nothing in particular.”
His cold reply didn’t match the way his fingers tapped against his arm, looking restless in a way that made me uneasy.
“Carriage is ready, my lady!” the coachman called from afar.
I forced myself to ignore Ryan’s strange behavior and walked toward the carriage.
His footsteps and little coughs behind me felt annoyingly loud, but maybe I was just being oversensitive.
Then it happened.
On the way home, one of the carriage wheels came loose.
The carriage tilted, lost balance, and crashed on its side, dragging several meters before it stopped.
I slammed into the door, my head bleeding.
Ryan managed to hang on to the opposite door, but glass shards cut his thigh.
The entire estate went into chaos when news of the accident broke.
Flames.
Even standing there, it felt distant and unreal, like a nightmare.
But I could see it clearly—the Stroud mansion swallowed in smoke and fire.
Servants screamed, rushing with buckets, their ash-covered faces frantic.
It was a dream—I knew that. Yet my chest ached as if it were real.
– “Bring more water!”
– “No, no! The young master is still inside!”
The nanny’s desperate scream made my heart plummet.
Jaive.
I tried to move, but my body wouldn’t budge. I watched the fire eat away at the mansion walls, fighting to break free.
I have to save him. My Jaive!
But thorny vines wrapped around my ankles, digging in until blood ran down, the same color as the flames.
It was terrifying. Even though it was just a dream, I was powerless, crying helplessly, hating myself for being useless.
I screamed my child’s name until my throat gave out.
And then, with my chest splitting apart in agony—
I woke up.
The first thing I saw was the high, white ceiling of my bedroom.
Unlike me, lying unconscious, Ryan wasn’t badly injured.
He only had a thick bandage wrapped around his thigh, with instructions not to run or jump.
The doctor left him with those orders and then hurried into my room to check on me.
Ryan sat there, tapping the desk with his fingers, irritation flickering across his face.
‘Could it really be true?’
He kept recalling that black-haired, delicate-faced man he had met in the slums—the one who had saved him.
“You saved me, so I want to repay you,” the man had said.
And then he’d claimed something insane: that he could see the future under certain conditions.
‘There’s a new stable boy, only been here a month. He tampered with your carriage. He’s a barbarian.’
Ryan wasn’t stupid enough to blindly trust a stranger’s words.
‘There’s going to be an accident. Be careful.’
Still, it unsettled him enough that he’d ordered the coachman to check the carriage carefully.
Yet the accident happened anyway.
And now his thoughts wouldn’t settle.
He drummed the desk harder, caught in this strange sense that something impossible had slipped into his reality.
“Howard,” he called.
Baron Christie stepped forward.
“Look into that man we met in the slums. Where he lives, who he talks to. Make sure he’s not a barbarian spy.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ryan waved a hand to dismiss him, but then stopped.
No—he wanted to see for himself. That so-called “future sight.”
“Wait. Don’t just investigate. Bring him here to the mansion. I want him close.”
It was an impulsive decision, but Ryan convinced himself it was smart.
If the man wasn’t dangerous, then maybe… he could be useful.
Meanwhile, at the imperial palace—
The throne sat at the top of a grand platform, glittering with gold and the five great jewels, a symbol of the empire’s power.
The Emperor sat upon it, looking down at his kneeling son.
That son’s black hair, clear sapphire-blue eyes—undeniable proof he was a Hilvardo, true blood of the imperial line.
He was the late Empress’s only child. Stronger and more brilliant than the young crown prince.
The kind of son who shook the empire’s peace just by existing.
The Emperor saw him as a beast—a shameless creature who had survived the war he was supposed to die in, and who was now building power of his own.
Barnes Hilvardo.
“I offered the Northern Empire’s iron mines to Your Majesty. All I asked was that you leave Pardia alone,” Barnes said calmly, despite kneeling.
“But while I was at war, you sent the Pardia daughter to Stroud.”
The tension between father and son was icy and heavy.
“I told you, if you gave me Pardia, I would live quietly like the dead.”
“Are you threatening me?” The Emperor’s hand shook with fury.
“I promised I would never covet the throne. Nor any seat of power in this palace.”
The words sounded loyal, but the tone carried rebellion.
The Emperor bit his lip, breathing hard.
“So it’s Pardia’s wealth you’re after?”
Barnes stayed silent.
“You mean to devour me and this empire.”
Slowly, Barnes rose to his feet.
The imperial knights around them tightened their grips on their swords.
“You broke your promise first, Father.”
“Silence!”
The Emperor trembled, though he knew his son had no weapon inside the audience hall.
He trembled because he feared him—this son who could seize the crown any time he wished.
“Be grateful,” Barnes said with a small smile, adjusting his sleeve. The knights flinched, drawing their swords.
“If Pardia had gone to the crown prince, who knows what might’ve become of my little brother.”
“You insolent brat!”
The Emperor’s furious roar shook the chamber.
But Barnes only bowed politely and walked away, ignoring the curses hurled after him.
Three years earlier, Barnes had been sent north to seize the border iron mines.
The Emperor promised him anything—anything but the throne—if he succeeded.
It had been expected to take five years. But Barnes crushed it in three.
Why? Because of Pardia’s daughter.
Her sudden marriage to the Duke of Stroud had driven him to finish the war faster, so he could return.
Soldiers who fought under him called him a monster of execution, moving with impossible speed and focus.
Some mocked him for being reckless “over a woman,” but most were grateful—they got to come home sooner.
Long before that, when Barnes was twelve, the Emperor had exiled him to the Pardia family, fearing him as a threat to the crown prince.
There, he grew up alongside Violetta Pardia—like siblings, like friends.
Letters had kept them close, even when he was sent to one bloody battlefield after another.
‘I wish our estate had a little garden. Maybe we could keep rabbits or sheep.’
She’d said it with eyes sparkling like sunlight. She had been his light in the darkest places.
He promised himself: when she turned of age, he would return with a beautiful home filled with flowers, a garden, and animals, and propose to her.
But just a month before her birthday, the Emperor had trapped him with that iron mine deal.
So he went.
And he fought.
And all through it, he thought only of her.
But then, her engagement to another man was announced.
The Emperor had betrayed him.
And still… for three long years, Barnes waited for a letter. Any letter.
Even just a goodbye.
Something that said she was happy.
But nothing came.
Now his desk was empty, his heart even emptier.
“That’s enough waiting.”
His eyes went to the sword hanging on his wall.
“I’ll come for you.”
The spring, the Emperor chained to Stroud—he would take her back.
