Chapter – 15
Caught in the Black Beast’s Trap
Josefin couldn’t even think of pulling her arm out of his grasp.
It wasn’t because of Siegfried’s grip—unbelievably strong for someone supposedly in critical condition.
“Huff… ha… ngh…”
Even as he clutched her wrist so tightly it felt like the bone might snap, even as he panted in agony, Josefin sensed something fragile in the way he held on.
A plea.
I want to live. I don’t want to hurt anymore. Please, save me from this pain.
She simply couldn’t push away that earnest desperation.
“A… are you all right?”
Feeling the blood stop flowing through her hand, she still tried calling out to him.
“Home… I want to go home. Hil…”
In his plea, there was longing for someone, homesickness for a distant land, and—at the edges of his voice—a yearning for the end of this agonizing life.
Yes… you’re exhausted too. Exhausted by the reality that tells you this is how you must go on living.
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to wake up. Perhaps he’d rather live forever in whatever nightmare he’s trapped in.
Josefin wanted to tell him she understood—at least a little.
Even the man everyone despised as a monster surely had a family, a homeland, someone waiting desperately for him.
And yet they treated him like an animal, agreeing amongst themselves that he wasn’t even human.
As if they were so noble and wonderful.
Josefin swallowed down the sudden surge of disgust as a parade of hateful faces flashed before her eyes.
“I’ll send you back.”
With her heart burning itself away beat by beat, she made a promise she wasn’t sure she could ever keep.
“I may not have much strength… but I’ll get you back to the place you want to return to.”
She gently stroked the back of his hand with her free one.
Only then did the strength finally begin to drain from the man’s grip.
A rush of prickling pain flooded her hand all at once, and she groaned.
“Ah… ouch…”
She needed to be careful of her injury as it was, and now it felt as if even the pain had burned itself to ashes.
Still… better than a moment ago.
She exhaled in relief, feeling the throbbing that promised a bruise later.
But one problem remained.
“…Ah.”
He still wasn’t letting go.
Because of that, she had no choice but to lean even closer toward him, hunched awkwardly over.
“W-wait—”
Before she finished, the man pulled her hand up and pressed it against his cheek.
His skin, smooth as silk, slid across her palm without a hitch.
“Are you… awake?”
Apparently not. Siegfried didn’t respond.
Heart pounding, Josefin steadied her breathing.
What a bold, shameless thing to do in one’s sleep.
He’s hurting… maybe that’s all it is.
Yet instead of alarm, she felt only a strange leniency melt through her.
This was the prince of Norden—the man everyone feared.
So why did he feel so close… so pitiful?
“You’ve got a fever.”
She whispered the words, careful not to disturb his sleep.
His fair skin was ghostly pale, yet hot enough to burn.
Was this why his breathing had become so rough?
As his grip loosened just enough, Josefin brushed aside the black hair covering his eyes, checking his temperature.
A simple, natural gesture.
“…!”
And revealed beneath her fingertips were features even sharper—and more beautiful—than she expected.
People said the northerners of Norden were rough, burly marauders who rode chariots over the sea.
Judging from the scars covering his broad, massive frame, that part might be true.
But his face was not.
Beautiful.
He was, simply put, a beautiful man.
His long eyelashes, his sharp nose, the slightly elongated jawline typical of northern folk… looking at them in order, that single impression formed naturally.
If Henrios possessed a shining, radiant kind of beauty, Siegfried was beauty sculpted by a devil’s hand—cold, exquisite, perfect.
“What am I thinking, staring at a boy like this…”
Josefin wanted to bite her own tongue.
Most of her assumptions had been wrong—except for one.
Siegfried was younger than she was.
Likely twenty, twenty-one… at most twenty-three.
And she was twenty-four.
Meaning he and Henrios were about five years apart.
Henrios was twenty-six now—two years older than Josefin.
“What inferiority complex did you even have toward a kid like this…”
That damned man. Every time she thought of Henrios, curses followed naturally.
“Ah.”
She had forgotten why she was even looking at Siegfried’s face.
His forehead was burning hot.
Feeling embarrassed, she cleared her throat softly.
The wound Henrios had given him must have been infected and festered.
Did the palace physician use the wrong medicine? Or did Henrios simply beat him too mercilessly?
If I could erase that wound… maybe his dreams would be a little less painful.
Calling the palace physician again would be pointless—they would barely pretend to care.
To completely heal that wound, divine power from a cleric was required.
But what cleric would dare involve themselves with the Norden prince, branded a monster?
Most would be relieved just not to be defiled by his presence.
“Divine power…”
It had been a long time since Josefin spoke the words aloud.
Back when she was an academy student, she had trained as a cleric candidate due to possessing rare, acquired divine power.
But after deciding to become empress, I swore—under Henrios’s will—not to become a cleric. I wasn’t supposed to use divine power freely.
Someone who renounced clerichood was forbidden from using divine power; doing so meant being branded a heretic.
But her hesitation resolved itself quicker than expected.
So what?
She could simply die again.
If there were another life after this, she could meet him again.
If he stayed like this for four more days, her position would crumble anyway.
So healing him—waking him sooner—wasn’t a bad gamble.
“….”
But one last obstacle remained.
To heal someone with divine power, the healer and patient needed physical contact.
And if the patient wasn’t of the same faith, like this foreign prince, a simple touch wasn’t enough.
They needed firm and intimate contact.
“Firm and intimate…”
The more she repeated the words, the more heat crept up her face.
The closest, most certain contact she and Siegfried could share—
Was a kiss.
Is this right?
Even if she wished to ease his pain, was it acceptable to do this with a man she had barely met?
Even if she had died twice already, Josefin was still an empress.
Should she be damaging her own dignity and authority like this?
Her remaining sense of propriety and duty twisted inside her.
“…Whatever. I can just die.”
After dying twice as the wicked empress, what harm was there in being a scandalous one too?
Josefin checked the closed door again and again.
Making sure no one was there, she rose silently and approached Siegfried.
Then, gently lifting his chin, she pressed her lips diagonally onto his.
“Ah—”
And the black beast—sleeping until that moment—opened his scarlet eyes.
In an instant, the situation flipped.
Siegfried’s arms wrapped around Josefin, holding her tight, and her lip was caught between his teeth.
Caught.
The black beast restraining her grinned—a predator who had finally claimed his prey after long patience.
Meeting his eyes, Josefin realized too late.
She had been caught in his trap.
