My Ruin to You - Chapter 86

“Ah! You’re absolutely right, Your Highness. Then I’ll select a few Awakened and send them in to scout. Once we’ve gauged the situation, we can deploy forces if rescue is feasible.”

“But, Knight.”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“How long do you intend to remain here, defending these walls?”

Valen leaned deeper into his chair, watching him. Tap. Tap. Tap. His fingers drummed slowly on the armrest, the quiet question pressing heavily on the air.

“I will fulfill my duty until every last infected is purged and this territory is restored.”

“And when will that be?”

“……”

“When the seasons turn, the migratory birds will head north—and those creatures don’t discriminate between human and beast. If an infected bird remains here, then flies north… wouldn’t the situation spiral beyond control?”

It was a danger he hadn’t even considered. A chill ran down his spine at the cold, measured words. He had assumed the infected, sensitive to temperature, would become less active as the seasons warmed. Infected beasts hadn’t been confirmed yet—but that didn’t mean they were impossible. The vice-captain stared at Valen with a hardened expression.

“How many troops you deploy to rescue the knights is your decision. But if rescue is possible, you have one week. If it’s not—two days. That’s all the time I can give you.”

“……”

“After that, burn everything within the territory.”

The air in the barracks turned icy in an instant. The vice-captain drew a shallow breath. He couldn’t dare argue. This wasn’t just about the Empire—the entire continent could be exposed to the infection.

“As you command, Your Highness.”

The vice-captain bowed his head deeply.

◇◇◇

Roseline’s luck today had been terrible from the start—beginning the moment she woke in the arms of a man as unyielding as stone. Her thighs ached from being spread too long, her body felt heavy as if beaten, and the crushing self-loathing was just the cherry on top. To think I acted like an animal…

Six knights were dead. The captain and additional forces had re-entered the stronghold. The marquis had returned with severed heads. And in the midst of all this suffering, the memory of what they’d done under this flimsy tent made her want to sigh endlessly. Valen had started it, but she couldn’t exactly blame him. She tried to console herself—This was bound to happen sooner or later as long as I’m with him. It was inevitable.

“Why won’t you give me my clothes?”

Now, what was this petty spite? He refused to hand them over. Thanks to that, she was stuck wearing nothing but his shirt, unable to take a single step outside the tent. Even then, whenever the orderlies entered, she had to scramble under the blankets to hide.

“I’d need to have them to give them to you.”

“What about my clothes?”

“They’re soaked. How do you expect to wear them?”

Before stepping into the bath yesterday, Roseline had neatly folded her dress and placed it on the floor nearby. If things had gone according to plan—if she had simply washed and left—her clothes wouldn’t have been drenched. But thanks to certain events, water had sloshed everywhere, turning them into rags. At least her undergarments had dried by the fireplace, but the dress was beyond saving.

“And whose fault is that…?”

Muttering loud enough for him to hear, Roseline sat on the bed, blankets pulled over her head. Being trapped there was also Valen’s doing. Whenever she tried to move around the tent, he would openly let his gaze linger on her legs, or pull her into an embrace from behind, rubbing against the swell of her chest.

Even now was no different. Relentless as ever, he had followed her to the bed, lifted her—blankets and all—onto his lap, and proceeded to press his lips wherever he pleased: her hair, cheeks, the curve of her ear, the nape of her neck. After a long struggle of evasion and squirming, she finally went limp, exhausted.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it? That’s why I said I’d take responsibility and get you clothes.”

“When?”

“It’s about time they arrived… though part of me hopes they’re delayed.”

Valen lazily licked his lips before sliding a hand beneath the blankets. His fingers traced the warm skin of her thigh, buried in the covers, just as he tried to soothe her startled protests by sealing her mouth with his own—

“It’s Merrick, Your Highness.”

The voice Roseline had been desperately waiting for all morning finally rang out. Joy flashed across her face. With superhuman effort, she shoved Valen away, bundled herself tighter in the blankets, and pointed insistently toward the entrance as if urging him to leave. Valen let out an incredulous laugh, his arms now empty, as he glanced between the tent flap and Roseline—peeking out from her cocoon with nothing but her eyes visible.

“What do I do? The more you act like this, the less I want to give them to you.”