Breeding Season - Chapter 2
It was only for the briefest instant. Gone before she could even grasp hold of it. Yet somehow, Siren felt certain—
That man, the one who would be her husband, had looked directly at her. Even though she was too far away to be seen… his gaze had been precise, aimed exactly where she stood.
Goosebumps…
A shiver ran down her spine. Uneasy, Siren took an instinctive step back before hastily turning away. The shapeless fear she held toward her husband had just doubled.
Ominous premonitions always come true. Like the day her five-year-old younger brother pushed her down the stairs. Or the day she was told she would limp for the rest of her life.
Today felt exactly like those days. Roughly three hours later, Siren sat slumped on the grand cathedral’s floor, her bridal gown soaked in crimson. Her legs had not given out because of the stench of blood.
It wasn’t nausea that overwhelmed her—no, it was the sheer absurdity of what lay before her eyes. Angelique—so radiant, as if sculpted from all the world’s blessings—
Her head lay on the carpet, soaking it wet as it rolled. It had rolled so naturally, so effortlessly, that Siren clapped a hand over her mouth—convinced that if she didn’t, she would scream from every pore of her body.
The easiest conquest. Heretics who had infiltrated under the guise of marriage. Blades clashing. Madness, unchecked and unstoppable.
Cut. Blood flowed. Cut again. More blood.
Fragments of thoughts flickered through her mind, disjointed and fleeting. Perhaps the greatest misfortune of all was that she understood exactly what was happening.
The moment the wedding began, her father had locked the doors of the grand cathedral and launched an ambush on the man who was to be her husband.
It had been sudden. He swung his poison-laced blade without a care for whether she was caught in the crossfire… and within five minutes—
Not even five minutes— He and everyone else were slaughtered.
The most astonishing part? That despite all the times she had wished for death, now that it was upon her, she wanted nothing more than to live.
And so, when her husband’s footsteps halted before her, she forced open her frozen lips and whispered. No—she begged, pathetically.
“P… Please… spare me… I-I didn’t know… I swear.”
Even to her own ears, the words sounded unbearably foolish. Her husband—if he could even be called that—parried every incoming attack with ease, as though he had expected them.
As though this outcome had been inevitable. As though he had always known he would be the victor in this game of deception.
Which meant that, to Siren’s understanding, he too had used this marriage as a means of conquest. The knights’ blood splattered across the doors.
Angelique, who had been pounding on them, screaming for help, was the next to die.
In the stories she had read, beauty had been a means of survival. Reality was nothing like that. Then he struck down her father, who had been roaring in fury. Next, he dragged back her younger brother, who had tried to flee, and cut him down. The only reason Siren had been spared until the very end was likely out of gratitude. After all, she had provided a convenient excuse for him to step inside these castle walls.
“Please… spare me… I-I don’t want to die here.”
If she had to die, she refused to do so near Angelique. Here in Wilke, it was believed that those who perished in the same place would board the same boat across the river of the afterlife. She was not a devout believer, but if that was true— Then she wanted no part of it.
Please.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Even at death’s doorstep, she had the capacity for such useless thoughts.
Pitiful. Pathetic. Even at the very end!
“Do you think I’m going to kill you?”
“…….”
…Was he not?
She wanted that to be true. Even if survival meant a miserable future, still—still—still—
“How pitiful. You’re trembling. I was in such a hurry I forgot to cover your eyes.”
His voice was gentle. Which made it all the more terrifying. Would it be easier if she could see his face? Maybe. But the truth was, Siren had never seen him.
From the beginning, she had kept her head bowed beneath her wedding veil. Even now, the only thing she could see was his feet. His leather shoes were a shade completely unlike hers or any of Wilke’s people. As though he had absorbed the sun itself, his skin was darkened, marked with geometric patterns. And in perfect alignment with his love for the extravagant, an anklet adorned one foot, strung with beads of ruby and agate.
“Next time, I’ll be more delicate about it. So, lift your head. Hmm?”
“I’m asking nicely, but this is an order.”
A shiver crept up her spine, and every hair on her body stood on end. Siren squeezed her eyes shut, trembling faintly. She could only pray that when a predator like him said “next time”, he meant it in the way she understood.
“Good girl. So obedient, too.”
Like a master praising a well-trained dog, he pinched her cheek lightly before letting go. His touch was nothing like she had expected. Not rough. Not calloused. It was soft.
The sheer dissonance of it all sent her reeling. Was this… real?
“Looks like things are getting wrapped up outside.”
Her husband spoke idly, as if making small talk. But she—she could not agree.
Wrapped up?
What, exactly, had been wrapped up? Nothing. Nothing had been resolved. Siren stared blankly at the sight before her—nobles lying dead with their eyes wide open, toppled candlesticks, shattered basins leaking water across the floor—when suddenly, a sound reached her ears. A slow, ripping noise. Her head turned toward it.
The royal banner, torn and tattered, fell to the ground. In its place rose another—deep green, the color of the distant South.
“Ah, that’s right. We still need to finish our wedding ceremony.”
At that moment— Her husband’s feet, which had been still, turned toward her once more. Before, she had at least been able to lift her head because her eyes had been shut.
Now? Impossible.
She floundered, at a complete loss for what to do—until something landed before her. A single sheet of parchment.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to live?”
