Breeding Season - Chapter 4
The Southern Lands.
For generations, the Wilkeron royal city had scorned the lands south of the Taran Desert, dismissing them as a barbarian wasteland.
A place unfit for human life.
There, in that desolate land, both humans and beasts alike would rise again within hours of death.
It didn’t matter if they were torn apart or if their organs dangled from open wounds—
they would still move, twitching, devouring the living, spreading disease.
The Wilkeron court had labeled them with the vague term “Infected” and chose to turn a blind eye.
All they did was station troops at the desert’s edge to prevent the creatures from crossing—
never once attempting a true solution.
Naturally, they also ignored the desperate pleas for aid from the barbarian tribes who lived among the “Infected.”
And when the harvest season came and those tribes begged for food, they refused them.
No—more than that.
They denied the very existence of people in that land.
Heretics. Savages. Defiled beings. The punished ones.
That was what the southern people had always been called.
And so time passed.
Until one day—
A man appeared.
A man who united the scattered, struggling barbarian tribes under one rule.
A man who slew hordes of “Infected” and secured a safe territory.
He declared himself king, and Wilkeron had no choice but to grant him the title of Grand Duke.
The first reason was that his power had grown too great to ignore.
The second was that he had threatened to gather the Infected and wage war if his demands were not met.
And my father proposed a marriage alliance between me and the Grand Duke of the desert.
He must have thought it was convenient—an easy way to dispose of his useless daughter.
And with marriage as bait, he planned to lure the man into the royal city, unarmed… and eliminate him.
But he was the one who got caught instead.
The man had effortlessly seized the sword from the hand of his attacker.
That was when the massacre began.
“……”
A chill ran down her spine.
Half-tossed onto the plush bed, Siren deliberately tried not to think about death.
Naturally, her thoughts drifted toward the slaughterer instead— as well as the fact that, second by second, she was still alive.
Father’s plan failed. The kingdom has fallen, and I am no longer a princess.
But the people of the South would still hate the princess of Wilkeron.
She would feel the same if she were in their place.
Which meant… whether she survived until tomorrow was uncertain.
She could be killed at dawn.
She could be taken south and killed there.
They had written a marriage contract, but now that she thought about it, only the contract itself might be necessary.
She might not be needed at all.
They could simply replace her with a stand-in.
I’m scared.
If only she knew exactly when she would die.
It was the uncertainty that left her throat parched with fear.
On top of that, she had a limp.
There was a high chance they would grow tired of bringing her along and simply kill her.
And even if by some miracle I make it to the South… If this man refuses to take me in, I don’t know what will happen to me.
He was napping leisurely with his eyes closed.
And she had been left lying at the foot of the bed like discarded luggage.
She wanted to climb down from the bed, but she was afraid that the slightest movement would wake him.
So Siren remained still, barely breathing, like a corpse.
And in that state, she kept thinking.
Of a way to survive.
Of a way to keep living.
One thing is certain—he said if I keep acting cute, he’ll let me live.
How cunning humans are!
Siren could hardly believe she had once been consumed by boredom and despair.
Now that she was facing death, life suddenly felt precious.
Or… is it because my family is gone?
Curled up, she turned the thought over in her mind.
Angelique was gone.
Her father and younger brother were gone.
Which meant no one was left to beat her.
The math was simple.
Three monsters had been reduced to one.
And this man—her husband—still didn’t know her secret.
As long as he remained unaware, as long as he never discovered what this wretched body of hers contained…
Then… maybe he’ll at least treat me like a person.
Obedience wasn’t difficult.
Siren had no intention of provoking the man by thrashing and screaming like her dead younger brother.
She didn’t have the strength for that anyway.
Bringing me here means he’s not planning to kill me right away.
It’s said that when a person is driven to the extreme depths of fear, they let go of everything—
and in doing so, they gain a faint, irrational sense of hope.
Something similar stirred weakly within Siren.
“…….”
Just then, she heard the chatter of birds singing in the royal garden— Angelique’s birds.
They chirped beautifully, unaware of whether their mistress was dead or alive.
Listening to them, everything felt like a distant dream.
Maybe she was simply not in her right mind.
Maybe she knew that false hope would only bring deeper despair.
And yet.
At the very least, this man didn’t sneer at her and call her cursed.
Because he didn’t know.
He knew nothing about her.
It’s fine if he hates me for being from Wilkeron. I can endure that.
I’ve always been hated—it doesn’t even faze me anymore.
As long as he never discovered her secret.
Siren gathered her thoughts—
or perhaps her delusions—
and tried shifting her body ever so slightly.
She adjusted her uncomfortable posture and glanced up, only to find that her husband still had his eyes closed, napping peacefully.
He even looked content.
That gave her the faintest sliver of courage.
She bit her dry lower lip and inched a little closer.
“Men all want the same thing. That’s all they ever think about.”
Her mind, running desperately in survival mode, recalled something Angelique had said long ago.
