The Queen and the Lion - Chapter 62
“That’s precisely why Her Majesty might be drawn to someone like you, someone who isn’t Florean. You are not Her Majesty’s subject, so there’s no need to treat you equally. You’re the first existence outside her shackles. Perhaps that’s why Her Majesty mistakenly thinks she loves you.”
Chrysanthemum’s words became sharp arrows that pierced Aslan’s heart.
He had anticipated harsh words, but he hadn’t predicted the content they carried. Chrysanthemum’s statement was something Aslan had never considered before, yet it carried a convincing logic.
But
Like being thrown into a desert without water, Aslan’s mouth went dry. He regretted asking. It felt as though he had only exposed his vulnerabilities.
Was the sincerity Lysian showed so light that it could be dismissed so easily? Or was it her own feelings? Even if it began with a misunderstanding, didn’t it still matter? A misunderstanding could always become true over time.
In the end, the one Lysian chose was none other than Aslan. If it was simply a matter of not being a Florean, then politically or circumstantially, choosing Kaplan would have been the easier option.
But Chrysanthemum would never be convinced by such reasoning.
Aslan had no obligation to make Chrysanthemum understand. However, he was aware that his feelings for Lysian were being tested. Slowly, he opened his mouth.
“…Even if it is a misunderstanding.”
Aslan’s golden eyes locked onto Chrysanthemum.
The dignity of the Black Lion of the battlefield, who had stood at the vanguard of countless wars without ever faltering or retreating, settled heavily.
It was an overwhelming presence that subdued its opponent. Sharpened to the point it felt like a killing intent, it bore down relentlessly.
“Lysian chose me. The Lysian I know isn’t someone who would abandon her choices so easily. She always keeps her word. The head attendant once told me—if I wasn’t sure whether I was worthy of her, I should trust myself and trust Lysian, who chose me. That’s exactly right. She has an unwavering conviction, and that’s why she chose me. No one else but me. I trust her for that.”
There were moments when Aslan had been shaken by an unidentifiable anxiety—so much so that he had even complained to Lysian. Even before meeting Chrysanthemum, to some extent, he had felt that way.
The path forward sometimes seemed like an endless tunnel. Yet, with Chrysanthemum laying bare every worst-case scenario, Aslan oddly felt more at ease.
“Unlike Lysian, I don’t have much to protect. My patriotism isn’t deep enough to keep me from choosing her without hesitation and leaving my country behind. I lack the kind of conviction she holds. I’ve lived as life led me, and I’ve thought I’d simply live and die the same way. Even the title of General wasn’t that important to me.”
When Aslan had been dragged to Florea, it wasn’t for patriotism but for personal pride. Even his own life held little attachment for him. That was the kind of barren life he had lived. He picked up the sword because he couldn’t afford to simply die. His skill and some effort earned him a high position in Hayban, but that was all it amounted to. Aslan saw it as fulfilling his duty in exchange for his salary.
He had wanted to marry, believing that having something to be responsible for might bring a bit of change to his desolate life.
Then Lysian appeared before him.
A woman he, as Aslan Yilmaz, couldn’t even dare to reach for or meet eyes with. It wasn’t just her high status—her character and being made her unapproachable. Lysian was perfect, without flaw, overflowing with goodness.
Such a person desired Aslan.
Even now, thinking back to the moment she said she wanted him, it felt unreal. A faint smile crept onto Aslan’s lips.
“Maybe that’s why I love Lysian. You said all Floreans love her. Let me ask—how could I not love someone like her?”
She was confident in everything she did, dignified, and overflowing with self-assurance. Despite the countless duties, lives, and responsibilities she bore on her frail shoulders, she didn’t falter under the weight.
She was incomparably noble and strong, far beyond what Aslan could be.
Yet here she was, raising her voice against the ministers, insisting on making Aslan her consort. Aslan felt guilty toward Lysian, but at the same time, her resolve made him love her even more.
“Even if Lysian doesn’t love me, even if she realizes it too late, I don’t care. Because I love her. And I’ll work to ensure she can love me too.”
Aslan’s gaze pierced into Chrysanthemum.
He had said all he wanted to say. For someone as reticent as Aslan, it was likely one of the longest speeches of his life.
Throughout, Chrysanthemum’s face remained unreadable, his expression inscrutable. His gaze, however, firmly fixed on Aslan, indicated he had been listening.
Slowly, Chrysanthemum blinked, the movement oddly doll-like in its precision.
“You’re truly not much of a talker, are you?”
“…If I were, they’d say I wooed the Queen with words.”
“Haha, surely not. Our Queen isn’t someone who can be swayed by mere words.”
When Aslan muttered sarcastically, Chrysanthemum burst into laughter—a sincere, hearty laugh that Aslan heard for the first time.
“But the sincerity in your words can be felt. I hope the truth of your feelings is not a lie.”
Chrysanthemum’s voice carried a trace of laughter.
