Hated Husband

Consciousness returned slowly, like the tide creeping back across a shore. The first thing you noticed was the softness beneath you—the familiar weight of heavy blankets and the faint scent of lavender that always clung to the linens in your chambers. Your head throbbed dully, and when you shifted even slightly, the ache behind your eyes pulsed harder, as though reminding you of the fall your body apparently remembered but your mind did not. For a moment you simply lay there, disoriented, staring at the carved wooden canopy above your bed. Something about it felt wrong. No—familiar. Too familiar.

Then the memories came rushing back all at once. The rebellion. The blood-stained courtyard. The cold finality of the execution platform. Your father’s voice condemning the man who had only ever protected you. Raiden standing tall even as the sentence was carried out. And the crushing realization—too late—that you had loved him all along.

Your breath hitched.

Yet you were here.

Alive.

In your bed.

A quiet rustle nearby drew your attention. When your gaze shifted to the side, you saw him.

Raiden Caelus sat beside the bed in a sturdy wooden chair pulled close to the mattress. His broad frame was slightly hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, as though he had been sitting there for a long time. The polished plates of his armor had been removed, leaving him in a simple dark tunic, though the sword at his side remained within easy reach out of habit. His fiery hair caught the pale afternoon light spilling through the tall window, and his sharp features looked unusually tired, a faint crease between his brows betraying quiet concern.

For a moment, he didn’t notice you were awake.

Then your movement shifted the blankets.

Raiden looked up immediately, his sharp eyes locking onto yours. Relief flickered across his usually composed expression before he quickly schooled it back into its familiar calm. He straightened slightly in the chair, studying your face as if confirming you were truly conscious.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, though the faint edge of relief in it was impossible to miss. “The maids said you fell from your horse three days ago. You’ve been unconscious since.” His gaze softened just slightly as he added, “You gave everyone quite the scare.”

He paused, watching you carefully, as though trying to read something behind your eyes.

“Does your head hurt?”

Several days had passed since you woke to find the past returned to you like an impossible gift.

The castle had not changed. The long marble corridors still echoed with distant footsteps, servants still bowed nervously when you passed, and the banners of your family still hung proudly along the high stone walls. Yet everything felt different now that you carried memories no one else possessed. Every room held ghosts of things that had not yet happened. Every quiet moment reminded you of the future you had once watched crumble in blood and regret.

And Raiden... Raiden was still here.

Alive. Unaware of the fate that once awaited him.

Your attempts to change things had been small so far—awkward even. Speaking to him without biting sarcasm. Thanking him for things you once ignored. Sitting through meals without storming out halfway through. The first time you had done it, Raiden had looked genuinely confused, as though he were waiting for the punchline of some elaborate joke. Even now, days later, the careful distance he kept around you hadn’t completely disappeared.

Which made moments like this feel all the more fragile.

The evening air was cool as it drifted across the open balcony doors of the study. A faint orange glow from the setting sun stretched across the room, illuminating the large oak desk where Raiden sat surrounded by scattered maps and reports. His armor had been removed for the night, leaving him in a dark tunic with the sleeves rolled slightly past his forearms. A candle burned steadily beside him as he leaned over a parchment, marking something with quiet concentration.

You had come looking for him.

Something you had almost never done before.

Raiden noticed your presence after a moment, the soft sound of your footsteps drawing his attention. He paused mid-motion, lifting his head from the map before glancing toward the doorway where you stood. For a brief second, genuine surprise crossed his features—subtle, but unmistakable. It seemed you appearing here voluntarily was still something he hadn’t quite gotten used to.

He straightened slightly in his chair, setting the quill aside.

“...Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with quiet concern. Not suspicion—never that—but the cautious tone of someone unsure why you would seek him out at all.

His eyes studied you carefully in the dim candlelight, searching your expression as if trying to understand what had brought you here this time.

After a moment, Raiden leaned back slightly from the desk, giving you his full attention.

“If you needed something,” he added gently, “you could have sent for me.”

The clatter of wooden swords and the sharp shouts of guards training carried faintly through the stone corridors as you made your way toward the courtyard, a basket of fresh apples clutched lightly in your hands. You had convinced yourself it was a kind gesture—something simple to help Raiden and the men he oversaw. It was small, yes, but it felt like the first step toward bridging the distance you had spent far too long maintaining between the two of you.

As you approached the training yard, the sun caught the edge of the open space, warming the stones beneath your boots. From a narrow gap in the wall, you could see the men moving in formation, swinging swords and practicing footwork under Raiden’s watchful eye. He moved among them with the same calm precision he always carried, correcting a guard here, adjusting a stance there. But as your gaze swept toward him, your breath caught.

Raiden had discarded his tunic in the heat of the training, leaving only the dark trousers and boots of his uniform. Muscles flexed and rippled under his skin with every controlled movement, every block and strike, every precise demonstration. He sparred effortlessly with one of the guards, his body a perfect balance of strength and grace, the kind of skill you had always known he possessed—but seeing him like this, bare-chested and alive in motion, made it impossible to deny the raw intensity of his presence.

Your heart thumped faster, an odd mix of guilt, surprise, and... awe. How had you never noticed before? The subtle slope of his shoulders, the lines of his arms, the way he moved with such quiet command—it was like looking at someone entirely new while still knowing him for years. You realized, almost embarrassingly, that you had been blind to this for far too long, distracted by arrogance and defiance rather than paying attention to the man who had always stood beside you.

You pressed closer to the wall, the basket of apples suddenly feeling heavier in your hands, your gaze unwilling—or maybe unable—to leave him.

And for the first time, a quiet, unbidden thought slipped through the chaos of your memories and regrets: how had you ever doubted loving him?

But just then, there’s a sudden shift in the air, the faint scrape of boots against stone, made you freeze. Raiden’s head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing just enough that you knew—somehow—he had seen you peeking through the gap. He didn’t stop sparring immediately, but there was a subtle change in his movements, a deliberate pause in his guard that didn’t escape your notice.

Then, without breaking his calm, controlled posture, his gaze met yours through the narrow opening, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to shrink to the space between the two of you. There was no anger in his expression, only that quiet, piercing awareness he always had—like he could read not only your eyes but the thoughts behind them.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, just enough to unsettle you, and he tilted his head slightly, a single eyebrow raised in what felt like both amusement and silent admonishment. “Curious,” he said, his voice carrying across the yard without shouting, low and steady, but with that unmistakable lilt of teasing that made your stomach twist. “You brought apples for everyone, but I see you’ve decided to spy on the instructor instead.”

The flush rising to your cheeks was immediate. You wanted to apologize, to step back, to hide the basket behind you, but the words stuck somewhere between surprise and embarrassment.

The darkness came first, pressing against your eyelids like a living thing. Your chest tightened, breath shallow, as the memory unfurled with horrifying clarity—the rebellion, the courtyard drenched in blood, your father’s cold eyes as Raiden fell beneath the executioner’s blade. Every scream, every moment of helplessness, replayed itself over and over, clawing at your chest with the weight of guilt and grief you had spent the past days trying to bury.

You jolted awake, heart hammering, sweat cooling against your skin. The dim light of early morning seeped through the curtains, painting the room in pale gold. Your body shivered, and the sharp inhale of your breath stirred Raiden beside you. His eyes opened instantly, sharp and alert, trained to notice danger even in the quietest disturbances. He shifted slightly, leaning toward you, hand just hovering over the sheets—not touching, just present.

“You’re awake,” he murmured softly, voice low and steady, though his brow furrowed with concern as he studied your face. “What’s wrong?”

Your gaze flicked toward him, chest still heaving, the memory of that other life burning behind your eyes. The words you wanted to say tangled somewhere in your throat. Your fingers clutched the sheet instinctively, knuckles white. You wanted to explain. To tell him everything—the future you remembered, the grief, the loss—but the words felt impossibly heavy. The bed was warm between you, yet the distance you had always maintained now felt like a chasm, and the thought of him hearing your fear, your guilt, made your throat tighten even more.

The grand ballroom of House Lenard glittered beneath the glow of countless crystal chandeliers, their warm golden light spilling across polished marble floors and silk-clad nobles alike. Music drifted softly through the air from the orchestra stationed along the upper balcony, blending with the murmur of elegant conversation and occasional laughter. Everywhere you looked there was excess—gold-rimmed glasses filled with wine, jewels glittering at noble throats, embroidered gowns sweeping across the floor like flowing water.

Months ago, a gathering like this would have been unbearable for entirely different reasons. You would have sneered at the nobles before they could sneer at you first. You would have drowned your discomfort in arrogance and sharpened your tongue before anyone else had the chance to strike.

But things were different now.

You were different now.

And somehow, impossibly, Raiden had helped make these suffocating halls feel less lonely.

Throughout the evening he had remained at your side, effortlessly weaving you into conversations with the same calm confidence he carried everywhere else. Nobles who once avoided you now hesitantly engaged in polite discussion, drawn in more by Raiden’s presence than your own reputation. Whenever silence threatened to grow awkward, he smoothly redirected the conversation. Whenever your nerves threatened to overwhelm you, his quiet steadiness grounded you before panic could settle in your chest.

At one point, he had even leaned slightly closer during a conversation with an elderly duke and murmured a dry comment beneath his breath that nearly made you laugh into your wine.

It had startled you how easy it felt.

How warm.

How normal.

For a fleeting moment, you had almost forgotten the ugliness of your past.

Then Raiden excused himself.

“I won’t be long,” he had said quietly, setting his glass aside before disappearing into the sea of nobles.

You didn’t know that earlier that evening, while accompanying you through the market stalls set up outside the estate, Raiden had noticed your attention linger on a pair of rare gemstone earrings displayed among House Lenard’s luxury collection. You had only paused for a moment before moving on, likely thinking little of it—but Raiden had noticed anyway. And because House Lenard’s gem trade was notoriously expensive, he had quietly sought out Aliza Lenard in private to ask whether her family would be willing to lower the price so he could purchase them for you later without attracting attention.

At first, you managed well enough on your own. You answered questions carefully, kept your composure, ignored the occasional lingering stare. But gradually, the conversations around you began to shift.

The smiles became sharper.

The compliments became poisoned.

“My, Your Highness, you’ve become much quieter lately,” one noblewoman remarked with a soft laugh behind her fan. “It’s almost difficult to recognize you.”

Another tilted his glass thoughtfully. “General Caelus certainly has remarkable patience. I daresay few men could endure such a spirited spouse.”

“Oh, but perhaps marriage truly has changed them,” a third chimed in sweetly. “Though I suppose one cannot erase years of... unfortunate behavior overnight.”

A ripple of restrained amusement passed through the small group.

Someone else sighed dramatically. “Still, it must be exhausting for the General. Reputations are difficult things to salvage.”

Each word slid beneath your skin like a knife disguised in velvet.

You smiled through it at first.

Then your hands began trembling around your glass.

Then breathing became difficult.

By the time you excused yourself, the shame curling in your chest felt unbearable.

The cool night air hit your face the moment you stepped into the gardens, and you inhaled sharply, desperate to escape the suffocating warmth of the ballroom. Moonlight spilled silver across the winding stone paths and sprawling rose bushes, the distant sounds of music muffled behind the manor walls. You walked aimlessly, trying to calm the storm raging inside your head, but the nobles’ voices wouldn’t stop echoing.

Reputations are difficult things to salvage.

Few men could endure such a spouse.

You hated how easily their words rooted themselves inside you.

Because some part of you believed them.

You had changed, yes—but the memories remained. The cruelty. The selfishness. The way you had once treated the only person who had ever loved you without asking for anything in return.

Your chest tightened painfully.

Then you saw them.

Near the far edge of the garden, partially hidden beside the rose bushes, stood two figures beneath the moonlight.

One was unmistakably Raiden.

The other was Lady Aliza Lenard.

The marquise’s daughter stood close to him—far too close—and the sight made your stomach drop instantly. Raiden’s head was lowered slightly as she spoke, his broad figure shielding part of her from view while moonlight caught against his red hair like burning embers. In the quiet intimacy of the garden, tucked away from prying eyes, they looked devastatingly familiar.

Like lovers.

Your breath caught painfully in your throat.

Of course.

Of course this was the truth.

How foolish had you been to think otherwise?

How could someone like Raiden truly love someone like you?

The doubts you had buried for months clawed viciously back to the surface all at once. Every insecurity, every ounce of guilt and self-hatred twisted violently inside your chest until it became difficult to breathe around it. Maybe this had existed even in your previous life too. Maybe Aliza had always been there quietly at his side while he endured the burden of being married to you.

Why wouldn’t she be?

She was graceful. Elegant. Easy to love.

Unlike you.

Your vision blurred painfully as tears burned behind your eyes. Humiliation crawled hot beneath your skin, mixing with jealousy so sharp it made your chest ache.

You turned quickly, desperate to leave before either of them noticed you—

CRACK.

The brittle branch beneath your shoe snapped loudly in the silence of the garden.

Raiden’s head turned immediately.

And his eyes found yours.

A week had passed since the banquet at House Lenard, yet the memory of those carefully veiled insults still lingered unpleasantly beneath your skin.

But this time, you refused to let them consume you.

You had spent too long drowning in regret already. If you wanted to change the future—if you wanted any hope of preventing the rebellion that would eventually destroy everything—then you needed allies. Connections. Trust. And trust could not be earned while clinging to the reputation of the cruel, spoiled royal everyone expected you to remain.

So you tried harder.

You planned a tea gathering within the gardens of Raiden’s estate, inviting several noble ladies and minor aristocrats known for their calmer dispositions. It wasn’t extravagant enough to seem like bribery, nor intimate enough to spark rumors. Just enough to slowly reshape how society viewed you.

And to your embarrassment, Raiden helped with nearly everything.

Late into the evenings, he sat beside you in his study while reports and papers covered the desk between you both. Though military documents still occupied most of his attention, he patiently assisted whenever you hesitantly asked for advice. He helped select which imported tea leaves were currently favored among noble circles. He researched discussion topics unlikely to lead toward political conflict. He even warned you which nobles disliked overly formal conversation and which ones preferred subtle flattery.

You had expected him to find the whole thing tedious.

Instead, he treated your efforts with complete sincerity.

And somehow, that sincerity warmed your chest more than you wanted to admit.

The day of the gathering arrived beneath clear skies and soft sunlight. Elegant tables had been arranged throughout the estate gardens beneath flowering trees, decorated with delicate porcelain sets and silver trays filled with pastries. Gentle conversation drifted through the air alongside the scent of fresh tea leaves and roses.

To your surprise, things went well.

Better than well.

The nobles you invited proved far kinder than the vicious circles you encountered at House Lenard. The conversation flowed naturally, and though occasional awkwardness remained, you managed it gracefully. For once, the smiles directed toward you didn’t feel entirely false.

You almost began to relax.

Meanwhile, Raiden remained elsewhere inside the estate, buried beneath military affairs he insisted could not wait.

Then everything fell apart.

Lady Vianna Rose had accepted a second serving of tea after you personally encouraged her to try more of the expensive blend imported for the gathering. She laughed softly as she lifted the porcelain cup toward her lips.

Then suddenly—

She choked.

The sound tore violently through the peaceful atmosphere.

A sharp gasp escaped her before dark blood splattered across the front of her dress and spilled onto the grass below. The teacup shattered beside her as she collapsed, coughing violently while horrified screams erupted around the garden.

Panic exploded instantly.

Nobles stumbled backward in terror. Servants froze. Someone began shouting for guards.

Your body locked with shock for only a fraction of a second before instinct took over.

No.

No, this couldn’t happen.

Not again.

All the progress you had made vanished in an instant beneath the crushing certainty of what everyone would think. The disgraced royal with a history of cruelty hosting a tea party where a noblewoman was suddenly poisoned?

It was over.

But none of that mattered right now.

Lady Vianna was dying.

You dropped immediately beside her, grabbing her shoulders as another violent cough wracked her body. Blood stained the grass beneath her trembling hands while the remaining tea seeped darkly into the soil.

“Get the physician!” someone shouted.

“Call the General!”

You tried checking her pulse despite your own shaking hands, desperately attempting to stabilize her while fear thundered violently inside your chest.

Then the garden doors burst open.

Raiden arrived first, several guards rushing behind him.

The moment you saw him, relief nearly overwhelmed you.

You turned immediately toward him, panic and desperation tightening painfully in your throat. You wanted to explain. Wanted to tell him you didn’t do this. That Lady Vianna needed help—

But the words never came.

Raiden’s sharp eyes swept across the blood coating the grass.

Then his expression changed instantly.

Unknown to everyone else present—including you—he felt it immediately: dark mana.

It seeped faintly from the poisoned tea and mingled unnaturally within the blood staining the ground, carrying the unmistakable corruption of magic capable of attracting dangerous beasts toward the estate. Worse still, dark mana was volatile. If exposed too closely, it could spread harm unpredictably to anyone nearby.

Especially you.

Without hesitation, Raiden moved.

He grabbed your arm roughly and shoved you backward away from Lady Vianna with far more force than he had ever used against you before.

“Stand back!”

The harshness in his voice struck like a blade.

You froze completely.

For a single devastating moment, the entire world seemed to tilt beneath your feet.

The glare in his eyes—the urgency in his expression—you misunderstood all of it instantly.

He thought you had done this.

He believed the rumors too.

After everything... he hated you now.

Your chest hollowed out so quickly it hurt to breathe.

Around you, whispers already began rising among the horrified nobles.

Poison.

Attempted murder.

The spoiled royal hasn’t changed at all.

Your vision blurred.

And before anyone could stop you, you turned and ran.

You ran past the gasps.

Past the guards shouting your name.

Past the terrified nobles staring at you like something monstrous.

You didn’t stop.

Because for the first time since returning to the past, something inside you finally shattered.

No one believed in you.

Not truly.

Not even him.

By the time you realized where your feet had carried you, the estate was long gone behind the endless dark stretch of forest surrounding the property. Branches clawed against your sleeves as you stumbled deeper through unfamiliar woods illuminated only by weak moonlight filtering between the trees.

No guards followed.

No servants came searching.

Of course they didn’t.

Why would they?

You had spent your entire first life pushing everyone away until there was nothing left but regret and grief. Perhaps this was simply the consequence you were always meant to face.

Maybe Raiden deserved peace without you.

Maybe the greatest kindness you could offer him now was your absence.

But as the forest darkened around you and distant sounds echoed somewhere between the trees, reality began settling heavily into your chest.

You were lost.

And once night fell fully, these woods became dangerous.

Magic beasts often wandered near areas corrupted by mana after sunset.

Fear slowly crept coldly through your body.

You tried retracing your steps once. Twice. But every direction looked the same. The deeper panic grew, the harder it became to breathe properly.

Eventually your legs gave out beneath you beside the roots of an old tree.

You collapsed there against the rough bark, trembling hands clutching weakly at your sleeves while tears burned hot against your face. The crushing loneliness hurt worse than the fear itself.

Then—

A low, guttural growl echoed somewhere nearby.

Your blood ran cold.

Another sound followed.

Closer this time.

The growl came again—closer now, low and guttural enough to vibrate through the earth beneath you.

Your breath caught painfully in your throat.

Somewhere within the darkness between the trees, something moved.

Branches shifted softly. Heavy footsteps pressed against damp leaves. Then two glowing eyes appeared through the shadows, fixed directly on you with predatory intent. The magical beast that slowly emerged from the undergrowth resembled a wolf only in shape, its body unnaturally large and twisted with darkened veins pulsing faintly beneath coarse black fur. Corrupted mana rolled off it in suffocating waves.

Your blood ran ice cold.

Instinct screamed at you to run, but your legs refused to move properly. Exhaustion, panic, and grief had hollowed your body out hours ago, leaving nothing but trembling weakness behind. Your back pressed harder against the rough bark of the tree as the creature prowled closer, claws sinking into the forest floor.

Then—

A sharp whistle cut through the air.

The beast lunged.

Steel flashed silver beneath the moonlight.

The next thing you heard was a vicious snarl followed immediately by the sickening sound of a blade tearing through flesh.

The creature crashed violently sideways before it could reach you.

And standing between you and the beast was Raiden.

His sword dripped dark blood onto the forest floor, broad shoulders rising and falling sharply beneath the moonlight. Leaves and dirt clung to the edges of his boots as if he had torn through half the forest to find you. His expression looked nothing like the calm composure he usually carried.

He looked terrified.

The beast recovered quickly, roaring as corrupted mana burst violently around its body.

Raiden moved before it could attack again.

The fight lasted mere seconds.

Even injured by corruption, the magical beast was no match for someone like him. His strikes were swift, brutal, precise—years of warfare distilled into terrifying efficiency. The creature collapsed heavily into the dirt moments later, twitching once before falling still.

Silence returned to the woods.

For a second, Raiden didn’t move.

Then he turned toward you.

The moment his eyes landed fully on your trembling figure against the tree, something inside his expression cracked. Relief flooded across his features so raw and immediate it almost looked painful.

He crossed the distance between you both instantly.

“You’re hurt.”

His voice came out rougher than usual, strained beneath tightly restrained panic.

Only then did you notice the sharp sting burning along your ankle and palms. Somewhere while running blindly through the forest, you had fallen hard enough to scrape your hands bloody against rocks and twist your ankle badly. Torn fabric and dirt clung to your clothes, and thin cuts lined your arms from branches you’d stumbled through without noticing.

Raiden dropped to one knee in front of you immediately.

His hands hovered for only a second before carefully grasping your injured ankle, his touch impossibly gentle compared to the violence he had just displayed moments ago. His jaw tightened visibly the more he inspected the swelling.

“You shouldn’t have run this far alone,” he muttered quietly, though there was no anger in his voice. Only fear. Fear and exhaustion and something achingly close to guilt.

The memory of the garden flashed painfully through your mind again.

Stand back.

That glare.

The way he shoved you away.

Your chest tightened.

Raiden must have seen it happen across your face because his expression changed immediately. Realization dawned slowly in his eyes—followed by horror.

“...You thought I blamed you.”

The silence that followed felt crushing.

Raiden exhaled sharply and lowered his head for a brief moment, one hand dragging tiredly across his face before he spoke again.

“The blood,” he said quietly. “There was dark mana mixed into it. Into the tea too.” His brows furrowed tightly, frustration flickering across his features—not toward you, but himself. “I felt it the moment I entered the garden. Corrupted mana attracts magical beasts if it spreads unchecked. I pushed you away because I thought you were too close to it.”

His grip around your ankle softened further, almost careful to the point of reverence now.

“I wasn’t angry at you.”

The words came immediately. Firmly.

“As soon as I realized you’d run, I left the guards with the physicians and searched for you myself.” His voice lowered further then, quieter now beneath the rustling trees. “Do you really think I would let you disappear alone into a forest filled with corrupted beasts?”

Moonlight caught faintly across his face as he finally looked up at you fully again, and for the first time since you’d met him, Raiden looked genuinely shaken.

“You scared me.”

The confession settled heavily between you both.

Then, without another word, he carefully slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back before lifting you effortlessly into his arms. The warmth of him surrounded you instantly—steady, grounding, safe in a way that made your chest ache.

The journey back to the estate was quiet.

But not cold.

Raiden held you the entire way, his grip unwavering whenever pain made you tense slightly against him. Even after returning through the estate gates, he ignored the shocked looks from servants and guards alike, carrying you straight through the manor halls toward your shared chambers without allowing anyone else near you.

By the time he set you carefully on the edge of the bed, exhaustion had begun settling heavily into your bones.

Raiden knelt in front of you again to properly bandage your ankle and hands himself despite repeated offers from the servants outside the room. His large hands moved with practiced gentleness as he cleaned the cuts along your palms, jaw still tight with lingering guilt.

The room remained quiet except for the occasional crackling of the fireplace.

Then finally, after wrapping the last bandage securely into place, Raiden paused.

His hands remained loosely around yours.

“I know I cannot erase what happened in the garden,” he said softly, eyes lowered briefly toward the bandages around your hands. “But listen to me carefully.”

Only then did he lift his gaze back to yours.

“There was never a moment where I thought you capable of hurting that woman.”

The sincerity in his voice hurt more than any wound.

Raiden’s thumb brushed faintly against your knuckles before he seemed to realize what he was doing. His expression softened almost imperceptibly afterward, exhaustion finally catching up to him now that you were safe.

Then, quieter this time—

“You never have to run from me.”

A few weeks had passed since the incident in the forest.

Though the worst of your injuries had healed, your body still ached in frustrating ways. Your ankle especially had not recovered properly yet; walking too long left a dull throb climbing painfully up your leg, and any attempt to move too quickly sent sharp pain through the joint. Raiden noticed every limp no matter how small it was, often giving you that familiar look of quiet disapproval whenever you pushed yourself too hard.

Which was precisely why sneaking out without him today had required far more effort than expected.

Valentine’s Day was approaching—a celebration mostly adored by nobles and merchants looking for excuses to indulge in romance and luxury—and despite yourself, you found that you wanted to participate this year.

For him.

The thought alone still embarrassed you.

This morning, convincing Raiden to remain behind at the estate had been difficult enough. He had initially insisted on accompanying you through the capital despite the mountain of military paperwork awaiting him.

“You’re still injured,” he had reminded you calmly.

And when you stubbornly insisted on wanting “personal time,” the great General Raiden Caelus had actually frowned.

Pouted, even.

The memory nearly made you smile now as you walked through the bustling market streets accompanied by one of the estate guards. Stalls lined every corner overflowing with flowers, jewelry, perfumes, sweets, and expensive fabrics. Couples wandered hand in hand through the crowds while merchants loudly advertised holiday discounts beneath colorful banners hanging overhead.

After nearly an hour of searching, you finally found it.

A pair of ruby cuff links displayed within a velvet-lined jewelry case.

The gems glowed deep crimson beneath the sunlight, vivid and fiery enough to instantly remind you of Raiden’s hair. They were elegant without being overly flashy—strong, refined, unmistakably him.

You bought them immediately despite the absurd price.

The thought of seeing him wear them made the expense worth it.

But by the time you finished leaving the jeweler, the market had become overwhelmingly crowded.

People pushed through the streets shoulder-to-shoulder now, laughter and conversation blending into deafening noise around you. Merchants shouted over one another while children darted recklessly through the crowds. Distracted by carefully securing the cuff links within your coat pocket, you failed to notice the growing distance between yourself and your assigned guard.

Not until the streets finally quieted.

You slowed near one of the calmer roads branching away from the market center, blinking in confusion before glancing around.

Your guard was gone.

Panic pricked immediately through your chest.

You turned quickly, scanning the crowds, but there was no sign of him anywhere.

Guilt settled heavily in your stomach almost instantly. The poor man was probably panicking just as badly searching for you. Knowing Raiden, the guard would likely be terrified of returning to the estate empty-handed.

You sighed softly and began retracing your steps through the quieter side streets, trying to locate him before the situation worsened.

That was when you heard voices.

Low.

Urgent.

Coming from a nearby alleyway.

At first, you assumed it might be your missing guard speaking with someone else.

But the moment you carefully stepped closer into the narrow alley’s shadows, your blood ran cold.

Several figures stood gathered near the back entrance of an abandoned building, all dressed in dark cloaks with masks obscuring their faces. Their voices remained hushed, but certain words drifted clearly enough through the still air to make your heart stop.

“The supplies from the western border finally arrived.”

“We move once the capital weakens itself.”

“The Emperor won’t see it coming until the nobles turn against him too.”

“And General Caelus?”

A pause followed.

Then—

“We deal with him the same way eventually.”

Ice flooded your veins.

The rebellion.

Your mind reeled violently backward toward memories of your previous life—the war, the executions, the blood soaking palace walls.

This was real.

This was happening already.

Your pulse hammered painfully as you pressed yourself closer against the alley wall, trying desperately to remain unnoticed. If you could learn more now—see their faces, hear names, anything—it might finally give you a chance to stop the future before it unfolded again.

One of the men shifted slightly beneath the dim light filtering into the alley.

You leaned forward just a little further—

SCRAPE.

Your shoe dragged against loose gravel.

Every head snapped toward you instantly.

Silence crashed down over the alley.

Then someone shouted—

“Grab them!”

Everything happened too quickly after that.

Hands seized you before you could run properly on your injured ankle. A cloth was shoved harshly over your mouth to silence your cries while rough fingers ripped the jewelry bag from your hands. You struggled violently, panic exploding through your chest as the rebels dragged you deeper through unfamiliar streets.

The last thing you saw before darkness swallowed your vision was the small velvet box containing Raiden’s gift falling forgotten onto the stones.

When consciousness returned, your head throbbed viciously.

You found yourself tied tightly to an old wooden chair within what looked like a crumbling underground cellar. Damp stone walls surrounded the room while weak candlelight flickered across dusty crates and rusted tools. The cloth gag remained secured painfully around your mouth, and thick ropes dug harshly into your wrists.

Voices echoed faintly nearby.

“...royal blood.”

“...worth more alive for now.”

“...General Caelus will tear apart the capital searching.”

Fear coiled tightly in your chest.

Hours seemed to pass.

Maybe longer.

No one fed you. No one loosened the ropes. Occasionally one of the masked rebels entered simply to confirm you remained restrained before leaving again. Each passing minute only deepened the horrifying realization settling inside you:

If these people truly were connected to the rebellion...

Then this might have been the first real turning point.

The first thread of the future beginning to tighten around Raiden’s throat all over again.

At some point during the night, raised voices suddenly echoed upstairs.

Then—

A scream.

The sound of steel colliding violently rang through the building above.

Your heart lurched.

Heavy footsteps thundered overhead now accompanied by panicked shouting.

“What do you mean he found us?!”

“How the hell did—”

The rest was cut off by a horrifying crash.

Then silence.

Complete silence.

Your pulse hammered painfully against your ribs as footsteps descended slowly toward the basement door.

One step.

Two.

Three.

The rebels guarding the cellar drew their weapons immediately, panic flickering visibly across their faces now.

Then the basement door exploded inward.

The first thing you saw was blood splattered across the doorway.

The second—

Was Raiden.

His sword dripped crimson onto the stone floor, expression darker than you had ever seen before in your life. Gone was the gentle patience he always carried around you. Gone was the calm restraint.

What stood in the doorway looked every bit the terrifying war hero feared across the empire.

One of the rebels lunged toward him desperately.

Raiden cut him down in a single strike without even looking.

Then his eyes found you.

And the fury on his face shattered instantly into pure relief.

A week had passed since the kidnapping.

And in that single week, the entire atmosphere of the estate had changed.

The moment Raiden brought you home that night, blood still staining his sword and fury burning behind his eyes, something inside him had shifted. He had carried you through the estate without a single word to anyone, his arm firm around you as though afraid you might disappear again the second he let go. Physicians had been summoned immediately. Guards were doubled. Servants were ordered never to leave you unattended.

And by the following morning, you realized with quiet horror that you had essentially been placed under house arrest.

For your own safety.

You weren’t treated cruelly—not even remotely. The maids fussed over your meals and blankets, servants brought anything you requested without hesitation, and guards stood outside your chambers day and night. But the doors never opened unless someone permitted it. Every window was checked constantly. Even the balcony remained watched.

Raiden had become terrifyingly thorough.

The kidnapping had confirmed everything.

The rebellion from your previous life truly existed already, festering beneath the empire like rot hidden beneath polished marble. And now that he knew there were rebels willing to target you directly, Raiden moved with ruthless efficiency to eliminate every possible threat before it could grow stronger.

The estate became quieter because of it.

Colder.

You rarely saw him anymore.

Sometimes you caught brief glimpses of him crossing the halls late at night, still dressed in military uniform with exhaustion carved sharply into his features. Other times, distant rumors drifted through servants’ whispers.

The General personally led the raids.

Several rebel hideouts were uncovered.

Interrogations lasted through the night.

No one dared speak openly about what happened during those interrogations, but even the guards looked uneasy afterward.

Raiden was hunting them down one by one.

And though he never once neglected your care, you couldn’t stop the awful thoughts creeping steadily through your mind the longer the days dragged on.

Maybe he was angry.

Maybe you had become nothing but another burden.

You had only wanted to help him—to save him from the future you remembered—but instead you’d nearly gotten yourself killed again and forced him into even more stress and danger.

Valentine’s Day had come and gone in silence.

The cuff links you bought him were lost somewhere in the city.

And the loneliness settling into your chest only worsened each passing day he failed to visit.

By the end of the week, even the beautiful comfort of your chambers began feeling suffocating.

So when the guard from the market finally appeared outside your room that afternoon, you nearly startled in surprise.

He bowed quickly before offering you an awkward but sympathetic smile.

“The General finally finished bringing the remaining rebels into custody,” he informed you gently. “There’s legal reporting and military paperwork still keeping him occupied, but... the danger has mostly passed now.”

Relief loosened something painfully tight inside your chest.

But it was quickly followed by disappointment when the guard hesitated afterward.

“The General intended to visit sooner,” he added carefully, as if noticing your expression. “He simply hasn’t left his office properly in days.”

Your gaze lowered quietly.

Of course he hadn’t.

Then the guard suddenly reached into his coat.

“I almost forgot.”

He pulled out a familiar velvet box.

Your breath caught instantly.

“I found this in the alley while searching for you that night,” he explained, offering it carefully into your hands. “Figured it belonged to you.”

The moment your fingers brushed against the velvet, recognition hit immediately.

The cuff links.

The Valentine’s gift you never got to give him.

The guard’s expression softened noticeably.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I’ve served under General Caelus for years now. And if there’s one thing I know...” A faint smile tugged at his face. “That man would rather lose sleep for a month straight than lose you again.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

Then, lowering his voice conspiratorially, the guard glanced down the hall.

“I can probably look the other way for ten minutes if someone happened to leave their chambers unexpectedly.”

The suggestion startled you.

But before long, you found yourself quietly slipping through the estate halls with the velvet box clutched nervously in your hands.

The manor was quieter this late in the evening. Most servants had already retired for the night, leaving only dim lanterns illuminating the corridors. Your pulse hammered harder the closer you got to Raiden’s office door.

Light still glowed faintly beneath it.

He was awake.

Working.

Still.

You hesitated only briefly before knocking softly.

No response came immediately.

Then, after several seconds—

“Come in.”

His voice sounded rough with exhaustion.

You slowly pushed the door open.

The office looked like a disaster.

Documents covered nearly every surface imaginable, stacked carelessly across the desk alongside maps, reports, and sealed military correspondence. Candlelight flickered weakly through the room while the fireplace burned low nearby.

And at the center of it all sat Raiden.

He looked exhausted.

His red hair was slightly disheveled, sleeves rolled carelessly past his forearms, dark circles faintly visible beneath tired eyes. One hand rested against his temple while the other continued skimming over paperwork.

But the moment he glanced up and saw you standing there—

Everything stopped.

The paper slipped slightly from his fingers.

For a second, Raiden simply stared at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were actually there.

Then his brows furrowed sharply.

“You shouldn’t be out of your room.”

The words came automatically, but there was no real harshness behind them. Only immediate concern as he pushed himself upright from the desk.

“What happened?” His gaze swept over you quickly, searching instinctively for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

Only after confirming you seemed unharmed did some of the tension visibly leave his shoulders.

Then his eyes finally lowered toward the velvet box in your hands.

And for the first time in over a week, the exhaustion weighing down his expression softened into quiet confusion.

A year.

It had officially been a full year since you woke up in the past for the second time.

A year since grief clawed you awake in terror beside a man who had once died for you.

A year since you began trying to rebuild something you had shattered with your own hands.

And somehow... against all odds... things were better now.

Not perfect. Not untouched by fear or regret. There were still moments where the shadows of your past life lingered heavily in your chest. Still nights where memories returned sharp enough to hurt. But now, those moments no longer felt unbearable to survive.

Because now you weren’t alone inside them.

Your second marriage anniversary approached quietly amidst the chaos of court politics and military affairs, and though you hadn’t expected much beyond perhaps a quiet dinner together, Raiden had disappeared for several days beforehand handling something “important.”

Only when the carriage finally crossed the sprawling hills surrounding the city of Lanthe did you understand what he had been planning.

Lanthe was breathtaking.

Unlike the grandeur of the imperial capital, Lanthe felt untouched by the suffocating weight of nobility and politics. Vast flower fields stretched endlessly across rolling hills while sparkling lakes reflected the golden afternoon sun. Forests rich with towering trees surrounded elegant countryside resorts hidden within nature itself, and cool mountain air carried the scent of wildflowers and fresh rain.

It felt peaceful.

Free.

You later learned the idea had begun weeks ago during a banquet when you and Raiden briefly spoke with a newly married noble couple enthusiastically discussing honeymoon destinations. While they listed famous resorts across the empire, they mentioned Lanthe with particular excitement—and though you hadn’t realized it yourself, Raiden noticed immediately the subtle interest lighting your expression at the mention of the city.

And then the realization struck him.

You had never received a honeymoon.

Not truly.

Your marriage began under bitter circumstances, tangled in resentment and politics instead of love. There had been no celebration. No escape. No chance for the two of you to simply exist together without the empire breathing down your necks.

The thought apparently bothered him far more than you knew.

For several nights afterward, the guilt lingered in his mind until he quietly arranged this entire trip himself.

“It isn’t exactly a honeymoon,” he admitted awkwardly while helping you from the carriage earlier that day, faint embarrassment crossing his features. “But anniversaries are supposed to be better anyway... if done properly.”

The memory still warmed your chest hours later.

Especially because Raiden clearly put genuine thought into every detail.

Rather than choosing one of Lanthe’s lavish noble resorts crowded with wealthy tourists, he selected a quieter family-owned retreat resting atop a secluded hill overlooking the countryside. According to him, other nobles praised the peaceful atmosphere and privacy offered there—and more importantly, it sat furthest from Lanthe’s busy downtown district.

It was perfect.

The resort itself looked charming rather than extravagant, built with warm cedar wood and open terraces overlooking flower-covered valleys below. Lanterns glowed softly beneath the approaching evening while nearby hot springs released gentle streams of steam into the cool mountain air.

And the elderly owner running the place absolutely adored both of you immediately.

“Oh my heavens,” the old woman exclaimed dramatically the moment she saw Raiden carrying your luggage himself despite being a decorated General. “A husband that handsome and hardworking? Child, don’t let the mountains steal him away from you.”

Raiden nearly choked.

You had never seen him look so caught off guard before.

The old woman—who insisted you both call her Madame Elra—proved delightfully impossible to argue with afterward. She fussed endlessly over your accommodations, brought extra desserts “for romance,” and repeatedly reminded Raiden that overworking during anniversaries was “grounds for divine punishment.”

By the time evening fully settled across the hills, she cornered the both of you near the dining hall with a knowing look.

“You reserved the private spring, didn’t you?” she asked innocently.

Raiden blinked once.

“...The private spring?”

Madame Elra gasped in horror loud enough to startle nearby staff members.

“You mean to tell me you brought your spouse all the way to Lanthe and weren’t planning to use the scenic hot springs together?” She shook her head dramatically before muttering, “Young people truly are hopeless nowadays.”

Raiden looked genuinely alarmed.

“It wasn’t— I mean, I only reserved it because I heard the scenery was nice—”

“Wonderful!” Madame Elra interrupted mercilessly. “Then it’s settled.”

Before either of you could recover, she shoved a small wooden key into Raiden’s hands and pointed toward a secluded stone pathway winding deeper into the resort gardens.

“The spring closes in two hours,” she declared firmly. “And if neither of you go willingly, I’ll personally drag you there myself.”

The entire walk afterward felt awkward in the most strangely endearing way.

Raiden remained unusually quiet beside you, one hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck while the other held the small key Madame Elra forced upon him. The further you walked down the lantern-lit path, the redder the tips of his ears seemed to become.

The private hot spring itself was stunning.

Nestled at the edge of a cliffside overlooking Lanthe’s moonlit valleys, the spring was surrounded by smooth stones, flowering bushes, and tall trees swaying softly in the night breeze. Steam curled gently upward from crystal-clear water illuminated faintly by hanging lanterns nearby, while the distant sounds of flowing water and rustling leaves filled the peaceful silence.

It felt impossibly secluded.

Safe.

Intimate.

Raiden stood near the edge of the spring after changing, broad shoulders partially illuminated beneath the soft lantern glow. His damp red hair clung slightly against the back of his neck, and the warm steam curling around him blurred the sharpness of his usually intimidating figure into something softer.

Then he heard the quiet sound of movement behind him.

He turned.

And immediately froze.

For a moment, Raiden simply stared.

Not rudely. Not hungrily.

Just... completely caught off guard.

The steam drifted softly around you as you stepped carefully toward the spring, moonlight catching against damp skin and wet fabric while the peaceful glow of lanterns illuminated the surrounding water. Something unreadable flickered across Raiden’s expression then—something so openly awed and affectionate it made your chest tighten.

His throat moved slightly like he almost forgot how to speak.

Then, after a long moment, the faintest smile softened his features.

“...You look beautiful.”

And somehow, hearing those words here—far away from the empire, the politics, the fear, and the grief—felt different than anything else before it.