Seeing Ashtoria’s blushing face because of his words, Riven couldn’t hold back a small smile. The usual blank expression she always wore had vanished, replaced by a warm red flush that stretched from her cheeks all the way to her ears. She looked so different now… far from the terrifying figure everyone called the Mad Queen.

And that made Riven remember.

Funny, he thought. Their first real meeting hadn’t even been that long ago. Who would’ve guessed that things would turn into something like this in such a short time?

He still remembered when Ashtoria first approached him after she regained consciousness. He had also praised her back then, unintentionally, over and over, which ended with her choking him almost to death.

He brushed her hair once more and teased softly, “You’re really weak to compliments, Ashtoria.”

The queen did not reply. She simply stared at him, silent, as if words had abandoned her. But from her eyes, from the slight stiffness in her body, Riven could tell her heart was in turmoil. The face that was usually impassive and unreadable was now filled with color.

Trying to lighten the mood, Riven placed his hand over his chest where he had taken a brutal hit before. His expression shifted to confusion when he realized there was no pain at all.

“Wait… did you heal me?” he asked quietly.

Ashtoria gave a tiny nod, like a child who’d been caught doing something good without wanting to admit it. No pride. No arrogance. Just quiet sincerity.

Riven looked at her again, captivated. But then Ashtoria raised her head, her voice small and trembling as she asked:

“…What did you mean when you said I was hurting you…?”

She lowered her gaze. “Do you… not like me? Am I… bothering you…?”

The words pierced deeper than any blade. Riven felt his chest tighten, not from pain, but from something warm swelling inside him. He still hadn’t recovered from the reality of his low aptitude, the unfairness of the world, and his own helplessness…

But this woman…

With her flushed face, trembling voice, and innocent question—she somehow made all of that feel distant, like a nightmare fading at dawn.

He couldn’t hold back anymore.

He slowly moved, shifting their positions with one smooth motion, placing Ashtoria beneath him.

Her body froze beneath his. Her breath hitched. Her crimson eyes widened in panic, but not fear.

Just overwhelming embarrassment.

Riven looked straight into her eyes and spoke softly, yet firmly, “How could a woman as beautiful and as adorable as you possibly bother me? Do you think I’m stupid?”

The words struck Ashtoria like lightning. She immediately turned her face away, covering half her expression with her hand, yet she couldn’t hide the bright red blooming across her cheeks.

Her body trembled slightly.

Her heart was beating too fast, as if it wanted to burst from her chest.

Riven smiled, leaning closer. His breath brushed her ear, making her flinch.

“I want to say…” ‘i love you,’ he whispered, but he stopped himself before finishing. He held back. Because somehow… it didn’t feel like the right time yet.

Not now.

Instead, he lifted her chin gently and asked:

“…May I call you by a special name?”

Ashtoria blinked slowly. “…A special name?”

Riven nodded. “Something only I can use. A name I’ll say only when it’s just the two of us.”

Ashtoria seemed to think for a moment, her eyes shifting slightly. Then she asked, softly, “…What… name?”

Riven smiled. He brushed her cheek and spoke from the deepest part of himself:

“How about… Asha?”

He could have called her Aria, like before, but somehow Asha felt right. It suited her more.

“Ashtoria is a beautiful name, but I want something no one else will ever say to you. Aria is lovely too, but Asha… it sounds gentle. Sweet. Like you.”

Ashtoria froze.

Then her body slowly relaxed.

Her cheeks turned scarlet. Her eyes shimmered with warmth. Something inside her chest burst open, like sinking into warm honey, like standing in a never-ending spring.

He gave me a name…

A name just for me…

Asha…

In her heart, she was screaming. Smiling. Dancing.

But outwardly, she simply bit her lip, trying to contain the rush of emotions overflowing too quickly.

Tonight…

She had originally planned to follow Brigitta’s advice. To undress him. To kiss him. To claim him as hers and hers alone. She wanted to make him hers completely.

But not tonight.

Tonight was already too precious.

Too perfect.

And she wanted to remember it exactly like this—with her name breathed softly in Riven’s voice, and their bodies resting close in gentle stillness.

“Asha…” Riven whispered again, like a spell.

And once more, the queen’s heart melted.

.

.

.

The sky above Belgrande hung gray and heavy. Clouds gathered thickly, refusing to leave. The city that was usually lively and grand was now drowned in unease. Guards stood ready at every watchtower. Alarm bells rang now and then, and armed patrols marched through the main avenues.

The news had finally spread.

Fort Valgarde had fallen.

Mordune, the old enemy of the southwest, had not only breached Iskandria’s main line of defense. They were advancing, taking territories one after another.

Belgrande, the heart of the kingdom, might be next.

Inside the grand palace at the center of the city, in a high chamber with a wide window facing west, a woman stood quietly. She was around fifty, her black hair tied in a neat bun, wearing a deep violet gown that brushed the floor. Her features were elegant yet firm, carrying the weight of decades in court.

On her wrist perched a white raven, calm and still. It was no ordinary raven, a result of engineered breeding, designed to be the fastest and most resilient messenger in Eldoria. These ravens obeyed only their master’s voice.

The woman stroked its feathers gently and whispered near its beak, “City of Glimfell.”

The raven blinked, spread its wings, and flew out the window, cutting through the heavy clouds like a white arrow.

The woman exhaled slowly, her eyes still on the sky.

From the end of the long hallway leading to her chamber, footsteps approached, steady and sure. A man in his fifties, clad in a black military coat with medals across his chest, stepped into view. His hair showed streaks of gray, but his posture remained strong, his presence commanding.

He stopped and spoke.

“Anna Hartwell.”

The woman turned, replying with quiet gravity.

“Commander Valobys.”

They held each other’s gaze in silence.

No greetings. No small talk.

Both knew this was no time for pleasantries. The kingdom was in crisis. And while the nobles were busy blaming each other and guarding their own power, only a few like them still thought about the fate of their homeland.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep