“Ashtoria,” Riven said casually, his tone as if he had no idea who he was actually speaking to. “For me and my sister… one room will be enough. And… if possible, just an ordinary one.”

For a moment, time seemed to freeze.

Ethan slowly turned toward him, and Daphne’s eyes widened in disbelief. Both of them could hardly believe what they had just heard.

That young man… had called The Queen—Ashtoria Iskandrite—directly by her name. And more than that, he had even rejected her wish, when just moments ago she had offered them separate rooms. Did this man not understand who he was talking to? Or… was he deliberately seeking death?

Riven quickly realized the mistake in his words. Earlier, Ashtoria herself had told him not to call her “Your Majesty,” and now he had gone too far in the opposite direction, calling her name far too casually—in front of others, no less. He stole a glance at the queen, trying to read any reaction behind that unreadable face.

As always, Ashtoria showed nothing. Only those sharp eyes that seemed to pierce through anyone foolish enough to meet her gaze for too long.

Yet behind that calm exterior, no one knew she was feeling… foolish.

How could she forget her original intention? Wasn’t she the one who wanted to stay close to Riven? Hadn’t she, throughout the journey, imagined spending more time with him? Why then had she even suggested giving him a separate room?

In a voice flat and quiet, almost like a murmur, she spoke to Ethan without even glancing his way. “There will be no three rooms. Just one… for the three of us.”

Silence hung in the air.

Ethan and Daphne froze.

They exchanged a look, trying to confirm they had heard correctly.

One room… for three?

Their eyes darted to Riven and Melly. For a moment, their minds scrambled for a logical explanation, but none came. Then only one possibility seemed to make sense, the queen wanted to torment these two commoners herself. That had to be it. Perhaps because Riven had been far too insolent. Perhaps because Melly had seen something she should not have.

‘Poor souls…’ both thought at the same time.

Meanwhile, Riven raised his brows at Ashtoria.

“…Wait,” he muttered softly, then drew a slow breath before finally saying, “Ashto, why one room? You can use another, can’t you? You don’t need to stay in ours.”

Ashtoria slowly turned to him.

Her gaze was blank, cool as a lake in autumn, yet somehow it sent a shiver down the spine. Then, for the very first time in Ethan and Daphne’s lives, they saw Ashtoria smile.

A faint smile. Gentle. Barely there. Yet it made the room feel colder, as though even candle flames hesitated to flicker.

“Because,” she said softly, almost tender yet without any high note, “I want to be with you.”

The words slipped out effortlessly. Honest. Unashamed. Without any complicated reason.

Riven fell silent, his eyes widening slightly.

Ethan and Daphne, on the other hand, were nearly struck dumb. They exchanged panicked looks, their earlier assumption—that the queen wanted to torture these two commoners—suddenly replaced with something far worse, far more terrifying.

Both of them began to pray silently, hoping these two would not die in too much suffering.

.

.

.

Hot water infused with herbs and rose petals filled the carved stone bath, sending up fragrant steam that soothed the senses. Riven sat half-submerged, his head resting against the cold marble edge. He let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound echoing softly in the wide, quiet bath chamber.

“Who would have thought…” he murmured, “that I could ever enjoy something like this.”

His hand drifted beneath the surface, catching a rose petal as it floated by. The warmth loosened the knots in his tired muscles. He knew baths like this were a luxury beyond reach for most commoners. The cost of hot water and herbal mixtures alone would have emptied his pockets if he had to pay for them himself.

Yet even with all that comfort, his mind was far from calm.

The thought of Ashtoria lingered in him like a mist that refused to disperse.

Riven frowned. He still did not understand. What exactly did that woman want from him? And why would someone like her go out of her way for something so trivial? To drive away the confusion, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

In the heat of the water, he forced himself into stillness, slipping into the focus required to begin mana absorption. The technique he had diligently practiced whenever he had no urgent matters to attend to. The process took its time, until the water around him turned cool and the fragrant steam had long since faded.

Finally, he rose from the bath, water dripping down his skin. A servant had already prepared a warm towel and clean clothes on a wooden rack near the door.

He dried himself, then put on the set provided: a loose pair of pale gray linen sleepwear, light and comfortable, with a round collar and drawstring pants. The fabric was cool and soft, as if tailored for perfect rest. Riven silently praised the quality of the garments.

After fixing his hair and making sure he was presentable, he left the bath chamber.

He walked toward the room prepared for them, his thoughts still adrift… until he froze at the threshold.

His eyes widened.

Inside the room—where he had expected three separate beds—there was only one large canopy bed.

And upon it sat someone.

Ashtoria Iskandrite.

Clad in a thin, dark silk nightgown, her long crimson hair spilled freely over her shoulders and back. Her legs crossed with effortless grace, her eyes sharp yet unhurried, like a wild cat patiently waiting for prey to approach on its own.

She turned her head, fixing her gaze on Riven through the veil of her hair, and said in a flat tone:

“Finished with your bath?”

Riven stood in the doorway, frozen.

His heartbeat quickened, not from fear, but from something else. Something he could not quite name… and was beginning to dread.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep