Chapter Forty-Nine

Yet even as Shadowmoon stayed in Lilith Castle, living with Arthur, her heart was far from at ease. The words Arthur had spoken to her that day were too cold, too cruel, and yet, there was nothing she could do. Escaping was impossible. So she chose the simplest form of resistance against Arthur—she refused to eat.

The first day of her hunger strike—

“Your Highness, the young lady refuses to eat,” the maid reported nervously, finding Shadowmoon’s behavior far too willful. How could she do something so childish? Yet the maid also feared that she herself would be punished by the prince for bringing such news.

Beneath the dim wall lamp, beside the large floor-to-ceiling window, a small, delicate figure was curled up in a corner by the glass, as though the whole world had abandoned her. She sat in utter silence, not a sound escaping her.

When Arthur entered Shadowmoon’s bedroom, this was the sight that greeted him—a scene that pierced his eyes with pain and drew a bitter curve to his lips.

Does staying by my side truly make you so miserable? Do you hate me so much that you wish to flee from me?

The questions echoed in his heart until, unable to hold back, Arthur spoke them aloud. His gaze was fixed on that frail form by the window, missing not the slightest movement.

Shadowmoon remained seated, silent as stone, like a lifeless sculpture devoid of spirit.

Arthur, watching her small but unyielding figure, at last strode toward her. He came to stand beside her, his eyes blazing as if to ignite her by their intensity. When Shadowmoon still seemed utterly indifferent, he slowly crouched down, grasped her shoulders with strong hands, and lifted her from the floor.

“Speak,” he demanded. His tone was calm, yet the anger in it could barely be concealed.

Shadowmoon’s eyes were hollow, paying him no heed.

Her indifference shattered the last threads of Arthur’s self-control. His sky-blue eyes burned with a crimson, feverish light, wild and unrestrained. Suddenly, his hands began to shake her by the shoulders.

“Speak! I want you to speak! Do you hear me? I want you to speak! Speak!” Reason, upbringing, all his elegance and restraint—under Shadowmoon’s cold disregard, he cast them aside.

At last, as Arthur shouted in near-madness, Shadowmoon raised her violet eyes to meet his.

In the dim lamplight, Arthur’s hair gleamed with a dazzling metallic luster, blazing like fire, scorching Shadowmoon’s eyes, which remained calm and empty, like a still, dried-up well.

Under her cold gaze, all Arthur’s fury was instantly extinguished. His voice returned to its usual elegance. Looking into her eyes, he spoke softly,

“Speak. Do you truly hate me so much? Hate me enough to hurt yourself? Hate me so much you cannot even eat?”

His words grew quieter and quieter, as if he were merely murmuring to himself.

Shadowmoon looked at him and smiled faintly, her lips parting. “Yes, I do hate you. I hate your arrogance, your overbearing pride, your cold cruelty.” Her delicate lips delivered the words with merciless clarity. “I hate you—I hate everything about you!” Each word was uttered with deliberate, icy cruelty, like tiny blades slicing into Arthur’s heart, one after another, until it bled.

Arthur’s hands, still holding her, trembled—subtly, but ceaselessly. The rose hue of his lips had drained away, and even his sky-blue eyes seemed dimmed.

Feeling his trembling, Shadowmoon’s lips curled ever so slightly.

—Author’s Note—

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