A wave of intense resentment surged within Sylas, so powerful it momentarily eclipsed the torment of the past few days. He didn't want to speak to her at all.
He lay on the bed, eyelids heavy, breathing labored.
"Has Her Majesty arrived?" he managed, his voice strained. He wanted to curse her, but the innate pride in his bones made him disdain arguing.
It was a bizarre sense of self-respect. He didn't want Isolde to think he was upset by the insults.
This woman didn't kill me. That means she wants to continue torturing me.
Since that was the case, Sylas had made up his mind. He would gather the shattered pieces of his dignity!
Isolde noticed that the stunningly beautiful young man before her wasn't broken as she had imagined. Instead, he seemed to grow more resilient. She was astonished.
He is the Duke's son, after all. Has this still not shattered his psychological defenses?
But then, her anger also peaked.
You wretch, still pretending to be noble in front of me, are you? And you had the nerve to swear you had no betrothal! How do you explain Crystal?
She stepped forward and, as usual, grabbed a handful of Sylas's hair. Every time she did this, Isolde marveled at its silkiness.
This man's hair was made to be grabbed!
She had even considered designing a specific hairstyle for him to make it easier to seize at any moment.
His scalp stung, forcing Sylas to tilt his head back with the pressure of her grip.
Seeing his handsome face lifted by her hand, his brows and eyes slightly furrowed, gave Isolde a thrill of pleasure.
This aloof man, who once schemed against me on the battlefield, is now forced to submit under my hand.
It was immensely satisfying. Beyond that, she felt a surge of violent impulse. She wanted to tear Sylas apart, to break this proud, solitary bamboo brutally and tread it underfoot.
So you value your purity and integrity? Let's see about that.
"Sylas," Isolde sneered, "quite the act. Even like this, you still look so pure and untouched. Who was it just being cursed by so many? Do you feel nobler the more people insult you? Do you get off on being humiliated?"
Sylas felt the pain. He braced one hand on the bed, the other closing around Isolde's slender, pale wrist.
He didn't offer explanations anymore, just stared back at her silently. His eyes were filled with grievance and indignation.
"You! You dare glare at me?!" Isolde couldn't stand that look. She released his hair and, without even removing her shoes, swung a leg over and straddled him.
She raised her arm, killing intent palpable. "Sylas, I'll give you one chance. Apologize to me, or I will beat you."
Sylas bit his lip. He neither resisted nor cooperated.
He decided on silent treatment—from now on, not a single word to Isolde.
She never intended to let me go. From the very beginning until now, she's just been amusing herself at my expense. The only thing I can do is provide less amusement. Maybe then I'll die quicker.
"Playing mute? Fine. See if you can keep from crying out later!" Remarkably, Isolde still didn't hit him.
The Queen of Aethelred didn't seem to enjoy physical beating. She considered it a particularly low-level tactic.
A true monarch disdained such superficial methods. She wanted to conquer Sylas utterly, to make him see her as a mayfly sees the vast sky!
She said coldly, "It seems you truly intend to defy me. An ungrateful wretch, after all the kindness I've shown you."
Sylas really wanted to curse her upon hearing this.
Kindness, my foot!
But he knew this was also Isolde's tactic to force him to speak. So, he remained silent, meeting her gaze bravely.
He knew clearly that he was about to experience torment worse than death.
Endure it! Get through it! Then I'll become a worthless conquered slave, and Isolde will finally kill me!
Isolde picked up her pouch and rummaged through it for a long time. Finally, she pulled out a single, pale blue pill. She looked at Sylas. "Don't be ungrateful. Apologize, now!"
Sylas looked at the pill, his breathing becoming ragged. He didn't know what it was, but he could guess it was something meant to torture him.
For a moment, genuine fear flickered within him. But he took a deep breath and told himself, It's fine!
He even provocatively opened his mouth slightly, like a cornered kitten or puppy deciding to inflict whatever invisible damage it could.
"Hah! You really are trying to infuriate me!" Isolde placed the pill on his tongue.
She didn't move afterward, just sat astride him, arms crossed, waiting for the drug to take effect.
The pill felt cool in his mouth, melting instantly. Then, a sensation as if his internal organs were being frozen by ice spread through him. He breathed lightly, his whole body beginning to tremble. But soon, the coldness turned warm. An internal heat began to build.
Sylas wanted to turn over and lie on his stomach to get more comfortable, but Isolde's weight pinned his hips, making movement impossible.
"Aren't you curious what it is, little mute?" Isolde taunted him leisurely.
"Huff... whimper... nngh..." Sylas's breathing grew more and more rapid. He felt feverish. The air he exhaled from his nose was scalding hot!
Sylas's remaining consciousness told him this was likely an aphrodisiac. He felt utterly helpless. In desperation, he brought his wrist close to his mouth, preparing to bite it to calm himself down.
But Isolde obviously sensed his intention. The moment his wrist moved, she caught it. She held his hand, couldn't resist kissing his fingers, and grinned wickedly. "How does it feel?"
"Ungghh..." Sylas's handsome face was flushed crimson. Unable to bite his wrist, he settled for biting his lip.
But Isolde's other hand shot out, pinching his cheeks and forcing his mouth into a pout.
Now, he could only lie on the bed, whimpering and moaning as he fought against the overpowering effects of the drug.
After a short while, his eyes grew glazed and unfocused.
Isolde slowly released him.
Sure enough, he had lost all thought of self-harm. He just panted, mouth open as if wanting to speak.
He can't hold on much longer, she thought. A weak man, facing the enemy Queen, he's really tried his best.
"Apologize," Isolde commanded, stroking the tip of his nose, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.
Very hot. The pill works excellently. What did a feverish, unattainable flower taste like?
No rush, she would find out soon.
Sylas murmured softly, "Your Majesty... I know I was wrong... I shouldn't have played deaf and dumb... I shouldn't have..." As he spoke, he turned his head, tears falling.
He felt like he was going to die—of heat! Any other death he might have endured, but this sensation made him want to throw the woman atop him off right then and there.
"You know you were wrong?"
"Yes..."
"Then what about your betrothed?"
"..."
"Kill her for me, alright? Look at you now, so debased. She certainly wouldn't want you anymore. Doesn't that make her a faithless woman? Kill her to please me. Be obedient!"
Sylas let out a mournful sound. "Alright... I'll kill her... I'll kill..." He felt like he was babbling nonsense.
Isolde was instantly delighted.
Finally, I've set him on the right path. This is more like it. How could he have someone like a betrothed?
She stopped wasting words. She swung her legs forward, placing her crimson shoes on either side of Sylas's head.
"Good boy. Undress me."