Impulses Rekindled

One night when the moonlight dimly shone.

Was the romantic music befitting of the full moon resonating throughout the imperial palace?

Unlike the gentle melody, Clayton, whose face was hardened, exited the banquet hall.

"Damn."

Wandering hurriedly in search of a secluded place, he muttered a low curse.

He should have intervened when Dalia first arrived at the imperial palace.

Ignoring the gaze of others, he should have forcibly put her in a carriage and sent her back to the mansion.

If he had, he wouldn't have had to witness such an annoying scene or feel this wretched thirst.

Belated regret heated his mind.

The image of Dalia dancing hand in hand with the crown prince made his blood boil again.

Was he simply angry at the woman who ignored his words and stubbornly came here?

He couldn't understand why he felt this miserable. Moreover...

"Ugh."

Simmering anger and an unbearable impulse began to claw at his sanity.

Barely holding back from storming the stage due to the extreme hunger he had suppressed, he made his way outside.

He had to hide away from people's eyes as much as possible. If not...

His hurried steps brought him to the depths of an uninhabited forest, where he stopped abruptly.

Only then did Clayton relax slightly, exhaling deeply like a man whose lungs had emptied of air.

"Haa, haa…"

The maddening hunger began to consume him—a hunger that would not subside until he drank blood.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Clayton staggered and leaned against a tree.

He barely held onto his sanity, which felt like it would snap if he let his guard down even for a moment.

Nothing was going his way, truly.

No, rather, the situation was spiraling into the worst-case scenario.

Not only had the thirst come without warning, but Lloyd, who had accompanied him in preparation for such an eventuality, was nowhere to be found.

"Even the vial is gone."

To make matters worse, the vial of deer blood he had tucked into his jacket pocket was missing. This was truly the worst-case scenario.

"Why the hell did things get so tangled up like this?"

Until he arrived at the palace, his plan had been seamless.

If there was one thing that bothered him, it was how Dalia had been waiting for him, fully prepared, despite receiving notice only the day before.

The image of Dalia watching him board the carriage with Lloyd lingered in his mind throughout the journey to the palace.

It felt unpleasant, like ruthlessly pushing away the hand of a child excited for their first visit to the palace. Above all…

He recalled the small scar visible on Dalia's white nape.

The mark he had left a few days ago, during a brief moment when he had lost control.

Seeing that mark, he had resolved himself again.

Yes, he thought, it was a relief that he hadn't brought Dalia along.

It was purely for Dalia's sake.

The reason he avoided solving everything by drinking Dalia's blood was to protect her from himself.

Yet, as if mocking his efforts, Dalia had come all the way here on her own.

Clayton bit his lip as a surge of emotion boiled up from within his chest.

"It must be that woman's doing."

And behind it all was undoubtedly that woman—his stepmother, Margaret.

She had never before crossed him.

She had never awkwardly pretended to be his mother, nor flaunted the power held by her family.

Thus, while he held no affection for her, Clayton had treated her with courtesy as the elder of the household.

Yet, time and again, she had blindsided him with issues concerning Dalia.

He should have sent her to the estate during the last poisonous herb incident.

Clayton bit down hard on his lip in belated regret.

"Urgh."

His vision blurred, and the strength drained from his legs.

Leaning against the cold, upright trunk of a tree, he lifted his head.

Through the leaves, the full moon came into view.

This was his limit. The thirst he had been forcibly suppressing clung to him relentlessly, as if it wouldn't let go until it got what it wanted.

His breathing grew heavier, and his heart pounded faster.

Though he barely maintained his composure, he wasn't sure how much longer he could endure.

Clayton bit his lip and forced himself to stand again, as if grasping at straws.

With a desperate hope that no one would come, he hid himself deep in the forest.

If anyone happened to appear near him now, there was no telling what he might do.

"Blood…"

He needed blood. Desperately so.

* * *

Meanwhile, Dalia left the banquet hall after finishing a short conversation with Rachel.

She then strolled through the garden, heading toward a secluded area.

As she went deeper, the people who had been visible here and there were no longer in sight.

Finally realizing she was alone, Dalia let out a sigh and slowed her pace.

"They all died before getting married. Three of them, to be exact. All sudden, unexplained deaths."

Dalia's expression grew grave as she recalled what Rachel had said earlier.

"All dead, huh..."

This was truly something she had never heard before. It had never once been mentioned in the original story.

It felt strange that a character with such significant backstory had no mention at all. Moreover…

'He seemed to know me for sure.'

For a suggestion to someone meeting for the first time, his tone had been unusually familiar.

It would have been surprising enough for another noble to speak like that, but the crown prince? He must have known the original heroine from before.

He was merely pretending not to know her to avoid the eyes of others.

'Should I investigate further?'

She felt the need to scrutinize her relationship with the crown prince more closely.

Perhaps if she had followed the man's suggestion and spoken with him in private, she could have clarified their relationship. But…

'I don't have a good feeling about this.'

Though he seemed kind and decent on the surface, perhaps due to Rachel's words, she felt she shouldn't get close to the crown prince.

Moreover, there was a nagging feeling that she was missing something very important.

But no clear answer came to mind, leaving her feeling like she was walking along a foggy lakeshore.

Lost in thought, she walked for some time until a sudden breeze snapped her back to reality, and she looked up.

"Wait, where am I?"

Looking around, she realized she was surrounded entirely by trees.

It seemed she had wandered off the path while lost in thought.

How had she come this far? She didn't know the way, but figured retracing her steps would lead her somewhere. So she turned around. But then…

A strange sound carried on the wind reached her ears.

"…That sound just now."

It was someone groaning, as if enduring something…

Is someone there?

In this forest, where there's nothing but trees?

The only light came from the soft moonlight filtering through the tall trees.

But why would there suddenly be groaning in a place like this?

Tilting her head in curiosity, Dalia strained her ears to find the source of the sound.

As she listened closely, she could hear shallow breathing and what sounded like someone drinking something. This felt…

Like that.

At that moment, Dalia remembered something the crown prince had said while they were dancing.

At this hour, many men and women sneak out of the palace for secret trysts.

'If so, then the source of this sound must be…'

It must be a couple who had sneaked into the forest for a tryst. Realizing this, Dalia let out a short sigh.

Good grief. Do they really have to do that outdoors?

For nobles, they're awfully reckless. Yet, despite her internal disapproval, Dalia's feet naturally carried her toward the sound.

Let's just see who it is and leave.

Out of pure curiosity, she simply wanted to see which noble was engaging in such scandalous behavior outdoors.

She was certain that if Rachel were here, she would have done the same thing.

With that justification in mind, Dalia was just about to reach the source of the sound.

That's…

The moonlight broke through the canopy of leaves, casting its light.

And under that soft moonlight, she saw a man.

He was someone she knew very well.

"Clayton…?"

She was startled by the unexpected encounter, but only for a moment. Clayton didn't even notice her presence, entirely absorbed in something, and she carefully observed him.

It was then that the scent of blood, masked by the smell of grass, reached her nose.

The man, whose red eyes were unusually vivid tonight, had his face buried in his own right arm. Or rather, to be precise…

He's drinking… blood.

He was drinking his own blood.