CHAPTER 67: NEXT TIME

Willabelle’s face froze, but then a faint smile curved her lips. I couldn’t understand the reason behind it, yet I had to admit... her smile was beautiful.

"I wasn’t expecting this... But now everything makes sense."

The smile on her lips was like a flower blooming in the darkness of chains. Behind it lay exhaustion, pain, and yet a warmth born of acceptance. Perhaps that was why it was so beautiful.

As for me, I couldn’t understand why that smile weighed on me so heavily. For long time I had felt the walls of my heart remain solid stone, and now, for the briefest moment, they seemed to crack. This confession had slipped from my lips unbidden; it was neither part of a scheme nor a calculation. It was a raw, naked expression of truth. And that was precisely what made it frightening.

"What is it that makes sense?" I asked, careful to keep my voice from trembling.

Willabelle fixed her eyes on me. Within that blank whiteness was a clarity that pierced like a blade. My mask, my calculations, all of it seemed to melt away under that gaze.

"I kept wondering why you still hadn’t harmed me. It was an illogical mercy. But now..." Her smile deepened slightly. "Now I know the reason."

The chains rattled faintly; she had tried to move her arms but failed. Even so, there was a glimmer of triumph in her eyes. It was as though her words had loosened the shackles that bound me, not her.

A strange unease stirred inside me. I, a man who had sent hundreds to their deaths, who punished enemy without blinking, who led with unyielding resolve — such a man should not harbor this weakness in his heart. Yet in that moment, as I looked at her, bound in chains, I saw both an unbreakable pride and a fragile softness waiting to fracture.

"Don’t mistake this for weakness," I said, my voice softening against my will. "Liking someone... is no flaw of mine. Nor is it an excuse to spare your life. Truth is, I would have killed you if you hadn’t brought me information."

Willabelle tilted her head slightly. This time her smile was thinner, more deliberate. "Is that so? I believe you..." She paused, held her breath, then whispered, "At least... could you remove my chains? I’m not planning to escape anymore."

I reached out, brushing my fingers against one of her shackled wrists. When I touched her skin through the cold iron, I realized the distance between us was no more than a single breath.

"No, you’d better get used to them. You’ll wear those chains as punishment for a while."

Her smile faded, replaced by a subtle hurt. Yet the spark in her eyes did not vanish. As though the wounds cut by the chains on her flesh mattered less than the ones carved into her heart.

"So you still don’t trust me... At least loosen them a little," she murmured softly, showing me the redness on her wrists.

I couldn’t look away. Trust... The word echoed in my mind. I could guess how trust could be stolen, twisted into betrayal, how friends could one by one become enemies. And now, a woman chained for her betrayal dared to speak to me of trust.

For a moment, I said nothing. The flickering fire cast her silhouette against the tent’s walls, the silver gleam of chains fusing with her form until they became a single image in my eyes.

I stepped closer, running my fingers along the links of her chains. The cold iron only made her warm skin more vulnerable. I wanted to touch the marks imprinted on her flesh, but I pulled back. To show such weakness as a leader... could be fatal.

"You ask too much," I said, my tone wrapped in ice.

Willabelle did not bow her head. Her pride remained upright, unyielding. The corners of her lips trembled, yet her gaze never left mine.

"Because aside from Magnus, I have no one but you. I have no choice but to trust."

I reached for her wrists again, this time with more resolve. I shifted the links, loosening their grip without freeing them entirely. The metal eased, and blood began to circulate again. I heard her draw a deep breath.

"Don’t ask for more," I said quietly.

For a fleeting moment, her eyes softened, light glimmering within them. Her lips released a whisper.

"Strange. Even though you won’t free me... it feels safe to be in your chains."

"Are you trying to seduce me?"

Her lips curved faintly. Even burdened by chains, she smiled with the grace of a woman.

"And if I say yes? Will you stop me?" There was a hint of mockery in her voice, but beneath it hid a fragile ache.

For the first time, I saw such an expression on her usually cold, emotionless face. Perhaps my confession had pleased her. Perhaps it gave her courage. My eyes locked on hers, unbidden. Bound in chains, yet defiant with her soul, she stood before me.

"Of course I would stop you," I said, striving to keep my tone hard. Yet I knew there was a spark in my eyes I couldn’t conceal. "Because I cannot allow a chained woman to rule over me."

Her smile deepened, transformed by the shadows of her chains into something strikingly beautiful. "The fact that you think I’m capable of ruling you flatter my pride."

"Really, Belle? You want to play this game?"

Willabelle tilted her head. The chains clung to her wrists with cruel loyalty, yet her gaze roamed freely. The smile on her lips held both defiance, and the hidden trace of pain.

"It’s the only game I have left," she said, her voice a low melody that echoed through the tent.

I moved closer, my steps quiet but firm. In the dim light, her silhouette sharpened. the silver of her chains dancing with the pale glow of her skin. I reached not for the shackles this time, but her waist. Through the fabric, her warmth seeped into my palm, and her heartbeat quickened.

"Then," I growled, unable to mask the rasp in my voice, "we’ll play it by my rules."

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away. Her lips parted, whether to protest or invite, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t wait. My arms slid under her, one behind her knees, the other at her back, and I lifted her as though she were weightless.

It was as if the chains were nothing but ornaments. In my arms, her breath struck my neck, warm, trembling. Step by step, I carried her toward the bed in the corner of the tent, her body leaning into mine. It felt like a march of victory... though whose victory it would be, I could not say.

When we reached the bed, her body tensed. The chains jingled faintly, her wrists brushing my chest, the cold metal biting into my skin. I set her down gently, but my hands lingered at her waist, unwilling to let go. Her eyes, once void, now swirled with storm.

"What... what are you doing?" she whispered, her voice fragile as glass. Her face flushed, her cheeks burning. "This... this is too fast. Wait!"

I smiled, though it wasn’t a smile of conquest. It carried instead a strange tenderness for her startled innocence. Leaning in, my face hovered just a breath away.

"Yes, Belle. It’s getting serious. Your game, my rules." My fingers brushed through her hair, silken strands curling around them. The scent of jasmine, faintly mixed with the smell of sweat, clouded my mind.

But then Willabelle recoiled, the chains scraping against the edge of the bed. Panic flickered in her eyes as she pressed her hands against her chest.

"Stop... please." Her voice trembled with childlike innocence. "I... I can’t. Forgive me, my lord. I’ve never... never been close to a man before. I’m inexperienced."

Her words spilled out, eyes glistening, though no tears fell. Her pride still held, unbroken even beneath the weight of her chains.

Still, I laid her down on the bed and lay beside her. I wrapped my arm around her slender waist, pulling her close. She stared at me nervously, realizing I was only holding her.

"Don’t worry. I won’t do anything... for now. Besides, a woman covered in dirt and mud hardly excites me."

Her eyes narrowed briefly. Her lips trembled, but her face shifted to surprise, for she could clearly feel the my hardness against her leg, proof that my words were a lie.

"So you cling to insults to preserve your superiority."

Her voice was weary, yet proud despite the ache of it. I felt like as though the chains belonged not to her, but to me. Though I had set her on the bed, I was the one truly bound.

My fingers trailed from her hair to her cheek. Beneath the dried blood and grime, one of the most beautiful faces I had ever seen remained unmistakable.

The air in the tent grew heavy.

The flames flickered.

The chains sang their faint melody.

I leaned back against the bedframe, my arm still loosely draped around her as though if I let go, she would vanish. Willabelle finally relaxed, turning her back to me, her heartbeat slowing at last.

"Joking aside... I’m sorry, Leonardo. I will never betray your trust again."

Her voice carried no pleading; instead, it held weary but honorable surrender. Even in broken pride, she clutched its fragments tightly. With her back to me, her shoulders still held stubborn firmness.

I remained silent for a time. The only sounds were the crackle of fire and the faint song of chains. My hand stayed on her waist, not in idle touch, but with a possessive firmness.

"I hope you mean that. Because next time... there won’t be another a nex time."