I Refuse This Life, Your Highness! - Chapter 113

Yuraine was utterly drained, unable to move a single finger. Isis poured water over his long blond hair, darkened by dampness. Whether the act was meant to clean him or merely a teasing gesture, Yuraine remained silent, too exhausted to react. He stared blankly, like a child on the verge of sleep. Concerned he might have fallen asleep with his eyes open, Isis lightly waved a hand in front of Yuraine’s face. His pupils shifted slightly.

“Your Majesty… how could you… why…?”

The cracked voice carried a faint trace of reproach. The ordeal that had begun late at night only ended as dawn approached. Yuraine had endured not once but twice the overwhelming strain of taking in Isis’s desire. And even then, it wasn’t over. Tonight, the duke had clearly lost all reason.

As Isis brushed Yuraine’s damp hair back, he spoke softly.
“I was wrong.”

“…”

“When your fertile period comes again, I suppose I’ll have to drink myself unconscious.”

At those words, Yuraine sharply turned his head. Early in their marriage, Isis had often drunk himself into a stupor, fearing he might touch Yuraine against his will. Understanding the meaning behind his words, Yuraine rolled his eyes slightly before nestling into Isis’s arms.

“There’s no need for that.”

“…Did you hate it? Was it too hard for you?”

Yuraine pulled Isis’s arm closer, hugging it tightly, and shook his head slightly. His honest and endearing response almost made Isis laugh, but he suppressed it, worried Yuraine might sulk. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the one he loved, who had willingly sought his embrace. When his hand rested on Yuraine’s abdomen, Yuraine flinched slightly.

“Could our child be in here?” Isis asked.

“I can’t say for sure yet…” Yuraine replied hesitantly. It wasn’t doubt—he simply hadn’t processed it yet. Considering Yuraine’s fertile period and their bond, it was likely. But even if Yuraine couldn’t conceive, it didn’t matter to Isis. If needed, they could adopt a child from the extended family or elsewhere. Isis was determined never to place any pressure on Yuraine.

Leaning fully into Isis’s arms, Yuraine asked, “Would Your Majesty prefer a son or a daughter?”

“Either would be fine.”

“Who would you want the child to resemble?”

“Either of us. Does that sound insincere?”

It was an honest answer—he had no preference. Yet, worried Yuraine might misunderstand, Isis added an explanation. Yuraine turned to him and smiled, as if to say, No, it doesn’t. That smile was so lovely that Isis couldn’t help but lean in for a kiss. Yuraine turned to face him completely, the warm water lapping softly around them.

“I don’t mind either way, either,” Yuraine said.

In the fragrant water, the couple reveled in each other’s sweetness—a sensation more intoxicating than any luxurious perfume. They exchanged soft words that soon melted into sighs and murmurs of passion. It was an exquisitely blissful moment.

But misfortune always finds a way to creep into happiness.

The Disaster

“What… did you just say?”

“Her Grace was reported to be at the collapse site in the Romar district…”

Isis didn’t wait to hear the rest of the report. He shot to his feet and stormed out, his hurried, unsteady steps entirely unlike him. Moments ago, he’d received news of a collapse in the Romar district, an area on the outskirts of the capital known for housing relief facilities. Initial reports indicated that the old building, slated for demolition, had been safely evacuated. However, an urgent message had just arrived: the structure had collapsed prematurely, trapping several workers inside.

Now, worse news followed—among those trapped was Yuraine. He had reportedly stopped by on his way back from inspecting other areas and had been caught in the disaster.

Galloping toward the site on his black horse, Isis felt his mind go blank—or perhaps it was overflowing with too many thoughts. A cold, suffocating dread clawed at his chest as if a demon’s hand had seized him. He wanted to scream.

No matter how much he spurred his horse, it felt agonizingly slow. By the time he arrived at Romar, trailing clouds of dust, his aide, Leon, had already fallen far behind. The scene that greeted Isis left him speechless.

The site of the premature explosion resembled a battlefield. The once-standing structure was now a heap of debris—wood and stone flattened like sheets of paper. Chaos reigned as workers frantically searched for survivors, half in panic and half clinging desperately to reason. Dust hung thick in the air, and the site was a ruin.

Somewhere under that rubble… Yuraine lay trapped.

Behind the dazed Isis, Leon finally caught up, dismounting his horse in a hurry and running toward him.

“Your Majesty!”

The sound echoed faintly in Isis’s ears. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the collapsed building as he raised a hand.

“Leon, contact Ceres immediately—”

—Your Majesty, I don’t want this.

“…”

“Your Majesty?”

Contact Ceres, summon Leia here.

The words dissipated before he could finish them. No, he couldn’t do that. That wasn’t a solution. Today only existed because Yuraine had preserved it. He couldn’t undo the time they had painstakingly built until now. They had decided to move forward, toward the future.

“Focus all efforts on finding the missing. I will personally take charge of the search.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

With one last glance at the rubble, Isis headed toward the tent set up for field command.

Meanwhile

“Ugh…”

Yuraine woke up with a pounding headache. Looking around, he found himself in a shabby, dilapidated house. Why am I in a place like this? He tried to sit up but quickly realized his arms were bound. Seeing his wrists tied in front of him only deepened his confusion. The last thing he remembered was inspecting the demolition site in Romar.

“Ah…”

It happened when he’d gone inside the building. He had entered to personally examine the signs of shoddy construction that had become apparent once the exterior materials were removed. The building had been constructed during Erma’s tenure, and it was clear that it was barely standing. With demolition imminent, the structure was too unstable for his guards to follow him inside, so only Yuraine and a few lightweight workers had ventured in.

As they crossed a bridge connecting two parts of the building, a foreboding sound echoed. The poorly supported bridge couldn’t bear even Yuraine’s light frame and collapsed. Fortunately, it was only the second floor, and the building had low ceilings, so he wasn’t injured in the fall. But then the real problem began.

From the shadows of the first floor, someone had leapt out and pulled a thick sack over Yuraine’s head. The sack reeked of herbs—some kind of sedative. The moment he inhaled, his head spun, and he passed out.

And now, he was here. It was clear he’d been kidnapped.

Kidnapped…?

Yuraine bit his lip. For the duchess to be kidnapped—it was humiliating. He should have been more cautious. Instead of leaving his guards outside, he should have brought at least one or two inside with him. He’d grown complacent during the recent peace.

How can I get out of this?

Yuraine examined the ropes binding his hands. They were sturdy, and unsurprisingly, there wasn’t even a small stone nearby to use. Not that he needed one.

Slowly, he surveyed the room again. It was a dim, dusty storage shed, with light seeping in through the cracks of mismatched planks.

He had no idea where he was, but judging by the sunlight filtering through, it was nearing sunset. Since he had arrived at the Romar district around noon, quite a bit of time had passed.

His Majesty must be worried.

Would Isis realize he’d been kidnapped? Perhaps he thought the building had collapsed in a chain reaction after the bridge gave way. In the worst-case scenario, Isis might believe Yuraine was buried under the rubble. The thought made Yuraine’s vision go dark. He couldn’t imagine how much distress that would cause.

Taking a deep breath, Yuraine focused on the sounds outside. Whoever had kidnapped him wasn’t particularly intelligent. Many in the duchy still dismissed Yuraine as a mere half-heir of Airdren because of his Lamia heritage. They underestimated his abilities, believing Lamia magic to be trivial. Though he was still inexperienced, he had more than enough power to deal with kidnappers.

A faint haze of toxic mist began to swirl around Yuraine. Footsteps approached from outside. Feigning submission, Yuraine lowered his hands and waited for the door to open.

“Well, you’re awake, huh?”

The door creaked open, revealing a man with a filthy appearance. He glanced outside once before locking the door and strolling toward Yuraine.

“Heh, they say once you taste a Lamia, you can never forget it. Let’s see if that’s true…”

“…”

Yuraine kept his expression neutral, watching the man draw closer. Although larger than Yuraine, his build wasn’t particularly solid. As the man settled between Yuraine’s legs, glancing nervously toward the door, Yuraine suddenly raised a foot and kicked him squarely in the shoulder.

“Urk!”

Caught off guard, the man stumbled. Wasting no time, Yuraine trapped the man’s neck between his legs and pulled tightly. The man’s face turned bright red as his airway was constricted, and he began to flail desperately.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“Guh… ugh…!”

At the same time, the toxic mist coalesced into a snake-like form, slithering toward the man’s face. The acrid scent made his eyes widen in terror.

Releasing the man’s neck, Yuraine kicked him square in the chest, sending him sprawling. Pivoting gracefully, he delivered a powerful blow to the man’s solar plexus with his heel. The man let out a strangled cry and collapsed.

The venomous snake flicked its tongue and hovered near the man’s eyes and mouth. Screaming in terror, the man struggled to evade the spectral creature.

“I asked you a question. What do you want?”

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