A Vow Against the Cold

Winter unleashed its furious chill. Frost settled over blood that had not even had time to dry, and a white mist puffed from breath so shallow it seemed on the verge of stopping. It was a time when the bitter cold seeped into the very bones—a fitting season for someone to die. After all, a frozen corpse did not rot easily. It was convenient, as it wouldn't give off an unpleasant stench before being dumped into a massive pit. This was especially true if the one destined to die was a sinner like no other. A wicked woman who worshipped an evil god and plunged the empire into ruin. This freezing winter was indeed the perfect season for Sirien Ilensia's end.

"Stubborn bitch. I heard she didn't beg for forgiveness even once."

"My brother died because of that filthy villainess!"

*Thud.* Blood splattered as a stone flew from somewhere. It was thrown by the angry crowd. The stone, which struck the sinner's brow, rolled across the execution platform, coated in dark blood. It was impossible to tell whether the blood on the stone had flowed from her or if it was already stained on the platform.

The sinner, Sirien Ilensia, did not look at the person who threw the stone. She had no eyes to do so. Her eyes had already been gouged out by the hands of an Inquisitor. Where her blood-red eyes should have been, there was only a crudely wrapped bandage.

Elis watched Sirien's end from the closest vantage point. Seeing Sirien from just a few paces away, her state was indescribably wretched. Her noble ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and dignified demeanor was gone, replaced by a battered, blood-reeking figure. It was the price of her silence; she had refused to speak even when promised that the torture would stop if she confessed everything. Throughout the brutal torment, her mouth had uttered nothing but agonizing screams.

No, it wasn't that she had said nothing at all. On the day the Inquisition deemed Sirien Ilensia "broken," Elis was allowed to visit her. She had expected the Sirien she knew to coldly drive her away, but the response she received was entirely unexpected.

"Sirien Ilensia. Your execution date has been set. Is there anything you wish to say? If you have a request, I will grant it, as long as it is within my power."

"The bracelet... Return the bracelet. The one I was wearing."

"If it contains divinity or magic, I cannot return it."

"There is nothing in it. It's just an ordinary bracelet. Please... just return that bracelet. Let it be with me at least until the moment I die."

The bracelet she begged for indeed possessed no power whatsoever. It was so incredibly ordinary that it was hard to believe it had belonged to the Grand Duke of Ilencia. She must have treasured it deeply, for despite its obvious age, it was impeccably preserved. The moment Sirien received the bracelet back, she wept ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with joy. Just by feeling it a few times, she seemed absolutely certain it was hers.

"Thank you... Could you put it on me? I can no longer see."

"Of course. Was it a precious item to you?"

"It is the only treasure I have left."

Slumped in the freezing cell, clutching the bracelet. Tears mixed with blood seeped through her bandages, staining them dark red and tracing lines down her pale skin. To Elis, she looked eerie, yet profoundly pitiful.

"The sinner, Sirien Ilensia, is hereby sentenced to decapitation... Her head and body shall be put on public display... Her title and estate shall be..."

Even now, forced to her knees on the execution platform, she still wore that bracelet. She showed no resistance, nor any sign of struggle. She merely kept her head slightly bowed, as if resigned to her death. Until the reading of the sentence was finished, Sirien only occasionally caressed the bracelet with her fingertips.

"Do you have any last words?"

"..."

"Hah. Figures. Execute her!"

Elis could not bring herself to watch the executioner swing his sword. At the moment of death, Sirien Ilensia's voice drifted out, incredibly faint. Her final words were, "It's cold."

A cold blade touched the back of my neck a few times before pulling away. The executioner was likely measuring where to strike. Judging by his breathing and voice, my executioner seemed to be a young boy. The blade that briefly touched me felt incredibly dull, and he seemed not just inexperienced, but entirely green. He probably wouldn't be able to sever my head in a single blow. It didn't really matter.

*Whoosh—Thwack!*

Soon, death found me. As expected, it wasn't a clean death. A burning pain flared from my mangled neck. Fortunately, the agony quickly subsided. It took five strikes for my head to fall, but I had already lost all sensation by the second. My body grew instantly languid, and once again, I felt the cold wind. It was a freezing, bitter winter.

'Rajen... I'm cold. Where are you?'

I can't see anything. The world is so dark, and I'm scared. Please, hold my hand. It would be even better if you hugged me from behind. It's so cold right now. I miss your warmth.

...Ah. I remember now. I'm sorry. If only I had done better, I wouldn't have lost you. If I hadn't, it wouldn't be this cold, would it? It's all my fault. But could you forgive me just this once? I can finally see you again, and I'd be so sad if you were angry with me. I'll be there soon.

'Oh, right, the bracelet... It shouldn't... get blood on it...'

On the final day of the festival, Sirien uncharacteristically overslept. Although I was usually the one to start the morning early, she had never been this late. She had mentioned yesterday's meeting would run late, and it seemed she had ended up pulling an all-nighter. When she still hadn't woken up past lunchtime, I decided to wait right outside her room. I used to wonder why people in the past loved books so much, but during these aimless waiting periods, there was really nothing better than reading. Even a boring book was far better than nothing. Sirien finally stepped out just as I was finishing a volume.

"Good morning...?"

"It's not morning. Just how exhausted were you to sleep in until the afternoon?"

"Mmm, it's not quite like that. I just went to bed late. Have you been waiting outside long?"

"Not really. Take your time."

"Okay. Thank you."

Sirien rubbed her eyes, still half-asleep. Her hair was slightly disheveled. Her sleepy, soft smile was so adorable that a chuckle escaped my lips. Soon, the maid provided by the Baron arrived, and Sirien went back into her room. Once she was fully dressed and ready, she looked even more beautiful than yesterday. The bright, beaming smile on her face was lethal to my heart. Ever since our kiss on the stage, I had become hyper-aware of her, and my chest thudded wildly at every little thing she did.

"Thank you for waiting so patiently. Shall we go?"

"Sure."

Our first destination was, naturally, the dining hall. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠No matter what we were doing, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sirien and I made it a point never to skip a meal. After all, we had once faced times when we had to contemplate eating monster meat due to a lack of food. Throughout the meal, I felt as if I had stepped into the quiet eye of a hurricane. Even though we were just eating together and spending time normally, a strange tension hung in the air. The inner curve of her lips glistened pale and wet as she swallowed her soup. Every time she took another spoonful, or swallowed a small cut of meat—the way her lips parted slightly and she chewed softly—held my gaze completely. Those lips had touched mine. And we hadn't just touched; we had craved each other, our tongues tangling together. Even though time had passed, the heat of that moment, far from fading, only seemed to burn hotter.

"Rajen, do you not have an appetite today? You barely ate."

"No, I was just lost in thought."

"Are you sick, perhaps? Should I feed you next time?"

"Ugh, no. I'm not a child."

Even after the meal, on our way to the village, Sirien seemed to toy with my heart, lifting it up and dropping it at her whim.

"Why? If I were sick, I'd love it if you fed me, Rajen."

"...That's different."

"Heheh."

Her playful laughter. Every single joke she made left a ticklish sensation in my throat. All along the path to the village, a tight knot seemed to form in my chest. I was afraid, after all. But in my life, delaying a decision had never once brought a good result. I had to summon my courage.

"Sirien. There's a place I want to stop by before we head to the festival. Is that alright?"

"Of course. Anywhere is fine with me."

A short walk from the festive village led to a small forest. It was a woodland painted in shades of yellow and red. In the waning days of autumn, the fallen leaves piled like graves upon the earth, rustling softly under our feet. A few leaves swirled in the gentle breeze. A hand reached up to brush away a leaf that had landed on my head. Sirien tapped my cheek playfully with the leaf, a soft smile on her face.

"So, what is it you wanted to say that brought us all the way here?"

"Well, alright. Let's do it here."

A wide forest path stretched out behind Sirien. It was a spot we had discovered while taking a walk together back in the barony. It had been spring then, and the wild flowers blooming beneath the lush green canopy had been breathtakingly beautiful. Now, the magic of that season was fading, and the cold winter was drawing near. A vibrant tapestry of autumn leaves framed her figure.

"First, this. I wanted to put it on you myself."

I hadn't bought anything grand at the festival. What I had run off to buy in such a hurry was a simple white scarf. Winter was coming, after all. I didn't want Sirien to be cold. While I wrapped the scarf around her neck, Sirien remained silent. But there were words I had to say.

"I thought about it a lot. I know you didn't ask with a light heart, and I couldn't just give you a casual answer either."

"Yes. I've been waiting happily."

"I still don't know if I dare to do this. I feel like it's far more than I deserve. Normally, you... would have had a much better future."

Sirien parted her lips as if to say something, but stopped herself. She was being considerate of my feelings. She was still as kind-hearted as ever.

"To be honest, I still feel that way. I wondered if someone like me has any right to covet you. I couldn't find an answer."

In the original novel, Sirien died with the word "cold" on her lips. Though nothing was mentioned after her execution scene, it was certain her end had been miserable. So, this scarf was a vow I made to myself. A vow that, no matter what, I would never let Sirien die like that. No matter how cruel the malice of this world or the shackles of fate might be, I would keep this vow. If necessary, I would sell my soul. Even if I had to be cast into the bottomless abyss of hell, as long as I could protect Sirien, it would be enough. So, just this once, I prayed my greed would be forgiven.

"You said you would grant my wish. But I don't want to rely on something like a wish. I want to face this head-on, fair and square."

I dropped to one knee before Sirien. Like the coronation we had once held, we didn't need a grand venue. All we needed was each other. It had always been that way for us. Rather than anything grand or extravagant, simply being together was enough. Because I had always been sincere with Sirien—all I needed now was courage.

"I love you, Sirien Ilensia. I will give you my everything, so please, formally become my lover."