He Who Covets the Abandoned Bride (10 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 1

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Slap, slap.

The ship swayed gently to the rhythm of waves slapping against its hull.

Laila Wessex, bound hand and foot and shoved into the dark cargo hold as a slave of Fitzroy, trembled with fear.

〈I am Laila Wessex, the one Princess Isabella Fitzroy is seeking.〉

It had been just a few hours ago.

The moment Laila finally surrendered, after enduring days as a fugitive—once a princess of the now-fallen Kingdom of Wessex, branded a runaway slave by the dominant Damvernant realm of Fitzroy.

In just a few minutes, she would cease being a fugitive and be delivered to Fitzroy as the princess’s slave.

As Laila awaited that fate, her lips began to quiver uncontrollably.

BOOM!

Suddenly, a tremendous force rocked the ship, and a deafening crash echoed through the hull.

Then came a voice she knew all too well.

“We’ve found her!”

At that sound, Laila felt her heart lurch. She knew exactly whose arrival that voice heralded.

‘Could Millay… really be here?’

Hope surged through her chest.

Yet, uncertain whether he could truly rescue her from her new status as a Fitzroy slave, Laila soon felt the gag in her mouth and the blindfold over her eyes torn away.

Though momentarily blinded by the sudden glare of a bright lamp, her vision quickly cleared—and she saw clearly.

Amidst the standing knights, someone had appeared—someone she never expected to see here.

It wasn’t Millay, the one she’d been waiting for.

But it was someone she certainly recognized.

Silver hair and violet eyes.

Seeing that familiar combination, Laila thought inwardly,

‘Could this be a hallucination?’

Because otherwise, there was no way that man should be standing here.

Adrian Rains of the Harkin Empire.

And from the moment she recalled his name,

her heart, which had been pounding with anxiety just seconds before, now sank heavily—as if it might stop beating altogether.

Thud.

Thud.

As though a giant were stomping on her heart.

Matching that rhythm, the man strode forward and stopped abruptly before her.

About ten paces.

That was now the distance between Adrian Rains and Laila Wessex.

The instant he planted his feet, Laila—overwhelmed by disbelief—blurted out his name.

“Adrian…?”

That name belonged to Crown Prince Adrian Pinter Rains, second in command of the Harkin Empire, the very power governing the Damvernant continent.

Moreover,

〈If I ask you for anything, would you really grant it?〉

To that question she’d asked over ten years ago,

〈Of course I will, Laila.〉

He’d answered with a bright smile—though that same man had nearly lost his life because of it.

But the clear, ever-smiling boy from her childhood was nowhere to be seen in the man before her now.

Fully grown, he looked down at her with cold violet eyes.

As Laila gazed up at him in a daze, her eyes drifted to his hand tucked into his trousers—and she instantly understood.

He was the very Marquis Millay who had helped her annul her engagement to the Seventh Prince of Pilmer.

So utterly unexpected was this revelation that Laila let out a groan-like whisper.

“How… how is this possible?”

Adrian moved again from where he’d paused, looking down at her as he murmured softly,

“…I barely managed to keep my promise.”

Laila could only stare at him, her eyes filled with confusion.

Trending

A promise?

‘Is he referring to the promise he made as Millay?’

The one where he’d vowed to send her back to her homeland, Wessex?

Still bewildered, Laila watched as Adrian knelt on one knee.

Immediately, every knight around them lowered their gazes in silent reverence—

as if to confirm that she wasn’t mistaken about the man before her.

Soon, Adrian’s large hand touched Laila’s face.

His touch was cautious, as if afraid to harm her—but the moment his warmth reached her skin, Laila’s jaw began to tremble.

“Millay…?”

By uttering that false name from the past—asking whether he truly was that person—Laila saw Adrian’s eyes darken.

“I’m sorry, Princess of Wessex, for arriving so late.”

“…Why?”

Laila was too stunned to form any coherent words.

While she remained speechless, Adrian spoke again, and from his lips came words as unreal as his very presence.

“Shall we make a third deal? I’ll take you under my protection and bring you to Harkin. I’ll also do my utmost to rescue your siblings. In return…”

Take her to Harkin… and save her family.

Her homeland, Wessex, had been crushed by the Kingdom of Fitzroy. All her brothers and sisters had been reduced to slaves.

And Laila herself was destined to become a slave the moment this ship reached its port, forced into hard labor for someone else.

Yet now, before her, stood the Crown Prince of the very empire she considered her enemy—offering his hand to save her and her family.

There could be nothing more desperately desired by Laila than this tempting offer.

So before Adrian could even finish his sentence, she asked,

“…Is there something I must do?”

Would he impose impossible terms?

Would he demand something beyond her ability… or perhaps require her to become his own slave?

Even if so, Laila was fully prepared to grasp the lifeline he was offering.

After all, Adrian Rains was the only person with a real chance of confronting Isabella Fitzroy—the very woman who had destroyed her kingdom.

That made him her last hope.

“Renounce the name of Wessex.”

Laila answered without hesitation.

“I’ll renounce it.”

And so, the princess of a fallen kingdom, Laila Wessex, became a slave of the Crown Prince of the Harkin Empire.

[This is the timeline separator]

To understand Laila Wessex’s current plight, one must look back just a few weeks.

It was evening. The location: a lavish banquet hall within the royal palace of Pilmer, a small neighboring kingdom.

A chandelier of intricately cut crystal refracted dazzling light, and beneath it, a beautiful melody filled the air. Couples danced freely across the ballroom floor.

Fresh, fragrant flowers adorned every table, and royal servants bustled about, delivering dishes that added to the evening’s opulence.

Amidst this splendor, Laila Wessex sat with her hands clenched tightly in her lap, too anxious to enjoy either the music or the food. Avoiding eye contact with anyone, she fidgeted with her fingers and silently repeated a mantra to endure the discomfort.

‘Just endure it…’

A mantra of patience.

Everyone except her seemed to be enjoying the banquet.

Though Pilmer was a neighbor to her homeland, Wessex, its hospitality toward her was far from warm.

Especially since this banquet was meant to celebrate the eve of her engagement—yet the atmosphere held no kindness toward her.

She was here as the fiancée of Pilmer’s despised Seventh Prince, Reynald Filmer—a prince feared to be eliminated in the royal succession struggle before ever inheriting the throne.

But the status of her future husband mattered little.

Because Laila herself was not respected here at all.

Seated at a table tucked in the corner, she kept her head lowered, taking in none of the hall’s grandeur.

Her fiancé, Prince Reynald Filmer of Pilmer, had danced a single obligatory waltz with her before spending the rest of the evening freely mingling with other noble ladies.

Though their marriage was purely political and brought him no real benefit, he had no qualms about ignoring his unappealing betrothed.

Aside from Laila’s own discomfort, the banquet remained perfectly serene. She tightened her grip on her hands and whispered inwardly once more,

‘I just have to endure it.’

ads

And it wasn’t just now.

Throughout her life, she’d often found that if she alone endured, many problems would simply resolve themselves. Even when pushed into situations against her will, Laila had always fulfilled her role dutifully.

After all, hadn’t her father ultimately founded an entire kingdom because of it?

The Kingdom of Wessex.

When that name was etched into the annals of history, her father had behaved as though he were the greatest man alive.

Yet in truth, the first King of Wessex—far from truly great—now sought to secure his kingdom’s glory by marrying off his daughters to neighboring realms as tokens of alliance. Indeed, five of her sisters had already become queens in neighboring kingdoms.

The reason her sisters were so readily welcomed was the family’s inherited ability called “Harmony.”

Simply put, it was the power to control other gifted individuals’ unique abilities.

It was said—perhaps even believed—that this power had been bestowed upon them by divine favor.

But Laila, the only one in her family not blessed with this ability, had no such guaranteed future.

Nor did she have the luxury of complaint. Laila Wessex simply lacked the power to choose her own destiny.

What good was being a princess if she could do nothing on her own?

Moreover, the Kingdom of Wessex possessed no strength to protect her. Far from it—the realm stood on the brink of collapse, vulnerable to being torn apart at any moment by its neighboring powers.

Only those within Wessex—her father included—remained oblivious, like frogs in a well.

Laila’s blue eyes, glistening slightly with moisture, drifted toward her fiancé. And in that instant, their gazes locked—he with a fierce glare.

Immediately, a memory from a certain night crept into her mind.

〈You wouldn’t want to wear your wedding dress with a full stomach, would you, Princess of Wessex?〉

〈Reynald…〉

Just days ago, Laila had arrived here for tonight’s banquet.

She’d met Reynald on her first day; it had been their very first encounter.

From the very beginning, she’d disliked him. His snake-like eyes frightened her, and his sharp, pointed lips seemed laced with cunning.

Whenever he was near, she instinctively grew wary—and sure enough, on her second day in Pilmer, her worst fears came true.

Before they were even married, Reynald had dragged her into his bedroom against her will.

After throwing her onto the bed, he roughly invaded her mouth with no regard for her feelings, then lifted her dress.

Humiliated and shocked, Laila’s face burned crimson. Reynald licked his own lips and smirked.

〈Why struggle so much? With a pretty face like yours, you couldn’t have stayed innocent, could you?〉

As if it were obvious she’d already lain with countless others.

His assumption struck Laila with profound shock. She shoved him away and fled from the room.

She could feel the palace servants watching her with curious eyes, but in that moment, her mind was blank—she had no thought for dignity or decorum.

Unintentionally, the incident spread like wildfire throughout the palace the next day.

Reynald, mocked by his brothers as the “rejected prince,” came to Laila in a furious rage, hurling insults.

〈Ha! You worthless wretch! Does your father really think he’s a proper king to let you strut around like this? If it weren’t for your family’s damn power, you’d never dare! Right?〉

He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanked her head back, and exposed her pale neck. It hurt so badly she feared her hair would be ripped out.

But the moment she saw where his gaze fell, goosebumps erupted across her skin—and she shoved him away once more.

〈Stop it!〉

Instead, Laila fell to the floor—and her eyes widened in horror as Reynald reached for her buttons.

〈You’re just a useless half-breed with no power. I’ll teach you your place so you won’t dare act up again.〉

At that crude remark and gesture, Laila felt a chilling, familiar dread.

〈Worthless thing.〉

As a child, whenever she made a mistake, she’d be locked in a dark closet for days—starving, shivering from cold.

And how terrifyingly cold and dreadful were the faces of her parents—or the switches they carried—when they finally opened that door.

Seeing Reynald standing before her, backlit and looming, brought that bone-deep pain and its accompanying terror rushing back. Laila scrambled into the room’s corner, trembling uncontrollably.

Oh, please.

Please…

‘Don’t come closer.’

She was terrified. Utterly terrified.

Reynald’s footsteps thudded against the floor like a giant’s—crushing her heart, which pounded wildly. Laila curled in tighter on herself.

Tears began to well in her eyes from overwhelming fear—

just as Reynald’s hand reached toward her.

〈Your Highness.〉

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Someone knocked firmly on the door of Laila’s guest chamber. Reynald snarled in irritation.

〈Who the hell is it?〉

〈Ah, Lord Millay urgently requests your presence—he’s come all the way here…〉

〈Millay?〉

Reynald scowled, clearly annoyed—but recognizing an important figure, he ran a hand through his hair and opened the door himself.

Outside stood a servant and a man.

Instantly freed from the suffocating tension of their private encounter, Laila let out a shaky breath—and her eyes briefly met those of the newcomer as he glanced into the room.

The man named Millay had the same blue eyes as hers.

‘From the Empire…?’

She’d heard that some Imperial citizens occasionally visited Pilmer—perhaps he was one of them.

Regardless, seeing someone who appeared to share her origins brought sudden relief.

But the moment their eyes met,

‘…?’

She realized his gaze lingered on her—slowly, deliberately—and Laila flinched.

His steady scrutiny made her wonder:

Could he possibly know who she was?

Though her face wasn’t widely known publicly, perhaps he’d guessed from seeing her with Reynald.

Even accounting for that, Laila felt a strange familiarity in his unwavering look—and furrowed her brow in confusion.

But the instant she gave any sign of reaction, the man averted his eyes.

Then, calmly, he continued speaking to Reynald.

〈It’s about the vessel you’re intending to purchase… Ah, but is this something your fiancée should hear?〉

So he’d immediately recognized her as Reynald’s fiancée.

Given the disheveled state of the room, he’d likely understood the situation at a glance—yet still hadn’t hesitated to interrupt.

Apparently, the matter of the ship was important enough that Reynald sighed deeply and reluctantly turned to leave with him.

〈Let’s go outside.〉

Really…?

Could this nightmare truly be ending just like this?

Hearing his agreement, the man gave a slight, polite smile—an unspoken mark of respect for Reynald’s decision.

〈A wise choice, Your Highness, Seventh Prince.〉

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Three sets of footsteps receded from the room.

Only after the sound had faded several times over could Laila finally exhale the breath she’d been holding. She slowly pieced together what had just happened.

‘…What was that?’

Had Millay truly intervened at just the right moment—on purpose—to help her?

Or was it merely coincidence—that he’d simply done his own duty…

Logically, she knew the latter was likely. Yet in that moment, Laila couldn’t help but cling to one thought:

Perhaps he wasn’t just any man—but her true savior, come to rescue her.

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