TCCIO 18

Chapter 18. “Then Let’s Go Together.”
Delia lifted the liquor bottle straight to her lips and began to gulp it down. As the golden liquid flowed down her throat, the suffocating feeling in her chest seemed to clear. She wiped the alcohol from her mouth with the sleeve of her robe and smiled refreshingly. Watching her innocent expression, Aaron popped a piece of meat into her mouth.

“Just accept reality. Life gets easier that way. Why fight it so hard?”

“I can’t live like that. There’s no way I can give up on Iorenti.”

Delia let out a deep sigh as if she were vomiting something lodged deep in her chest. The sweet scent of fruit mixed with her faint breath and seeped into the night air.

“There’s no such thing as something that can never happen in this world. You’ll adjust soon enough.”

“Even if they’re the enemy… How can you say that so easily?”

Delia scowled and glared at Aaron.

“I hate you the most, Commander.”

Aaron shrugged.

“Because I’m the enemy. It’s only natural to hate each other.”

“I really hate you. I could die from it.”

Delia squinted and shot a sharp look at the indifferent commander. He never took anything seriously. He just laughed off her resentment and didn’t even flinch at assassination attempts. What could she possibly do to shake him? No matter how much she thought, she couldn’t come up with anything. Clicking her tongue in frustration, she took another swig from the bottle. The bottle tilted too far, and liquor spilled down her lips, along her chin, and soaked her robe.

“This girl, seriously…”

Aaron watched the drops of liquor trickling down Delia’s skin—her red lips, slender chin, pale neck, and the robe. The flowing liquor only enhanced her colors. Letting out a long, heavy breath, he reached out and wiped the liquid from her chin.

“That’s enough. You’re drunk.”

Delia shook her head vigorously. Her rose-gold hair shimmered and swayed under the red light.

“No, I’m not drunk.”

“Isn’t that what only drunk people say?”

“I mean it. I’m really not drunk.”

“Then you’re definitely drunk. Give me the bottle.”

“No.”

Delia hugged the bottle to her chest like it was Iorenti itself.

“Stop drinking and let’s go to sleep.”

“Commander, that’s a dangerous comment to make. Telling a young lady to go to bed?”

“We’ll just hold hands and sleep. What?”

Delia muttered bitterly, recalling the nightmare from the previous night.

“That damned rope…”

“Crazy prisoner. Come on, hand over the bottle.”

Aaron clicked his tongue in mild regret. He shouldn’t have given her the bottle in the first place. He reached out toward the bottle she was clutching.

“No! It’s mine.”

When Aaron tried to grab it, Delia gripped the bottle with both hands, refusing to let go. The one trying to steal it, and the one desperately holding on. To Delia, the scene felt like a metaphor. The one trying to steal Iorenti, and the one trying to keep it. With desperation, she clung to the bottle with all her strength. Caught between them, the liquor sloshed and spilled aimlessly.

“So stubborn.”

Muttering under his breath, Aaron suddenly let go.

“Ah!”

Caught off guard, Delia tumbled backward. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact. If there were a rock on the ground, her head would split open. But no impact came. Instead, she felt intense heat from the eyes watching her even with her eyes closed. Slowly, she opened them.

Aaron was holding her, having caught her mid-fall. His gray eyes flickered too close under the reddish glow. Their eyes locked at a distance close enough for their noses to touch. The scent of brandy, burning firewood, and each other filled their lungs.

“Commander…”

Aaron held his breath, staring at her lips as they moved. Her soft voice was sweet enough to swallow whole. He pulled her tighter into his arms.

“You were right, Commander.”

Delia shrank slightly in his arms and blinked. Her long lashes caught the firelight and fluttered red.

“I think… I might be drunk.”

Suddenly, Delia felt resentful toward the bottle she was holding. How else could an enemy man look so beautiful? How else could the man trying to take her country feel so dependable? It had to be the liquor. There was no other explanation for her pounding heart. She had to sober up. Delia pushed the bottle against Aaron’s chest.

“Here. You take it.”

With surprisingly agile movement for someone drunk, she slipped out of his arms and turned her gaze toward the distant night sky.

“I’m done drinking.”

Aaron watched her pull away. The memory of her soft touch still lingered, deepening the color of his eyes.

“I think I really am drunk.”

Sensing his gaze, Delia swallowed hard. His intensely sensual look sent shivers down her spine. She had to get away.

“I’ll go clear my head. I need some fresh air.”

At her bold statement, Aaron finally smiled and withdrew his hand and gaze. His prisoner remained brazen as ever—asking for what she wanted with no hesitation, even in enemy territory. Was she really a prisoner?

“Now you’re going for a midnight stroll?”

“There’s a lake just a bit further from here. I’ll wash my face and dip my feet in. That should sober me up.”

“Do as you wish.”

Aaron tried to stand, naturally assuming he would accompany her.

“Wait.”

Delia pressed a hand to his chest to stop him. His gaze followed her hand, wrist, arm, and landed on her flushed face—either from drink or firelight. Noticing his stare, Delia pulled her hand back in shock.

“What?”

“You’re coming too? Just stay and rest. I can go alone.”

“Did you make an appointment to meet your people there?”

Delia flinched at his question.

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then why say such nonsense? You’re a prisoner. Where do you think you’re going alone?”

Annoyed, Delia grumbled.

“That word again—prisoner. My name is Del.”

“Fine. Del. Let’s go together.”

His voice was so soft it gave her goosebumps. Hearing her name in that deep tone sent a tremor through her.

“Then… let’s go together.”

Delia tried to sound casual, but her voice trembled slightly.

“But my robe’s all wet. I’m cold.”

She rubbed the damp fabric around her chest. Pulling it open to let the wet fabric fall away revealed her pale skin.

“I’ll drop it off at the barracks.”

The robe reeked of alcohol. But his scent was on it too.

“Can I borrow your jacket, Commander?”

Aaron nodded without hesitation, his gaze still fixed on her like a star that wouldn’t move.

“As much as you want.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Delia quickly stood, trying to escape his piercing gaze. Her robe fluttered in the breeze as she walked gracefully toward the commander’s tent. The scent of brandy mingled in the air as she moved away. With every step she took, the golden waves in her hair shimmered and faded like a mirage.

Aaron toyed with the bottle, his gaze following her retreating figure. The smooth glass reminded him of her. Slippery, elusive. He gripped the bottle tighter.

When she disappeared into the tent, Aaron finally moved.

“Dyke.”

Aaron beckoned with his fingers. Dyke, who had been waiting nearby, responded immediately.

“Yes, Commander.”

“I need to step out for a bit. Prepare to move.”

“Yes, I’ll organize an escort.”

While Dyke relayed the orders, Aaron stared at the fire, lost in thought. What had my prisoner been thinking as she looked at that fire so blankly? He remembered the damp, dazed look in her eyes—blue and clear like a lake, yet paradoxically, they made him thirst. He downed the remaining liquor in the bottle. His throat moved with each gulp, but the thirst remained.

That floral scent like a blooming flower. The soft skin of her wrist. Her red lips, quivering at his touch. That sweet, chirping voice. And those unwavering, sparkling blue eyes.

Should I just devour her?

The thought hit him unexpectedly. Aaron let out a faint laugh and stirred the fire with a stick. The flames danced higher—like the golden shimmer of her hair.

Then, Aaron’s smile vanished.

He slowly lifted his gaze toward the commander’s tent Delia had entered. His eyes narrowed. Sharp instincts, like those of a beast sensing prey, kicked in. With a scowl, he tossed the stick and stood.

Striding with long steps, he yanked aside the curtain at the tent’s entrance.

Inside, everything was in place—the neatly made bed, the clean table, the robe discarded on the floor, his uniform jacket hanging on the chair. The air reeked of alcohol and faint floral scent.

But Delia was gone.

Whether she had flown to the sky or sank into the ground—his prisoner had vanished without a trace.

A chilling voice escaped Aaron’s lips.

“Dyke.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Dyke, following closely behind, sucked in a sharp breath under the weight of Aaron’s fury.

“Find her. Immediately.”

There was no need for further instruction. Dyke didn’t question it. He simply moved.