Chapter 1
It was a winter with no sign of thaw.
A dark brown carriage crossed the bridge leading into the Imperial Palace.
Beneath the gently curving bridge flowed a clear artificial canal, its waters moving lazily below. Ever since its creation, the canal had served as a boundary—a gate separating the inside of the palace from the outside world.
As proof of that, the carriage rolled smoothly across the polished bridge and entered the palace grounds without interruption.
Only after traveling farther inward did it finally begin to slow.
A servant who had been waiting hurried forward and opened the carriage door.
A man stepped out.
His presence announced itself immediately.
From head to toe, he was clad entirely in black—a figure who seemed better suited to the night than this bright afternoon. Only his clear golden eyes softened the severe impression his appearance gave.
“Where is he?”
“His Highness is waiting inside.”
After the brief exchange, Valderion stepped into the palace.
Though he possessed none of the names reserved for the palace’s true masters, he moved through the glittering imperial halls without the slightest hesitation.
Stepping over the shadow of the servant guiding him, Valderion extended a hand toward the aide accompanying him.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
His aide, Moses, placed a pair of gloves into his palm with practiced familiarity.
Valderion held one glove between his teeth while slipping the right one on first, then pulled the left snug over his hand.
Moses carefully observed the duke’s expression—a face already struggling to hide its disgust despite having only just arrived.
The man he served was not normally fastidious.
This reaction surfaced only when visiting Crown Prince Dailan’s palace.
It seemed excessive.
But understandable.
“We’ve arrived.”
The servant pushed open an enormous door framed in gold.
As the gap widened, an unpleasant smell slowly seeped out, scratching at the senses.
Without hesitation, Valderion stepped inside.
The first thing to catch his attention was a bed draped in thin indoor curtains.
He reached up and slowly massaged the back of his neck.
Reading the gesture perfectly, the servant rang a bell placed nearby.
Still, no response came from behind the curtains.
The servant quickly brought over a sofa and placed it beside Valderion.
He didn’t sit.
Inside a space decorated with Dailan’s possessions, he wanted contact with absolutely nothing.
Even the gloves were merely a precaution.
To prevent the unpleasant feeling that mold might spread across his fingertips if he touched something here.
“Sorry.”
The person he had been waiting for finally appeared several minutes later.
Hair like finely spun gold hung in disarray. A hand swept it back lazily, revealing a face still softened by sleep.
“I didn’t realize you’d arrived already.”
With attendants helping him into a robe, Crown Prince Dailan collapsed carelessly onto the sofa prepared for guests and placed a cigar between his lips.
After exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, he looked up at his visitor.
Then, for reasons only he understood, he clutched his forehead and burst into quiet laughter.
He hasn’t sobered up yet.
Judging from appearances, he had probably drowned himself in indulgence until dawn.
Having reached that conclusion, Valderion faced him expressionlessly.
“I didn’t call you here for nothing.”
Dailan stood, moving as though he had somewhere else to be.
The tilt of his head clearly signaled follow me.
Valderion obeyed.
Not because he intended to indulge the prince’s whims, but because he wanted this over with as quickly as possible.
Dailan strolled casually through the palace corridors, his robe nearly falling open.
“Ah, right… Do you remember?”
Rolling the cigar between his fingers, Dailan spoke lazily.
“The toy I kept around.”
“……”
“Poor Lirette.”
The moment the name left his lips, they reached their destination.
Winter stood at the height of its reign across the Empire.
Most rooms maintained warmth against the cold.
Yet the room they entered felt strangely cool.
Perhaps because of that, Valderion felt a chill crawl slowly up his spine.
Anxiety, perhaps.
“Her fever wouldn’t break, so I lowered the room temperature.”
Speaking quietly, Dailan wandered toward the far end of the room.
Valderion stopped when he noticed the bed.
“Over here.”
Sitting on the mattress, Dailan beckoned him closer.
Suspicion stirred as Valderion approached.
Only then did he notice.
There was a woman lying there.
“This is what I wanted to show you.”
Smiling strangely, Dailan suddenly pulled down the fabric covering her.
Since she lay facing away, all Valderion saw at first was a thin back—so emaciated her bones pressed clearly beneath pale skin.
But something else seized his attention.
Beneath her shoulder blades—
Along the elegant line of her lower back—
Black letters were etched beautifully into her skin.
For a moment, darkness swam before his eyes.
The name was too familiar.
“Take her.”
“……”
“She’s yours now.”
There was no mistaking it.
It was his name.
“I wondered why she suddenly started wasting away.”
“……”
“Turns out your Name appeared.”
For the first time since arriving, the composure in Valderion’s eyes cracked.
Dailan laughed at the reaction as though he had expected it.
“At least she was one of my toys already. Imagine if your Name had appeared on some random woman wandering around outside.”
He exhaled smoke.
“That would’ve been troublesome.”
While Dailan spoke, Valderion’s eyes remained fixed on the frail back before him.
The woman trembled faintly, like a patient burning with illness.
Each time she shook, the name on her skin seemed to move with her.
“She had a fever for three days. After that, she could barely use her arms or legs.”
“……”
“Probably symptoms of the Name.”
“……”
“Carry her gently or throw her into a baggage cart. Your choice.”
As though business was concluded, Dailan rose from the bed and walked out without looking back.
* * *
It was a world where Names existed.
Some called them destiny.
Others called them curses.
And some described them simply as a disease one was unlucky enough to catch.
Someone else’s name appears upon your body.
At first glance, it sounded romantic.
Almost beautiful.
The problem lay in its randomness.
Names chose no one.
They were the gods’ cruel joke.
Anyone could be bound.
Friends.
Enemies.
Strangers.
Fate cared for none of it.
In Valderion’s case—
It was unquestionably the worst possibility.
“Did Your Grace confirm it yourself?”
“Yes.”
His aide, still visibly shaken by the sudden turn of events, glanced toward the duke.
Unlike him, Valderion remained composed.
At least outwardly.
Seated with one leg crossed over the other, he stared down at the bed with an expression that clearly admitted reality had become thoroughly complicated.
At the end of his lowered gaze lay the woman they had secretly loaded into the carriage and taken from the palace.
Just as Dailan had said—
Her cheeks were flushed red with fever.
“Did you hear about her identity as well?”
“Yes.”
“I see…”
Moses stopped awkwardly.
His discomfort toward the woman was obvious.
Valderion answered with silence.
After rubbing his face in disbelief, Moses excused himself, promising to investigate everything about Names.
When he was finally alone, Valderion rose and approached the bed.
Even lowering himself carefully, his large frame caused the mattress to dip deeply.
The woman’s hand resting near the pillow bounced lightly from the movement.
His golden eyes landed there.
He had always believed this would never happen to him.
Still, he knew enough.
Enough to understand what happened after a Name appeared.
Names were treated like diseases because once they manifested, the bearer became completely bound.
Not to the Name itself—
But to the owner of that Name.
Like plants needing sunlight to survive, those marked by Names became dependent.
Obsessively so.
Without regular contact from the person whose name they carried, they slowly withered.
Sickened.
Faded.
Died.
This woman would become the same.
The proof was right there.
Her middle and ring fingers had stiffened together.
One of the symptoms.
Did you hear about her identity as well?
Moses’ hesitant question echoed in his ears.
Valderion leaned closer.
His broad figure cast a shadow over her small frame.
Still, she remained quiet.
But he knew.
When she woke—
When she learned where she was.
What had happened.
Who he was.
There would be chaos.
Because—
Poor Lirette.
Part of the reason she had ended up so pitiful…
Was him.
