As the end of the year approached, I begged my father, the king, for three days and three nights before he finally agreed to let me travel to the frontier and reunite with my husband.

But the moment I approached the military camp, the guards stopped me.

When they found out I'd come to see Liam Foster, they burst out laughing.

"Another girl who came all this way because she's got a crush on General Foster! You'd better turn back. General Foster is famously devoted to his wife. Aside from her, he wouldn't give any other woman a second look."

I smiled faintly and was about to pull out my royal pendant to prove that I was the very "Mrs. Foster" they were talking about, when one of the guards pointed toward a woman not far away.

"See her over there? That's our general's wife. Their love story has already spread all across the camp."

I froze.

By the time I came back to my senses, the woman had already walked over. She was wearing bright, elegant clothes—completely out of place in a military camp.

With a gentle smile, she asked, "Miss, what business do you have with my husband? He had urgent matters to attend to and left earlier. It may be a while before he returns."

In the entire camp, there was only one general with the last name Foster.

So the "husband" she was talking about could only be Liam.

Without showing a hint of emotion, I tucked the pendant—my proof of identity—back into my sleeve and bowed.

"I got separated from my family. I heard the famous General Foster was stationed here, so I came to ask for shelter."

Sympathy immediately flooded the woman's face. She took my hand and led me toward the tent, not forgetting to scold the guards along the way.

"This young lady has already suffered enough being apart from her family, and you still make fun of her?"

The guards nodded and apologized over and over, swearing they'd never do it again.

Liam must have trained them well. Otherwise, how could she wield that kind of authority so naturally when reprimanding them?

I followed behind her, watching quietly.

She looked young. Her clothes were far from cheap. But there was something fragile about her—something in her complexion that gave her away.

Sensing my eyes on her, she smiled shyly.

"I've been sickly since I was a child. I've taken medicine all my life, so of course I can't compare to you."

I didn't respond. My gaze drifted from her simple but elegant hairstyle, down to her pale, delicate hands, and then to her spotless shoes.

This was the freezing northern frontier. A military camp, no less.

For Liam to keep a sickly woman so well cared for—that must have taken real effort.

And yet, in front of me, he always claimed to be nothing but a rough soldier who didn't know the first thing about comfort.

His clothes. The medicinal tonics he took. Even the weapons he casually tossed aside on the training grounds—I was the one who arranged everything, who worried about everything.

When it was my turn to get sick and take medicine, he'd either boil it into a bitter sludge or mix the wrong herbs together.

My maids would panic, hopping around in frustration, until they had no choice but to push him aside and make him watch.

But he never watched for long. Before anyone knew it, he'd be gone again—back on the training grounds, swinging his sword.

Back then, I thought Liam was just naturally careless. It never once occurred to me that maybe… he just didn't care.

While I was lost in thought, a soldier came running over, carrying a freshly brewed bowl of medicine.

I glanced at it. Rare, expensive ingredients—hard to preserve way out here.

Then the young soldier pulled out a small bag of candied fruit and pressed it into her hands.

"The general said this batch of medicine is especially bitter. He ordered me to bring you this."

She smiled, clearly used to this kind of treatment, and told him to put everything inside the tent.

Almost without thinking, I said, "General Foster treats you very well."

The young soldier's face lit up immediately.

"Very well? That's putting it lightly. He treats her like she's made of glass—like she might break if he so much as mishandled her.

"Take this, for example. It's the one that stuck with me the most. We were away from camp for three days. The day we got back, in front of over a hundred men, General Foster wrapped his arms around his wife. His eyes were red.

"He kept saying it over and over, 'My lady, I missed you so much…'"

Before he could finish, the woman blushed bright red and chased him off.

"They're always teasing me like this. Please ignore them."

Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes were shining.

"Though… what he said isn't wrong. My husband really is… different when he's with me compared to how he is in front of everyone else."

There was a hint of pride in her voice. A quiet kind of boasting.

I let out a dry, hollow laugh. But my hand tightened around the fabric of my skirt without me realizing it.

No wonder his letters home had gotten fewer each year. No wonder they got shorter with every season.

I always thought it was because the war at the border was too fierce—that he didn't have a moment to spare.

So the man who had always treated me with polite distance, never once stepping out of line, had long ago, behind my back, become completely devoted to another woman.

She led me into one of the tents.

"Oh, right—I'm Chloe Xyler. Just call me Chloe."

She poured me a cup of hot tea with warm enthusiasm.

I took a sip, my eyes sweeping across the inside of the tent.

Outside, the wind howled and snow lashed the ground. Inside, a brazier burned steadily, filling the space with a warmth that felt like spring.

A painting rested on the table. The figure in it was Chloe.

In the lower right corner, the signature read: "Liam Foster."

I stared at those two words like I could burn a hole right through them.

Ten years of marriage, and I had never known Liam could paint.

On the rare occasions I showed him my embroidery I'd stitched with care, he would only smile faintly.

"I'm a rough man. I don't understand these things. If you think it's good, Princess, then it must be good."

Chloe walked over, smiling as she said, "A few days ago, I begged Liam to teach me how to paint. I'm a slow learner—I just can't seem to get it right."

She rolled up the painting and slipped it into a paper tube by the desk. The tube was already stuffed full, big and small scrolls packed tightly together.

I took another sip of tea. It tasted bitter.

My gaze drifted lower, landing on the side of the bed, where a pair of training shoes sat.

But the size… those clearly belonged to a child.

My fingertips trembled. I was about to speak when a sharp, urgent cry of "Mom!" cut me off.

A young boy burst into the tent, sniffling, holding up an injured hand for her to see.

His skin was fair. And when he turned his head, his brows and eyes—so strikingly similar to Liam's—came into full view.

After bandaging his finger, Chloe gently patted his head.

"Please don't mind him. He's just like his father—always messing around with weapons and coming back covered in cuts. Before this, it was always his father who treated his wounds. I've never had to do it myself, so I was a little clumsy."

I steadied the teacup in my hands and said,

"Your husband seems very attentive to your son."

At the mention of her son, Chloe lit up, the words spilling out one after another.

"Yes, Liam actually loves children. On our wedding night, he even asked if I wanted one.

"After our son was born, he was the one who cared about every little thing—food, clothes, everything. Last year, our son said he wanted a particular candy, and Liam rode ten miles to the nearest town just to buy some.

"And the weapons our son plays with now—Liam had them specially made to fit a child's hands."

As she spoke, the boy nodded along eagerly.

"My dad is the best dad in the world!"

I looked at him, my throat tight like it was stuffed with cotton.

Ten years ago, when I first married Liam, I had wanted a child with him.

He had fallen silent for a long time before gently stroking my hair.

"These past few years, I've been fighting battles everywhere. If you were pregnant, I wouldn't be able to take care of you. Once the war ends, I'll ask the King to let me resign. Then we'll have a child—a beautiful one—and live peacefully as a family."

Ten years had passed.

The war had not ended.

But he had already fathered a child with another woman.

I couldn't help but ask, "How… old are you?"

The boy looked at me, his face bright and full of life.

When he smiled, a little dimple showed.

"I'm nine! Dad says I grow fast. I already look like I'm ten or eleven."

Ten years away from home—and a nine-year-old child waiting here.

So every solemn promise Liam had ever made to me… had been a lie.

I hid my trembling fingers under my sleeve and forced out a sigh.

"You and your son followed your husband to live in this northern land—it must have been hard on you."

But Chloe shook her head.

"I was born here in the north. It's not hardship for me. It's Liam—he's not suited to this climate, but he insists on staying here with us."

As I listened, a faint sense of dread crept into my chest.

The next moment, Chloe smiled and said, "Actually, the war here ended a long time ago. Liam stayed behind for our sake—he specifically asked to remain in the north.

"I heard he had to beg for a long time to convince the King. It really wasn't easy for him.

"He said once he finishes up some business with the court, our family will settle down in a nearby town… and never go back."

The teacup slipped from my hands and shattered on the ground. Shards of porcelain sliced into my skin.

Chloe let out a soft cry and quickly told her son to fetch some bandages.

"Are you alright?"

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

Back then, after Liam suffered a defeat in battle, his reputation in the capital was completely destroyed. It was my father, the king, who trusted him—who overruled everyone else and saved his position.

At the time, kneeling before the throne, Liam had said, clear as day, "As long as the realm is not at peace, I will not ask to resign."

And now, while war still raged in other regions, he had already made his plans—abandoning his country, abandoning his wife, hiding at the frontier to live a carefree life with his new family.

My body began to shake. I couldn't tell if it was from heartbreak… or rage.

I pulled away from Chloe's hand and asked softly,

"How do you know what he says is true? I mean—the honors and rewards from the court are no small thing. How can you be so sure he'd give all that up for you?"

Chloe curved her lips into a calm smile.

"Because… Liam doesn't like being in the capital. He hates the scheming of court politics, the fake pleasantries between officials. And most of all… he hates Princess Grace."

I froze.

Chloe pursed her lips, clearly annoyed just mentioning that name.

"That Princess Grace is always sending Liam letters. He told me it's because she's been in love with him for years.

"But since she's a princess, he has no choice but to write back.

"Honestly, the main reason he wants to resign is to put some distance between himself and the princess. That way, he can avoid all that mess."

Mess.

I turned that word over in my mind, a vast absurdity swelling in my chest.

My thoughts drifted back fifteen years.

Back then, Liam was nothing more than a dependent at court.

With his parents stationed at the frontier, he was an easy target for the other noble kids—bullied, splashed with cold water, pelted with stones.

The first time I saw him was in the library. He'd been locked inside for three days and nights. He was starving, barely conscious. I quickly ordered my maid to bring food.

After he devoured it, stammering out what had happened, I slammed my hand on the table.

"From now on, you stay by my side. As long as I'm here, let's see who dares bully you again."

Liam knelt, trembling with fear—but from that day on, he never left me.

The peach pastries I loved. The butterflies I chased. Even the hairpin I paused to look at for just a moment—he would find a way to put all of them into my hands.

After one of his most successful battles, he returned in triumph. The first thing he did upon entering the palace was to ask my father to grant us marriage.

I had believed we loved each other—that everything had happened naturally, the way it was supposed to.

But in his eyes, all of it had been nothing more than unwelcome, unavoidable "mess".

My nails dug into my palms. I could barely keep the smile on my face.

So I stood up quickly, pleading exhaustion, and left the mother and son alone.

That night, separated by a thin curtain, I could hear Chloe whispering softly to her son.

I sat quietly for a while, then rose to get paper and a pen.

Word by word, I wrote down every one of Liam's crimes—falsifying military reports, delaying troop deployments, deceiving the throne—and secretly sent the letter out.

Watching the messenger disappear silently into the night, I lowered my gaze.

Since Liam had chosen to betray me, then he would pay the price.

That night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

Half-dreaming, half-awake, I thought I saw Liam standing in front of me.

He held Chloe and their son in his arms—the perfect happy family.

The moment he saw me, his face darkened.

"Princess, the truth is… I never loved you. All these years, I was only repaying the kindness you once showed me. Ten years have passed. That debt is paid. From today on, there's nothing between us."

I jolted awake.

Outside, the sun was already high in the sky.

Chloe lifted the tent flap with a smile.

"You're awake? Perfect timing. My husband just got back. I'll take you to meet him."

After dressing and washing up, I stepped out of the tent with her.

And there he was—Liam, whom I hadn't seen in ten years, standing just outside.

Hearing us, he turned with a smile.

"My lady, this guest you mentioned—who exactly is—"

His words died in his throat as his gaze met mine, cold as ice.

"Tell me," I said. "When you call someone 'my lady'… which one of us do you mean, husband?"