Chapter 105
The sea stretched without end beneath the cold moonlight, a silver void broken only by the slow rise and fall of waves against the ship's hull.
Up on the deck, the world felt quieter than it should have.
Neither of them spoke.
Whatever had been buried in memory had already surfaced, been seen, and left behind. What remained now was only the aftermath—the kind that did not ask to be understood.
Just endured.
Chris stood at the railing with both hands resting on the cold metal. His grip tightened slightly, as if anchoring himself to something real.
His jaw clenched.
"…I hate him."
Guinevere's gaze shifted toward him.
"…Who?"
Chris let out a short breath through his nose, almost bitter.
"Your father."
Silence followed.
He looked away toward the dark water.
"I've never met him."
A pause.
"…You were eleven," he added. "He was your father."
The words didn't soften anything. If anything, they made the silence heavier.
"…You deserved better."
For a moment, Guinevere's fingers tightened faintly around the glass she held. Not enough to break composure. Just enough to betray that something had been touched.
Chris exhaled slowly, as though trying to release a thought that had been sitting too long inside him.
"When you told me all that…" he said quietly, "I kept thinking…"
He hesitated, then shook his head faintly.
"…She's strong."
A faint, humorless breath left him.
"But I kept thinking… how strong someone has to be just to survive something like that."
The wind moved between them, carrying salt and silence.
"…Can I ask you something?" Chris said after a moment.
Guinevere didn't answer immediately.
Her eyes remained on the horizon.
"…Go ahead."
He hesitated again, as if the question itself had weight.
"…Do you ever think… if your mother had been there for you, your life could've been better?"
For a long moment, there was no response.
Then Guinevere spoke, calm and certain.
"No."
Her gaze didn't shift.
"Never."
"I believe everything was already written. That my mother would die… and everything after would follow from that."
A brief pause settled between them.
"…But I am glad," she added quietly, "that fate led me to another mother."
Chris tilted his head slightly.
"Queen Anastasia?"
Guinevere gave a small nod.
Chris's expression tightened a little.
"Don't you think she was selfish too? In the end… giving you such a burden?"
Guinevere finally turned her eyes toward him.
Not sharply.
Not emotionally.
Just directly.
"She was like a mother to me."
"She didn't ask me to carry responsibility for strangers. She asked me to protect my family. The Princess."
Chris leaned back slightly against the railing.
"From what you said… the Princess wasn't always like this. She wasn't always distant."
"She changed," Guinevere replied after a moment. "After the King's death… and after the Queen's condition worsened. She became what she had to become."
Chris gave a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh.
"So what now? The Princess is angry at you, right? Are you just going to leave it like that?"
Guinevere shook her head.
"No."
"Not yet."
"It is not the right time for her to understand. Not while the wound is still fresh."
Her voice remained steady.
"When the time comes, her anger will pass. She will understand."
Chris let out a slow breath, something like disbelief mixed with resignation.
"…Damn."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"No wonder you're impossible."
Guinevere lifted an eyebrow slightly.
"…Impossible?"
Chris looked at her more directly now.
"You don't even know what normal looks like," he said. "So everything impossible just feels… standard to you."
For a brief moment, she simply studied him.
Then her voice softened, but only slightly.
"…Are you pitying me?"
Chris blinked.
"What?"
Then he shook his head immediately.
"No."
"If I pitied you, I'd be looking down on you."
His gaze held steady.
"I don't."
A pause.
"I just wish… someone had loved that little girl sooner."
The wind shifted.
For a moment, it felt like even the sea had quieted further, as though listening.
Something unfamiliar flickered in Guinevere's expression—too subtle to name, too brief to fully catch.
Chris rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly aware of the silence he had created.
"…Sorry. I talk too much."
He let out a small, awkward laugh.
"…Actually… I've been trying to impress you since we met."
Guinevere blinked once.
"…Impress me?"
"…Well," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck, "…flirting. Technically."
Silence returned, sharper this time.
She stared at him.
"…You were flirting?"
Chris closed his eyes for a moment, as if accepting defeat.
"…Please don't tell me you didn't notice."
"…I didn't."
He exhaled sharply.
"…That's devastating."
Guinevere continued watching him.
Not with confusion now—but attention. Real attention.
The way he smiled when he was embarrassed.
The way he tried to hide discomfort with humor.
The way he never once seemed to expect anything from her in return.
He wasn't performing.
He wasn't calculating.
He simply was.
"…Chris."
He looked up.
"…Yeah?"
She stepped closer.
For a moment, he didn't move, unsure of what was coming next.
Then her hand rose.
Her fingers caught the front of his collar.
Chris froze instantly.
"…Commander…?"
Guinevere looked at him then—not as a strategist, not as a figure of authority, but as something quieter. Something more uncertain than she would ever admit.
As if confirming a thought she hadn't yet given words.
Then she pulled him down.
Their lips met.
It lasted only a brief moment.
Not hesitant.
Not unsure.
Simply… decided.
And then it was gone.
She stepped back.
Chris did not move.
He could not.
The world around him had gone strangely distant, like sound had been pulled away from his senses.
He stood there, staring at her, expression blank with disbelief.
Guinevere studied him for a heartbeat longer.
Then, faintly—
a small smile curved her lips.
"…Interesting."
Chris finally blinked.
"…Wha—"
His voice failed.
Guinevere turned slightly, already composed again.
"…Stay alert. We still have much ahead of us."
She began walking.
"…W-wait," Chris managed, still rooted in place.
Without turning back, she answered calmly.
"I am feeling rather tired. You should rest as well."
"…The kiss—" he forced out.
A pause.
Then, evenly:
"…I wanted to."
And she continued walking.
Chris remained on the deck long after her footsteps faded.
One hand slowly rose to his lips, as if confirming reality through touch alone.
His heartbeat refused to settle.
"…What…"
A breath of laughter escaped him—quiet, disbelieving.
"…Just happened?"
Ahead, Guinevere walked through the corridor alone.
The wind followed her briefly before fading.
And in the silence that remained, she lifted her hand to her lips for the briefest moment.
A pause so small it barely existed.
Then she smiled.
...chapter 105ENDS...