I Got Married to a Yandere Queen

Without Riven realizing it, Ashtoria was suddenly beside him—silent, nearly soundless, as if she had emerged straight from the shadows of the night. In her arms, she carried Mira, who was still fast asleep, her little face peaceful beneath the folds of a warm jacket.

Riven jolted, his heart nearly stopping. His trembling body tensed on reflex, and he raised Crysthalis halfway before recognizing who stood next to him.

"Anna...? What are you—"

He clamped his mouth shut, swallowing the rest of his words. He remembered they were still in danger. His breath came in ragged gasps, but somehow, Ashtoria's presence made his chest feel just a little lighter—even if it also brought a fresh wave of unease.

How did she get here so quickly?

And more importantly...

"Was it you just now...?" Riven tried to ask, voice low, but the question trailed off. His gaze swept across the battlefield—scattered blood, mangled remains of beasts still steaming, and a silence that felt like a crack before the next storm.

Ashtoria didn't answer. She only shifted her gaze toward Riven—those blood-red eyes colder than usual, like a frozen lake concealing something in its depths.

Riven's torso was torn from shoulder to waist, his flesh jagged and uneven from a bear's claw. Blood streamed down, soaking his clothes now ripped to useless rags. Other wounds marked his arms, his thighs, even his temple was bruised. His breathing was heavy, but steady—like a man too stubborn to fall.

Ashtoria remained silent.

But for some reason, Riven felt a chill run down his spine.

There was something behind that icy gaze—not pity, not sympathy. But not hatred either. And that... unsettled him. As if those red eyes were hiding something he couldn't decipher. Not a secret, but a storm.

Ashtoria herself could barely recognize what she was feeling.

Something was clawing at her chest—foreign, intrusive, hard to define. She, who could kill without blinking, without hesitation, now stood frozen before a wounded man... and felt uncomfortable.

But it wasn't disgust.

Nor concern like a normal human.

It was more like a heat pressing from within, slipping between her ribs, forcing her breaths to grow heavier. Her eyes couldn't stop tracing the wounds across Riven's body.

The feeling grew stronger. She wanted to do something. To reach out to those wounds. To ensure that the man wasn't dying. But her hands wouldn't move.

She didn't know what to do.

Because all her life, this kind of feeling had only ever surfaced in one form: rage. And the only thing she knew to do with rage... was kill.

Her hands clenched. Her jaw tightened.

She hadn't noticed when her fingers began to tremble, or when the muscles along her back coiled like a beast preparing to strike. All she knew was one thing:

Someone had hurt that man.

And they all... had to die.

Those beasts.

All those wretched creatures who dared spill Riven's blood.

Her mind darkened. The world narrowed, leaving only one outlet: violence. Her body leaned forward, instincts ready to rip apart anything that moved. The aura she had suppressed since arriving now leaked out—cold, thick, and menacing like the shadow of a blade against a throat.

She glanced down at Mira, still peacefully asleep in her arms. Then, without a word, she slowly lowered the girl to the ground. Her movements were gentle, cautious—unnatural for someone like her.

But just before she could take a step—

A touch stopped her.

Weak. Fragile. But strong enough to make her freeze.

Riven's hand gripped her wrist—bloody, trembling, but unafraid. A hand that held her with courage, not fear.

"Anna... don't."

Ashtoria turned slowly.

Their eyes met.

And in that silent clash of gazes, two worlds laid themselves bare. Riven saw the storm within her—rage, confusion, and a feeling even she didn't understand. And what startled him wasn't fear... but a strange, unexpected warmth.

Meanwhile, Ashtoria's gaze, once frozen, cracked.

Before her sat a man torn apart by battle, his skin smeared with blood and dust, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. But it wasn't the suffering that shook her.

It was his expression.

Calm. Gentle. Full of trust.

Ashtoria didn't know how to respond.

To her, the world was always simple: if something hurts you, destroy it. If it weakens you, discard it. If your heart feels discomfort, eliminate the source.

That was all.

She was raised to survive, not to understand. Taught to hurt, not to feel. So when that strange pain pierced her chest upon seeing Riven so broken—she didn't know what to do with it.

And now... that man was holding her hand.

Not with strength.

But with trust.

Ashtoria lowered her gaze, staring at the hands that now intertwined. She could have pulled away. Could have ignored it. She could have risen and continued her fury, butchering every last beast in this forest—repaying Riven's blood with more blood.

That was the only answer she'd ever known.

But somehow… this time, that answer didn't feel right.

Ashtoria exhaled—a soft, barely audible breath.

Then, slowly, she sat down beside Riven. Quiet. Wordless. She didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she let it remain in his grasp—even if her heart didn't know what to feel.

Only one thing was certain:

She… didn't want to leave.

Riven exhaled heavily, then leaned his back against the tree trunk. Pain still burned through every inch of his body, but something within him eased. The world around them was still tense, still dangerous—but he felt… a little more whole.

"It's better if we stay here," he said softly, almost in a whisper. "Don't go. Don't fight. It'll only tire us out. We just need to hold on until this ends. If they attack, then we strike back."

Around them, the world continued to churn.

Beasts still ran in the distance. Shadows flitted between trees, shaking leaves and branches, growls tangled with thunderous footfalls. Nature's usual song of life now sounded like a planet fleeing its own destruction.

But none of them dared come closer.

It was as if an invisible line encircled Riven and Ashtoria. Twenty meters. No more. As if even the wild, instinct-driven creatures of the forest knew: there was something in that circle that should not be touched.