The Golden Key and the Iron Cage

It was an ornate box, heavy with extravagant decoration.

An ill omen.

When she hesitated to accept it, Hector curved one eye in playful mockery and opened it himself.

Inside lay a strange object of iron.

No matter how closely she stared, she could not identify it.

A cold dread crept over her.

She tried to step back, but his arm around her waist tightened brutally.

There was a brief struggle between escape and restraint.

As always, the loser was decided from the start.

Chloe was thrown onto the bed in disarray.

He flipped up her skirts and descended on her.

Tights and undergarments were yanked down at once.

In seconds, everything below her waist was stripped away.

“Ah— Hector…”

His rough handling scraped her skin.

Her feet flailed uselessly in the air.

Was she to be used again like this?

If this were his final indulgence before departing for war, he might leave her body ruined beyond repair.

Pinned utterly beneath him, she could no longer resist.

Tears soaked into the sheets as she pressed her face down.

Then something cold brushed up along her thighs.

“Wh— what are you doing… ah!”

The iron device was fitted onto her lower body.

Only then did she realize—it was a form of undergarment.

He straddled her hips, trapping her legs beneath his knees.

The metal garment was pulled snugly into place.

Front plate, back plate, the lower joint—each connection tightened in swift succession.

Then he locked it.

It all happened in an instant.

When he finished, he held up his hand.

A small golden key dangled between his fingers.

“It would be troublesome if some other bastard wandered into my private hole. Raising a cuckoo’s chick once was enough.”

He rose with a faint, vulgar smile.

Only then did Chloe understand.

A chastity device.

Something husbands bound to wives before leaving for war.

She had known such things existed but had never imagined their form.

“Please… don’t do this. This joke is too cruel.”

Overcome with panic, she rolled off the bed and fell to her knees.

Hands clasped, she begged desperately.

“It’s good you like it.”

“Please, Hector… have mercy. How am I supposed to live wearing iron?”

The cold around her hips made her shudder.

“Whenever it’s uncomfortable, think of me.”

“When will you return? It won’t be too long, will it?”

The thought of months without relief, without proper washing—her vision darkened.

War would not end in a day.

And if Hector died?

Would she remain trapped forever?

In desperation, she crawled forward and grasped the hem of his trousers.

He kicked her hand away coldly.

“So now you’ll wait for my return.”

She went still in horror.

He had seen through her.

“I was wrong. I won’t defy you again. I’ll do whatever you command. Please forgive me.”

Tears fell freely.

But the iron prison remained locked.

He nudged her hip with his boot.

When she lifted her tear-streaked face, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

“There is an important duty I wish to entrust to you. Will you manage the internal affairs of the palace?”

His tone was falsely courteous.

“I will do my best.”

She bowed deeply.

“You’ve heard the complaints. With no mistress, the palace has fallen into disorder. See to it better than I did.”

“How could I possibly surpass you?”

“Would you not like to move me?”

His cold gaze drifted downward toward the iron at her hips.

“I will. I promise.”

What else could she say, threatened and bound?

“Your zeal is admirable. I’ll permit you to reside in the annex for now.”

Her head snapped up.

This was not a reward.

It was hierarchy made visible.

When the Emperor was absent, the main bedchamber must remain vacant.

A concubine could not occupy it alone.

She was being expelled.

He pulled on his gloves, preparing to depart.

“One more thing. It has been some time since the palace hosted a banquet. Prepare one. A victory feast when I return.”

A banquet?

In her previous life she had known only the bedchamber.

The thought left her dizzy.

He gripped her shoulder hard enough to bruise.

“Do not disappoint me.”

A clear threat.

Then he turned and strode out, surrounded by his knights.

He left that very afternoon to crush the rebellion.

There was never moderation with him.

One moment he treated her like a toy.

The next, he burdened her with responsibility.

The iron pressed cold against her skin.

A new hardship had begun.

She wiped her tears and stepped outside.

The steward waited with newfound deference.

“My lady, please give your orders.”

“What should I do first?”

“I recommend you see off the departing army.”

“…Very well.”

She changed from her luxurious dress into a plain grey garment.

One did not bid farewell to soldiers in finery.

With the knights’ guidance, she rode to the barracks near the palace.

Cavalry and infantry stood in formation like a chessboard.

She searched for Hector but could not find him among the ranks.

She could only raise her slender hand and wave.

“Is that sufficient?”

“You have done well, my lady,” said Sir Belombre, first commander of the Golden Lion Knights.

“When will His Majesty return?”

“If the campaign proceeds as expected, perhaps weeks. At most, a few months.”

Weeks.

If fortune favored her, she might be freed from iron within that time.

Yet Belombre remained behind—ostensibly her guard, in truth her watcher.