Embracing the Silver Chains: Reincarnated as a Captive Princess
When I woke up, I was inside a dizzyingly beautiful prison. I, Rimuru Tempest, had somehow been reincarnated as the princess of a kingdom utterly destroyed by Shion, the hero who defeated the Great Demon Lord Veldora. He is my enemy who took everything from me.
Shion's eyes are always cold. But sometimes, he shows me a look of such deep pain that it makes my heart clench. His voice, telling me 'You are mine,' is a mix of anger and sorrow that makes my whole body burn. I shouldn't feel this. He'
Embracing the Silver Chains: Reincarnated as a Captive Princess - The Mask in the Courtyard and the Whispers of the Bedchamber — The Night You Called My Name
The night broke.
Morning light slowly stained the transparent ceiling. The top floor of the Star Prison Tower—here, even the beginning of a day was quiet. Rimuru sat on the bed, hugging their knees, simply staring vacantly at the shifting light.
(I came back.)
Last night, they had been escorted back from Shion's private chambers by the guards at the deepest hour of darkness. Their torn clothes wrapped around their body, head bowed to hide skin soiled with blood and semen. The guard said nothing. Only cast a gaze that held pity and contempt in equal measure.
Remembering that gaze, a tight pain squeezed deep in their chest again.
(No.)
Rimuru tightened their arms around their knees.
The pain wasn't from the guard's gaze.
It was from the lingering sensation of Shion on their body.
The feeling of fingers tracing their collarbone. The sharp pain and sweetness when the tips of their chest were pinched. And—the sensation of hot semen poured deep inside. The core of their body still throbbed.
"...Like an idiot."
They cursed themself aloud.
A man they should hate. A conqueror who destroyed their homeland, drove their parents to death, and treated them as a prisoner. And yet—their body was beginning to remember that man's hands. They couldn't forgive themself for reaching climax.
Even so.
What replayed in their mind was the pained expression Shion had shown during the act.
—"You no longer wish to run."
Those words. A voice that sounded like he was telling himself. It was tinged with a deep anguish that didn't seem to belong to a cold-hearted conqueror.
"What is that man... carrying inside him?"
The murmured words were swallowed by the transparent walls and vanished.
From beyond the door came the sound of footsteps. The guard's boots.
Click.
The magic lock glowed pale blue, and the heavy stone door opened.
"A walk in the courtyard has been permitted. Prepare yourself."
Rimuru raised their head.
The courtyard.
A place they had never once been permitted to visit in three years.
Why, today of all days—.
"It is by order of His Imperial Majesty. Be grateful."
The guard's face was expressionless. But her voice held a trace of irritation. Probably, she thought she'd been saddled with troublesome work.
Rimuru stood in silence.
(Shion permitted this?)
After last night's act?
That man—they could never tell what he was thinking.
Flanked by two female guards, they walked the long corridor. The walls of the Black Radiance Palace were lined with murals of the Great Demon Lord War from a hundred years ago. Soldiers battling colossal demonic beasts, black clouds covering the sky. And at the center—a silver-haired hero.
Shion.
In the mural, his eyes were younger, fiercer. The anguish he sometimes showed now was nowhere to be found in the hero of that painting.
(What changed between a hundred years ago and now?)
Thinking such thoughts, Rimuru descended the stairs.
The courtyard was far larger than they had imagined.
Black flagstones were laid in orderly rows, and at the center stood an old fountain. The water had long since dried up; only the dry wind of the imperial capital blew through the empty stone basin. Well-tended shrubs were arranged around the garden's perimeter, but not a single flower bloomed. Only deep green leaves swayed.
From beyond the triple walls, the distant clamor of the capital could be heard. The calls of the marketplace, children's laughter, the hammers of craftsmen. The daily life of 1.8 million people did not reach this place.
"Wait here."
The guards stood at the garden's entrance, and only Rimuru was permitted to walk upon the flagstones.
They took one step forward.
The flagstones were cold and hard. They were glad they weren't barefoot—the thin shoes the guard had prepared barely protected their feet. The air was different from the Star Room. Cold and clear, yet mixed with a strangely lukewarm breeze. Outside air. Their first outside air in three years.
(It feels good.)
They felt it from the bottom of their heart.
They weren't bound in chains. But there was no exit anywhere in this garden. Surrounded by high walls, constantly watched by guards. They had merely been moved to a slightly larger space within a cage that looked like freedom.
—Even so.
The wind stirred their long silver hair.
Rimuru closed their eyes and savored the sensation of the wind. The coldness of the air against their skin. The distant clamor. The scent of the dried fountain's cracked stone.
(I'm alive.)
They felt that.
It was then.
From the depths of the garden came the sound of footsteps.
Not the guards'. Heavier, more commanding—.
Rimuru opened their eyes.
Silver hair. Crimson eyes.
The physique of a tall warrior.
Shion was walking toward them in silence.
(—Shion.)
Their heart leaped.
His face was so completely devoid of emotion that it was hard to believe he was the same man from last night. The mask of the cold-hearted conqueror. The pained expression he had worn when he spent himself inside Rimuru last night was nowhere to be seen.
The crimson eyes fixed directly on Rimuru, yet revealed nothing. The air simply grew heavy. His presence was so overwhelming that merely having him approach felt like the landscape itself was changing—an illusion that seized hold of them.
(Why, now—)
Rimuru unconsciously stepped back.
Shion advanced two steps, three, and came to stand right beside them. Standing side by side, there was more than a head's difference in height. They couldn't see his face without looking up.
Silence.
A long, heavy silence flowed.
Shion said nothing. He simply stood beside Rimuru, looking in the same direction. It almost seemed as if they were merely gazing at the courtyard scenery together.
(What is he thinking?)
The morning after forcing himself on a woman last night, he brings her out to the courtyard without any explanation, and looks at the view together?
Anger welled up.
Humiliation boiled over.
An attitude that seemed to say yesterday's events were nothing more than a natural act of domination. A face that acted as if nothing had happened.
"...What are you trying to do?"
Their voice trembled.
Not from fear—it trembled with anger.
Shion did not answer.
He merely turned slightly, looking down at Rimuru with those crimson eyes. As always, there was no emotion in them. Cold, merciless—and yet.
(That was—)
For an instant, Rimuru saw the corner of Shion's mouth twist faintly.
It was as if he was enduring something—or perhaps, regretting something—.
(No, I imagined it.)
They told themself.
This man is a conqueror. The enemy who destroyed their country. The man who pinned them down last night and poured his semen inside them. For that man to feel anguish or regret—.
It was then.
As Rimuru tried to walk forward, their foot caught on an irregular step in the flagstones.
"—!"
Their body tilted.
They were going to fall—.
The next moment, their arm was firmly grasped.
Strong force.
But it didn't hurt.
Pulled close, Rimuru's body stopped as it collided against Shion's chest.
—No.
Rimuru held their breath.
The hand gripping their arm was trembling, just slightly.
They looked up.
Shion's crimson eyes were right there.
In those eyes—there dwelled a look of pure concern.
Not an order to a guard, not a conqueror's calculation. Just a natural, reflexive emotion—reaching out a hand because the person in front of him was about to fall.
"...Ah."
No voice came out.
Shion said nothing. But the hand gripping their arm did not let go. The crimson eyes stared intently into Rimuru's deep violet ones.
It was as if time had stopped.
How long did they stay like that?
Probably only a few seconds.
But to Rimuru, it felt like an eternity.
And then—Shion's hand let go.
His eyes averted.
The mask returned. The face of the cold-hearted emperor was there once more.
Without a word, Shion turned his back and walked away.
His black cloak swayed in the wind, his long silver hair reflecting the sunlight. His back was as imposing as ever, but—for some reason, to Rimuru, it looked very small.
(Wait.)
They wanted to shout.
But no voice came.
Left alone in the courtyard.
The warmth of Shion's hand still lingered on their arm. That momentary look in his eyes—the crimson light that held concern—would not leave their mind.
"...What was that just now?"
The murmured words vanished into the wind.
Anger, humiliation, and bewilderment.
They churned together messily in their chest, and Rimuru lost sight of where their own feelings lay.
(Those eyes—what were they?)
The anger at last night's act was still there. And yet, something had wavered in that single moment. An emotion different from hatred was beginning to take root.
They couldn't accept that.
If they accepted it, they would cease to be themself.
"I'm going back."
With a trembling voice, they told the guard.
Even after returning to the Star Room, Rimuru's heart remained unsettled.
Beyond the transparent walls, the setting sun dyed the imperial capital red. The noble district, the commercial district, the industrial district—the triple walls cast long shadows, and countless lights began to flicker on, one by one.
Rimuru sat on the edge of the bed, clenching both hands.
(Let's sort this out.)
The habits of their past life as a salaryman kicked in. Break down the problem, analyze it calmly. If they did that, they should be able to sort out these tangled feelings too.
Fact one.
Shion is the conqueror who destroyed Caldina.
Fact two.
He is the man responsible for their parents' death.
Fact three.
Last night, he tore their clothes and forcibly opened their body.
Fact four—.
(My body is beginning to remember his hands.)
They clenched their fists tightly.
Yes. That was the biggest problem.
During last night's act, they had felt not just pain, but pleasure. They had reached climax. The sensation of Shion's fingers tracing their spine, the numbness when the tips of their chest were pinched, the hot semen poured deep inside—every time they remembered these things, the core of their body ached.
"...I hate this."
They murmured quietly.
It felt like their body wasn't their own.
(And yet.)
In their mind, that single moment from the afternoon resurfaced.
The warmth when Shion's hand grasped their arm.
The look of concern that dwelled in his crimson eyes.
That hadn't been an act. It had been a reflexive, human reaction.
How could a man they were supposed to hate show an expression like that?
Perhaps—there was conflict within that man too.
(There's no way.)
They shook their head.
But the doubt, once born, would not disappear.
They placed a hand on their abdomen.
Thump.
The Reincarnation Jewel pulsed faintly. While they had been feeling Shion's body heat, it had throbbed more strongly than ever before. But they still didn't understand what that meant.
(What do you know?)
They asked the jewel. There was no answer.
Outside the window, the setting sun had completely sunk.
Night visited the imperial capital.
Would Shion come again tonight too?
(Don't come.)
They thought.
(I want you to come.)
They also thought.
Contradictory emotions swirled in their chest, and Rimuru let out a deep breath.
It was late at night.
Click.
The sound of the magic lock releasing echoed through the quiet Star Room.
Rimuru lay on the bed with their back turned, eyes closed. Pretending to be asleep. But the sound of their heart was so loud, they were probably found out.
The door opened and closed.
Heavy footsteps approached.
It was Shion.
(He came.)
The edge of the bed sank slightly. Shion had seated himself.
And then—his fingers began to comb through Rimuru's silver hair.
There was none of last night's roughness. As if touching something fragile, his touch was quiet and gentle. The pads of his fingers traced each individual strand of hair, tickling their scalp. That sensation made Rimuru's body all the more sensitive.
(Stop.)
They wanted to say it. But no
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