I Got Married to a Yandere Queen
Chapter 71 - 70 - The Crushing Weight of Love

Chapter 71: Chapter 70 - The Crushing Weight of Love

Rocky was gasping for breath, his chest heaving with each inhale as his heartbeat pounded erratically. Sweat clung to his temples, and his body still hummed with the fading remnants of stone affinity energy. But the moment his eyes landed on Riven’s collapsed figure on the ground, the fury etched into his face was replaced with shock.

That gaze.

Riven’s eyes were still open—staring at him, sharp, unyielding, as if refusing to surrender.

But his body didn’t move an inch.

Rocky clenched his teeth and rushed toward him, a mix of panic and frustration surging in his chest. He knelt beside the man, inspecting him closely. No response. Riven didn’t blink, didn’t twitch his fingers, didn’t make a sound.

"What the...?"

He pressed two fingers to Riven’s neck, searching for a pulse. It was there—faint, but steady.

"H-Hey... Riven!"

He waved a hand in front of Riven’s face, but nothing happened. Those eyes stayed wide open, gazing into the void—like a statue molded by pure defiance, refusing defeat even in unconsciousness.

A chill crept up Rocky’s spine.

He shivered—not just from fear, but from something deeper... a growing respect. Riven, who looked like a mere servant, had passed out with his eyes open—because his will wouldn’t let go even at the end.

Rocky quickly examined Riven’s injuries. The bruises on his chest and abdomen were severe, and when he pressed gently on the man’s side, he felt the unmistakable dislocation of broken ribs—at least two or three.

With care, he lifted Riven into his arms, doing his best to remain composed though panic gripped his thoughts.

He knew the consequences.

Fighting a servant—especially injuring one this badly—was a serious offense. Lord Armand Valderacht would be furious.

Besides, he couldn’t even claim it was an accident. Some of the servants had seen him challenge Riven first.

’I only did it because he mocked me and I was curious about his sword. I never expected him to push me that far. I ended up using real force without realizing it...’

He quickened his pace, sprinting through the quiet corridors of the Valderacht garden. But just as he rounded the corner toward the main hall—

Rocky came to a dead stop.

At the far end of the corridor, bathed in golden dusk, stood a woman. The air around her felt colder, heavier—not because of magic, but because her presence alone was a blade pressed against one’s throat.

Her hair was crimson, flowing like a veil of blood. Her deep red eyes were as cold as a merciless demon’s. She stood in silence, yet the world seemed to pause, holding its breath.

Rocky swallowed hard. His breathing stopped. His arms trembled slightly as he held Riven’s unconscious form.

The woman took a step forward—slow, deliberate. Each movement felt like a dagger sinking into his soul. Her eyes flicked toward Riven... then locked onto Rocky.

He didn’t know her. But his instincts screamed—this woman was no ordinary being.

Then her lips parted. Her voice was soft, calm... yet laced with death.

"...Give him to me."

It wasn’t a plea. It was a command—absolute.

Rocky flinched. His body trembled, but he obeyed immediately, thoughtlessly. He handed Riven into the woman’s arms. She received him with astonishing gentleness—completely at odds with the deadly aura around her.

Even after holding him, she didn’t leave.

Her eyes remained fixed on Rocky.

"What... did you do to him?"

Rocky couldn’t answer. His body locked up.

"You touched him...?" she asked again, stepping closer. "You hurt him? You laid your filthy hands on his body?"

A suffocating aura exploded from her—cold, yet smothering. The air around Rocky thickened, clinging to his skin like frozen blood.

He stumbled backward half a step... and then collapsed to his knees. His hands trembled. His legs refused to move. His tongue grew numb.

"I-I didn’t mean—"

"Silence."

Her voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t rise. But the calmness in it was more terrifying than any scream.

Rocky clenched his jaw, but his entire body started shaking violently. His breath turned erratic. His vision blurred beneath a terror he couldn’t explain.

"I-I’m sorry... I didn’t know who he was..."

He bowed his head low, instinctively falling into a full prostration. His forehead pressed to the ground, his body flattened in submission, like a slave before the goddess of death.

But Ashtoria wasn’t satisfied.

She stepped closer, then—without hesitation—lifted her foot and stomped on his head.

CRACK.

His skull slammed into the stone. His eyes went wide. Ears rang. The world spun.

But she didn’t stop.

The pressure increased. Her dainty black shoe crushed down harder, deeper, until his face started to deform against the cold stone.

"You touched him."

A crack.

"You hurt him."

Blood trickled from Rocky’s mouth.

"You... let him faint in your arms."

And then—

CRUNCH.

His skull fractured completely. The sound was sharp. Final. Blood poured freely, soaking the quiet garden floor.

Ashtoria let out a long breath and looked at the unconscious Riven in her arms. Her fingers gently brushed his cheek—so different from the brutality she had just inflicted.

Then she turned, walking away with Riven in her arms, leaving behind Rocky’s lifeless body... and a garden shrouded in dreadful silence.

Her steps were calm, regal, as if even the earth dared not tremble beneath her feet. Riven lay peacefully in her arms—light as a feather. Her crimson hair fluttered slightly, framing a serene expression... though fury still simmered beneath it.

At the end of the corridor, a few servants stood frozen in place. Their eyes widened at the sight of Rocky—once a noble knight—lying dead, his skull crushed beneath the heel of a stranger they’d never seen.

One young maid dropped the vase in her hands. The crash echoed through the corridor.

CRASH!

Ashtoria stopped.

She turned slowly toward the noise, her icy gaze sweeping over the servants like a winter storm stripping trees bare.

The maid froze. Her eyes watered. Her knees shook.

Ashtoria said nothing. She simply stared.

Long and cold.

And in that gaze, they felt as though the world itself might shatter.

Then she walked on.

No one dared stop her.

No one was foolish enough to ask who she was, or what had happened.

.

.

.

Some time before finding Riven wounded, Ashtoria had been walking through the quiet eastern corridors of Valderacht Residence. The atmosphere was still, with only the soft echoes of her heels on marble flooring.

But behind her cold, innocent face, her mind was consumed by one thought:

Riven.

She had him now. He slept with her, held her, kept her warm every night. She had him in her arms—but still, something felt... missing.

Riven didn’t completely love her yet.

Sometimes he turned his face away when she stared too long. Sometimes he answered questions with hesitation. He didn’t resist, didn’t flee, didn’t get angry... but he didn’t adore her either.

Ashtoria furrowed her delicate brow. She wanted Riven to love her completely. To look at her as if she were everything. As if no world existed beyond her.

And that’s when she heard faint voices behind a garden pillar. A few maids were gossiping as they watered the flowers:

"Lady Brigitta is amazing... to make the Young Lord Valderacht fall so deeply in love."

"I know, right? Everyone said Young Lord Armand was cold and disinterested in women. But after meeting Lady Brigitta, he totally changed. Look at them now, already married. He acts like he can’t live without her."

"And it’s all because Lady Brigitta pursued him first! They say she came uninvited and kept showing her feelings, even after being rejected again and again..."

Ashtoria stopped walking. She looked up slightly, listening intently. Her eyes blinked slowly.

"...Brigitta?"

She lowered her gaze, touching her chin with a small finger as if deep in thought. Then, slowly, a gentle smile spread across her face. A soft smile... but with something unsettling hidden beneath its sweetness.

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