#9. Warmed (달군)
In the next moment, veins bulged on Cryer’s hand.
“Ku, keugh… keo-eugh.”
The pathetic bastard, desperate to live, clawed at Cryer’s hand with all his might, trying to pry it off his neck, but it was futile. Before long, the man’s struggling began to subside and eventually came to a full stop.
— Thud.
Looking down at the lifeless scum crumpled pitifully on the cold marble floor, Cryer soon turned his back. His shadow stretched long under the moonlight that had finally peeked out for the night.
— Knock knock.
Olivia, buried in paperwork in her office even at this late hour, looked up at the sudden knock.
“Come in.”
No sooner had she spoken than the door silently opened to reveal Cryer.
“Cryer?”
Her eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected visitor.
“What brings you here?”
“I saw the light on.”
“I had work left. Doesn’t seem like I’ll make it to the bedroom tonight either.”
Cryer watched Olivia wince as pain rose from her stiff neck while she tried to shrug casually.
“A wise choice,” he said.
It was a strange thing to say to someone lamenting overwork and lack of sleep. Olivia, dropping the pen she’d been gripping tightly, stared at him and asked,
“What do you mean by that?”
His answer came lightly, as if commenting on the pleasant coolness of the evening.
“There was a piece of trash trying to force himself on you, so I took care of it on the way here.”
“Oh, right. Trash disposal…”
Olivia nodded absently to the casual tone—then froze.
“Wait, trash?”
“Someone loitering near the princess’s bedroom at this hour couldn’t have been up to anything good.”
Forced. Trash. Late at night. Secretly.
Pulling those words from his unfriendly explanation and piecing them together, Olivia’s brow furrowed deeply.
“R-right… And you took care of it?”
“Yes.”
“How, exactly—no, never mind. Don’t tell me.”
Surely, Cryer hadn’t bothered calling the palace guards to take care of it. She wasn’t curious enough to ask about the trash’s final moments. So she changed the subject.
“I was just looking at something related to you, so your timing’s perfect.”
She pulled a small portrait from a stack of documents.
“Do you think… this looks like you?”
Squinting, she glanced back and forth between the small portrait and Cryer. The hair color matched, and the eye color was similar… Cryer lounged onto the sofa near her desk, leisurely crossing his legs.
“What exactly looks like me?”
After a long stare, Olivia tossed the portrait aside and shook her head.
“No, not at all.”
How could this man look anything like the figure in that portrait? Even if the outer features bore some resemblance, there was no way to imitate the storm swirling in those crimson-black eyes.
The eyes of a man who had sparked and ended a continental war singlehandedly.
Call it madness, perhaps.
Unconsciously, Olivia leaned closer and peered into Cryer’s eyes.
Murky red, as if the night itself had seeped into them—swirling.
A torrent of emotions no one else could grasp, not even Cryer himself.
And then—suddenly.
In those stormy, empty eyes, Olivia caught the faintest trace of sorrow.
So fleeting, so subtle…
“You’re too close.”
His slow voice sounded right beside her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. Olivia froze.
When Cryer lightly tapped her shoulder—
“Ahhh!”
She yelped and scrambled backward, furiously rubbing the goosebumps on her arms. Like a startled cat, she bristled with tension and hissed under her breath. Cryer shrugged.
“I was just sitting still.”
It took a while before her heart, which had been pounding like it might leap out of her chest, finally calmed. Meanwhile, Cryer had picked up the tiny portrait Olivia had compared him to.
“You said this looked like me?”
“No. Not even close.”
Olivia repeated it firmly, with a serious face.
“Not at all.”
Cryer set the portrait down and stroked his chin.
“It’s been so long since I’ve properly seen my own face.”
“There’s a mirror right—”
“No. More importantly, what’s all this?”
He gestured at the portrait and the pile of documents scattered nearby.
“Information.”
“Information, huh?”
Cryer picked up one of the papers and tilted his head.
“You call even this kind of useless stuff information?”
“Whether it’s useless or not—only time will tell.”
Olivia nodded earnestly. Cryer watched her for a moment, then spoke.
“This document says the man ate two pieces of candy today. Somehow I doubt that’ll ever be important.”
Olivia opened her mouth, only to close it again, speechless. Cryer tossed the paper aside and changed the topic altogether.
“Anyway, I heard there’s an incident in the city.”
Olivia’s ears perked up at that.
“You heard?”
“You’re not going to ask what kind?”
“I already know. More importantly—you heard?”
Repeating herself, she leaned forward and asked directly.
“Who did you hear it from?”
It was a strange question on the surface—but to Olivia, it made perfect sense. Since Cryer had come to the palace, she’d never seen him talk to anyone but her. Cryer shrugged.
“I have ears, too, you know.”
“You eavesdropped?”
“If you want to call it that.”
His vague answer made Olivia blink, but then she nodded in understanding.
“Oh, so you just happened to overhear.”
Her ready acceptance made Cryer ask this time.
“Aren’t you going to press further?”
“You already told me once.”
“Told you what?”
“Before this whole regression started.”
Counting on her fingers, Olivia began to recall. Probably during her third regression, after her second death. When the palace fell and she’d bowed her head before Cryer’s sword.
Even then, Olivia had tried to maintain some semblance of royal dignity.
‘How did you find me?’
She had hidden in the deepest part of the palace—a secret chamber passed down only to the emperor and crown prince. Yet Cryer had found her instantly, as if he knew where she’d be.
Remembering that, Olivia frowned and mimicked his voice in a low murmur.
“I heard your breathing through the wall.”
Cryer’s eyebrows twitched faintly. He stared at her for a moment, then said,
“Wait. Was that supposed to be an impression of me?”
Embarrassing as it was, Olivia merely nodded, her cheeks slightly red.
“Who else would it be? You’re the one who said it—‘I heard your breathing through the wall.’”
Shaking her head, she continued,
“So the next time I died, I tried holding my breath as long as I could.”
“And?”
“They still said they heard my heartbeat.”
Silence fell between them.
It wasn’t the kind of silence they were comfortable with. Olivia held back for a bit, then couldn’t bear it anymore and tried to speak—only to stop again. Cryer looked deep in thought.
As Olivia finished one batch of documents and reached for another, Cryer finally spoke.
“I do have better hearing than most, but I can’t hear someone’s heartbeat or breathing through a wall.”
Olivia’s long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings in a strong breeze. She gaped silently, then stood up abruptly.
“What?! Then what you said back then—it was all a lie?”
She bit back the next words.
Lying to someone about to die—how barbaric!
Almost like he read her mind, Cryer shook his head.
“I’m not ignorant enough to lie to someone at death’s door.”
“Oh, thank goodn—”
She paused mid-relief.
If Cryer hadn’t lied back then… was he lying now?
“I’m not lying now either,” he added.
“Then what is it?”
This time, he didn’t answer immediately.
His brow furrowed deeply as he clenched and unclenched his fist, as if weighing something.
Watching him, Olivia abandoned the papers and grabbed a handful of treats from a nearby tray—stuffing both hands full like a squirrel in autumn. She marched straight over to him.
“Your Highness? What—”
As their feet bumped together, she dropped the sweets onto his lap.
His legs were now a mess of crumbs, but Olivia didn’t care. She just picked one up and shoved it at his mouth.
“Eat this.”
Cryer raised a brow at the sudden demand, but Olivia was firm.
“Eat. It’ll help your brain work better.”
“I was just thinking for a moment—”
Before he could finish, she nodded quickly.
“I know. Just…”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. She just wanted to do something, anything, before he slipped further into his own dark thoughts again. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.
As she moved her lips silently, Cryer changed the subject.
“Your Highness.”
“Mm?”
His gaze dropped to the mess of sweets on his lap.
“As a princess, you’ve lost quite a bit.”
He didn’t say exactly what, but Olivia replied without hesitation.
“Oh, you mean things like dignity, decorum, etiquette?”
She gave a dry laugh and popped one of the scattered sweets into her mouth.
The sugary taste melted on her tongue almost instantly.
“I already know I don’t need any of that in front of you. I’ve decided not to bother with meaningless things.”
Cryer stared at the bitter smile on her lips—and reached out.
Olivia flinched instinctively.
His fingers brushed past her mouth, then he brought them to his lips.
“Tastes sweet.”
