TPWTL 26

#26. My Princess

Home, huh. For him, wasn’t that a word that made him want to vomit? A country ruled by the very people who had resurrected Cryer, a man from an era when the “Kingdom of Norden” didn’t even exist, and turned him into a slave. And they had the audacity to call it his homeland? But the two had already agreed on how to play this out.

“I don’t know who the person from Norden is, but let’s get one thing straight before we go. You’ll be attending the meeting too, won’t you?”
“Probably. So what is it?”
“That I know nothing—not even about the eunuch of the ancient god.”

At Olivia’s words, Cryer nodded lightly, then paused.

“Then how are you going to explain why you’ve kept me by your side? Don’t tell me…”

He didn’t need to finish that sentence for Olivia to understand. She shook her head firmly.

“Obviously I’m not going to say something ridiculous like ‘love at first sight.’ And I won’t explain why I keep you with me, either.”
“Will they just accept that?”
“Of course. I’m the imperial princess. Unless the person coming from Norden is the crown prince himself, no one has the right to question me directly. Even if the crown prince does ask, it’s entirely up to me whether I answer or not.”

As she spoke, Olivia wore the face of a true imperial princess more than ever. But even though their story was airtight, that didn’t mean they could suppress the instinctive revulsion. Her mouth felt like it was full of thorns, and Cryer accepted her words with calm indifference.

“I see. It’s been a while since I’ve met someone from my homeland.”

With this, the “true” relationship between Olivia and Cryer remained hidden. If Greta had been there in person, she might have sensed the subtle tension between the two. But all that stood in her place now was a puppet—one with ears that often didn’t work and a blurry field of vision…

“Still, since we’re strangers, I’ll skip the formal greeting.”

With those few words, Cryer silently informed Olivia that the man before them had no relation to the “ancient god” or the “sorcerer.” But Olivia thought differently.

“Is that so? What a shame.”

She gently tapped the back of Cryer’s hand and mouthed her next words silently: “Look at his eyes.”
A vague comment, but Cryer didn’t ask for clarification. He immediately turned to look into the eyes of the man from Norden. For the first time since entering the drawing room, Cryer locked eyes with the man’s murky, lifeless gaze. His lips twisted ever so slightly. In that cloudy gaze, he sensed something familiar. And then, barely audible, like a low growl, a name slipped from between his lips:

“Greta.”

And as if in response to that call, a sickening joy flooded the man’s eyes. He had been recognized. As if by fate. No—because of fate. After all, only she could survive in the purified world she would build with him, the one she had found, revived, and tethered to herself.

Olivia, too, had heard Cryer’s low growl. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized the sorcerer’s daughter was Greta. But now, seeing where Cryer’s gaze landed, she understood immediately. And she also understood that Cryer was not looking at her, but past her.

“Cryer.”

Greta’s voice came out of the man’s mouth. Ironically, his dead-fish eyes now sparkled with life. And Cryer knew. He knew how Greta looked at him, how she whispered to him, how she treated him. He had no memory of the past, but he wasn’t blind. Greta’s “love” meant nothing to him. In fact, if he hated and resented her for chaining him like a slave and forcing him to walk a path of blood, at least that would mean she had some hope. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, after all.

But truly, Greta meant nothing to him. He didn’t hate her as a person—he hated the very situation he was trapped in. If he could gain freedom, it wouldn’t matter whether it was Greta or the sorcerer—he would use either of them. Especially if that was what it took to escape the cursed ancient god.

“They say if you know your enemy and know yourself, you’ll never be defeated.”

Cryer instinctively recalled Olivia’s words. If he was to uncover information about the sorcerer, it would be better to see for himself than to hear it a hundred times. The cunning sorcerer wouldn’t act directly—but Greta could be drawn into the Empire.

Cryer swiftly calculated the best angle to allow Greta a clear view of him. Without hesitation, he extended his hand to Olivia. And she, too, took it without hesitation. With a long smile, Cryer bent down and deeply kissed the back of her hand, hiding his vicious fangs beneath the gentlest of gestures.

“My princess.”

It was a sudden and seemingly unprompted gesture, but Olivia matched his rhythm without the slightest hesitation. She smiled like a blooming rose and responded,

“My knight.”

Meanwhile, in the depths of the Norden royal palace…

Crack—
A sapphire ring grated against a diamond, emitting a harsh, grating sound. Greta closed her eyes tightly, trying to calm herself, but the roiling fury inside her refused to settle.

“My princess.”

That’s what he said. Mine…

Crunch—crack.
The sapphire ground down, blue dust scattering. He had clearly recognized her, so why? Why had he acted that way? Greta still believed Cryer had a plan—that hadn’t changed. But…

“Cryer.”

“How dare she.”

Greta bit her lower lip until it was ragged.

“How dare a mere princess…”

Of course, it made sense for the imperial princess to call a knight of the Kingdom of Norden by name. After all, he was just a knight—one who had no title now. But Greta could feel it. The personal emotion in the princess’s voice when she said his name. She couldn’t say for certain, since she heard it through a puppet, but Olivia clearly had personal feelings toward Cryer. Maybe she had fallen in love at first sight, as the rumors said.

Crack… crack.
More blue dust fell from her fingers as she ground the gemstone down. At some point, Greta came to a conclusion.

“He’s trapped in the Empire.”

It was a strange thought. Cryer, of all people—the purest, the strongest. The perfect vessel for the ancient god’s descent. At least to the sorcerer who resurrected him and to Greta who branded him. But now, Greta insisted he was trapped against his will in the Empire.

“I must reach out and take his hand.”

Even if it was a delusion, it brought her comfort. The idea that Cryer needed her. Just that thought overwhelmed her with emotion.

“Ah… Aaaah. Aah!”

Greta clutched at her burning heart, sobbing. She wanted to see him. She needed to see him. The first slave chosen by the ancient god. The pure knight. The only one who would remain by her side in the world after purification. As Greta groaned, clawing at her chest, the crown prince stood nearby, blankly staring into space.

A grotesque sight, but thankfully, unseen by any eyes. After writhing for a long while, Greta suddenly stopped.

“Hoo.”

As if the previous anguish had never happened, her face went blank. It was like a scene from a psychological thriller—except no one was watching. Greta clicked her tongue as she stared at the Empire on the large continental map before her. She wanted to rush to Cryer’s side immediately, but she couldn’t. The altar for the ancient god’s descent wasn’t ready yet.

“And I haven’t caught that meddling fool, either.”

Her gaze drifted to a remote field on the Empire’s outskirts.

“They’ve moved.”

The place where a man had offered up a mother and child as a sacrifice the night before. Greta’s eyes scanned the field until she spotted the back of a man’s head.

“There you are.”

As her red lips twisted, the man suddenly turned around—but Greta’s vision was already clear. She licked her upper lip and ran her fingers over the jagged sapphire. Blood seeped from her finger, but she didn’t stop. When a drop of blood finally stained the stone red, she slowly stood.

The meddling fool? Cryer would deal with him. All that remained was the altar.

As her fingers twitched, the crown prince’s body—limp like a broken puppet—also flinched. Without blinking, he reached out and pulled a cord.

“Did you call for me, Your Highness?”

From the prince’s mouth came Greta’s voice.

“How’s the work on the annex going?”

“It’s temporarily paused due to the state funeral…”

“Resume it immediately.”

The chamberlain couldn’t hide his unease, but he had no choice but to bow. With the crown prince speaking so firmly, how could he object?

Especially since he had no idea what was really going on in the annex. And he dared not meet Greta’s eyes—Greta, who was smiling just behind the prince. After all, not long after people started whispering that the royal sorcerer, the one who used to shadow the late king, had disappeared… the palace halls had been bathed in blood.

Though the chamberlain had served for many years, in a time of peace with no real wars, he had never imagined seeing so much blood—enough to soak the hallway carpets. The memory of that day was pure terror.

And now, the crown prince’s flat voice whispered once more into his ear…