MBOMEN 22

Chapter 22. The Prince of Shearow (9)

Layla snapped her head toward the direction of the sound. Just moments ago, there had been no one there—but now, a silhouette was visible.

The figure—Layla assumed it was a woman based on the outline of a dress—looked entirely like a shadow, even under the gentle and radiant light spreading from the royal palace.

Maybe it was because the light was behind her.

Layla tried to think optimistically. But the longer she looked, the more she realized that hope was nothing but a futile fantasy. This was darkness. Darkness in the form of a human being.

And then, it spoke.

—Come here, child. I’ll show you something wonderful.

No.
Layla spoke firmly in her mind. There was no way her voice could reach that thing, and yet she raised her inner voice as if it could. No, I’m not going!

—But you’re already here.

Suddenly, the things in her peripheral vision stretched out like a badly placed tapestry under sunlight. Not just her surroundings—Layla’s body as well. It felt like she was being sucked in somewhere. She looked at her own fingers, now stretched like thin snakes, and screamed.

When her scream ended, Layla found herself back in the corridor with the busts.

She looked around in confusion. “No way,” she murmured, almost in a groan. Though she had clearly been standing just moments ago, now she was sitting on the floor.

“No way.”

Layla muttered again—
And that’s when she heard it:

—What’s impossible, child?

The voice came right by her ear. Layla shrieked and flinched away, but there was nothing where the voice had come from.

—Over here.

Cold breath brushed the back of her neck. It was like the essence of ice, ground down into fine powder.

Goosebumps erupted on her skin, her hair stood on end. Layla didn’t turn her head, but she could tell—someone’s head was very close to her shoulder.

—I’ll show you something fun.

“No.”

Layla answered instantly. The eerie voice unexpectedly burst into laughter. It wasn’t a grating metallic sound, but it wasn’t pleasant either. No one would enjoy hearing a ghost laugh—not even a witch.

—You’ll see it. If I want to show you, you’ll see it. You have eyes, don’t you? Yes… I’ve been waiting so long for someone like you. Someone with eyes, to see me.

“I don’t want to see you. Are you Yustar’s grandmother?”

—That poor thing is indeed my grandson. Yes. I was no longer alive when he was born, but I still watched his birth. I was right there—between his mother’s legs.

Disgusting, Layla thought. This was one of the worst parts of being able to see ghosts.

She could see them, but others couldn’t. Unaware that anyone was watching, people did shameful things.

Once, she had seen a man—who had lost his wife years ago—with another woman. But what revolted Layla wasn’t the affair itself; it was the ghost of his wife standing beside him. Staring at him, laughing silently with her mouth stretched wide, every time he groaned and moved.

“I don’t care what you want to show me. I don’t want to see it. Just send me back to where I was.”

—If you look at what I show you, I’ll send you back.

Layla squeezed her eyes shut.

“I don’t make deals with ghosts.”

—Oh dear. Then there’s nothing to be done. With no deal or promise, you’re just powerless. Come now. Open your eyes. Look. This place is safe. All you have to do is open your eyes…

No! Layla shouted in her mind. But things like this didn’t go the way she wanted.

She already knew that closing her eyes physically didn’t prevent a “superimposing.” And this ghost wanted Layla to see her “core.” She was forcing it on her.

A hazy image appeared before Layla’s closed eyes. She resisted, but it became clearer.

She saw the royal palace. A noble woman walked ahead, surrounded by several attendants. Layla recognized her immediately—it was the woman whose bust stood in the corridor. Yustar’s grandmother. She looked far too young to have a grandson, but it wasn’t her appearance that gave it away.

This woman had been the Queen of Shearow, but she’d borne no children. The King, desperate for an heir, had taken mistresses. First one, then two.

They were flashy and extravagant—it was the only way they could survive. The Queen didn’t blame them. But no children came of them either.

As the King grew older, he became more hysterical. No heir meant civil war in the royal family.

Then the Queen and one mistress became pregnant at the same time.

Both with sons.

As Layla watched the two heavily pregnant women in the vision, the scene shifted with a low hum.

She now saw two young boys, around three or four. One was the Queen’s son. The other, the mistress’s. At that time, the King had cast out all other mistresses except the one. And he favored her more than the Queen.

The Queen, almost like a widowed wife, had to remain dignified. Though hatred sometimes surged, she endured it with poise.

She was proud and expressionless. That made people both fear and respect her. No mistress could replace a Queen—the foundation of royalty.

The King’s love for the mistress was like caging a pretty bird. When the bird aged and lost its feathers, it would be discarded. The Queen waited patiently for that day.

But when his affection became love, the tables turned.

He preferred the gentle, affectionate mistress over the rigid Queen.

Her whispers became wise advice; the Queen’s counsel, annoying noise. The mistress’s power grew.

Soon, a scandalous rumor arose—that the mistress’s son might become crown prince, not the Queen’s.

That, the Queen could not tolerate.

—So I destroyed it. I tried to kill her by taking away what she loved most.

As the ghost whispered, Layla felt a chilling sting, like a bee sting. Something terrible was coming. She wanted to shut her eyes again. But she couldn’t. She had to keep watching.

It was easier to target a child than the favored mistress always at the King’s side.

The Queen sent a treat through intermediaries to the boy. Children loved sweets. Poison wasn’t even necessary.

Just a twist of her magic was enough.

That boy—brilliant for his age, pitied for being born illegitimate—died within two hours of eating it.

“How could you…?”

—It’s too soon for such words, child.

Layla tried to turn toward the voice, but her head felt locked in place, as if bound by a metal frame.

I’ll do anything if I can escape this. But release, like imprisonment, wasn’t up to her.

—That cunning woman figured it out. Someone must’ve let it slip. It’s all in the past now, but some things aren’t forgotten. Now, look. Watch what she does.

Layla saw the mistress—mad with grief—rush at the Queen.

The Queen tried to block her with weak magic. It worked, somewhat.

The mistress tried to splash something on the Queen’s face but only managed to soak her dress.

Still, the Queen clutched her chest and collapsed in agony. Her skin turned red, then broke out in boils and blisters. The mistress was arrested on the spot, the Queen fainted.

—What she threw on me was potent. A deadly acid. So strong it could melt skin and bone with a touch. No idea where she got it. Maybe a witch.

Layla flinched. She moved her eyes sideways—since her head wouldn’t move.

Then she said,

“There’s no witch left in this land but me. Before me, only my mother. Before her, my grandmother. Are you saying my grandmother killed you?”

The ghost laughed again. This time, the sound was sharp, like metal scraping.

—So that’s how it is. Yes… Whatever the case, I wasted away because of it. But I’m grateful. I got to watch her die.

“You killed her? You did it?”

—Strictly speaking, His Majesty did. At my final request. He never loved me, but in that moment, he looked so sincere. It was almost funny. I told him to put that woman in the very acid she threw on me. And he did. I watched her scream, cry, bleed… It was delightful. Then I died peacefully.

Layla trembled. This woman wasn’t human. Not because she was a ghost—but because she was inhumanly cruel.

Layla said,

“You’re the one who killed her son first.”

—She seduced my husband first.

“So you killed her child? Even animals wouldn’t do that! And when your sins came back to you, you felt wronged? So you killed her in such a monstrous way?!”

—Wronged? Hardly.

The vision vanished. Layla’s vision went pitch-black, then suddenly lit up again.

The woman was standing in front of her.

From her shoulders down to her stomach, her clothes were burned and fused to her flesh. Her skin was flayed. And she was smiling.

—I didn’t kill her because I was wronged. I killed her because I wanted to. And now…

Her eyes, devoid of pupils, twitched as she said:

—Now I want to kill you.