TPWTL 54

#54. Too Close

Cryer couldn’t hold himself back and once again covered her lips with his hand.
Now a little more clear-headed, Olivia grabbed at his wrist with wide, bewildered eyes, trying to pull it away. But the hand that sealed her lips didn’t budge an inch. Of course, that was only to be expected. Still, Olivia didn’t let go of his wrist and lifted her gaze to him.

He, however, had already turned his eyes away from her, staring off into the distance. Thinking perhaps a servant was passing by, Olivia decided to stay still for now.

How much time passed like that?
Olivia’s eyes—full of exasperation, silently demanding how long they were supposed to keep this up—finally made Cryer withdraw his hand without another word.

“Haaah… What on earth—”

Olivia tried to speak but cut herself off. This time, she had slapped her own hand over her mouth.

Too close. Much too close.

If she hadn’t blocked her lips, she would have felt the raw heat of his dry breath against them. In that moment, Cryer whispered:

“Far too close.”

The voice, as though rising from the depths of a deep well, sent every fine hair on Olivia’s body standing on end.

C… close. Yes. Too close. If she leaned forward even slightly, her nose would be crushed against his chest. Why… why was he this close?

The simple act of his eyes opening and closing seemed unbearably slow, and when his lips parted again, it felt even slower. His voice slid smoothly along the rim of her ear:

“We almost got caught.”

How long had those seconds—stretching like eternity—lasted?

Only then did Olivia realize what he meant and tried to murmur between her parted lips. But of course, her own hand blocked the sound.

Cryer gave a faint smile, gently pried her small hand from her lips, and at last, Olivia’s voice slipped out—thin and hushed, far quieter than usual.

“C… caught?”

“We passed unnoticed.”

Her mind was still foggy; it took her a beat longer to catch on. Passed? Unnoticed? So he meant that servant with the differently-colored ribbon?

But then… if it was already over, why were they still standing like this…?

Her thoughts fractured and scattered in every direction, refusing to connect. Cryer’s dark red eyes seeped into her confusion-clouded blue ones, like drops of blood tainting a clear lake.

How long had they been locked in each other’s gaze, unable to even blink?

W-wait, was he leaning even closer now, or was it just her imagination?

Before her thoughts could finish, their foreheads touched.

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut instinctively. Cryer, gazing down at her, murmured:

“Olivia.”

The sound of her name, spoken in that low, heavy voice, made her snap her eyes open again. Their gazes collided—his eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile, the sharp line of his nose angling ever so slightly… until his breath fell right beside her lips, only the width of a finger away.

“That servant wasn’t feeling well and returned to the quarters. Shall we stop here for today?”

His hot breath tickled the fine hairs of her skin. Olivia flinched violently and burst out:

“Enough! That’s it!”

Her loud cry seemed to unfreeze her body. She shoved hard against Cryer’s chest. Of course, he wasn’t the type to be moved by her strength—but this time, he let her go and stepped back willingly.

“I’m going back.”

With space finally between them, Olivia didn’t even spare him a glance as she brushed past. Cryer silently followed. She quickened her pace, putting one, then two steps between them, the sharp clack of her heels echoing faster and faster in the palace corridor.

It was instinct—an attempt to distance herself from him.

Because in that short moment, Cryer had shaken her far too much—so much she couldn’t think straight.

She had lived four lives, and this was her fifth beginning. Yet never once had she felt something like this.

As the Empire’s only princess and the next Empress, she had always been certain about marriage—not out of daydreams or hopes, but conviction. A marriage chosen for political gain. It wasn’t that she denied the importance of love. In truth, the Bolescheiks had always known better than anyone the beauty of love.

But for the sake of the Empire, even if she did not love, choosing the right marriage was her duty—as the one who supported it from the ground and would one day rule from above. So while Olivia had thought about “marriage,” she had never seriously thought about “love.”

She had only ever read of it—of destiny, of someone who becomes your only one after countless small moments together, recorded in the lives of her ancestors.

And now, here she was. A man she had met almost as if by fate, and with whom she had piled up those very moments…

Good heavens. She had thought it before, but had she completely lost her mind?

For in all those past lifetimes, Cryer had only ever been a conqueror, a butcher, the man who ended her breath.

Since when? Why? Why him of all people?

The questions were quickly buried beneath denial.

No. Absolutely not.

He was merely a comrade against the dark sorcerer, merely the one to sever the slave contract binding her to the ancient god.

…Wait. Didn’t that sound familiar?

Her runaway thoughts twisted into something absurd: Cryer, the one ensnared by evil, and Olivia, the one to save him. A fairy-tale scenario.

She paled, horrified by her own imagination.

No. That wasn’t it.

Her first lo… even finishing the thought made her shiver. She quickly shoved it away under the label of “a first feeling.” Yes, her first time, but not so deep, not so consuming that she couldn’t live without him. If that was the case, then she could suppress it.

“Distance makes the heart grow colder,” she thought unconsciously, and quickened her steps.

Cryer, of course, couldn’t know the storm raging in her little head—but he could sense one thing clearly, like a beast: her desire to get away from him.

The small back retreating from him with hurried steps was so resolute.

A smile curved his lips, and he didn’t bother hiding it. Leisurely, he followed—like a predator keeping the tail of its prey in sight.

No matter how fast Olivia walked, Cryer trailed her calmly, always keeping the same distance. The sun at his back stretched his shadow until it swallowed hers whole.

Following the servant with the oddly-colored ribbon yielded little fruit. They hadn’t expected much to begin with, but still—so little? The only thing they learned was that she looked unwell and had returned to her quarters, claiming she was sick.

Back in the office, Olivia compared the victim’s investigation record—the murderer’s record—and that of the servant with the ribbon. She finally spoke:

“It didn’t look like she even knew she’d nearly been killed.”

Her complexion had been poor, yes, but she hadn’t seemed frightened. If anything…

“Yes,” Cryer agreed. “She seemed more weighed down by nervousness or unease than by fear.”

Olivia nodded.

“Right. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but she almost looked sad. In any case, her face was shadowed. Maybe because she was sick?”

“She wasn’t.”

“What?”

“She went back claiming she was ill, but her body was perfectly fine.”

“So it was just an act?”

“At least, her body appeared completely normal.”

Olivia tilted her head, unconvinced. “And you could tell just by looking?”

Cryer replied without hesitation:

“Her breathing was steady, without irregular noise. Her balance wasn’t off. Her skin didn’t show signs of fever or unusual chill.”

The words flowed out so smoothly that Olivia could only stare at him, speechless. Finally, her lips moved soundlessly before she managed to croak:

“W-wait… you can hear… heartbeats now?”

“Not everything. I can’t hear the ones deep underground, like in the palace basement, or the movement of every muscle.”

He meant it wasn’t like when he’d tracked her to the secret chambers in the palace underground in their past life. But even so… he could hear the sound of a beating heart nearby.

Which meant—when he had been right in front of her earlier—he must have heard her own frantic heartbeat pounding out of her chest.

Olivia’s face went crimson in an instant. She flinched, instinctively wanting to retreat—but didn’t. There was no point. He had just proven that no matter how far back she went, he’d hear it all the same.

Grabbing any document within reach, she buried her face in it, grinding her teeth in humiliation.

I need distance. I’ll never get that close again.

She repeated the vow over and over, tapping her chest with her fingers to quiet its reckless pounding.

Cryer simply gazed at her flushed cheeks—red enough to drip like ripe fruit—but instead of stepping closer, he took a step back.

If he pulled her to him now, that little heart thundering so painfully inside her chest might just stop altogether.

While Olivia fussed with the papers, pretending to read, Cryer finally said:

“I confirmed she returned to her quarters. Should I look into it further?”

“Further?”

“She could have left again after stopping there.”

“She didn’t seem dumb enough to make a side trip after claiming to be sick.”

After all, she had been careful enough to only slightly alter the color of her ribbon—just enough not to get caught outright.

“But… you can do that sort of thing?”