#80. Just a Little Longer
Olivia pressed her cheek against the cold desk, frowning deeply.
“Am I supposed to make up a crime that doesn’t even exist at this point? No… if I rush recklessly, I’ll only put myself in danger. Tch. Maybe I should have asked that trash what he was ordered to do.”
“It’d be quicker to question the woman the Marquis actually gave the task to.”
“Mm. That’s what I thought too, so I didn’t bother asking.”
Even if Bonita had devoted her whole life silently to fulfilling only the Marquis of Heindel’s duties, she was never someone to take lightly.
“No, wait. Since she serves an ancient god, it isn’t just the Marquis’s duties she’s handling, right? It must be magic… no, it must be connected to Greta somehow.”
While Olivia muttered to herself, sorting through her thoughts, Cryer reached over and gently smoothed the furrow in her brow.
“What do you think? Doesn’t that sound likely?”
“It was also the Marquis who pushed for replacing Norden’s diplomat, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, right. That’s true. Don’t tell me Greta’s the one coming as the new diplomat—what a sight that would be…”
She had started laughing lightly, but her expression quickly hardened. Words had power, after all, and she suddenly felt as though it might really happen.
Shaking the thought away, Olivia focused again on the Marquis of Heindel. Come to think of it, in her previous life, the woman had been so calculating that Olivia had never once even considered she might be tied to an ancient god.
“So the way she vanished like smoke right before the war… that must’ve been connected to the ancient god too.”
“You never suspected?”
“Not at all. Actually, even in the life before that, the Marquis never did anything that truly harmed the Empire.”
If she had, no matter how secretive she was, the Imperial family would never have failed to notice her movements.
But the Marquis of Heindel had quietly and faithfully fulfilled her duties, living out her life in silence until she disappeared. Olivia had never imagined she might have ties to an ancient god.
Smiling faintly, Olivia looked up at Cryer as he brushed strands of hair away from her cheek.
“Honestly, even if she had harmed the Empire, once war began and you stepped onto the battlefield, what meaning would it have had? The moment you joined the fight, whether the Empire was thriving or crumbling, its downfall was already sealed.”
“You were like a natural disaster—impossible to resist.”
Maybe it was because she’d confessed her anxious feelings earlier, but it had become easier for her to bring up the past, back when he had been nothing short of a monster to her.
Cryer chuckled softly, as though sensing her newfound ease.
“In that case, this time I’ll become the disaster that wipes out those cursed followers of the ancient god.”
“An unstoppable disaster that comes from within… Couldn’t be better. Perfect.”
Though she spoke with exaggerated flair, Olivia still remained slumped on the desk, reluctant to move. At last she let out a heavy sigh and slowly sat up.
No matter how weary she was, her burdens wouldn’t disappear just because she admitted she was tired.
As a princess, she couldn’t simply abandon her duties. Even if the world ended tomorrow when the ancient god descended, if she didn’t do her work today, there would be people who wouldn’t survive the night.
Dragging her legs, Olivia sat back at her desk and forced herself to work through the day’s documents. Cryer, as always, stayed seated nearby.
By the time the sun had dipped low, painting the sky crimson, Olivia finally dropped her pen after hours of unbroken labor.
“Ah—ahhh! My shoulders! My neck! My head!”
Thud.
At the same time, Cryer closed the history book he had nearly finished and stood. Casting a shadow over the final document she’d signed, he leaned toward her.
“Didn’t I say I’d help?”
“No. It’ll only become a bad habit if I rely on you.”
“A bad habit? But I’ve handled paperwork before.”
Shaking her head, Olivia explained,
“Not that. I mean, it’d be bad if I got used to you helping me.”
She didn’t need to say more—he already understood.
When this was all over, once the matter of the ancient god was resolved, they would part ways. If she grew used to sharing the work with him, it would only make things harder later.
“Then I’ll just make sure it doesn’t become a bad habit.”
“How? By slowly reducing the help until I stop noticing?”
As expected, his reply was completely off the mark. Cryer only shook his head with a sly, faint smile.
“No.”
“No? Then what?”
Looking down at Olivia—who couldn’t even imagine a future where he remained by her side—Cryer suddenly said something else entirely.
“Should I loosen it?”
“…What?”
“Your shoulders.”
“Oh… you mean like last time, when you told me to lie down—”
She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. Then, as though something else occurred to her, she licked her lips.
“Actually, there’s something I need more tonight.”
A short while later—
“…By ‘something,’ you meant alcohol?”
“Our ancestors said that on days this exhausting, a drink is necessary.”
Grinning brightly, Olivia tapped the table laden with rows of bottles—expensive, potent-looking bottles, all lined up in abundance.
“You can drink, right?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Ah, that’s right. No problem. We’ll find out now.”
She grabbed the nearest bottle, popped the cork without hesitation, then picked up another and opened that one too.
“You’re mixing them?”
“Nope. One for each of us.”
Calmly, she pushed one of the bottles toward Cryer—without bothering with cups. He stared at the bottle, its buttery aroma wafting up, unsure how to respond.
“Enough staring. Drink.”
Olivia raised her own bottle and drank straight from it—no toast, no pouring for each other, just guzzling it down like water.
“…Why?”
Watching her down it so smoothly, Cryer grabbed the end of his own bottle.
“In all of Bolsheik’s history books, I’ve never once read of anyone drinking straight from the bottle like that.”
“Oh, I learned this during the war. I don’t drink often, only when things are rough. This way is better.”
“You’ll get drunk faster.”
“So what?”
Snatching the bottle back from his hand, Olivia drank again. Her movements were so natural that Cryer could only sigh lightly before taking a swig himself.
For a while, they drank in silence. One bottle emptied, then another.
Thud.
“That’s enough.”
Though he’d started later, Cryer emptied his bottle faster than Olivia and set it down with finality.
“What? Already? You drunk?”
“Do I look drunk?”
“…Not at all.”
Despite the heavy liquor, his eyes didn’t waver. His complexion hadn’t flushed or paled—he looked exactly the same as before drinking.
Olivia rubbed her warm, flushed cheeks with a pout.
“So to find your limit, I’d have to make you drink every bottle on this table, huh?”
“I’ll pass. More importantly—”
Before he could finish, Olivia shoved her bottle aside and grabbed hold of him.
“Stay a little longer. I don’t want to drink alone.”
She didn’t look drunk, but her face was glowing red, and she clutched at his sleeve so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Cryer glanced at the slender fingers gripping his sleeve, then slowly turned his head toward her. He leaned down, tapped the bottle she’d pushed away, and murmured,
“It’s already very late.”
“Then just one more bottle. Please?”
“Not just a glass?”
“Who wets their lips with just one glass? A whole bottle, at least.”
Her laughter rang out, carefree and tipsy. Cryer didn’t sit back down—instead, he gently pried her hand from his sleeve.
“You’re leaving? Really?”
Her flushed face sank into a sulky expression, eyebrows drooping, and Cryer gave a faint smile.
No… it wasn’t exactly a smile.
He bared his teeth in something sharp, almost feral, stretching his lips in a savage grin as he reached toward her and muttered lowly, like claws raking across the floor:
“Looks like you shouldn’t drink anymore.”
“Oh, come on, just one more bottle. Just one!”
Her insistence sounded less like a drunkard’s whining than a merchant swearing they’d sell at a loss if you bought just one more.
The next moment, Olivia blinked at the sudden, familiar scent that swept over her.
“If you drink another bottle, your body will overheat and collapse. You’re already drunk. Enough.”
“I’m not drunk.”
When his cool palm touched her fevered cheek, Olivia instinctively leaned into it, and Cryer chuckled low in his throat.
“Anyone who’s drunk will always say they’re not.”
“That may be true, but I really am not drunk. Just… pleasantly light.”
And she wasn’t lying. She wasn’t drunk—only tipsy enough to feel good.
Her vision had gone hazy, a little unsteady, but strangely, Cryer was the only thing that remained crystal clear before her eyes.
His unreal face, sharp as a mirage that should’ve disappeared when she blinked, burned brighter instead.
Olivia squinted as though dazzled by the sight.
“Did you turn on a light behind you or something?”
She waved her hand behind him.
“What?”
“It’s too bright. It hurts to look.”
“You’re definitely drunk.”
His faint sigh carried a trace of laughter. Olivia, smiling loosely without realizing it, reached again for his sleeve as if not to let him go.
But her hand missed, and her unsteady body pitched forward toward the table—
