#91. Unless You’re Planning to Devour Me
Ah—does it hurt? No, it couldn’t possibly hurt him. If anything, it should be my teeth that ache, not him…
While Olivia was frantically questioning and answering herself in her head, she squeezed her eyes shut.
That’s not the problem! What am I going to do now? How do I even fix this?!
She wanted nothing more than to grab her past self by the throat and shake her senseless, but Cryer’s voice cut through her desperate escapism, making her round shoulders jolt sharply.
“Olivia.”
He spoke with unnerving calm, even as her teeth were still buried in his neck.
“If you’re not planning to devour me, then you should probably stop.”
At his utterly composed words, Olivia instinctively pulled back, dazed and flustered. Cryer met her bewildered eyes, then raised his hand.
He slowly ran his thumb over the spot where she had bitten him, then lifted it to his lips and licked it with the tip of his tongue.
Olivia’s eyes widened until they could widen no further, and Cryer let out a low chuckle.
“At this rate, your eyes are going to roll right out.”
He lifted his free hand—the one not holding her waist—and gently covered her eyes.
“It doesn’t hurt.”
Whether it was the warmth of his dry palm shielding her vision, or the darkness he offered her, the dizzy chaos spinning in her head finally began to settle.
“Th—that’s… a relief.”
As Olivia mumbled, deflating like a punctured balloon, her body sagged. Cryer slid his arm under her and lifted her effortlessly, settling her back into the chair.
Looking up at him, Olivia swallowed down all the words that rose to the tip of her tongue.
Why had he suddenly kissed the side of her neck? Why had he pressed her with those insistent questions earlier—almost like he was jealous?
And further back… why, on that long-ago drunken night, had he stolen her breath in the dark?
Just skimming the surface of her memories was enough to pile up countless questions. If she dug any deeper—
Olivia quickly shook her head, forcing herself to stop.
Don’t think about it. Forget about love or anything else—survival comes first! Besides, he called me his com…panion.
But do companions even do things like this? Really? Or have I just misunderstood the word companion this whole time?
Her head, which had only just managed to calm, began spinning again. Then his low voice grounded her once more.
“What could possibly be going through that little head of yours? Your expression has already changed a dozen times.”
When she met his faintly smiling eyes, Olivia felt like—somehow—none of it mattered anymore.
Because he was smiling. And if he was smiling, then truly, nothing else mattered.
Of course it did matter, and she knew that, but her consciousness slid down that current anyway, and she couldn’t deny how vividly her heart responded.
Olivia’s pale face bloomed with colors—somewhere between laughter and tears, or perhaps some expression beyond either.
Cryer reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and shook his head lightly.
“And what are you thinking this time?”
If Cryer could read Olivia’s thoughts, he would have told her: Don’t say it doesn’t matter. Ask me what my actions mean. But unfortunately, neither of them could fully grasp the other’s mind.
“I wasn’t thinking anything.”
“Your face suggests otherwise.”
“I said I wasn’t thinking anything! More importantly…”
Olivia blatantly changed the subject.
“I’m done whispering.”
Her cheeks and neck flushed crimson like an overripe apple, the heat of embarrassment and something unnameable spreading through her. Cryer, struggling against the urge rising in him again, reined himself back with effort.
He gave no reply. Olivia, desperate to escape the tingling awkwardness, hurried to speak again.
“Now answer me. What did you decide the first question would be?”
Cryer felt a pang of regret and desire as she kept her distance instead of leaning close again, but he answered obediently.
“I’ll ask about the past.”
“The past? You mean the memories you’ve lost?”
“Yes.”
Olivia tapped her fingers lightly on the armrest of the sofa.
“Right. Since I’m the one who revived you, if anyone might know about your past, it would be that woman.”
“They said I was ‘chosen.’”
Cryer repeated the words of the mage who had died—who, by their logic, had been ‘purified.’
“A warrior chosen to stand at the vanguard of the Old God’s will.”
“What a rotten choice.”
Olivia spat the words out unbefitting of a princess, then faltered.
“Were you chosen by them? Or did the Old God actually hand down a revelation?”
“Seems we’ll have a second question to ask, then.”
Tapping her pen restlessly against the paper, Olivia murmured as though to herself.
“I’ll have to look into the Lewyr family records too. If being chosen as an offering—a sacrifice—is truly the Old God’s will, or if it’s just…”
“A parent’s choice?”
“…Yeah.”
Even as she said it, Olivia grimaced.
If the brand on Shuga’s body was the Old God’s choice, she could accept it. But if it was her parents’ doing…
“I’d rather not think that’s possible. I’ve already cut myself off from the last of my bloodline—if even my childhood memories were poisoned…”
Her words trailed off, her expression dimming, until Cryer reached out and flicked her forehead lightly.
“No. The Old God wouldn’t move its pieces around just to please a parent’s wishes.”
“…When you put it like that, it makes sense. Then that means even you were chosen by the Old God?”
“We’ll know for sure once we ask. Sacrifices and warriors serve different purposes.”
“Ah, right. They’re not the same thing…”
Olivia was about to press further when footsteps sounded outside the door.
Knock knock.
“Your Highness, a request for an audience has arrived from a diplomat of the Kingdom of Norden.”
At the announcement, Olivia’s eyebrows shot up, and Cryer’s mouth set into a hard line.
When Olivia finally received the written request, her lips twisted as sharply as her raised brows, while Cryer’s eyes cooled, like molten lava turned to stone.
Thud.
Olivia tossed the request aside with a click of her tongue.
“I thought she’d just come barging in, demanding to see me. But no—she’s covered every formality, leaving no room to refuse.”
It would be improper to ignore a request for audience from a foreign diplomat—especially a newly appointed one.
Of course, the Empire often behaved improperly when it wished, but damaging relations with another nation without good reason was hardly wise.
Besides, ignoring a request from Norden—whose king had only just died in an accident, and whose new ruler had only just taken the throne—would almost certainly create rumors in other countries.
And no one besides Olivia and Cryer knew that Greta was merely posing as a diplomat while brazenly walking into the Empire. They couldn’t reject her outright.
Olivia remembered the snake-like gleam in Greta’s eyes when they had crossed paths in Norden.
As goosebumps prickled up her arm, Cryer spoke.
“Wouldn’t it be better to refuse?”
“We could, but she might use that as leverage to demand something greater.”
“Whatever that ‘something greater’ is, it would be better not to face her at all.”
His voice was edged with iron, but Olivia only stared at him, then said quietly:
“I think it’s better to face her than to give her the chance to demand something worse.”
“And what would that ‘something worse’ be? If it can be solved, then—”
“You couldn’t solve it.”
Olivia cut him off with a bitter smile.
“Then if I can’t help, I’ll bring someone who can.”
He looked ready to act the moment she gave the word, but Olivia shook her head firmly.
“No one can help with this. And you can’t just drag in anyone who might be useful. Not in this case.”
She waved her hand again, teaching him what might seem obvious to the world at large but was new knowledge to Cryer. Then she fell silent without further explanation.
The flicker of doubt and confusion in his crimson eyes was plain, but Olivia had no desire to spell it out.
Because she already knew, instinctively, what Greta would demand if they refused.
She would demand Cryer.
Whether for a brief meeting or something longer, Greta would insist on facing him. She was desperate to possess him.
I don’t like it.
Olivia found herself echoing the same thought Cryer had once had about Keslan.
Cryer loathed Greta so much that he refused even to call her by name, only ever referring to her as “that thing.”
And though necessity might force him to face her, Olivia couldn’t stand the thought of him by her side for even a second otherwise.
No—it wasn’t just because he hated her.
The thought of Greta and Cryer standing side by side sent boiling anger surging through Olivia, and she swallowed it down with difficulty.
Why does it enrage me so much, just the idea of them being in the same space?
She wasn’t oblivious enough not to recognize the answer.
She knew—it was jealousy.
But she didn’t want to admit it. Not yet.
To admit it felt like stepping willingly into a swamp she’d never escape.
Of course, deep down, she knew she was already waist-deep in that swamp, but instinctively, she resisted acknowledging it outright.
Before Cryer could press her further, Olivia looked down at the audience request and smirked.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Our ancestors left us a saying, you know.”
Her blue eyes, as clear and sharp as glass, gleamed.
“Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”
With that, Olivia accepted Greta’s request for an audience—her chest puffed with confidence.
