The One Who Won't Be Abandoned - Chapter 33

When Andre stepped out of the bath, freshly washed and still toweling his hair dry, Princess Gresia was on the terrace, leisurely sipping tea.

Sensing his presence, she glanced over her shoulder, her gaze lazily sweeping up and down his figure.

“The emperor is so cruel,” she sighed. “There are plenty of robes in the guest quarters, but he wouldn’t even let you have one.”

“I sent for my clothes,” Andre replied, tying the belt of his borrowed robe tighter, though it did little to help. “A servant should be bringing them soon. If the sight offends you, I ask for your patience.”

“Hmm. Well, I doubt they’ll arrive tonight.”

Gresia smirked.

“The emperor is hoping we’ll spend the night rolling around naked together. He’s so considerate, isn’t he? As if I’d need his help to seduce you.”

She let out an amused scoff.

The robe, which fit Gresia comfortably, was woefully inadequate for Andre.

No matter how tightly he tied the sash, the neckline remained loose, barely covering his chest, and the hem left his thighs entirely exposed.

It was an absurd sight.

But it was still preferable to the alternative—borrowing one of Gresia’s dresses.

His own clothes had been whisked away the moment he stepped into the bath, snatched up by a maid so quickly it was obvious she had been instructed to do so.

Another one of the emperor’s schemes.

Ignoring Gresia’s smirk, Andre took a seat across from her on the terrace.

“You have such impressive patience,” she teased. “Do you enjoy being treated like a breeding stallion?”

“I accepted that fate the moment I agreed to an engagement with someone impure enough to bear a child outside of marriage.”

“Oh my,” she gasped in mock offense. “Are you insulting me?”

She pouted playfully.

“If you keep being mean, I’ll tell Titi on you.”

“Do as you wish.”

Andre dropped his towel to the floor.

A maid, standing quietly in the corner, had been waiting for exactly that. She immediately stepped forward to retrieve it.

As she knelt to pick it up, Andre studied her from the corner of his eye.

She moved seamlessly, setting the towel aside before preparing a cup of tea for him.

Andre glanced at Gresia.

She gave the smallest nod.

She’s one of mine.

That was all he needed to know.

Andre, who had remained subtly guarded, allowed his shoulders to relax slightly as he lifted the teacup to his lips and took a sip.

“He still suspects nothing,” he said.

“Of course not,” Gresia scoffed. “That fool still believes his position is untouchable.”

“Even so, we can’t afford to let our guard down. He’s unpredictable.”

“And that’s why I’ve been working so hard,” she muttered, swirling her tea.

“Ugh, I’m exhausted.”

Gresia, to maintain the illusion of frivolous recklessness, had been keeping herself very busy.

She changed lovers constantly, ensuring that her behavior remained as scandalous as possible.

Lately, with the emperor watching her more closely than ever, she had to be even more meticulous in her debauchery.

Just then, muffled voices came from the hallway.

“The guards are changing shifts already?” Gresia murmured.

With a casual wave, she dismissed the maid.

Once they were alone, she drained the last of her tea and rose from her seat.

“Get up.”

Andre’s jaw clenched.

He knew exactly what she was suggesting.

It wasn’t the first time.

Before the emperor had officially approved their engagement, they had been forced to perform this ridiculous charade twice already, each time carefully planned and spaced apart.

Andre had never grown used to it.

And he never would.

But he knew there was no choice.

With an irritated sigh, he pushed himself to his feet.

Gresia led the way inside, pausing beside her massive bed as she turned to wait for him.

“Well?” she prompted. “Hurry up.”

“…Hah.”

“Don’t tell me you’re hesitating?”

Andre’s steps were slow, reluctant.

His usual unreadable expression was gone, replaced by something unmistakably disgusted.

When he was finally close enough, Gresia threw her head back dramatically and let out an exaggerated moan.

Loud enough to be heard through the doors.

“Ahh! Andre! Yes! Right there…! Mmm!”

Andre simply stood there, glaring down at her as if she were some kind of pest.

Gresia cracked one eye open, dropping her act just long enough to whisper,

“The emperor knows we don’t love each other. But if he starts suspecting we don’t even feel physical attraction, he’ll grow suspicious.

Right?”

Andre exhaled sharply.

“…This is unbearable.”

She smirked before resuming her exaggerated performance.

“Ahh! More! More, Andre!”

Suppressing every ounce of irritation boiling inside him, Andre reached for the bedpost, gripping the polished wood tightly.

Then, without even looking at her, he began rhythmically slamming the bedframe against the wall.

Loud.

Deliberate.

Anyone outside would hear exactly what they were meant to hear.

“Ahhh! Yes! Harder!” Gresia gasped.

Her moans were nothing short of theatrical.

As the bed continued to thud against the wall, she suddenly nudged Andre’s arm. A silent demand.

Make noise.

Andre narrowed his eyes.

“No.”

“I swear to the gods,” she hissed under her breath. “If you don’t make a single sound, it’s going to seem like I’m the only one enjoying myself. So fake something. Anything.”

But Andre remained silent, his breath steady and controlled.

He simply continued slamming the bedframe against the wall, maintaining the illusion, but refusing to play along any further.

Gresia, despite her growing frustration, didn’t break character.

Her exaggerated moans filled the room.

Then, without warning, she lunged at him.

“Ah—! What the hell—?!”

Andre, caught off guard, let out a startled yell as she bit his wrist.

Hard.

Gresia immediately let go, then slapped both hands over his mouth.

“Oh, my love, don’t hold back!” she cried dramatically. “Scream for me! Ahh!”

Andre yanked her hands away with a rough shove, his patience hanging by a thread.

“You are unbelievable,” he muttered.

“All for the greater good,” she said smugly, entirely unbothered.

Grinding his teeth, Andre tightened his grip on the bedpost—so hard his knuckles turned white, veins rising beneath his skin.

Then, with renewed frustration, he resumed pounding the bed against the wall. His mind, however, was far away. All he wanted was to throw all of this away and go back to Jeanne.

Gresia, watching him with the same amusement one might have for a child’s tantrum, rested her chin in her hand. But her amusement didn’t last long. With a sudden, sickening crack, the wooden post in Andre’s hand snapped clean in half. Gresia blinked down at the ruined bedframe, lips parting slightly in surprise.

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