You, My Devil - Chapter 29

“To me, it sounds like you’re asking me to make you happy.”

“Just… disappear. Please.”

Glaring at Yuri, who was grinning mischievously, Heina managed to spit out her plea. Her heart pounded unpleasantly fast. Finally, Yuri released her, standing up slowly.

“In three days, there will be an event in Lucina to formally announce my arrival. It’s an official proclamation, you could say.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“You’ll be standing by my side.”

“What? Why me?”

A faint smile crept across Yuri’s lips again as he spoke, clearly enjoying the panic spreading across Heina’s wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Don’t you think the slaves of Constance deserve to know how close we are?”

“Get out.”

“We might even offer a little performance—say, a public kiss—to seal the deal. We might need a little more practice beforehand, though.”

“Get out! Now!”

When Heina shouted in fury, Yuri burst out laughing as he turned and strolled away.

“Hahaha—”

His laughter echoed as it faded into the distance.

Was he really serious? Did she truly have to attend his so-called entrance ceremony? The thought alone made her despair. The image of herself standing beside him, waving to the people of Constance, sent shivers down her spine.

Heina clenched her fists tightly. If a god were to appear before her, she thought she might kill them on the spot—for being the one to curse her with such a wretched fate.

* * *

With a soft clink, the teacup was set down. Fessis quietly observed the person drinking tea before him.

Even his mannerisms are the same.’

The astrologer from Constance raised his head. As the veil covering his face slipped down to his shoulders, shimmering golden hair cascaded into view. Beneath his perfectly sculpted eyebrows, blue eyes, strikingly similar to those of the High Priest Camille, stared back. The only difference was his hair, which was far brighter than Camille’s.

It was no wonder Fessis felt an odd sensation, as though he were looking directly at Camille, whenever he saw him. Clearing his throat, Fessis composed himself.

“Ahem. Don’t worry about it. Only certain people are allowed to enter this room anyway. And hiding your face won’t change the fact that you’re from the fallen nation of Constance.”

“I see.”

The astrologer nodded in agreement, his voice void of emotion. A faint light flickered in his blue eyes before disappearing. Internally, he slowly counted to ten, willing his feelings to calm. Over the past year, he’d had to suppress his emotions countless times while facing Fessis, who never missed an opportunity to spit out “fallen Constance” like it was a habit.

Constance.

It was a name he hadn’t forgotten even in his dreams. If he claimed he didn’t often imagine stabbing the man before him, killing his demonic brothers one by one, and finally cutting off Nike’s head to display it in the plaza, he’d be lying.

He drew in a silent, deep breath. Fessis was sharp—sharper than most. The second prince of Nike, Fessis, was cunning and ruthless. Avoiding even a shred of suspicion was the reason he had managed to infiltrate the very heart of Nike’s imperial palace.

“You seem to be troubled by something,” the astrologer remarked, his tone calm.

Fessis, who had come to him unexpectedly in the pre-dawn hours, wore a face marked by complex emotions. After a moment lost in thought, Fessis spoke slowly.

“That sly fox Nadine has finally started revealing his true intentions. Pretending not to care about the throne, hanging around me only to stab me in the back the moment the opportunity arises—it’s infuriating.”

Pale from rarely being exposed to sunlight, Fessis’s face twisted slightly.

The astrologer asked in an even voice, “So, what do you plan to do next?”

“I had planned to use the slave girl that Yuri took away as compensation for Nadine’s loss of the throne—something to soothe his bruised pride. But after listening to Nadine’s ramblings, I’ve changed my mind. Killing the girl would be simpler and cleaner. What do you think?”

The astrologer’s beautiful lips twitched slightly. Fessis was talking about killing Heina, the princess of Constance.

For the people of Constance, the imperial family was a symbol. Unlike the absolute monarchy of Nike, Constance operated with a different political system. Governance was handled through deliberations led by a chancellor and high-ranking officials, while the imperial family existed as a symbol of the people.

The birth of a princess in the previously childless imperial family had been a cause for national celebration. The citizens adored the beautiful Princess Heina, seeing her as their own daughter.

“Speak. I want to hear your opinion, my brilliant astrologer.”

A cruel smile spread across Fessis’s face. The astrologer, meeting his gaze, slowly parted his lips.

“Are you testing me again? If you’ve already made up your mind, then act on it. I abandoned Constance long ago. That country is already buried in history, and the life of an old royal means nothing to me anymore.”

At his reply, Fessis let out a laugh, clearly pleased. He clasped his hands together and rested them near his chin, his sharp eyes locking onto the man before him.

“Nonsense. I only seek your wisdom. You, the wretched astrologer cast aside by your homeland—I know full well how much you loathe Constance. Whether it’s hatred or twisted affection, I don’t really care.”

There was a reason Fessis had made a slave from the vassal state of Constance one of his closest confidants. When he first encountered the astrologer as a mere errand boy delivering poisonous herbs, Fessis had been so stunned that he momentarily lost the ability to speak.

The man, introducing himself as a Constance-born slave, bore an uncanny resemblance to Camille, the High Priest. It was no surprise that he immediately caught Fessis’s eye.

Curiosity had driven Fessis to summon the astrologer during one of his weekly visits to the palace with his deadly herbs and inquire about his background. What he learned was intriguing. The man confessed that he had once been an astrologer in Constance, but after foretelling the fall of his nation, he was nearly executed by his own people.

“So, you claim to read the movements of the stars?”

“Yes, I do.”

The man who had sold him, praising his extensive knowledge of herbs, chimed in to bolster the claim.

“Then, how about working for me?”

The astrologer had despised his homeland and pledged loyalty to Fessis, a prince of Nike. Time and again, his vast knowledge left Fessis in awe, and he had a knack for encouraging Fessis’s ambitions for power. It was on the astrologer’s advice that Fessis began secretly adding small amounts of mercury to the Emperor of Nike’s medicine.

“Fessis, you are destined to become the next Emperor,” the astrologer would say, choosing his words with calculated precision, his face calm and composed.

Fessis could never take his eyes off him. The astrologer’s uncanny resemblance to Camille only added to the peculiar thrill of seeing him serve his ambitions. Each time the astrologer affirmed that he was the rightful heir to the throne, Fessis felt an intoxicating rush of satisfaction.

“So,” Fessis asked again, “should I kill the girl, or let her live?”

A faint wrinkle appeared on the astrologer’s forehead as it twitched slightly. Each time he thought of Heina, delicate as a lone flower petal, he struggled to suppress the surge of rage that felt as if it turned his blood upside down.

“Arzen of the House of Lucius is hereby appointed as a royal guard of the palace.”

The past year—when the pride of his family, Arzen, had to live under a false name—had felt longer than his entire life up to that point. He had risked death, infiltrating the very heart of Nike’s imperial palace, to rescue Heina and reclaim his homeland.

It had taken over a year to strip Fessis of his prejudice against someone from Constance and to earn his complete trust. During that time, Arzen had shared the same air as Heina but had never once been able to see her face. Poor Heina had been locked away in solitary confinement, unable to step even a foot outside her chamber. The one thing that had kept him enduring was the fact that she was still alive.

He was determined to use Fessis to uproot the Nike imperial family, shatter its foundations, and ultimately lead it to ruin. For that goal, he was willing to endure far worse humiliation and contempt than he already had.

“Heina… just hold on a little longer. I’ll save you. No matter what.”

Arzen finally raised his head, his beautiful lips curling into a faint smile. His blue eyes, as clear and boundless as the skies of Constance, gleamed as he carefully concealed the rage burning within them while looking at Fessis.

“If it’s that slave… instead of killing her quietly in the shadows, why not bring her here, torment Nadine for a while, and then kill her right in front of him? It would be far more effective.”

Fessis rubbed his pointed chin thoughtfully.

“Hmm… not a bad idea. Watching Nadine fly into a rage could be quite entertaining.”

“Has there been any news from Lucina?”

Arzen asked with a calm expression. In truth, it was the question he had been wanting to ask the most. While it was Fessis who had ordered Heina to be captured, it was Arzen who had orchestrated the situation behind the scenes.

When Arzen first heard that Yuri had taken Heina and fled to Constance, he had nearly stormed out of Nike’s palace. He had considered provoking Fessis into sending troops to confront Yuri, but Nadine had acted faster.

Arzen had already learned, through Constance spies scattered across Nike’s palace, that Nadine had taken a liking to Heina’s beauty and would likely pursue Yuri. What he hadn’t anticipated was how quickly Nadine would act.

In the end, Arzen resolved to exploit the conflict between Fessis, Nadine, and their remaining brothers, and to eventually drag Emperor Nike into the fray as well.

“Nike doesn’t think highly of me because of my frail health,” Fessis scoffed, “and believes I’m unfit to be the next emperor. He’s probably planning to pass the throne to Yuri, the son born from selling his soul to the devil.”

It was evident from the start that Fessis’s arrogant demeanor was masking deep-seated insecurity. Exploiting an enemy’s weaknesses was no difficult task for Arzen.

Things were unfolding as Arzen had hoped, albeit not without surprises. The first unexpected twist was Nike banishing Yuri to Constance just before his coming-of-age ceremony. The second was Yuri taking Heina with him.

Fessis clicked his tongue in irritation and furrowed his brows.

“I heard the man who infiltrated Constance’s palace to retrieve the girl was wounded by Yuri and barely managed to escape to Granada.”

“You mean Roche failed?”

Arzen’s face darkened.

“You seem more disappointed than I am,” Fessis remarked with a sly smile.

“…He’s the fastest in Constance. If he failed, there must have been a good reason.”

Fessis drummed the table with his pen, his expression sour.

“You’re probably right. Going up against Yuri must have been his misfortune. But… it seems Yuri has taken quite a liking to that girl. Considering how heavily guarded she is, he seems to care for her more than I expected. To think he almost cut her open as a sacrificial offering at the rain ritual not long ago…”

Fessis licked his lips and brought his teacup to his mouth. He wasn’t unfamiliar with Yuri’s wild, unpredictable temperament, but one thing was clear: Yuri had no intention of easily giving up Heina.

“What do you think?” Fessis asked, his tone mocking. “Do you think Yuri, like any other man, has simply fallen hopelessly for the girl’s body?”

Arzen couldn’t move, let alone answer. Hidden beneath the table, his right hand clenched into a fist so tightly that it seemed as though blood might stop flowing through it.

“……”

The fact that Heina was alive was undoubtedly Arzen’s only hope. Her continued survival, despite numerous brushes with death, was the sole force that kept his heart beating. He clenched his teeth and endured, convinced that once he destroyed Nike and reclaimed their homeland, he could compensate her for all the lost time.

He believed that he could spend the rest of his life whispering words of love to her, making her happy. But the thought of Heina in Yuri’s arms threatened to unravel his sanity. As time passed, the mere imagination of it gnawed at him more viciously.

Unaware of Arzen’s torment, Fessis scoffed and continued,
“Well, if that’s the case, it might make things easier. You’re right. Instead of killing the girl outright, we should bring her to Granada as soon as possible and use her as a hostage. Who knows? We might witness the spectacle of Nadine and Yuri tearing each other apart over her.”

With a cold laugh, Fessis placed his teacup down. Arzen, who had been silently staring at the beautiful teacup—clearly crafted with Constance’s skill—finally broke the silence with a slow response.

“I have a request to make.”

“A request? How unfitting for you to use such a word. Very well, let’s hear it.”

Fessis nodded at the astrologer, intrigued. In the past year, Arzen had never once uttered such a word. Though the astrologer always bowed politely to Fessis, there was an innate dignity about him that hinted at his origins as a nobleman from the outskirts.

“Since the person I sent failed in their mission, may I go myself this time?”

Fessis’s eyes sparkled with interest.

“You’re saying you want to go to Constance yourself?”

“Yes. Not only will I retrieve the slave, but I will also present you with a fine gift, Lord Fessis.”

“A fine gift?”

“I will bring you the head of Prince Yuri.”

Arzen’s eyes took on a deep, oceanic hue.

“You truly have a talent for saying things that please me,” Fessis said, a silent smile spreading across his face before erupting into loud laughter. His cruel laughter filled the room.