Chapter 28: Tears of an Emperor

The breath against his ear burned hot. The skin pressed against his own was feverishly warm as well. The body pinning Fria down like a mountain blazed with feverish heat.

Fria looked up at Owen with tear-filled eyes.

Eyes that looked at him, yet did not truly see him.

From Owen’s half-open lips drifted the faint scent of the poisonous herb, Naponin.

The so-called love potion, the flower of lovers, possessed one fatal weakness.

In moderate doses, it heightened body temperature and increased blood flow, enhancing pleasure during intercourse. But if consumed beyond the tolerated limit, it prevented release and forced the body into a painfully prolonged state of arousal.

There were even rumors that in certain countries, it was used as a method of torture.

‘Where in the world did you go and what did you ingest?’

He had said he was attending a banquet. Had someone slipped something into his drink? Had he fallen into a trap laid by someone hoping to seduce the Emperor?

And if he had already fallen into that trap, why couldn’t he just stay there? Why drag himself all the way here?

“Do you understand? Lord Fria, this is a poisonous herb you must never consume. Only take it if you suddenly decide you want to leave this world quickly. It’ll send you straight to the afterlife.”

“What happens if someone does take it?”

“Were you not listening to me? If you consume it, Lord Fria, your heart will burst and kill you.”

“No, not me. What if someone else takes it?”

“Are you planning to drug someone else? That won’t work either. Your stamina wouldn’t keep up.”

“What if Gir accidentally takes it?”

“That won’t happen. But if, by some chance, I ended up taking it, I’d castrate myself without hesitation. As for a young and healthy man, it’d be better just to leave him alone to handle himself however many times he wants. The moment you realize someone’s taken it, run away immediately. Far better than exhausting yourself trying to deal with the aftermath.”

Running away was no longer an option.

Handling himself. Aftermath. Castration.

Honestly, Fria wanted to cut the thing off entirely, but he could hardly do that to the Emperor’s precious appendage.

Which meant either enduring the aftermath or somehow guiding him toward relieving himself.

Taking advantage of the brief moment Owen’s grip loosened, Fria slowly slipped one hand free.

The instant his wrist moved toward the heated body pressed against him, Owen seized it again.

‘Why? Why?!’

Unable to relieve the desire raging inside him, Owen groaned and tensed his lower body hard.

“Ah-!”

A voice echoed beside his ear.

Something was caught inside his hand.

A wrist. Someone’s wrist made of flesh and bone.

Startled, Owen abruptly released it, and another pained groan followed.

Freed from beneath him, Fria rubbed his now liberated wrist and grimaced at the throbbing pain.

Apparently the aphrodisiac had granted him monstrous strength as well.

Finger-shaped bruises already marked Fria’s wrist.

And by tomorrow, the neck the Emperor had bitten would surely look just as terrible.

How exactly was he supposed to resolve this situation?

As long as the drug’s effects continued, the Emperor would keep rampaging, and Fria’s suffering would not end either.

****

‘Where is this?’

He had definitely left the palace to attend the Minister of Finance’s birthday banquet.

He exchanged ceremonial greetings and drinks, declined the following gathering, returned early, and retired to bed.

Then, within the unfamiliar place where he rested, the nightmare arrived.

Just like the day Arthur had been buried, that man wrapped himself around Owen’s body like a disgusting serpent.

He tried to push him away, but could not escape.

He was no longer the powerless imperial grandson of the past.

He had become Emperor, the ruler who held the Empire in his grasp.

Then why?

Why was he once again trapped beneath that man’s claws, toyed with helplessly?

“…Yonnana.”

He was the Emperor. A man who could decide life or death with the slightest tilt of his head.

“…A wicked phantom.”

‘I’m no longer afraid of you. You’re dead. Already dead.’

The man smiled at him with the same eerie smile as in life.

Owen grabbed him and threw him violently aside.

Climbing atop him, he wrapped his hands around the man’s throat.

The man beneath him struggled desperately, begging for mercy.

Guards suddenly appeared from somewhere and dragged the limp body away.

“…An intruder! …Your Majesty! …Are you unharmed, Your Majesty?! Your Majesty! It’s the chamberlain! Your Majesty, can you hear me?! …How could this happen?! What happened?! …Seal the entrances and make sure not even a rat escapes! Attend to His Majesty!”

Dead.

Killed.

He’s dead.

His heart pounded violently.

Breathing became difficult as unbearable heat surged toward the center of his body.

His tense body trembled uncontrollably beneath overwhelming arousal.

“Your Majesty! The rain is growing heavier!”

“Your Majesty! The roads are too dark at night! Please return to the palace at dawn-”

“Your Majesty!”

“Your Majesty!”

“Your Majesty!”

“…Your Majesty?”

This face.

This man.

His body, desperate for pleasure, had led him here.

“Your Majesty, you’re soaked. At least dry yourself first-”

A man prepared solely for him.

As if by instinct, Owen lowered his lips toward the pale neck before him.

The moment he bared his teeth, the man in his arms trembled and shook his head.

When Owen thrust his hips forward, scorching heat bloomed where their bodies met.

‘Just a little more. Just a little…’

“-!”

The brief satisfaction vanished instantly.

The desire swollen to its absolute limit showed no sign of subsiding and instead drove Owen’s mind toward collapse.

It felt as though every blood vessel in his body might burst.

‘Why?!’

As Owen writhed in agony, someone wrapped their arms around his shoulders.

“Your Majesty, have you come to your senses?”

‘Who are you? Who dares interfere with me?!’

“We need to summon the imperial physician-”

A loud buzzing like hornets filled his ears.

It was unbearably noisy.

His vision blurred once more.

“Still too young to kill someone, are you?”

‘I have to kill him.’

His hands rose toward the swan-like pale neck.

“Will you set me free?”

‘I have to kill him.’

The man whose throat he gripped struggled violently.

Golden hair danced wildly around him.

Gold.

Golden strands scattering in the wind.

“…Ah.”

‘But he died.’

‘I already killed him.’

“Why…?”

He was trapped inside a dream that would never end.

Even if he resurrected dozens of times…

‘I’ll kill him.’

Tightening his grip with all his strength, Owen shouted…

“Die!”

****

He had barely escaped.

To avoid being killed, Fria had pushed the Emperor off him with every ounce of strength he possessed.

Fumbling desperately, he grabbed the nearest object and smashed it down mercilessly.

Only then was he finally freed from the restraint.

‘Seriously.’

He had no desire to go down in history as the consort who was assaulted and strangled to death by the Emperor in the consorts’ palace.

A cough mixed with retching burst from his throat, tears and mucus streaming together.

Air flooded violently into his open mouth.

He inhaled desperately, drawing in the breath that had been cut off.

Pain hammered against his lungs like blows from a mallet.

Fria gasped harshly, learning with his entire body that both suffocation and overbreathing could become agony.

As his mind slowly cleared, a hollow laugh escaped him at the absurdity of the entire situation.

What in the world was this mess?

The moment he saw the Emperor collapsed where he had been shoved away, fury surged uncontrollably through him.

Without thinking, Fria grabbed Owen by the collar and yanked him upright.

The Emperor’s soaked outer garments hung loosely from his shoulders, swaying limply as Fria shook him.

His unfocused eyes blinked sluggishly, struggling even to look properly at Fria.

“…It won’t… disappear. Why…”

“What are you talking about?”

“…He… died. I killed him… so why…”

‘Who died? Don’t tell me he really tried to kill someone?’

“Get a grip already!”

His hand moved before his thoughts could catch up.

The anger still wouldn’t fade.

If anything, the palm that struck the Emperor’s cheek hurt even more.

But stopping after one slap felt unfair.

Smack.

The Emperor’s head snapped sharply to the opposite side.

“If you got drunk, then go sleep it off somewhere! If your damn thing got hard, then handle it yourself! Why me?! Why are you doing this to me?!”

‘Seriously. Why me?’

No matter how much he thought about it, he could not understand.

The imperial palace was overflowing with both women and men.

Was there truly no one else the Emperor could seek out?

To stagger all the way here while barely conscious.

Was this simply habit ingrained into his body? A stubborn obsession that persisted even while intoxicated? Or merely malice that surfaced unconsciously?

Fria could not tell.

Even after slapping him twice, it wasn’t satisfying.

Even after pouring out everything pent up inside him, he still didn’t feel relieved.

Perhaps it was because he had committed acts he could never do soberly against someone who was not in his right mind.

What if, tomorrow, the Emperor regained his senses and remembered everything?

Refusing the Emperor’s advances. Violence. Verbal abuse.

Each one was an undeniable crime.

And if punishment did not stop with him alone? What if it extended all the way to the duchy?

As his anger subsided, reason returned, and with it, fear.

Concern for his own safety slowly transformed into worry over the Emperor’s condition.

Glancing sideways at Owen lying motionless on the floor, Fria cautiously reached out and touched his shoulder.

“Your Majesty?”

No response.

The fact that a grown man remained collapsed after merely being slapped twice was already alarming enough.

Then Fria noticed blood staining the edge of the thick hardcover book he had struck him with.

“Your Majesty! Are you alright?!”

Realizing something was terribly wrong as Owen’s shoulder swayed limply beneath his touch, Fria raised his voice in alarm.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

Perhaps because panic had strengthened his grip, the moment Fria tugged his shoulder, the Emperor’s entire upper body lurched upright with it.

“Your Majesty!”

Fria leaned closer toward his face.

And his expression changed strangely.

‘…He’s crying?’

It was unbelievable.

The Emperor.

That cold, violent, arrogant, self-willed Emperor, was silently shedding tears.

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