I Slept with the Villain Holding My Hand Chapter 145 - The Villain’s Ending

💫

 

Ariene and the old woman arrived at the capital, their bodies crumpled and exhausted.

 

‘I wanted to go to Deston’s room.’

 

Ariene clicked her tongue as she looked at the now-faded mana stone.

 

Having already ended up in the wrong place once before, she had pooled her and the old woman’s mana to activate the teleportation spell, hoping for better accuracy.

 

Yet here they were, dumped in another strange place.

 

At the very least, she took some comfort in the fact that they had landed inside the Ministry of Magic.

 

Judging by the bizarre objects scattered around, this seemed to be some sort of storage room for the Ministry.

 

Artifacts crafted by novice mages rolled haphazardly across the floor.

 

Arienne brushed the dust off her clothes and picked up two cloaks from the corner—standard-issue outerwear worn by Ministry employees.

 

There were also cloaks meant for beginner mages nearby, but she deliberately chose these to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.

 

After all, even in the Ministry of Magic, the number of administrative staff far outnumbered the actual mages.

 

Once out of the storage room, Ariene retraced her memories and headed straight for Deston’s room without hesitation.

The old woman followed silently behind her, offering no comment.

 

Assuming she was just keeping her presence subdued, Arienne knocked on the door without delay.

Three firm knocks, spaced just far enough apart.

 

It was an old signal used back in Demeter, but she trusted Deston would recognize it.

 

“…Come in.”

After a brief silence, Deston granted entry, just as she had expected.

 

Arienne glanced around before opening the door and stepping inside.

 

Click—

 

As the door shut completely, she saw Deston sitting alone in the quiet room.

 

His expression twisted into a troubled frown as he took in Ariene’s pale complexion. He seemed to ponder something for a moment before letting out a dry chuckle.

 

“You’re here because of your young lady, I presume. What can I do for you?”

 

“I want to get Shannon out of the Grand Duke’s residence. Is it possible?”

 

Several attempts and several failures.

 

The reason Ariene’s plans had failed so far was simple—Because she had targeted the Grand Duke directly.

But thinking about it the other way, it meant that anything else had a high chance of success.

 

The fact that they had easily kidnapped the princess in the Etowas Forest last time was proof of that.

 

Instead of looking directly at Ariene, Deston shifted his gaze behind her.

 

There stood an old woman, quietly hiding her presence.

 

Their eyes met simultaneously.

 

‘Ah. No need for explanations.’

The same thought flashed through both their eyes.

 

In this silent exchange that Arienne failed to notice, Deston slowly nodded.

 

“There’s nothing stopping us from trying.”

 

“I heard the trial starts in two days.”

 

“Then shall we make the attempt tonight?”

 

Deston spoke lightly, like a child planning a nighttime adventure.

 

“Are you in any condition to move?”

 

“You want me to go?”

 

Arienne pointed at her own chest with her index finger.

 

Deston replied as if it were obvious, “The most I can help with is matters outside the Grand Duke’s residence. Besides, I’d rather not catch the Grand Duke’s attention either.”

 

Arienne decided to stop questioning further.

 

“…Do you have any pain-relieving potions?”

 

Right now, she thought it would be better to swallow something to steady her trembling hands.

 

Deston walked over to the desk, pulled something out of the drawer, and handed it to her. It was the painkiller he had mentioned to her before.

He had guessed she would prefer numbing the pain over focusing on recovery.

 

Ariene swallowed the medicine in one gulp and then asked,

 

“What about Count Magner?”

 

She didn’t have much hope. She didn’t understand how family could evoke such tender and precious emotions.

 

Arienne had been alone for as long as she could remember. She had seen and heard more about people worse off than her, or families better off nonexistent.

 

If she were to trace back the memories of her past life…

 

‘The ducal family left quite an impression, I suppose.’

 

After all, they had genuinely pleaded for the young duchess when she faced the executioner’s block.

 

That’s why she wanted to ask.

 

Unlike her, who never knew her parents, Shannon had Count Magner, didn’t she?

 

It was just… a faint hope, nothing more. Deston couldn’t bring himself to fulfill the small expectation in Ariene’s eyes.

Instead, he chose to snuff out even the tiniest ember without hesitation.

 

“…Well, to put it bluntly, he cut ties.”

 

Deston laid out the situation plainly.

 

The Grand Duke had publicly declared in the newspapers that he would demand massive reparations from the Count’s family.

 

Though the details weren’t disclosed, the scale of it was unimaginable.

 

The Count, realizing belatedly that the Grand Duke’s visit to the Magner estate was because of Shannon, had erased all traces of her.

Behind the scenes, he was desperately trying to silence Shannon, who was under the Grand Duke’s protection.

 

Not to rescue her—but to keep her from speaking.

 

If she were to acknowledge him in court, he’d be forced to pay every last coin of that debt.

 

Ariene bit her lip, suppressing the surge of bitterness.

 

Perhaps it was for the best.

 

If this news could sever any lingering attachment Shannon might have to the Count’s household, then it was better to deliver it. She could just live with Ariene, like they used to.

 

Before she could even realize she was worrying about Shannon’s feelings, Deston snapped her out of her thoughts.

 

“By the way, wasn’t there someone with you?”

 

Following his gaze, she turned to look—only to see the empty doorway.

 

Arienne frowned slightly and muttered, “Where did she go?”

 

In the brief moment she had been talking to Deston, the old woman had vanished.

 

💫

 

Inside the emperor’s bedroom, thick curtains blocked the windows.

 

Dense smoke filled the room.

 

The smoke, so pungent it could almost be felt in the eyes, was the scent of healing incense.

 

Amidst it, Helena took a deep breath.

 

Perhaps this would wash away the discomfort clinging to her body.

 

‘Shannon.’

 

Her entire morning could be summed up by that single name.

 

Helena had also seen the article plastered across the front page of the imperial newspaper.

 

Using an officially recognized imperial newspaper was a warning—the Grand Duke would not let this matter slide easily.

 

The article claimed that Shannon had attacked the Grand Duke.

 

Even worse, with intent to kill.

 

At that part, Helena couldn’t help but tilt her head in confusion. She had told Shannon to stir up a scandal with the Grand Duke, not to do something like this.

How could someone with those slender wrists possibly harm anyone?

 

If she had recklessly reached out, it would’ve been a miracle if she hadn’t been torn apart. She had seemed promising, with that sharp gaze.

 

Disappointed by the underwhelming outcome, Helena clicked her tongue softly.

 

So far, it was nothing more than a minor regret.

 

Not regret over Shannon, but regret over her own judgment in choosing people.

 

The real problem was Count Magner, who had rushed over like a madman after reading the same article.

 

“Despite being refused multiple times, he keeps insisting on an audience…”

 

The maids relayed the message while carefully watching Helena’s reaction.

 

No doubt, after countless rejections, they had no choice but to pass along his request.

 

Helena had no reason to meet the Count.

 

After all, cutting off rotten branches had always been her way. Even if Shannon herself crawled to her feet, she might not spare her a glance—so why bother with the Count, who mattered even less?

 

For a moment, she wondered if Shannon had confessed everything to her father. But then she recalled the bouquet Shannon had given her and shook her head.

 

The count stubbornly waited until the very moment she stepped out of the room.

 

How dare he stop the steps of the imperial concubine?

 

Yet, what irked her more was the glint in his eyes, as if he had something trustworthy about him.

 

In the end, she had to call the guards to remove the count.

 

Lately, members of the Knights of Altairs had begun infiltrating her palace as well.

 

They were the knights of the highly loyal crown prince, and she worried what would happen if they acted disrespectfully.

 

Though the ones clad in black knight uniforms didn’t quite match the opulence of the palace, they carried out their duties silently.

 

Leaving behind the count, who was still shouting her name, she finally made it here.

 

With a dignified posture, she walked to the chair by the bedside.

 

As Lepeta lifted the red curtain veiling the inside, Aprion came into view, lying on the bed.

 

Helena, as always, dismissed all her attendants from the bedroom.

 

They’ll just sit there and leave anyway. She was tired of pretending to be a devoted lover even for that brief time.

 

Once everyone had withdrawn, leaving only the escort knights outside the door, Helena wiped all expression from her face. Her eyes, now cold and lifeless in an instant, fixed on Aprion.

 

If silence had a sound, it might have been the only thing filling this space.

 

Aprion lay still as if asleep, so quiet that she occasionally had to check if he was breathing by placing a finger under his nose.

 

“Your Majesty.”

 

Helena called out to him aimlessly.

 

The words, unrefined and rolling clumsily in her mouth, were difficult to voice.

 

Naturally, Aprion did not respond.

 

“Your Majesty…”

 

She leaned back in the chair, her stiff posture finally relaxing as her lips parted slightly.

 

Was this trembling in her heart anxiety or concern?

 

At a glance, emotions with similarly colored names were distinctly different. Because the soil from which they sprouted was entirely unlike.

 

This must be anxiety.

 

Only then would her actions hold justification.

 

The sleepless nights that had become frequent lately, the scratchy dryness in her throat, even this daily ritual of coming to check on him—

 

It must all be anxiety.

 

It was born from the unease that everyone felt—the fear that the emperor might take his last breath at any moment.

 

This was absolutely not a feeling directed toward Aprion, but toward the emperor of the Tristan Empire. She did not want to be a weak woman who worried over a lover who had abandoned himself for the sake of the empire.

With slow fingers, she brushed Aprion’s jaw. He looked immaculate—far from someone who lay there like a vegetable.

It must have been because the attendants washed him and changed his clothes every morning.

 

As she touched his still-warm body, it now felt like she was merely watching over someone asleep.

 

But in her mind, she already knew the truth.

 

It had already been several days since she had last seen him lying so still.

 

Aprion had fallen into a deep slumber.

 

Even the High Priest had said there was no telling whether he would wake up—or if he could live normally even if he did.

 

Perhaps, for the rest of her life, she might never see his eyes again.

 

“How vexing.”

 

A small reproach escaped her shapely lips.

 

“You’re always the one causing trouble, yet why must I be the one to suffer?”

 

Helena muttered to herself, slipping into the habit she had with her childhood lover.

 

After becoming the imperial consort, she had adopted a formal tone with even Aprion—without exception.

 

It had started because she didn’t want to give others any reason to criticize her.

 

Looking back now, perhaps there had also been an intention to wither away the lingering affection of a lover she had yet to fully erase.

 

The spoiled young countess had thus become the imperial consort of the Tristan Empire.

 

Aprion sometimes seemed to miss the way she used to be, but he never voiced it aloud. Perhaps because he was aware of his own debt—that he had ultimately failed to make Helena his empress.

 

Knock, knock—

 

It was the signal that her time with the emperor had ended.

 

At the cautious knock, Helena withdrew her hand and rose to her feet. Walking toward the door without hesitation, she steadied her trembling heart.

This was nothing more than a dry, routine duty—she prayed she wouldn’t falter.