Chapter 100

Carl Lindbergh, upon reaching the main building, raced towards his room.

The commotion was coming from the east wing kitchen. The monster was still there.

The building was in ruins. Deep claw marks scarred the walls and staircases, broken doorknobs dangled precariously, shattered ornaments littered the floor. The monster had clearly rampaged through here.

He paused, catching his breath, the heavy sack of magic stones slung over his shoulder like a peddler’s pack.

He prayed Lulu and Marco weren’t inside the castle.

Where should he even begin searching? He groaned, his head throbbing.

“Your Highness!”

A familiar voice called out. A soldier, one he’d seen around the castle, stood guard outside his room, his face etched with relief.

“You’re here! Thank goodness!”

The soldier rushed towards him.

“We have to get you out of here! His Highness the Crown Prince is on his way!”

“Adrian is…!”

Carl Lindbergh finally managed a weak smile.

Had his message reached him?

He had so much to tell Adrian.

He wanted to explain his attempts to suppress his overwhelming feelings, to apologize for his momentary doubts, to ask Adrian to accept him, Carl Lindbergh, and Jeon Woo-young, flaws and all, past and present.

He was no longer afraid of rejection. He wanted to tell Adrian, clearly and unequivocally, that he loved him, not as a character in a novel, but as a person.

There were still many challenges ahead – dealing with the monster, the war with Parman – but he needed to express his feelings, regardless.

“This way, Your Highness!”

The soldier led him out of the room, his hand firmly gripping Carl’s arm. Carl asked, “Have you seen Rashida Lulu and Marco?”

The soldier nodded, tightening his grip.

“Everyone has been evacuated. The remaining soldiers are holding the line. They’ll hold out until reinforcements arrive!”

Crack.

The soldier’s words were cut short.

Carl Lindbergh froze, watching as droplets of blood splattered across his face.

“…No…”

The monster, its face a grotesque mockery of the Queen’s, emerged from the floor, casually devouring the soldier’s remains.

“There you are. My son. My treasure. My everything.”

The monster grinned, its eyes fixated on the frozen prince.

 

❖ ❖ ❖

 

“Why are you so quiet? Didn’t you miss your mother? Why didn’t you come visit me?”

The Queen’s face, contorted in a mask of sorrow, loomed before him.

Her head was disproportionately small, perched atop a massive, writhing body, its countless limbs cracking the floor tiles with every movement.

The stench was overwhelming.

“Why? Why did I do this? Don’t you want to know? Do my words… no longer reach you?”

She sobbed, the floor trembling beneath them, the few remaining human limbs flailing wildly.

It was horrifying.

Nausea welled up within him, but Carl fought it back.

He could hear the knights calling out, “Your Highness!”

But their voices didn’t seem to be getting any closer.

The thick fog, swirling around them, formed an impenetrable barrier, isolating him.

The Queen’s face was inches away from his.

Her expression shifted rapidly, flickering through a range of emotions.

She looked more human now than she ever had, even when he’d seen her smiling serenely beside Kitchener or the King, basking in their praise of her beauty.

He remembered their first encounter, when he’d gone searching for the royal seal. She’d seemed so desperate then, so… human.

“How many times have I told you not to overeat? Look at you, so plump. Unbecoming of an Omega.”

Two hands emerged from behind her head, their movements surprisingly fluid and precise as they caressed Carl’s arms, then probed the back of his neck. Carl clenched his fists.

“My Master will be pleased. I’ll finally be rewarded.”

“Who… who is your Master?”

Brust Kitchener?

Or the King of Parman?

Carl Lindbergh glanced behind him, his feet frozen in place, then he forced himself to take a step back.

“The one who gave me shelter. The one who showed me the path. The one who promised to avenge me… and claim you.”

Kitchener.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Carl Lindbergh carefully shifted his weight, preparing to run.

“I’m a desirable Omega myself. I don’t understand why he wants you. Is it because you’re younger? More beautiful?”

The Queen’s hands caressed her own face, her touch unsettling.

It was like a scene from a horror movie.

He had to act quickly.

The fog, thick and cloying, was closing in. He couldn’t listen to her ramblings any longer. He was starting to feel disoriented.

He swallowed nervously.

“You’re beautiful because you look like me. You became a dominant Omega because of me. That pig only gave you a title, nothing more. So why… why am I not rewarded?”

She rambled, her words disjointed, her thoughts fragmented.

Carl Lindbergh, his fingers tracing the handle of the kitchen knife hidden in his bag, met her gaze.

“What did you want, Your Majesty?”

“What everyone else had. Honor. Wealth. Everything I couldn’t have.”

The Queen’s face softened, her eyes distant, as if lost in a pleasant memory.

Carl Lindbergh, seeing his opportunity, swiftly drew the knife and hid it behind his back as her gaze drifted.

Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead.

“Did Kitchener give you those things?”

“No. He broke his promise. You betrayed me.”

“You already had wealth. Your dresses, your jewels…”

Your children.

“Those… trinkets!”

The Queen’s face twisted into a mask of rage. A fitting expression for a monster.

“You have no idea what I endured! Those… offerings… were insufficient.”

Her hand reached out, closing in on his throat.

“You threw away everything I worked for! The wealth, the status! Everything!”

Carl Lindbergh’s free hand gripped the knife tighter.

He didn’t flinch as her hand reached for him.

“You’re wrong, Mother. You were always wrong.”

The word ‘Mother’ made the Queen hesitate.

“Wealth and honor are earned, not given.”

Carl Lindbergh counted silently.

Three.

“Everything you did, all those years you endured… it only led to your ruin, and your children’s.”

Two.

“I pity you, but I have no sympathy. Look at yourself. Go to hell and ask them who truly ruined your life.”

One.

He lunged, plunging the knife into the Queen’s forehead.

A sickening squelch, and a foul-smelling liquid erupted from the wound.

Before he could even process the horrifying sensation, the sticky residue coating his hand, Carl Lindbergh turned and ran.

“Carl Lindbergh! You worthless bastard! I’ll kill you!”

The Queen, or rather, the monster wearing the Queen’s face, screamed, its voice raspy and filled with rage. It thrashed wildly, as if trying to tear down the entire castle.

Debris rained down on Carl Lindbergh as he ran, cutting his skin. The floor bucked and swayed, twisting his ankles. His hands trembled, but he didn’t stop.

“I’ll kill you!”

He wouldn’t die. Not now.

The shock of killing, of witnessing such carnage, was overshadowed by his desperate need to survive.

If Jeon Woo-young died, the only one who would mourn him was Jeon Jae-young. But Carl Lindbergh was different.

Lulu, Marco, Elizabeth… he’d found them again. He couldn’t leave them. They were so prone to melodrama, they might starve themselves to death if he died.

Leia, with her strong sense of duty, would carry on, but the wound would fester within her.

Belfry, surprisingly sentimental, would also be scarred by his death.

And Adrian…

The Queen, her face split open by the knife embedded in her forehead, roared, her footsteps pounding the floor behind him as she gave chase.

“Stop!”

The monster froze mid-stride, as if turned to stone.

The magic stone he’d crudely attached to the knife’s handle glowed brightly.

“What is this?! What’s happening?!”

The monster roared, thrashing again.

Carl Lindbergh’s destination was a window overlooking the outer grounds.

He ran towards the edge of the castle, the far end of the hallway, away from the main entrance, hoping to find an area clear of people.

He could almost picture Adrian, like Orpheus descending into the underworld, demanding his return.

That couldn’t happen.

He’d had enough of playing the clueless, bumbling fool.

He reached the window and flung it open without hesitation.

It had taken him far too long to reach this point, navigating the crumbling, uneven paths, even though it wasn’t that far from the kitchen.

The knights below, seeing him at the window, yelled, their voices filled with panic.

“I’ll catch you, Your Highness!”

“Stand back! Everyone, get away from the building!”

Carl Lindbergh, seeing how close they were to the castle walls, waved his hands frantically.

He’d chosen this window, further away from the main entrance, precisely because it was less accessible. Why were they all gathered here?

He yelled at the knights who were trying to enter the building.

“Don’t come in! It’s about to collapse! And everyone, stand back! That’s an order! Get away from the walls if you don’t want to die!”

Seeing his frantic gestures, the looming silhouette of the monster behind him, the crowd dispersed.

“Your Highness!”

Marco’s face was streaked with tears. He was pacing frantically, Lulu standing beside him, holding Elizabeth’s leash, waving her arms.

“Oppa!”

He didn’t have time to process Lulu’s shout. He spotted Belfry Hendrick, the servants… He jumped.

Crash!

The wall behind him crumbled.

“You’re my son! My flesh and blood! You can’t do this to me! You have to come with me!”

The Queen’s desperate cries echoed through the air.

Carl Lindbergh, falling, glanced back at her.

The monster, its magic seemingly depleted, lunged towards him, its countless hands reaching out, grasping for him.

“No!”

The soldiers, the servants… they all cried out in unison.

They couldn’t even use arrows. They’d seen the monster’s blood melt flesh on contact.

Carl Lindbergh regretted jumping.

He’d thought it was only the third floor, that he’d land safely. He’d misjudged the distance.

He’d hoped the magic stone would hold.

He was going to be crushed by the falling debris, or captured by the monster.

Or both.

A falling brick struck his head, and he muttered, trying to stay conscious, “Parman’s magic stones… are truly garbage.”

He reached out, thinking about channeling his magic, like a magical girl, when a large hand grabbed his, pulling him away from the falling debris.

“That’s why you shouldn’t use cheap knockoffs.”

A familiar voice, close to his ear.

The soldiers below cheered.

“It’s His Highness the Crown Prince!”