Chapter 114

Adrian, growing impatient with Carl Lindbergh’s continued silence and avoidance after Ayla’s departure, finally called out to him.

“Carl Lindbergh.”

“Yes?”

He answered, but didn’t move.

“I don’t want you to be in danger.”

“I don’t want you to be in danger either.”

What a ridiculous conversation.

They both sighed.

Adrian wanted to bang his head against the wall, both annoyed and amused by Carl Lindbergh’s parroting of his words.

Carl knew it was pointless to continue this childish argument, but he’d made up his mind. He couldn’t rely on Adrian this time.

He knew Adrian had been on edge since Ayla’s arrival, his pheromones potent enough to make the servants tremble, but he pretended not to notice.

He’d considered abandoning his plan, seeing Adrian’s displeasure, but he was convinced it was the most effective solution.  He couldn’t back down now.

His gaze flickered between Adrian and his teacup, his eyelashes fluttering nervously.

Adrian’s mood had plummeted.

He kept his gaze fixed on the floor, unwilling to look at Carl Lindbergh.  He knew if he met his eyes, he’d cave, he’d agree to anything Carl asked.

Carl Lindbergh had uttered those earth-shattering words last night, turning Adrian’s world upside down. They hadn’t reconciled before Ayla Leva’s arrival.

They hadn’t spoken, hadn’t shared a meal, hadn’t even looked at each other.  It was the first time in days, and the distance, the silence, felt unnatural.

However, Carl’s silent protest didn’t last long.

He was captivated by Adrian, even when the man was sulking, his arms crossed, his expression thunderous.  He was hopelessly in love.

Adrian’s ears caught the rustle of Carl Lindbergh’s clothes, the sound of fabric brushing against fabric, as the prince moved closer.

Was he leaving?

No. He couldn’t bear it. Even if they argued, even if they were both upset, he cherished every moment they spent together.

He was hopelessly smitten.

If Carl Lindbergh tried to leave, he might just lock the doors, pull him onto the sofa, and hold him, refusing to let him go, keeping him safe, shielding him from the world.

He’d confiscate all his magic stones, severing his connection to Heineken. He’d forbid him from even looking at Ayla Leva’s painted face.

He’d noticed, while watching Ayla, how Carl Lindbergh, whose emotional responses were often Beta-like, instinctively adopted a softer, more charming demeanor—a dazzling smile reserved for women.

He hated everything about this situation.

Afraid of acting on his possessive impulses, he’d closed his eyes. Then, he felt something warm and soft against his lap.

“…No more scary thoughts.”

Carl Lindbergh had climbed onto his lap, settling comfortably against his thighs, his cheek resting on Adrian’s chest.

The sensation, the warmth, the softness…  Adrian felt tears pricking at his eyes.

How did he always know? Carl had always been like this.

He sensed Adrian’s moods, knew how to soothe him, how to make him smile.

Which was why Adrian always lost.

He instinctively wrapped an arm around Carl’s back, holding him close, and Carl chuckled softly.

He was terrified of love, of how easily he succumbed to Adrian’s charms.

Why did Adrian’s pheromones, which supposedly triggered fear and repulsion in most, smell so intoxicating to him?

Carl Lindbergh’s fingers traced the lines of Adrian’s silk tie.

Adrian rarely wore ties, but today, his attendant, sensing the tension, had insisted, hoping to lighten the mood.

Adrian, meeting Carl’s gaze, finally spoke.

“Carl, even when you’re safe here in the castle, I’m still worried. I can’t help it.”

“I know how you feel.”

Adrian pulled him closer, tightening his embrace.

“No, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t be so eager to go to Parman, leaving me here.”

The thought terrified him.

The King of Parman wasn’t someone to be underestimated.  He’d willingly used himself as a catalyst for dark magic.

And what Carl Lindbergh was proposing, replacing himself as the focal point of that magic…  it was incredibly dangerous.

“We don’t even know if Parman is truly using himself as the catalyst.  Why are you being so reckless?  Why aren’t you thinking about me?”

He nuzzled his face against Carl’s neck, his warm breath against his skin, his voice muffled.

Carl Lindbergh, his neck ticklish, couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the grim situation.  He was so endearing.

“I’m sorry… Listen to me.  The King of Parman is still in his capital, even though he’s instigated a war, and his plans have been exposed. He knows he’ll die if those walls fall.  There are only two possibilities. Either he’s resigned to his fate, waiting for death…”

Adrian held him tighter, his grip almost painful.

“Or… he has a reason to stay there.  A reason he has to be there.  He probably didn’t anticipate me deciphering his formula.”

When Carl Lindbergh had shown the character to Lulu, she’d said, 〈Isn’t that the character for ‘reason,’ or ‘logic,’ as in… the natural order of things?〉

It had been like a bolt of lightning, a sudden realization.

“We’ve already committed a significant number of troops to clearing out the tenjira and the ghouls.  Excavating those tunnels would be a waste of resources. And we can’t just bomb them.  These are major cities. We can’t risk civilian casualties. And if we contaminate the groundwater, the entire area will be uninhabitable.  You know this.”

Adrian listened silently, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breath against Carl’s cheek.

“And how long would it take to purify the land?”

So…

“We could just kill one person, instead of sacrificing so much.”

Carl Lindbergh had realized that a single character could have multiple meanings.

And he’d connected it to the nature of magic, how its effects depended on the caster’s intent.  What if…  he could replace the King of Parman as the focal point of the formula?

Not to govern, but to understand.

“Parman’s defenses were destined to fall. I’ll just be there when it happens. I won’t be alone. Heineken’s elite forces will be with me. And my magic is quite potent.”

Adrian remained silent, holding him close, refusing to let go.

The kind of magic Carl Lindbergh was describing… he’d never even heard of it.

He understood why Carl felt compelled to act, but…

Carl Lindbergh gently cupped Adrian’s face in his hands.

Adrian finally looked up, meeting his gaze.

Lulu had called him ‘shallow,’ obsessed with Adrian’s face.  He’d denied it, claiming there was more to his attraction than just physical appearance.  But Adrian’s face… it was hard to ignore.

Adrian, seeing Carl’s intense gaze, his lips parted as if to speak, but no words came, pouted slightly.

He was so easily swayed, so transparent with his emotions, especially around Carl Lindbergh.  Carl was grateful for this vulnerability, this unguarded affection.

“All I can do is pray, while you’re out there risking your life.  I don’t want that anymore.  I’m the future Empress. I want to contribute. I want to prove my worth.”

So, please… let me go.

He pressed his lips together, his plea unspoken.

“…How can I possibly say no to you, Carl Lindbergh?”

Adrian murmured, capturing Carl’s lips in a kiss.

Carl Lindbergh had argued that this, saving the world from Parman’s dark magic, was his purpose for being here. Adrian, however, disagreed.

Jeon Woo-young had transmigrated into Carl Lindbergh’s body simply to be with him.

Even a few hours of coldness, of distance, had been agonizing.

Adrian’s eyes gleamed, his desire for Carl evident.

He gently traced Carl’s lips with his thumb, wiping away a stray tear.

“But… I have a condition.”

Carl Lindbergh, instead of asking what it was, simply reached out and licked his fingertip.

 

❖ ❖ ❖

 

“Your Majesty, a message has arrived from the prince.  He insists you see it personally.”

“Tell him I’m not interested.”

Emperor Glenn gently stroked Theresa’s swollen belly.

They were relaxing in their private patio, enjoying the rare sunshine, and he didn’t even spare the messenger a glance.

“This is the second time, Your Majesty.  He says it’s urgent.”

The messenger shifted nervously.

He’d be reprimanded by Count Bourbon if he failed to deliver the message.

“I don’t want to hear it. He’s probably asking to go to Parman.  He’s more stubborn than I thought.”

The soft cushions, the gentle warmth of the heating magic, the small awning providing shade from the sun…  everything in this small patio had been designed for the Empress’ comfort.  Theresa, watching her husband sulk like a child, decided to intervene.

“Your Majesty.”

“Yes?”

Theresa, who usually called him ‘Glenn’ when they were alone, only used his formal title when she was either upset with him or when she needed a favor.  Glenn, oblivious, simply grinned at her.

“Stop tormenting the prince.”

She pushed aside the mountain of cushions surrounding her like a protective barrier and moved closer to him.

“What are you talking about?”

Glenn frowned slightly, his arms instinctively reaching out as if to steady her, his protective instincts mirroring Adrian’s.

“At least listen to what he has to say. He must have his reasons.”

“Theresa, I…”

“I know. You’re worried about him, and you know you’ll cave if you see him, so you’re avoiding him.”

She leaned against his thigh, her cheek resting against his leg, feeling the baby kick.

It wasn’t as strong as her firstborn’s kicks, but it was still a reassuringly active presence.

Glenn wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, tucking it in securely.

“How are children supposed to grow without facing challenges?”

She pointed out that that was precisely why they’d sent him to Lindbergh.

“He seems to have found his resolve. He might have chosen to come to Heineken, but that was also out of necessity, not free will.  And he’s been controlled by others ever since.”

“…I know he’s special. I’ve always known. But walking into the enemy’s territory…  that’s not an option.  No matter how capable he is, I can’t allow it.  Not a sliver of risk…”

“Then eliminate the risks.”

Theresa reached out, gently stroking his chin.

Her touch, like a zookeeper calming a wild beast, made Glenn close his eyes, a soft purr rumbling in his chest.

“Wipe out those rats, every last one of them. Then roll out the red carpet for your son.  Are you afraid you can’t do it?”

She tilted her head, her tone teasing, and the Emperor, momentarily speechless, admitted he hadn’t considered that approach.