Chapter 172

Chapter 172

He had actually begun to envy his own father.

He hated the King who was no longer in the prime of his life. Aging was a fact that could not be halted; his thinning hair, the wrinkles on his face-every last detail paraded that truth before him.

The Queen, however, was still so young.

Her beauty was like a rose beaded with morning dew, vivid and delicate, stealing his gaze before he could stop himself.

Was this not some incurable disease, running rampant through his blood, tormenting his fragile sanity day after day?

A disease called “love,” branded with the mark of the forbidden.

It meant there was no cure.

Until…

He accidentally caught her crying.

She had hidden herself in a corner, probably afraid someone would find her, and was letting out soft, muffled sobs.

“What happened?” Rage leapt in his chest. Furious, he strode over and stopped in front of her. “Who bullied you?”

The Queen looked up in alarm, her eyes filled with undisguised fear and panic. She quickly lowered her head, wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, and stood, trying hard to compose herself. “It’s nothing. Nothing happened.”

“You’re lying!”

He had clearly seen the redness at the corners of her eyes.

Eugene lost control and grabbed her wrist, only to notice with sharp clarity that the person before him flinched. Pain flashed across her face.

It was as if he understood everything in an instant. He forcefully pulled back her sleeve and saw several glaring red marks on her pale wrist.

They nearly burned his eyes.

“He hit you?” he asked in disbelief.

The Queen hurriedly pulled her sleeve down and drew back her hand, tears falling silently. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“How could it have nothing to do with me? I-” He stopped abruptly.

I like you.

The Queen stared at him without blinking, her clear eyes seeming to see straight through his soul.

“You what?” she asked.

Eugene looked as if his soul had left him. At last, he could no longer hold back the feelings he had so bitterly suppressed, and poured them all out.

Unexpectedly, the person before him showed no disgust, no strange revulsion.

Did that mean… he allowed himself to hope.

“In that case…” The Queen looked into his eyes and asked, enunciating each word, “what are you willing to do for me?”

What was he willing to do for her?

He was willing to do anything for her.

The sound of the Lock being opened outside interrupted Eugene’s thoughts.

He raised his head and saw a familiar face, one he had yearned for day and night.

“Queen?” he said in surprise. “It’s filthy and messy here. Why have you come?”

“You may leave us,” the Queen said, giving the Soldier a slight nod and dismissing him.

She was carrying a food box. Only after the man had left did she enter the cell and place the box on the low table to the side. She smiled at Eugene. “Eat something.”

Eugene walked to her side. He wanted to embrace her, but then remembered how filthy he was at that moment.

And the Queen-she was always so beautiful, so dazzling.

The hand he had reached out drew back again.

“How is the King?”

“He has already awakened,” the Queen said calmly. “He knows about this now, and he is furious… but you don’t need to worry. I will get you out of here. I promise.”

Eugene’s eyes grew hot.

“Eat something,” the Queen said again. “You must be hungry.”

“I don’t have an appetite,” he said honestly.

“If you don’t eat, I won’t be able to rest easy.” The Queen looked at him with concern. “This place is hard to endure, I know, but please hold on a little longer.”
His heart warmed at her words.

Eugene picked up a pastry and put it into his mouth. It was soft on his tongue, almost cloyingly sweet.

“Is it sweet?” the Queen asked with a smile. “I specifically had them add plenty of sugar.”

He wanted to smile, but all at once, a searing pain tore through his stomach. It hurt so badly he couldn’t even straighten up. He could only clutch helplessly at the table as he collapsed to the floor.

His movement knocked the pastries off the table. They tumbled to the ground, the white cakes rolling across the floor until they were smeared with dirt.

“It hurts…” Eugene clutched his stomach and wailed in agony.

He reached a hand toward the Queen, trying to beg for her help.

“Save me…”

The Queen looked down at him from above, then slowly revealed a smile.

“Eugene, don’t blame me. I’m only doing this so I can live.”

Eugene stared at her in disbelief.

“I know this is unbearable, but for my sake, endure it a little longer.” The Queen crouched down in front of him. “The medicine works quickly. Soon you won’t be in pain anymore.”

The agony burning through his body seemed to scorch his soul as well.

“Did you ever… really love me?”

A single tear slipped from the Queen’s eye.

“Of course, my dear.” She reached out and gently wiped away the blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. “Of course I loved you.”

“When you were still useful to me.”

Her voice was as sweet as ever, but the words she spoke were like a sharpened Dagger.

He suddenly remembered the time the Queen had brewed tea for him, holding dried rose petals in her hands as she told him a small story.

Roses were fragrant, vivid, and beautiful, yet their stems were covered in thorns.

The Queen had raised her hand and shown him the wounds on it.

“I bled quite a bit picking these roses,” she had said with a beaming smile. “I wonder if the petals will taste of blood.”

At the time, Eugene had only felt distressed for her. He had drunk that cup of rose black tea in one go, the fragrance rising in a lingering haze.

Perhaps that was why, no matter how many times he tried afterward, he could never brew that same flavor again.

The Queen was just like a rose, covered in thorns. He had tried to pluck her, only to end up drenched in his own blood.

He closed his eyes, and the pain drifted farther and farther away.

…

The Queen looked at the blood on her hand and frowned, wiping it twice on Eugene’s clothes.

“Someone, come quickly!” she suddenly cried out in panic. “The Eldest Prince killed himself out of guilt! Someone, come quickly!”
—
Deep within the Royal Palace at night, all was far from peaceful.

People came and went in the dungeon, carrying Eugene’s body away.

The Queen, badly frightened, was helped out of the dungeon.

She covered her mouth, tears rolling nonstop from the corners of her eyes, her mind seemingly in a daze.

Only when the Maid helped her to an empty corner did she straighten up expressionlessly.

“You may go. I want to walk alone for a while.”

The Maid immediately withdrew.

It had rained all day, and even now, the air still seemed saturated with heavy moisture.

The Queen took a deep breath, and her somewhat weary mind cleared a little.

Eugene was dead. Now no one would ever know what she had done.

“Was it you who killed him?” a voice suddenly rang out.

A chill ran through the Queen’s entire body. She instinctively swept her gaze around, but she saw no one.

“Who is it? Who’s speaking?!” She stared warily around her, her voice extraordinarily cold.

No one knew about her and Eugene except her personal Maid.

Who on earth did this voice that had suddenly appeared belong to?