Chapter 99: Emotions

“…Like.”

“Since when?”

“Since I was small.”

His voice was very soft.

“I’ve liked you since I was small.”

Freya nodded.

“Then do you know why I distanced myself from you?”

Ross’s expression changed.

He certainly knew—or at least he thought he did—

Because the Queen Mother had arranged for Irina to get close to him. Because he had sided with someone else when Freya needed him most. Because he had done too many wrong things.

“It’s not because of Irina.”

Freya seemed to see through his thoughts.

“It’s not because of the Queen, and it’s not because you did something wrong.”

Ross stared at her.

“It’s because you never asked me.”

Freya’s voice was very soft.

“You just went after what you wanted on your own.

You decided what was good for me, then arranged it all yourself.

You thought you were protecting me, pursuing me, doing this and that for me.”

She paused.

“But you never asked me what I wanted.”

Ross’s lips trembled slightly.

“Your mother arranged for Irina to get close to you, and you didn’t refuse.

She told you to distance yourself from me, and you didn’t resist.

Do you think I care about the position of Crown Princess Consort?

Do you think I care about whether you’re good to me or not?”

She looked at him.

“What I care about is whether you have your own judgment.

Whether you ever think about what you should do and what you shouldn’t.”

The room was very quiet.

Ross sat there without moving. Those words were like a dull blade cutting into his heart, one slice at a time.

It wasn’t painful, but it hurt.

“You asked me why I distanced myself.”

Freya stood up.

“Because I don’t want to become the person you want me to be.

Because I don’t want to live in the script you and your mother wrote for me.”

She walked toward the door. Ross shot to his feet.

“Freya!”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“I…”

His voice trembled.

“Do I still have a chance?”

Freya was silent for a long time.

“Ross…”

She didn’t turn around.

“Do you know who Irina really is?”

Ross’s expression changed.

“She’s a pawn the Queen arranged to get close to you.

She’s been controlling the Mutual Aid Society behind the scenes, spreading rumors, sowing discord.

She had an expelled student stand beneath my window with a knife.”

Freya’s voice was as calm as if she were stating facts.

“You knew all of this.

But you still defended her, still thought she just liked you too much.”

Ross stood there, his lips white.

“You weren’t defending her.”

Freya turned to face him.

“You were defending yourself.

Because admitting she’s a bad person means admitting you made the wrong choice.”

Ross’s pupils sharply contracted.

“I won’t become one of your options.”

Freya’s voice was very soft.

“If you can’t tell good from evil, what to keep and what to let go—

Then don’t come looking for me again.”

She turned, pushed open the door, and walked out.

Ross stood in place, staring at the closed door, motionless. For a long time.

He slowly sat down, sat on the edge of the bed, and covered his face with both hands. His shoulders began to shake.

When Freya walked out of the Imperial Palace, the sky was almost dark.

Vanessa stood at the palace gate. Seeing her come out, she quickly approached.

“He…”

“He ate something.”

Freya didn’t stop walking.

“When I left, he was eating.”

The Queen’s lips moved, wanting to say something, but when she saw Freya’s calm amethyst eyes, all the words got stuck in her throat.

“Your Highness the Queen.”

Freya stopped but didn’t turn around.

“This is the first and last time.

Don’t come to me about Ross’s affairs anymore.”

She left.

Vanessa stood there, watching the distant figure walk away, for a long time.

Then she turned and walked back into the palace.

Inside the carriage, Freya leaned against the wall, closing her eyes.

She remembered that final moment from her previous life—the cold of the sword piercing her heart, the smug smile on Irina’s lips.

In this life, that sword hasn’t fallen yet.

But she knew that as long as Ross was still entangled with Irina, that sword could fall at any moment.

She couldn’t wait, couldn’t be soft-hearted, couldn’t harbor any illusions.

Some things had to be cut off by her own hand.

The carriage stopped. Freya opened her eyes and pushed open the door. In the twilight, a small white figure was crouching at the Academy gate, clutching a bulging paper bag. Her red eyes sparkled.

When she saw Freya, she jumped up.

“Boss! You’re back!”

She ran over and shoved the paper bag into Freya’s arms.

“I bought you honey cake!

Still warm! Anke said this place has the best, and I waited in line forever!”

Freya looked down at the paper bag. The warmth seeped through the paper into her palms.

She reached out and gently ruffled the fluffy head.

“Let’s go.”

Lya grinned, grabbed her arm, and nuzzled against it.

“Boss, did that blondie bully you?”

“No.”

“Then did he cry?”

Freya was silent for a moment.

“…No.”

Lya blinked and didn’t ask further. She hugged Freya’s arm and bounced along toward the dormitory.

“Boss, let’s go to the Training Ground tomorrow! I want to watch you train!”

“…Okay.”

“Then let’s eat grilled meat!”

“…Okay.”

“Boss is the best!”

The two figures gradually disappeared into the twilight.

In the distance, toward the Palace, a single lamp lit up.

Lya dreamed again.

It was that darkness again.

Boundless, bone-chillingly cold.

She stood inside, waiting for that woman who looked exactly like her to appear again.

She waited for a long time. Nothing happened.

Darkness was still darkness. Silence was still silence.

So she just lay down, hands behind her head, crossed her legs, and stared up at the empty void.

“Not coming out, huh? Then I’m going to sleep.”

The darkness remained silent.

Lya closed her eyes, truly intending to fall asleep within this dream again.

Then she heard a voice—

Not coming from outside, but surging from all directions, like wind passing through an empty valley, like water flowing over smooth stones.

“You’re very interesting.”

Lya opened her eyes.

A mass of black mist floated before her. No shape, no outline—just a patch of mist darker and deeper than the rest.

It hovered there, writhing slowly, like something alive.

“You have a very pleasant scent.”

The voice spoke again, low and distant, impossible to tell if male or female.

“You’d make an excellent successor for me.”

Lya sat up, staring at the mist.

“Who are you?”

“You’ll find out later.”

The black mist didn’t answer. It simply circled slowly around her, as if appraising something interesting.

“Your heart is much stronger than I imagined. That illusion last time couldn’t trick you.”

“Because she was too fake.”

Lya snorted.

“Taller than me, prettier than me, and she says ‘Hug me and you can become me’—who would believe that?”

The black mist was silent for a moment, as if laughing.

There was no sound to the laugh, but Lya could feel it.

“I see.

Your feelings for your boss are quite special.”

Lya blinked.

“It’s not the feeling between master and pet.”

The black mist added.

“And it’s not the feeling between friends. It’s another kind.”

Lya frowned.

“What other kind?”

The black mist didn’t answer.

It just chuckled softly, the laughter echoing through the darkness like ripples from a stone thrown into a deep pool. Then the surrounding darkness suddenly shattered.

Light flooded in, making Lya squint.

When her eyes adjusted, she found herself standing in a huge hall.

Sunlight poured in from the high windows, gilding everything in gold.

Flowers covered the aisles, and the air was thick with a cloying sweetness.

The seats on both sides were filled with people—

Faces she recognized, faces she didn’t. Everyone’s face held a smile.

She followed the aisle and looked ahead.

She saw two people.

Freya wore a pure white wedding dress, the long train trailing behind her like a blooming white lotus.

Her hair was pinned up, a silver crown on her head, a few loose strands falling by her ears, softening her cold features.

She had never seen Freya like this—

So beautiful it was hard to look away, so beautiful that her heart suddenly ached.

Beside Freya stood Ross, in a crisp formal suit, his golden hair meticulously combed, his smile as bright as the sun.

He reached out his hand. Freya placed hers into his palm.

They walked hand in hand toward the theocrat ahead.

Lya stood there, watching those two backs grow farther and farther away.

“Boss…”

Her voice was very small, so small she couldn’t even hear it herself.

Then she started running.

She ran past the seated people, past the petal-strewn aisles, toward those two figures.

“Boss! Don’t go!”

She reached out, trying to grab Freya’s hem.

“You said you wouldn’t marry him! You promised!”

Her fingers passed through that white fabric. She caught nothing.

Freya and Ross kept walking forward, not stopping for even a step.

Lya stood there, staring at her own hand. There was nothing on it.

“You see—”

The black mist’s voice came from behind, cold and mocking.

“She was never yours to begin with. Never.”

Lya spun around.

“Shut up!”

The black mist fell silent.

It just hovered there, like a vulture waiting for its prey to breathe its last.

Then the scene around her shattered again.

This time, Lya stood in a field of ruins.

Everywhere were shattered stones, everywhere were scorched marks.

The sky was dark red, like coagulated blood.

She saw a person lying on the ground ahead.

Long amethyst hair scattered among the rubble, soaked with dirt and blood.

The chest was torn open with a large hole. The heart’s position was empty, leaving only a jagged-edged wound.

Lya stood there, her whole body beginning to tremble.

“No…”

She walked over, her steps stumbling like a child just learning to walk.

“No, no, no…”

She knelt down and reached out a hand, trying to touch that face.

Her fingers passed through air. She touched nothing.

It was an illusion. She knew it was an illusion.

But that face was so clear—

Closed eyes, pale lips, and that eternally pursed, cold curve.

Lya knelt there, and tears began to fall.