I'm the Villain, But the Heroines Keep Choosing Me-Chapter 173: Secret Weight

Chapter 195 was coming.

The only question was whether this iteration would finally break the cycle or just add another tally to Lyristae’s count of failures.

Damien looked at his hands, shadows coiling around his fingers. Fifty percent corruption, stable and controlled. Strong enough to kill a demon lord.

Maybe strong enough to rewrite an ending.

He’d find out soon enough.

-------

The second day of travel began with rain.

Not the gentle kind that added atmosphere – the aggressive, punishing type that turned roads into mud and made the carriage windows useless for anything except watching water stream down glass.

"Perfect," Seria muttered, watching their progress slow to a crawl. "At this rate we’ll reach the capital sometime next month."

"The weather will clear," Lyristae said with the confidence of someone who’d traveled these roads before. "This region gets sudden storms that pass quickly. We’ll be back to normal speed by afternoon."

She was right. By midday the rain had stopped, leaving everything damp and glistening but passable. The enhanced horses didn’t seem bothered by the mud, maintaining their unnaturally steady pace.

Damien found himself watching Lyristae more than the scenery. She’d been quiet all morning, staring out the window with that distant expression that meant she was thinking about something she wasn’t sharing.

"What’s bothering you?" he asked when Seria and Elara had dozed off despite the carriage’s movement.

"Nothing."

"You’re a terrible liar."

"I’m an excellent liar. I’m a queen. Lying is half my job." But she sighed. "I’m just thinking about what we’re walking into. The Emperor doesn’t summon people lightly. If he’s calling us to the capital during crisis, it means he needs something specific that regular military can’t provide."

"Probably wants you to coordinate kingdom-level response. And he’ll want our tactical assessment of the demon attacks."

"Maybe." She didn’t sound convinced. "Or maybe he’s found something in the Contested Territories that he needs investigated and we’re the expendable assets with the right skill sets."

"Cheerful thought."

"Realistic thought. Imperial politics are rarely about what’s stated openly." She turned from the window to look at him. "Can I ask you something personal?"

"Go ahead."

"How much do you actually trust the Emperor? Not politically – personally. Do you think he has the empire’s best interests in mind or his own power?"

Damien considered the question. "I think he’s pragmatic. He’ll do what’s necessary to maintain stability, even if that means sacrificing individuals for the collective good."

"That’s what worries me. If he’s identified the demon coordination center and needs someone to infiltrate it, we’re the obvious choice. Shadow wielders who can operate in darkness, combat-proven, technically expendable if things go wrong."

"We’re not expendable to each other."

"No. But we are to him." She looked at her hands. "I’ve been thinking about what happens if the mission he assigns is effectively suicide. Do we refuse and face political consequences? Accept it and hope we survive? Try to negotiate for better terms?"

"You’re borrowing trouble from a future that hasn’t happened yet."

"I’m preparing for likely scenarios. That’s different." But her voice was strained. "I just... I can’t lose you. Not when we finally have something real."

The vulnerability in her voice made something tighten in Damien’s chest. He moved to sit beside her, taking her hand.

"You’re not going to lose me."

"You can’t promise that."

"I can promise I’ll fight like hell to make sure it doesn’t happen."

She leaned against him, and they sat in silence while the carriage rolled through damp countryside and Seria and Elara slept on, unaware of the conversation.

---

They stopped for the night at a larger town, one that actually had a proper inn rather than a roadside tavern with rooms. Lyristae went through the formal greetings with local officials while the rest of them secured their quarters.

"She’s stressed," Elara observed, watching Lyristae navigate the required pleasantries with practiced ease. "More than usual."

"She’s worried about what the Emperor wants," Damien said.

"Aren’t we all?" Seria was checking their rooms with her usual thoroughness. "But she’s carrying it differently. Like she knows something we don’t."

"She probably does. She’s been queen for six years and has political intelligence we’re not privy to."

"Maybe." But Seria didn’t sound convinced.

Dinner was a larger affair – the local lord had insisted on hosting them, which meant formal dining and political conversation and Lyristae being Queen instead of just a person.

Damien watched her navigate it with impressive skill. Answering questions about Valdara’s defense, reassuring local leadership about imperial response, making just enough small talk to be polite without committing to anything concrete.

It was exhausting just to observe.

When they finally escaped back to their rooms, Lyristae looked drained in a way that had nothing to do with physical tiredness.

"I hate formal dinners," she said, collapsing onto the bed. "Every question is a political trap. Every answer gets analyzed for hidden meaning. I can’t just say ’the demons attacked and we defended’ – I have to frame it in ways that don’t cause panic or suggest weakness or imply Valdara needs imperial assistance."

"You’re very good at it."

"I’m very practiced at it. There’s a difference." She stared at the ceiling. "Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just told the truth. ’Yes, demons are coordinating across the empire and we have no idea who’s directing them or what their actual goal is. We’re all terrified and making up strategy as we go. Please continue to pretend everything is under control so society doesn’t collapse.’ Think that would go over well?"

"Probably not."

"Exactly. So instead I smile and give reassuring non-answers and let everyone believe their leaders have everything figured out." She rolled onto her side to look at him. "Do you ever wish you could just tell people the truth? About the corruption, about how close you come to losing control sometimes, about the fact that you’re not actually sure you can stop what’s coming?"

The question hit closer than she probably realized.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But the truth doesn’t help anyone. It just transfers the weight from me to them, and they’re less equipped to carry it."

"That’s very noble."

"That’s very practical. If I tell Seria I’m not confident about convergence, she starts trying to plan around my failure. If I tell Elara I’m worried the corruption might win eventually, she starts praying harder instead of resting. Better to carry it myself." 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"That’s lonely though."

"Sometimes necessary and lonely are the same thing."

Lyristae was quiet for a moment. "I understand that more than you know."

There was weight in her voice – something specific she wasn’t saying. Damien almost pushed, almost asked what she meant.

But the exhaustion on her face stopped him. Whatever she was carrying, she’d share it when she was ready.

"Get some sleep," he said instead. "Tomorrow’s another full day of travel."

"Stay?"

"Of course."

She fell asleep quickly, worn out from political performance. Damien lay awake longer, thinking about secrets and necessary loneliness and the weight of information that couldn’t be shared.

Somewhere in the Contested Territories, something was being prepared. Something that required enough coordination and resources to warrant empire-wide demon movements.

And Lyristae knew something about it. Something she wasn’t sharing.

He’d figure out what eventually.

For now, he’d let her rest.

---

The third day brought them to the border between kingdoms, where imperial authority was more obvious. Guards in imperial colors, fortifications that looked recent, military presence that suggested the Emperor was taking the demon threat seriously.

The checkpoint here was more thorough. Every paper was examined, every passenger verified against written descriptions, luggage inspected with what Seria called "excessive paranoia" and the guards called "appropriate security measures."

The inspection officer – a young man who looked simultaneously bored and nervous – paid particular attention to Damien and Lyristae.

"Shadow wielders," he said, not quite making it a question. "We’ve had orders to log all shadow magic users passing through imperial checkpoints."

"Is that standard procedure?" Seria asked with the edge in her voice that meant she was prepared to object.

"Recent directive from the capital. Something about tracking potential security risks." He looked uncomfortable. "I’m just following orders, ma’am."

"And if we refuse to be logged?" Lyristae’s voice had gone cool.

"Then I’d have to escalate to my commanding officer, who’d probably escalate to regional authority, and you’d be stuck here for days while they sorted it out." He sighed. "Look, Your Majesty, I don’t make policy. I just enforce it. If you want to complain about being tracked, do it at the capital where people who can actually change things will hear you."

"Practical advice from a checkpoint guard," Lyristae said, and some of the ice left her voice. "Fine. Log us. What information do you need?"

The logging was quick – names, shadow levels (self-reported, which seemed like a security flaw), destination, purpose of travel. The officer wrote it all down with mechanical efficiency.

"You’re clear to proceed. Safe travels."

Back in the carriage, Seria was frowning. "That’s new. I came through an imperial checkpoint two months ago and nobody was tracking magic users."

"It’s a crisis response," Elara said. "Probably trying to identify patterns in demon collaboration. If someone with high corruption is moving toward attack sites, it might indicate coordination."

"Or it might indicate they’re trying to help defend," Damien pointed out. "Correlation isn’t causation."